Carefully, the servants placed the serving table upon the main table, ensuring it was equally rectangle. Dantanion dismissed them and then held aloft the skull that contained the rosé.
“With this feast we gain the strength to overcome our enemies, replenish and renew our knowledge, expand our skills and accept new successes. We give thanks to the offering for giving their essence and all that they were, to nourish and sustain us.”
The community intoned, “We give thanks to the offering for giving their essence and all that they were, to nourish and sustain us.”
Glasses raised and were drained. Servants rushed to refill.
Razor sharp knives were raised, their blades glittering red and gold by the light of the flickering flames.
By ritual, Dantanion took the first cut.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
One more opportunity to put her life in her hands. One more chance to make amends. One more dance with Torsten Dahl — and then she could happily die.
Kenzie corrected herself very quickly. She didn’t want to die. At least not today. Not whilst the Swede wavered between sex and love, and not whilst his lonely wife decided between love and divorce.
The choice, however, was well and truly out of her hands.
Fully prepped. Fully loaded, they came. Dahl toting two Smith and Wessons, a HK semi-auto, and Sig-Pro semi-auto handgun. The extra ammo weighed his small rucksack down. Were they expecting trouble? Kenzie grimaced.
She carried similar weaponry, but with the addition of an old friend.
Dahl eyed it now as he pulled the car over into a dusty lay-by. “You really think you need that thing?”
Kenzie sighed. “Tell me, would you leave your penis behind if you were going on a date?”
Dahl faltered. “Umm…”
“No, of course not. Because sometime during the night it might be useful.” She cracked open the car door, pulled the katana out of the back seat and slipped it smoothly into the scabbard attached to her back. “Same here.”
“Fair enough then,” Dahl muttered.
Kenzie smiled to herself, then took in the view. They were parked in the hills above Monaco, having spent the best part of the last two days in the resplendent city of Monte Carlo. Just beyond the wheels of the car the cliff dropped away, rock and scrub and boulders littering the way down toward the topmost tier of the city. Below, the French Riviera’s most famous streets meandered through the main town, passing by casinos, restaurants and designer boutiques, with the sparkling jewel of the Mediterranean spreading as far as the eye could see.
“I could imagine being on one of those yachts,” she said, shading her eyes against the sun and the glare. “Lazing in the harbor.”
“Yeah.” Dahl paused for a moment to look. “Just a small one though. Nothing ostentatious.”
“Of course,” Kenzie acknowledged. “Nothing over ten mil.”
They both laughed and shared a look. Being alone and having to rely on each other these past days, spending the nights talking and imbibing, had created a strong bond between them. Kenzie would take it further, but Dahl continued to hold off for his marriage, and now she respected him even more for that. Despite all the shit they went through, time and again, some of these people still managed to hold down normal relationships.
Good fortune to them.
Kenzie did stare hard into those blue eyes though, enjoying the spark of friendship she saw there. “It’s been fun, Torst. Sharing this mission with you.”
The Swede smiled, and then turned serious. “Agreed. So let’s concentrate now, end it and go home in one piece.”
She continued to drink in the view. “You thought Cyrano and Patric were bad? This guy, Treacle — he’s pure evil.”
“I can’t accept that name.”
“He will try to kill us today.”
“Many have tried.” Dahl moved to her side. “Yet still we stand.”
“Love your faith. Maybe being with you will save me after all.”
“Always thought so.”
“I’m so glad we had this time alone.”
Dahl placed a hand on her arm. “You seem certain we’re about to die. I never saw that in you before. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“If I had known the almighty buyer of these Inca relics was Treacle I’d never have come,” Kenzie admitted. “Now we know he’s not only the buyer of almost every relic the seller has offered, he’s the buyer we double-crossed back in Nice when we killed Tremayne. And he knows that. If I’m being honest…” Kenzie’s brow creased in thought. “I would bet hard that Treacle ended up with every Inca treasure, even the ones he didn’t buy, if you get my drift.”
“I know you’re scared of this guy, and that’s not something I’ve seen in you before.”
Kenzie studied the view as if it might be the last thing she would ever see. “Time’s almost up.”
Their small lay-by, a parking area by the side of the road, might hold four cars if they were parked nose to ass. Dahl had purposely chosen the furthest space to allow a fast getaway. Directly before them now lay one of Monaco’s renowned tunnels, carved and cut out of the rock face and leading steadily down toward the bay.
“You think this Treacle person will reveal the line all the way to the seller?” Dahl asked. “Cops? Politicians? Generals? The whole lot just to possess an Inca vase?”
Kenzie cast an eye to the trunk where they had hidden the treasure. “Why not? He’s the only person on earth that will know. Plus, he holds most or all of the other pieces. If we’re to retrieve them we need him to trust us at least a little bit.”
“But you said he would try to kill us.”
“Yeah, for sure. Treacle has to do that for appearances’ sake. An evil reputation must be maintained.”
“Ah, of course. Never thought of it like that.”
Kenzie wiped her brow as the sun blazed down. Below, where the tunnel ended and the road swept down toward the town, she could see a toll station and three black SUVs inching through. Two came up fast, their engines roaring whilst the third rolled along at a relaxed pace as if taking in the sights. The first two approached, their engines loud through the tunnel, emerged and pulled off the road, parking behind Dahl, facing the other way. Blacked out windows revealed nothing.
“Keep it skin-tight,” Dahl said as the front doors of both vehicles cracked open simultaneously. “We take your lead.”
Kenzie loosened the katana at the same time as letting her right hand dangle over her concealed handgun. “I’m ready.”
“Surely they won’t cause a scene out here. It’s too public.”
Kenzie said nothing. Treacle was ruthless to the point of absolute ignorance and indifference. The fact was, it was more than a lack of morals, it was a total lack of giving a shit. In Treacle’s world, only Treacle ever mattered. All else was expendable dross.
Four men emerged from the two cars, all wearing cut-off T-shirts, sunglasses and baggy jeans. They carried weapons openly, grossly — not just small pistols but machine guns and rifles. One man bounced a hand grenade between both hands whilst smoking a cigarette. Another two bodyguards jumped out of the back and then the man himself appeared.
Blond, shaggy hair, tall, toned body. Late forties, and with a shit-eating grin. Just as she remembered him.
“Awwight, Tweacle?” he drawled smugly. “Lovellly day for it?”
“Still pretending you’re a Londoner?” Kenzie shifted only to gain a better vantage. “Have you forgotten you told me you were from Brooklyn?”