Savage Redemption (The Caraksay Brotherhood #10)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

A dan

I scan the figures on the spreadsheet in front of me and reach for the handset on my desk. “Susan? Get me Eamonn Delaney on the phone.”

“Of course, Mr di Santo.”

I’ve used an alias since I found my freedom again. It simplifies matters and allows me to operate under the radar of my previous associates. I’m not sure who I can trust these days.

My secretary hangs up. I expect to be talking to Delaney within a minute or two. Sure enough, the phone buzzes a few seconds later.

“I have Mr Delaney for you, sir.”

“Thank you. That’ll be it for today.” Good secretaries are hard to find, I believe in looking after mine.

She thanks me and puts the call through.

I get to my feet and begin to pace the floor. I prefer to conduct sensitive negotiations standing up. Since my extremely expensive but mercifully successful surgery to replace my ruined knee, I can manage without a crutch, though my limp is still apparent. Not nearly so bad as before, though. I was in that Hong Kong private clinic for two months recuperating after the operation, then I spent a further six months at the mercy of an army of physiotherapists. It was all worth it. I have my mobility and my independence back

One of my better investments, though I can’t complain about the others either. I do well. Better than well.

“Adan, how are ye?” The Irish accent bellowing down the phone is pronounced, so much so that, to my not especially well-trained ear, it is barely comprehensible. In the months since I was released from Kristian Kaminski’s tender mercies, my English has improved to the point of fluency, but a native speaker I am not. Still, I’m following him so far.

“I am well, my friend. Thank you for the figures and projections you sent through to me.” I cross the office to gaze out of the tinted window at the Central district of Hong Kong Island sprawling twenty storeys below me, the principal financial centre in this previous British colony, now a special administrative region of China.

“Ye’ve had a look, then?”

“I have.”

“Are ye in?”

By which he means, do I wish to invest in his latest venture, the construction of a casino and hotel complex in Belfast? I stroll back to my desk to peruse the file briefly though I’m more than familiar with the contents.

I flew over there last month to check out the potential. The dockside area is rapidly falling into dereliction following the demise of the ship-building the city was once famous for. The local authorities have done their best, but there’s only so far you can go with museums, heritage parks, and little public funding, not to mention the lack of a functioning national government. The area is crying out for a decent injection of private sector cash, and that’s where I come in. Delaney is a fixer, a maker of deals, but he lacks the capital to make a real difference, hence his search for investors.

Even allowing for my medicinal incarceration, I’ve had six months in which to ply my old trade, and it’s gone well, if I do say so myself. A couple of lucky investments — I prefer to think of them as inspired — have provided me with a healthy reserve ready to reinvest in more speculative ventures. Kaminski has had the first two instalments of his money, and I’m halfway towards paying off my debt. I’m not entirely convinced that he’ll back off once he’s had his ransom in full, but by then I should be in a strong position to meet the challenge. He’s a pragmatic man, and even if he isn’t, I suspect his underboss is. I think he’ll see reason and prefer to cultivate me as an ally and a business partner rather than an enemy.

Still, that’s not today’s problem. I wander to the side table and help myself to a strong black coffee from the carafe there.

“I could be in, yes. We need to revisit the question of my percentage, naturally.”

“I never thought otherwise. We could go to twenty-five percent on development costs.” He originally offered the more standard twenty.

“Thirty, and we have a deal.”

There’s silence from the other end. “Ye drive hard bargain, Mr di Santo. Let me look over the figures again and get back tae ye.”

“I don’t think either of us needs to go over the numbers again. My thirty percent still leaves you with a healthy return, and I’m taking all the risk. You have my final offer, take it or leave it.”

He sighs. “Ah, ye’re a rogue and that’s the truth.”

I remain silent. I’ve said all I need to say, and I won’t be backing down. I know what this deal is worth, how much I can squeeze out of it before it cracks.

“Aye, we have a deal.” The concession has been hard-won, but I got what I wanted.

“Excellent. I shall wire you the funds by the end of the day, subject to the contractual documentation being with my lawyers and all the terms being to their satisfaction.”

“They will be.”

I don’t doubt it. We’ve done business before, and he’s always been as good as his word. As have I.

“Nice doing business with you, Mr Delaney.”

“Likewise, to be sure.” He hangs up.

I lean back in my chair and allow myself a wry grin. I stand to net a cool million and a half euros from this deal, more if certain planning decisions go my way, and I’m assured they will.

Oh yes, business is going well. Exceptionally well. Time to turn my attention to the other little project I have on the go.

The phone is picked up before the second ring. A good sign, I like those I employ to be on their toes.

“Do you have anything for me?” I demand, without preamble.

“Mr di Santo. I was just about to call you.”

Just about doesn’t impress me. Lorenzo de Podesta came highly recommended, one of the best private investigators in the business. I hired him three months ago to track down Rosie and the baby, and so far, he’s done nothing but jet about Europe and claim exorbitant expenses. I want results. “Well?”

“You were right about Kaminski. He does know where the girl went.”

I could have told him that. “So?”

“So, that yacht of his needed servicing, so I posed as a marine engineer. Got on board and had a good look round. Naturally, my quote for the job was extortionate and he wasn’t interested, but it gave me the opportunity to leave a few calling cards.”

“You bugged his yacht?”

“I did.”

I’m starting to be mildly impressed, but I won’t be getting really excited until I find out what he learned, if anything. And he won’t be getting paid another cent until I have results.

“Go on,” I urge him. “I don’t have all day.”

“Someone has been asking questions.” He pauses, clearly very pleased with himself.

“What questions?” Will I have to drag every fucking detail out of him? “And, who’s asking?”

“Questions about you. Specifically, why you would be a threat to young Rosie Darke and her little one.”

I’m not a threat, but de Podesta doesn’t need to know that. If he’s so clever, let him work out the details for himself.

“Do you know Jed O’Neill?” he continues. “Heads up the Irish Mob.”

“Never met him,” I reply. Not strictly true, I did cross paths with him around three years ago when I was negotiating a deal with the Sorzas in New York. Nothing came of that deal; they were a shambolic firm, and I couldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them. There was no way they were parting me from the thick end of two million dollars. But O’Neill attended a dinner party held by Luigi Sorza, the head of the family. As I understand it, O’Neill later killed old Luigi along with his four nephews and put Luigi’s daughter, Maria, in charge. A good choice, she was the only decent business head among them, but for some reason her father was hell-bent on leaving his legacy to one of his idiot nephews. I always assumed O’Neill was fucking Maria, but that’s just speculation. “What does Jed O’Neil have to do with this?”

“He’s married to the sister of another Mafia boss. Ethan Savage…”

Ah, probably not fucking Maria after all, then. I do know Ethan Savage, at least by reputation. And his sister, a computer hacker par excellence . He’s based in Scotland, but his business interests extend across the globe. He’s involved in the usual clubs, casinos, hotels, but also money laundering, counterfeit currency, and arms trading. He has a reputation for being hard as nails, ruthless, very security-conscious, but also an astute businessman. He has several more or less legit interests as well and occasionally invests in heritage projects.

“How does Savage fit into all of this?”

“He has a private island, something of a fortress. If I wanted to keep something, or someone safe, well, I can think of worse places.”

This rings a vague bell. I recall mention of an island in the Hebrides, an unlikely choice of headquarters for a global crime empire, but it seems to work for him.

De Podesta rattles on. “Most of his family live there. It’s very secluded, and heavily guarded. A perfect safe house…”

“Why would Savage be involved?”

“I’ve been doing some background checks. Savage and O’Neill are close allies, and O’Neill has done business with Nathan Darke.”

“Rosie’s father,” I breathe. De Podesta might actually be onto something. I’ve done my homework, too, and I know that Nathan Darke is an architect, with a track record of involvement in many high-profile deals and projects. It stands to reason he might do business with the likes of O’Neill and Savage. “I need to know more about this island. Exact location, number of guards, that sort of thing. And is there any direct link between Darke and Savage?”

“On it, boss. Meanwhile, I have an invoice…”

Grasping little weasel . Still, he’s done his job so far. “Send it over. I want daily updates, okay? So far, all this is conjecture. I need definitive proof that she’s on this island, and if not, where the fuck is she?”

I end the call before he can say anything more and reach for my laptop. There’s no point Googling Ethan Savage, or Jed O’Neill, their tracks will be deeply covered. But it’s amazing what you can discover on the dark web.