The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(8)
“If it was good enough for Barack Obama . . .”
Fair enough. Many prominent people used the outdated phones for security-related reasons. Still, even world leaders would have to find other ways to satisfy their fetish for mobile-communications security and physical keyboards—the BlackBerry Limited had ceased production of the phones forever.
“Three hundred disciples are flying in for your celebration tonight.” A large team was already preparing for the party at her father’s favorite restaurant, set high on the island’s infamous cliffs. “And less than a week until the negotiations in Kanzi. The newspapers are calling it the largest oil discovery since the Ghawar Field in Saudi.” The discovery in the African country near Zimbabwe and Zambia could change the political face of oil. She crossed the stateroom and kissed the top of Christos’s graying head.
“Athena Constanopolous Paris, those shorts are indecent—you’ll be the talk of Firá.” His dark eyes were stern, disapproving.
“But I’m about to run the stairs.” She tugged her Nike athletic shorts down an inch, then hiked them back up. Nigerian rebels were easier to manage than Papa.
Her father’s face broke into a wide grin. “Got you!”
She shook her head and smiled. Fair enough: she’d fallen for it. “I was about to say, that’s priceless advice, coming from a man on his fifth wife.”
“Ouch. You are your father’s daughter. Makes my chest fill with pride.”
She laughed. “Espresso?”
“With cinnamon?” Papa rubbed Aegis behind the ears and blew her a kiss.
Caffeine had long been a staple in the Paris family diet, but it was Thea who had started adding cinnamon. She headed to the espresso machine to work some magic. Steaming, toffee-colored liquid dripped into the tiny cups, and a blissful scent permeated the salon.
She carried the espressos back to the sitting area and plunked down on the sofa across from her father, adjusting the insulin pump hidden below her bra line. A quick check of her phone app confirmed that her blood sugar levels were looking good. Growth hormones from her liver increased her blood sugar levels between 3:00 and 7:00 a.m., typical for people with type 1 diabetes. No need to eat anything right now: those numbers would get her up the stairs and then some.
Aegis sat down next to her, the look in his intelligent eyes saying, Hurry up and let’s go already. The powerful, eighty-four-pound dog had been in their family for eight years now, taking the place of the first Aegis, who’d lived to the grand old age of twelve.
“How were your latest A1C test results?” Papa had taken great care to educate himself on her condition.
“Very good. According to Dexter, no falling off the wagon on the sugar front the last few months.” Trying to maintain a sense of humor about her diabetes, she’d named her Dexcom CGM—continual glucose monitor—Dexter.
“You’re more disciplined than I could ever be.” Christos stared at her through his reading glasses, his expression serious. “On another matter, latria mou, I need you to tail Peter. He’s up to no good—I can feel it.”
“Peter Kennedy is one of the most talented CFOs you’ve ever had, even if he is a strutting peacock. Is this another attempt on your part to finance my rent? Don’t worry—Hakan keeps me plenty busy.” Her job at Quantum International Security involved long hours, endless travel, and constant danger—none of which met with Papa’s approval.
“Something’s off with Peter. The last few weeks, he won’t meet my eye.”
“Well, you can be intimidating to lesser mortals, Papa.”
“But not to you. I wish I could convince you to join me at Paris Industries.” Her father’s face buoyed with hope.
“This is your special day, so I won’t say an outright no. How about I think about it?”
“I understand that your kidnapping work is important to you. But couldn’t you just keep supporting that charity that helps former hostages instead of working the front lines?”
“I prefer fatigues to fund-raising.” She half smiled. The truth was that she needed to be in the action, making a real difference. When her brother, Nikos, was twelve, he’d been kidnapped in her place. She had a lot of atoning to do.
“I don’t tell you often enough how proud I am that you’ve brought so many hostages back home. But every time you travel to one of these Fourth World countries, I can’t relax until you’re safe again.”
“I’m sorry, Papa. It’s the job.” She hated causing him stress, but she had to go where the kidnappings were. Countries like Switzerland and Canada weren’t exactly hot spots for abduction.
“Paris Industries is growing. I need someone I can trust at the helm—family.”
As a young man, Christos had scraped together every cent he’d made working on his own father’s fishing boat in Santorini, and he’d traveled to the United States, taking a job as a roustabout on an oil rig. Mopping floors, fixing machines, he’d worked his way to the top from the ground up, learning the ropes along the way.
Using his no-nonsense work ethic to propel himself through the ranks, he had become a foreman. Then he’d proposed a partnership of sorts with a playboy oil baron who wanted someone hands-on to run the business. Papa had brokered deals, assumed incredible risks, and triumphed, becoming the self-made man he was today, eventually taking over the company and renaming it Paris Industries. Now he headed one of the three largest oil organizations in the world. The Kanzi deal would make him number one.