The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(16)
One of Rif’s eyebrows arched. “Whatever it is, I can be discreet.”
“But you don’t always follow orders.”
Chapter Eight
Rif trudged across the hotel courtyard behind his father. There was always that one person in your life—no matter how good your intentions, you couldn’t do anything right by them. For him, Thea Paris was that person, and she had been ever since they were kids. Even back then, nothing he did to please her ever worked; most of the time, she just treated him as if he were a Neanderthal.
He told himself that he didn’t care what she thought of him, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true. In Nigeria, he’d gone the extra mile into enemy fire to bring her hostage home, then gotten reamed for not following orders. Hell, she liked her dog more than him.
Rif followed his father through the door to the suite Thea had reserved and left open for guests of the after-party.
Hakan placed his right hand on Rif’s shoulder. “Christos has been abducted from his yacht. The crew members were all murdered, except Chef Henri, who is also missing.”
Rif inhaled a deep breath, trying to process the news. “Any contact with the kidnappers?”
“Only a Latin text sent to Christos’s cell.”
“Strange.” Rif rubbed a hand on the back of his head. “What did it say?”
“It was a line from Cicero. ‘It isn’t always advantageous to know what the future holds.’ It’s all we’ve got. What’s your take on Thea’s mood?”
Rif flashed on her announcement at the party about Christos’s absence. “Given the circumstances, she’s holding up well. She’s a rock.” If he were kidnapped, he’d want her on the case.
“Something doesn’t feel right. . . .” Hakan murmured.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Rif asked. His father was a labyrinth of secrets.
“It’s just a feeling.”
Yeah, right. “Don’t play games, Baba. I need all the facts if you want me involved.”
“Look—”
A knock sounded at the door.
“We’re not done.” Rif crossed the room and stared through the peephole. His breath quickened. Thea stood outside, a stormy look on her face.
Batten down the hatches. Incoming cyclone.
Chapter Nine
After Thea had spoken to the Quans—who seemed rather slick and somewhat dour but exhibited no overtly suspicious behavior—she had charged over to the hotel suite she’d booked for the after party. She kicked off her heels, dropped her purse on a nearby chair, and joined Hakan and Rif in the sitting area near the fireplace.
“So sorry about Christos,” Rif said.
“Where are we?” She directed this to Hakan; she wanted answers, facts, anything to help bring Papa home, not Rif’s sympathy. “Are we tracking every helicopter that’s been in the area? That’s the only way they could have whisked Papa off the yacht that quickly.”
Hakan wrestled with the cowlick in his thick gray hair. “Waiting to hear back. The Aphrodite has been moved to a small port near Athens, where we’re friendly with the customs officers. I’ve also updated Max Heros. Our forensics team is on its way to analyze the crew’s bodies and other evidence—although I’m not optimistic. Everything indicates we’re dealing with professionals. We’re searching for that homeless woman you met by the stairs. She might’ve seen something. I also made a list of your father’s enemies.”
“Ambitious men scorch a lot of earth on their way to the top. Enemies are a natural by-product of the process,” Rif said, looking over the printout Hakan had prepared.
Thea thought of Paris Industries—all the backstabbing and betrayals, the industrial accidents that had maimed and killed people, the ecological impact of Papa’s holdings in several countries. The sheer number of potential adversaries unnerved her.
“Knowing Christos, he’s probably busy negotiating his own release,” Hakan said.
“Yes, maybe it’s the kidnappers we should feel sorry for,” she said.
They all laughed, but the joviality was hollow.
“Seriously, if the kidnappers’ goal was purely financial, the easiest move would’ve been grabbing Helena—or me or Nikos—and demanding a large ransom. Papa would have been free to move money around and pay them off. This isn’t a cash grab.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” Hakan scribbled some notes. “Thea, you were the last person to see your father before he was taken. Did he mention anyone or anything unusual—maybe something small that was bothering him?”
The espresso they’d shared that morning seemed like a lifetime ago. “He wanted a tail on Peter Kennedy, the CFO of Paris Industries, but I’m not sure he was serious. I’m meeting Peter for a drink in half an hour at Club 33. I’ll fish around, but he’s a numbers guy. No way does he have the connections and resources to pull off an operation like this.”
“Unless he has powerful partners.” Rif paced beside the fireplace. “I had lunch with Christos two weeks ago, and he expressed concern over a recent negotiation in Venezuela. The Minister of the Environment had a connection with another oil magnate, and Christos lost the contract. Peter could be sharing insider information. . . .”