Savage Redemption (The Caraksay Brotherhood #10)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

E than

We touch down at Aeropuerto Tenerife Sur-Reina Sofía and taxi to one of the private bays where we disembark and head for the VIP lounge in the terminal. Immigration and customs formalities are blessedly minimal. My phone rings as soon as I switch from flight mode.

“Cristina?”

“You arrived okay?”

“Yeah, just got into the terminal.”

“I chartered two helicopters locally as well as a couple of cars. And an extra pilot. Magda can fly the other one. Where are you headed?”

“Depends what the professor has for me.” Casey went back to New York a few days ago, and Frankie is away at university. I was about to phone my sister and ask her to do a spot of digital surveillance for me, but Eva Byrne stepped forward to offer her hacking services. Turns out she’s remarkably good at it and, using Casey’s equipment, is able to tell me that Rosie’s plane touched down less than twelve hours ago. CCTV in the airport shows her at the bureau de change buying a couple of hundred quids’ worth of local currency then heading for the taxi rank. Local ANPR shows Rosie’s cab travelling towards the interior of the island rather than along the southern coast, which tells me she’s headed for Los Vinedos , Kaminski’s hacienda and business headquarters, rather than his luxury yacht.

Makes sense, really, though I doubt if she’s worked out that Kaminski will be more likely to hold any prisoners at the farm, not on his yacht.

“Magda, you’re with me.” I’m already striding back towards the tarmac, my men behind me. “Jack, Tony, Nico, Rome. You, too.” I want my best men with me when we enter the lion’s den. “The rest of you, split between the other chopper and the cars. One of the cars needs to head to the marina to keep an eye on the yacht, in case Kaminski is there. The other car and both choppers are headed for Los Vinedos .”

“Just one problem, boss.” Jack is matching me pace for pace. “Suppose Kaminski doesn’t take kindly to a helicopter landing unannounced on his lawn? He’s likely to shoot us out of the sky.”

“Fair point.” I drag my phone out again. “I’ll ring him and tell him we’re on our way. Then if he does open fire, at least we can be sure he knows it’s us and he’s doing it on purpose, and we’re justified in returning the compliment. Nico? Can you be primed, just in case?”

“Sure thing, boss.” Nico is our resident sharpshooter, a highly skilled sniper who can hit just about anything from any distance. The first sign of hostility on the ground and he’ll take out their shooters before they can do much damage.

We pile into the transport, and Magda has us airborne in moments. The other chopper is to follow precisely three minutes behind while the cars make their way to their respective destinations.

Kaminski answers on the second ring and is rather less than delighted to learn I’ll be on his doorstep in a few minutes.

“What’s this about, Savage?” he snarls.

“Just a brotherly visit,” I assure him, putting the call on speaker phone. “I need a little chat.”

“You could just phone,” he points out.

“I tried that, and you hung up on me. Bad idea, Kaminski. Seriously bad idea. And of course, some things call for the personal touch. Don’t you agree? Why? Is there a problem?”

“Why would there be a fucking problem? A bit of notice would be appreciated, though. I’m busy.”

“We’re all fucking busy, Kristian, and I don’t appreciate being put to the trouble of calling on you in person. See you in ten.” I end the call and grin at the men seated alongside me. “I guess there won’t be a welcome mat laid out for us.”

“He sounded jumpy,” Rome observes.

I nod my agreement. I was already reasonably certain he had San Antonio, but having heard nothing from her in over twenty-four hours, I strongly suspect he now has Rosie, too. “What do we know about the layout of that place? Where will the prisoners most likely be?”

“There was no secure facility that we could see last time we were there,” Jack replies. “He must have some sort of lock-up, though and my bet would be on a basement.”

“Yes, that’d be favourite.”

“We saw most of the hacienda when we visited before, but there was one door off the main hall that was locked.”

“Yes. I remember. At the end, and on what looked to be an outside wall, so not leading to another room at ground level anyway.” I think for a few moments, then, “Okay, here’s the plan. When we arrive, I’ll go and talk to Kaminski. Bartosz, too, probably. I’ll see what they have to say and suggest — strongly suggest — they release San Antonio and Rosie. The rest of you, check out that locked door and be ready to break through it on my command. Tony, you’re with me. Rome, too. Jack, you lead the reconnaissance on the basement and be ready to do whatever’s necessary to retrieve any prisoners we may be interested in.”

Everyone nods. There are one or two queries, for clarification, but generally everyone knows their part in this. It’s a well-rehearsed routine. Armed guards are visible on the steps of the hacienda as we approach.

“Nico?” I check that he’s ready to retaliate at the first sign of trouble.

His thumbs-up is all the reassurance I need, that and the AN-94 assault rifle trained on the men below. He’ll eliminate them in moments, along with any others foolhardy enough to take us on.

We circle then descend onto the cobbled forecourt, scattering the thoroughbred horses in the adjacent field. I hop out first, closely followed by Jack and Rome, and the three of us approach the house.

One of the guards raises his weapon.

“ Nawet o tym nie my?l, dupku ,” Rome growls.

I don’t speak Polish, but I guess this goon has been warned off in no uncertain terms because he lowers the gun and nods us through.

Julia Bartosz, Baz’s wife, is in the hallway. She greets me politely enough with a handshake. “It is good to see you, Mr Savage. My husband is in the study.”

I thank her and stride across the hallway to the door she indicates. I enter without knocking, to find Baz Bartosz seated behind the huge desk, and Kristian Kaminski pacing the room. Of the pair, Baz seems by far the more composed.

Sure enough, Baz is the one to make the initial pleasantries. “Good afternoon, Mr Savage. I trust you had a pleasant journey. May we offer you and your colleagues some refreshment?”

“No,” I snap. I swing around to face Kaminski. “You didn’t answer my question, putting me to the bother of coming here in person. So, I repeat, where is Adan San Antonio?”

He glares at me. “Keep your nose out of my business, Savage, or you and I are going to have a problem.”

“We already have a problem, Kaminski. I prefer not to have to ask you again, but, you see, Adan is… a friend of mine, and I find myself concerned for his welfare.”

“Fuck off,” is the succinct response. “Get the fuck off my property.”

“I think what Kris meant was—” Ever the diplomat, Bartosz tries to intervene.

“He knows what I meant,” Kaminski snarls. “Now get out, all of you.”

I look from Kaminski to his underboss and back again. It’s clear the second-in-command is far from comfortable with the way this is going, and I note that for future reference, but address my response to Kaminski.

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening, not until I’ve searched these premises and satisfied myself that Adan is not here.”

“Like fuck!”

“Oh dear. I can see we have a real problem here. Tony, Rome, if you would be so kind?”

On my command, both my men draw their weapons and level them at our reluctant hosts. “You will remain where you are. This shouldn’t take long.”

“Guards! In here. Now.” Kaminski screams for help, but no small army bursts in to defend him. By now, I daresay they’re all disarmed and under control. Jack is deadly efficient regarding such matters.

I let the reality of his situation sink in for a few moments, then, “So, I’m thinking we’ll start with your basement. The keys, if you please.”

“We don’t have a basement,” Kaminski lies. “And you won’t find anything in this house so you’re wasting your time and mine.”

“We shall see.” I shift my gaze to his underboss. “Baz? Do you have anything to add?”

The man takes his time answering, clearly weighing up this situation and at last arriving at the most sensible solution. “You’ll find Mr San Antonio in one of our holding cells. In the basement, as you correctly surmise.”

“He’s lying. He’s a treacherous fuckwit,” Kaminski roars. “And you, arsehole, you’re fired.”

Bartosz’s disgust is plain to see. “Don’t bother. I quit.”

“No one quits unless I say so.” Kaminski is all but frothing at the mouth in his outrage. “The lot of you, get off my island.”

“We’ll be gone soon enough,” I assure him. “Do you have the key to the basement, Baz?”

“It’s an electronic lock. The code is 3698,” he answers. “Miss Darke is upstairs, in one of the guest rooms.”

“What? What’s she doing there? I told you to leave her with her bastard lover. You’re a dead man.”

I wouldn’t have thought it possible for Kaminski to become any more enraged, but I was wrong. He’s incandescent.

Bartosz is unrepentant and unmoved by his ex-boss’s outburst. “She’s just a kid, and she’s done nothing wrong. I had her brought back upstairs.”

“How dare you go against my orders? I’ll have you burned alive for this.”

“I won’t be here. I was rather hoping that I might scrounge a lift from Mr Savage,” he replies, looking to me.

“I daresay we can find the space. I assume your wife and daughter will be coming, too?”

“Thank you.”

I pull out my phone and text the lock code to Jack. It’ll save him the bother of battering the door down and no doubt thoroughly upsetting Mrs Bartosz. I follow up with Girl in guest room upstairs.

I can safely leave him to it so Tony, Rome, and I deal with securing Kaminski. I’m sorely tempted to kill him, just to be done with the matter. I doubt he’ll be missed, by anyone except Janey. I’m certain this won’t be the last time I have reason to take issue with him, now that any semblance of an alliance is in tatters. Kaminski is a loose cannon, and it’s only Janey keeping him alive right now. For reasons I can’t start to fathom, she remains fond of this gutless arsewipe, and Janey still matters me.

So, Kaminski can continue to be a waste of oxygen, at least until the next time. Then, I won’t be so restrained.

There’s a tap on the door, and Jack pops his head round. “Adan and Rosie are in the chopper. Megan’s seeing to Adan, but Rosie seems unharmed.”

“What happened to Adan?” I ask.

“Badly beaten. Megan suspects broken ribs, and he definitely has three broken fingers. His nose, too, and probably concussion. He was lucky. I gather he’d probably have been killed by the guards if Bartosz hadn’t stopped them.”

“Was that necessary?” I ask Kaminski.

He’s in no mood to discuss his methods with me, more intent on fighting to get free of his restraints. He has no chance. He’s secured to his chair with cable ties.

“Nothing to say? Well, I believe in an eye for and eye.” I land a punishing right hook on his chin, followed up with several punches to his ribs. I’d take pleasure in breaking his fingers, too, one at a time, but that would involve releasing him, and really, I can’t be bothered. I want to be off.

“Bartosz, go and find your family, get them out to the choppers as quick as you can. You have five minutes, then we leave.”

Baz doesn’t need telling twice. He charges out into the hallway to find Julia right outside.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I had to tell them where she was.”

He wraps his arms around her. “I probably told them first. Where’s Lily?”

“In her room. I… I locked her in. I didn’t think…”

“Go get her. Now. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Where are we going?”

“I don’t have a clue. Now, go.”

By the time I’ve done with Kaminski and left the study, she’s charging up the stairs. She reappears quickly, a teenage girl at her side.

“But, Dad. My horse. And what about Henry?” The girl rushes at Baz, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“We’ll get you another horse,” he promises. “Did you remember to grab the passports, Julia?”

“I did, and the ones for the prisoners, too.”

“Good. And don’t worry about Henry. He’ll be fine.”

I vaguely recall the scruffy little terrier who spent a few weeks on Caraksay, until I could arrange transport for him to Tenerife. He was sweet enough, I suppose, and didn’t bother my precious wildlife.

“Bring the dog,” I concede. “We go. Now.” Before any possible reinforcements might arrive.

Four of our men have to transfer to the cars to make room in the helicopter for our additional passengers, but in less than two minutes we’re airborne and headed back to the airport. At least on a private jet we can avoid any awkward questions about paperwork for the dog.