One Way or Another(91)

He sighed, as he raised a hand to summon a servant, a man in the Lady Marina uniform of white shirt, white shorts, and white deck shoes. There would be no scratches on his boat from idiots wearing loafers and heels; you came here barefoot, or in boat shoes, that was it. His signal alerted the two men standing behind him, awaiting his wishes.

“Tequila.” He gave the order in a loud, clear voice.

They obeyed instantly, and in minutes were back with a galleried silver tray holding two bottles of tequila from which to choose: Patron Silver, or a pure agave. Ahmet indicated the Patron, accepted the highball glass they filled halfway, topped off with ice and a twist of lime.

He settled back in his chair and took a long drink, savoring it while at the same time keeping an eye on the plane, which had now landed. The jolly little golf cart with the red-tasseled canopy was waiting as Marco stepped out and stood, looking around.

Picking up his binoculars, Ahmet kept Marco in his sights as he got into the golf cart with the two bodyguards and drove rapidly to the water’s edge where the Riva awaited. Ahmet put away the binoculars and took the Beretta from his belt. It would be so easy simply to take care of Marco right now. One clean shot and he would be gone. A nuisance no more. No more prying, poking his nose into affairs that did not concern him. Minding other people’s business was, Ahmet knew from experience, not a good thing.

He wondered exactly how much Marco did know about his business. Quite a lot, he suspected; perhaps he was even onto his money laundering activities, global in scale, with connections from here practically to eternity. By now, he’d probably have guessed about the drug running, though he would certainly have no way to prove that. And of course he knew about his play for Lucy. Marco had removed Lucy from his clutches. And Angie.

Ahmet understood Lucy was with Martha. But where was Angie? Gone to the dark side of the moon. With all Ahmet’s contacts, his friends in wrong places, he had failed to find her, and Angie was the one person who could destroy him. She knew everything, her story would be sensational. Angie Morse could still ruin him.

He sipped his tequila, watching the Riva get closer, the wake spraying behind. The Beretta was in the right pocket of his white linen jacket. He knew how to use it. The only question was would he.

The Riva pulled up alongside. He drained his glass, then got to his feet, and strode to where the steps had been lowered into the water.

Marco caught his eye as he clambered from the boat, until finally they stood on deck, face to face.

“Well, Ahmet, here I am,” Marco said. “It had better be worth it.”

“Unlike your portrait, this time it will be.”

Marco smiled. Ahmet was the eternal rich kid, never satisfied with what he’d got.

“Come, let’s sit over here.” Ahmet waved him to the stern where cushioned banquettes in a blue-green that matched the color of the sea awaited, next to small tables, candlelit of course, with one of the white-jacketed waiters, ready to serve.

“Tequila all right with you?” Ahmet lifted his glass to show Marco. “It’s what I’m drinking.”

Marco refused; he thought he’d better keep his head. He had no idea why he’d been invited here. Martha had not wanted him to go. Ahmet was unpredictable, he was a dangerous man who had lost what he had been searching for all his life. Acceptance. He had also lost his home. And he had lost Lucy, who, in fact, he’d never had. He had even lost Angie, the girl he’d lusted after, and God only knew what had happened to Mehitabel, who had simply disappeared. As, Marco was sure, had many others who’d had the misfortune to have dealings with Ahmet Ghulbian, who he realized had lost everything, except his money. He understood now why he was here; he needed to know the truth.

He took a seat on the blue-green cushions and asked for a bottle of Heineken, though he would not drink it.

“So, sir,” he said, looking into Ahmet’s eyes, still covered by the goddamn dark glasses.

Of course Ahmet noticed. He took them off. “That’s better, now we can see each other clearly. See what each is thinking, even.” He laughed. “I always find that useful, but tonight it will be more useful for you. First, I want to tell you about my project.”

With a flick of a finger, he summoned the servant, who was there in an instant, refilling his glass, adding fresh ice. The night was very dark, no moon, only the distant lights of Fethiye twinkling along the coast, then suddenly there was the slap of water against the hull as the big yacht began to move smoothly through the sea. Marco had not expected this, he looked with alarm at Ahmet, who smiled back, as though enjoying a joke.

“No need to worry, it’s simply a whim of mine, I so enjoy being on the water at night. I thought, a trip around the harbor and back, that’s the way the pleasure boats describe it at seaside resorts. That’s all, Marco. I can assure you, no harm will come to you.” He kept his hand on the Beretta in his pocket while he smiled.

“I have a question,” Marco said. “What did the red-haired girl mean to you? What was so important about her?”

“Important? Angie? Well, yes, in a way I suppose you are right, she was important, simply because I could not break her. No matter what I did, no matter what happened, that girl came through. Water, marshes, fire, imprisonment … she came out of it all. Now, you have to admire a girl like that, right, Marco?”

Marco remained silent.

“And then there was Mehitabel, who I did manage to take care of in a slightly more permanent way. It’s not good business to have a woman that close to you, knowing your every move, wanting what you’ve got. Envy is one of the great sins, Marco, as I’m sure you also know. And by the way, do not bother about a second portrait of me, I’m leaving this one to the National Gallery, where I’m sure it will be treasured for years.”