Savage Redemption (The Caraksay Brotherhood #10)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

E than

Everyone is assembled when I enter the conference room, most of them dishevelled and grubby after the afternoon’s drama.

“Thanks for being here,” I start, taking my usual seat at the head of the table and launching in without further preamble. “I’ve had accounts of what happened from Tony, Tomasz, Nataliya, and the construction crew. Does anyone have any thoughts to add to the obvious?”

“Who the fuck was that guy we dragged out with Andrej?” Jake pipes up. “He looked like one of the workmen, but what was he doing in Faith’s cottage?”

I incline my head. That’s the six-million-dollar question, and no one so far seems able to answer it. “His name, we’re told, is Carlos di Santo, and he is part of the building crew, a plumber, apparently. He’s still unconscious, down in the medical centre. Both Tomasz and Nataliya say he was apparently trying to help them.”

Tony nods thoughtfully. “That could be true, unless he started the fire.”

I’m reasonably certain he didn’t, but until I get an expert opinion and a proper investigation done, I can’t rule out that possibility. “Both the kids who I could speak to agree it started spontaneously, in the main bedroom. They were all in the kitchen and didn’t see anything until they noticed the smoke. Di Santo, apparently, showed up shortly after, cape flying.”

Jack chips in. “I don’t trust coincidences. What was he doing off the site to start with?”

“Claimed he needed medical attention, I’m told. Potential sprained wrist. But Megan has seen no sign of that.”

“He was up to something,” Jack insists.”

“I agree. Maybe we should?—”

I’m interrupted by the door flying open and young Nataliya bursts into the room, now minus her oxygen tube. “You can’t hurt him, you just can’t!” she screams at me.

To say I’m taken aback is an understatement. Nataliya is usually the meekest teenager I know, wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to a goose, let alone yell the odds at me in a roomful of my men.

“Nataliya, you shouldn’t be here—” I begin.

“He saved us, both of us. You can’t hurt him. I… I won’t let you.”

I get to my feet. “You need to calm down. I think?—”

“You’re a monster. I hate you!” She charges at me, fists raised.

I let her land a couple of ineffectual punches before I wrap my arms around her to stop further attacks. “Now, sweetheart, you need to go back to the clinic, You’re not well.”

“I’m fine. I just?—”

“Oh God, I’m sorry. She slipped out while I was checking on the mystery man.” Megan rushes in, breathless. “Can I take her back with me? She didn’t mean what she said, it’s just been such a stressful day.”

“I know.” I glance round the room of startled mobsters. “Jake, go with them, will you? See that Nataliya is safely escorted back to the clinic. Stay until she’s settled. And can someone find Faith and ask her to go down there as well?”

“Is the kid under guard, boss?”

“No. Just, make sure she’s comfortable. And calm.” I pass the still squirming girl into his custody. “I know you’re upset, love. Let Megan take care of you. And Faith.”

“Please, don’t hurt him,” she sobs. “Rosie said…”

“It’s okay, and this isn’t your worry. Leave it to me.” Not much by way of reassurance, but I’m not keen to make a promise I may not keep.

Megan and Jake bundle the girl out, followed by Nico going in search of Faith. Her calming presence will be invaluable, as usual. The door closes behind them, leaving the rest of us in silence.

“She should know better by now, bursting in here like that.” Jack shakes his head. “Do you want me to have a word? Or maybe Arina?”

Arina is Nataliya’s older sister, currently standing vigil over young Andrej’s bedside.

“Maybe, later. Right now, she has other things on her mind.” I sit down again and call the room back to order. “The thing is, inappropriate outburst or not, the kid has a point.”

“Boss?” This from Tony.

“At first glance it does look as though our mystery man was on the side of the angels.”

“Do you mean us, boss?” Jack seems unconvinced by the description of our gathering as ‘angels’.

I allow myself a grin. “Well, some of the time. I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until I know for sure who he is and why he’s here.”

No one appears to disagree with me.

“So, what now, boss?” Tony wants to know.

I pull out my phone. This time it’s my sister, Casey’s, number I speed dial. “Now, we do some fact-finding. Hi, Casey. Where are you right now?”

“In Dublin. Ged had business over here, so we flew back a couple of days ago.” Her husband, Jed O’Neill, heads up the Irish Mob but has extensive interests in New York, where they live for most of the year.

“That’s convenient. Could he spare you for a day or two to help me out with something?”

“I daresay he could. In fact, his business here is more or less concluded, so you could have both of us. Roisin, too. We were thinking of a quick visit before we fly back to Manhattan.”

“Even better. When could you be here?”

“First thing in the morning, okay?”

“That’ll be fine.’

“Care to give me a clue?”

“I need a deep dive into someone. Full background, life story. You know the sort of thing. From his shoe size to his favourite pudding, and his first pet as a child.

“Fair enough.” She pauses, then, “Is my idol still there by any chance?”

“If you mean Professor Byrne, yes.”

“Who else? She’s a fucking legend.”

“If you say so. I’ll leave the fangirling to you. See you tomorrow,” I end the call.

Everyone files out, with the exception of Jack. He looks concerned.

“Something on your mind?” I ask.

“It may be nothing. The kid blurted something about Rosie. What do you think that was about?”

“I noticed that, too. Megan said that Rosie sneaked in to see him, was chatting away to him in Spanish, but she denied even knowing him when Megan asked.”

“In Spanish?” His expression is one of bafflement. “But how would she know to use Spanish?”

“Exactly. I’ll be needing a word with that young lady.”

“Want me to find her?”

“No, not yet. She’ll keep. Right now, I need to get on to the fire investigation team, see how quick they can get someone out here. Even if it was an accident, and I tend to think it was, I still need to know how it happened.”

Casey and the fire investigator arrive within minutes of each other. I barely have time to hug my sister, coo over her toddler, my niece, Roisin, and shake hands with my brother-in-law before the second helicopter appears on the horizon.

I give Casey a quick briefing. “His name’s Carlos di Santo, and he’s still unconscious in our clinic, though Megan says he’s improving. She expects him to come round sometime today. He showed up here masquerading as a builder, but I gather he’s some sort of businessman really. Well, business savvy enough to be able to set up a convincing bogus deal. No idea why he’s roughing it as a hod carrier, but that’s where you come in. Dig deep, I want to know everything you can tell me about Carlos di Santo.” I deliberately don’t mention a possible connection to my other guest, I prefer to give Casey a blank canvas.

She and Ged disappear into the castle just as the fire inspector’s chopper begins its descent. The man is aptly named. Mr Herbert Burnside. I wait for our second visitor on the castle forecourt, Jake at my side.

A portly man of perhaps forty or forty-five hops down lugging a large leather case behind him and pauses to take in his surroundings with an expression suggesting he’s less than impressed. “Bleak place,” he observes, pulling his woolly scarf more tightly around his neck. “Do you even have running water out here?”

“Yes. Plenty of it.” I bristle. The man is a Philistine if he can’t recognise the raw beauty of my island. The less time he has to spend here, the better. I suspect he agrees. “We’ll show you the site of the fire and leave you to it.”

“Right. Let’s be getting on, then.”

On the short walk down to the clifftop I fill him in on the accounts provided by witnesses.

“I’ll be needing to speak to them myself, obviously.”

“Obviously. Jake, here, is one of them, but I’ll make sure the others are available. How long will you need to be here, Mr Burnside?”

He shoots me a withering glare intended to put me in my place. “I’ll be here for as long as it takes, Mr Savage.”

Jake tenses, and I return the inspector’s scowl. I daresay he’d be missed if I were to simply shoot him. And I do need his expertise. Best to cooperate and get this over with. “Apart from the witnesses and examining the site, what else is involved?”

His chest puffs up, and he turns to regard me. “It’s my job to determine the cause and origin of the fire. I’ll be needing to assess the scene, document what I see, collect evidence, assess the data, and prepare a detailed report. It can’t be rushed. If I need more technical equipment or specialist input, that all adds to the process.”

“Technical equipment?” I query.

“Infrared cameras, for example. Or chemical analysis of samples. Do you have a floor plan of the building? That would save time.”

“I’ll get one to you by the end of the morning.” We arrive at the ruined cottage, just the blackened shell remaining. “Well, I’ll let you be getting on, then. Jake, here, will stay and answer any questions you may have. If you need anything, just ask him.”

Burnside dumps his bag on the ground and retrieves a large torch, a hard hat, and a hand-held dictating machine. “Single-story residential property,” he intones into the gadget. “Four casualties, no fatalities. Yet.” He drags on sturdy steel-toe-capped boots and stomps off through the gaping cottage door, still spouting his observations into the machine.

I nod to Jake. “He’s a prat, but just do your best,” I mutter, then begin the hike back up to the castle.

Casey

I leave Jed and Roisin in the main hall where the other younger children of Caraksay are having a noisy time riding trikes round on the ancient flagstones. My daughter makes a beeline for Sebastian, a few months older than she is, and tries to shove him off his little three-wheeler by way of showing her affection for her cousin. A furious argument ensues. I leave Jed to deal with it.

My IT ‘lab’ on the first floor is more or less as I left it last time I was here. I have an apprentice, young Frankie, and he spends a lot of time in here when he’s on the island. But Ethan insisted he complete his education and somehow managed to get him a place at university. He’s away most of the term, leaving my domain empty.

I wander round, firing up processors, keyboards, monitors, and modems. I intend to run several programs at once to spread the workload and speed up the process. The familiar hum grounds me as all my equipment comes to life.

I have a similar facility in our New York apartment. I suppose I could have simply transferred all my kit over there, but that would feel like losing my foothold here on Caraksay, and I’m not ready to do that yet, if ever. And, of course, there’s Frankie. So, I maintain both locations.

I shove a pile of Frankie’s gaming magazines off the seat of my favourite chair and wheel it over to the workbench. Settling in, I crack my knuckles then launch the first of my specialist scanning programs.

“Hey, I saw you arrive. Can I come in?”

I swing round to see none other but the redoubtable Professor Eva Byrne in the doorway.

I resist the urge to curtsey. “Feel free.” I wave my arm in the direction of the one other seat in the room. “Pull up a pew.”

She clears the chair and carries it over but pauses to gaze around her. “Some setup you have here. You could launch an expedition to Mars.”

“Too hot for my liking,” I reply. “I’m sure you’ve seen better.”

She shrugs. “Not in private hands. Is that a quantum processor over there?”

I nod. “Useful for enhanced cybersecurity.”

She leans in to better examine my state-of-the art equipment. “Not much call for this sort of gear outside of NASA. It must have cost a fortune.”

It did, but I’m not naming figures. “I find it handy.”

“What for?”

“This and that.” I’ll be using it soon to hack into di Santo’s financial and security systems but I’m not sure this upstanding and eminent academic really wants to know that.

“What are you working on now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A bit of research for Ethan.”

She leans over my shoulder to study my screen. “Are you checking up on that man in the clinic? Ethan doesn’t trust him.”

“My brother doesn’t trust anyone. But yes. I’m going to dig around a bit, see what I can find out about him.”

“I’d start with the money,” she advises, settling next to me. “Banking records, investments, that sort of thing.”

My thoughts exactly. Always follow the money, first rule of background checks. “You do realise that’s illegal, Professor.”

She issues an inelegant snort. “What software are you using?”

“I call it Dosh Digger .” Not an especially fancy name, but it does what it says on the tin. “It’s a system I adapted from commercial banking software.”

“You developed this yourself?” She leans in for a closer look. “Can you talk me through it?”

I shrug. “Okay. The purpose is to track payments in and out of any specific bank account, just like the normal versions. But mine traces the origins of any payments, the source bank account. I can then home in on that account and repeat the process to create a detailed trail. It works in the other direction, too. I can see who he paid money to and what they then did with it. I simply set up the search parameters and leave the system to do its thing.”

“How long does it take to conclude the search?”

“Depends how long the trail is, but typically I see the first results in a couple of minutes.”

“Can I see it in operation?”

I rarely have an audience, and never anyone so interested in my idiosyncratic ramblings through the inner bowels of IT technology. It’s a rare treat, and Eva Byrne’s obvious admiration for my work is heady. I can’t resist the urge to share with someone who actually gets it.

“I don’t see why not.” I dance my fingers over the keys. “First, I need to identify any accounts held by Carlos di Santo. I do that by simply hacking into his official business accounts.”

“Simply?”

I grin. I’ve been hacking into people’s banking records since I was about five. “Few companies realise how easy it is for an experienced hacker to gain access. Ah, yes, here we are.” I put Carlos di Santo’s name into a generalised search and come up with a series of companies he has an interest in. “I get the impression he keeps himself busy. He’s managing director of three companies, a venture capital organisation, a construction firm, and an international financial investment corporation.”

“An interesting portfolio,” Eva murmurs. “Sounds lucrative.”

“Well, let’s see.” I begin with the venture capital enterprise, loftily titled Lightning Seeds. “He seems to specialise in Third World startups, central Africa mainly. His businesses are all registered in Hong Kong.”

“Why would he…?”

“Hong Kong is one of the world’s foremost financial hubs. A good place to locate a multi-national financial empire.”

“Those sorts of ventures sound high-risk.”

“Yes, but potentially high reward, too. Let’s see what he’s been financing.”

A trawl through the company records reveals an eclectic mix of irrigation, agricultural, and environmental development schemes. One or two have flopped, but the majority have thrived, providing Lightning Seeds with a healthy return. “He seems to have a knack for spotting potential winners,” I observe.

“He does, but see this?. He’s only been in the business for just over a year.”

I check the dates, and Eva is right. “I wonder what he did before that.”

I key in the name and some earlier target dates.

Nothing.

“Odd,” I mutter. I try a few more searches, more generalised this time, searching for any clues as to how di Santo made his money originally. I come up with big fat zero.

“There’s no record anywhere of him prior to… thirteen months ago. It’s as if he didn’t exist.”

“Are there any other records you can scan? Education? Health? Criminal records?”

“Professor Byrne, you do surprise me.” Nevertheless, I run scans in all those areas and come up with no records at all.

“He may be Spanish,” I tell Eva. “I’ll try the Spanish-speaking nations.” I do, with the same negative results.

“This is really odd. I’ll try his other companies, see if they have longer records.”

A few minutes later, I lean back in my chair. None of di Santo’s business interests seem to extend further back than thirteen months. They all seem to have come into existence around the same time, and all are thriving enterprises. On the face of it, Carlos di Santo is a very wealthy entrepreneur with an income in excess of a million dollars a month. I check his personal bank account to find him the proud possessor of around one and a half million euros. A tidy sum, but nowhere near what seems to have been generated by his considerable business acumen.

“What has he done with his money?” Eva asks. “Property? Investments?”

“Well, let’s have a look…” I return to my Dosh Digger program and set it to track payments out of his company accounts. “Most of his outgoing cash is sent to himself, but he doesn’t seem to keep it.” I return to his personal account and run the program there. “Where does he send the money to?”

I find a series of payments, most around a hundred thousand euros or so, to an account in the Cayman Islands.

“Who’s that?” Eva whispers?

“Not sure, yet.” Accounts in the Cayman Islands areprotected by strictbank secrecylaws, which provide an excellent level of privacy and security. It’s a favoured hideaway for shady cash because the insane level of confidentiality can help protect assets, making it nearly impossible for creditors or other parties to identify and seize them. But they haven’t reckoned on my quantum processor.

I send the data to my new machine, type in fresh instructions, and we wait.

“Shit,” I breathe. “Is that who I think it is?”

Eva leans over me. “Kris Kaminski. He’s making payments to Kristian Kaminski…”

“Looks like it. Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he works for him,” she suggests.

“Could be, but Kris is supposed to be an ally of Ethan’s. If Di Santo is working for him, what’s he doing creeping about on Caraksay?”

“I don’t understand.” Eva frowns, baffled. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but di Santo has paid him in excess of five million euros in just the last year. That’s some job.”

“Or a debt,” Eva says. “Maybe di Santo owed him money.”

I’m still intrigued by the apparent non-existence of our target prior to thirteen months ago. I decide to try another tack.

“What are you doing now?” Eva demands. “Shouldn’t we be concentrating on the connection to Kaminski?”

“We can come back to that.” I grab my phone and dial Megan. “Hey, can you do me a favour? I need you to take a photo of Carlos di Santo and send it to me.”

She doesn’t ask why, just does as I ask. A couple of minutes later, I’m looking at an image of our mystery entrepreneur. From there it’s a simple enough matter to feed that into my international facial recognition program, another of my little inventions, and set it to search.

“What’s happening now?” Eva prompts. “That’s some sort of reverse image search.”

“That’s right, but my version is more… thorough. It doesn’t just rely on Google. If our Mr di Santo has appeared online in any way, shape, or form, anywhere across the global web, this will identify him. Might take a while, though.”

Eva lets out a low whistle. “This is sophisticated. Are those military records?”

“Yup. I can also check on criminal records, education, medical, the lot. If it uses the internet, then I’m in. If nothing turns up, I’ll try an age regression program to get an image of him as a younger man, even a boy. He’ll be there. Somewhere.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m impressed. How long will it take?”

“Well, as you can imagine, there’s a lot of data to process. A couple of hours, perhaps. Shall we go grab a drink?”

“I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind. Watch the genius at work.”

Flattery indeed, coming from her. “Okay. While we’re waiting, I thought I might run my Dosh Digger system on Kris Kaminski’s Cayman Islands account, see if that turns up anything of interest.”

“I thought those accounts were meant to be impregnable.”

“Nothing’s impregnable, Professor. You and I both know that.” I set the scan to run and watch the results flash up before me. “Ah, here we are. His payroll. Now, let’s see if di Santo is one of his employees.”

A few minutes are enough.

“He’s not there,” Eva mutters.

“No. The cash transactions are all one way. I’d say they’re more like debt repayments.”

“Why does di Santo owe Kaminski money?”

“Maybe Ethan needs to ask him.”

“Won’t that cause… problems? If Kaminski realises we’ve been spying on him?”

“That’s Ethan’s problem. I think—” I pause as results start to churn out of my mug shot program. “Holy fuck!”

Eva leans over my shoulder. “Have you found him?”

“Yes, and our Mr di Santo is not what he seems. In fact, he’s not Carlos di Santo at all.”

“Then who is he?”

I enlarge one of the images identified by my system, a press shot from nearly three years ago of di Santo being arrested. Except, the caption below identifies the prisoner as one Adan San Antonio, head of one of Madrid’s foremost Mafia families, being taken into custody for alleged money laundering.

Eva recognises the name and pales. “He can’t be…”

“He is. Check this out, it’s a perfect likeness.”

“That’s the man who trafficked Rosie. He held her prisoner, a slave.”

“Well, that explains why di Santo didn’t exist until just over a year ago. That must be when San Antonio created his alter ego.”

“But what’s he doing here, now? I need to talk to Rosie, to warn her.”

“I think you’ll have to join the queue.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Rosie went to the clinic. She saw di Santo, or San Antonio. She spoke to him, in Spanish. She definitely recognised him but said nothing. Ethan will want to know why.”

Her head is in her hands. “Oh God. Rosie, what are you up to?”

A good question. I grab my phone again and dial Ethan’s number. “Hey, it’s me. I have something for you. Can you come up?”

By the time I end the call, Eva is halfway out the door.