The Phoenix

Anna Cosmidis sighed. She’d liked Persephone Hamlin. But she hadn’t gone into this business to make friends, and life was too short and trade too good to put up with unreliable clients.

‘Yes. Cancel it,’ she replied brusquely, her razor-sharp mind already moving on to the next challenge. ‘You can show in Mrs Froebbel.’

Outside in his van, Constantin Pilavos waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, a hideous churning sensation in his stomach creeping down towards his bowels.

Somehow he must have missed Persephone Hamlin leaving the pa

rty at Stavros Helios’s estate last night. He’d waited back at her hotel, but she’d never showed there either. Not last night. Not this morning.

Her nine a.m. meeting with her divorce lawyer had been Constantin’s last hope. As the minutes ticked by, then the hours, fear turned to panic.

He could go back to Cameron McKinley and admit he’d lost the target.

Or he could run for his life, drive far away from Athens and never return.

With tears in his eyes, he started the engine.

Makis watched from the upper deck of the Argo as the tender drew closer. Aboard was Cameron McKinley, his thin, sandy hair blowing unattractively in the wind, like Donald Trump’s on a golf course. He had a briefcase in his hand and an unreadable expression on his pale, watery face.

He’s come in person. That meant the news was either very good, or very bad. Mak would say this for Cameron McKinley: the man had balls. He didn’t cringe and cower around Mak, the way that everybody else did when they feared his wrath.

One of these days, Mak would punish him for it. But not today. Not with the threat of Athena’s return still hanging over his head like a toxic cloud.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked bluntly, as his fixer climbed aboard the yacht. ‘You have pictures?’ he gestured toward the briefcase.

‘Yes.’

‘Is she sleeping with somebody else?’ Makis braced himself for the answer. If it was ‘yes’, he would kill the man, whoever he was, and then, when the time was right, punish Persephone.

‘No,’ said Cameron, handing the case to his boss.

The rush of relief was instant, but it was also brief. ‘Who’s this?’ Mak asked, pointing to the fat, bearded man standing close to Persephone in numerous different pictures.

‘His name is Nikkos Anastas,’ said Cameron. ‘Or so he claims. Ostensibly he runs a clothing business on the outskirts of Athens, but if he does then he’s a very silent partner. We never saw them speaking together directly, but he kept popping up. Either he’s surveilling her and doing a shitty job of it, or they know each other in some capacity. He’s a concern.’

Mak could see at once in his fixer’s pale blue eyes that something else was wrong.

‘What?’ he demanded, angrily, tossing the photographs aside. ‘What is it?’

Cameron McKinley cleared his throat.

‘We’ve lost her.’

Blood drained from Makis’s face. ‘You’ve what?’

‘We haven’t seen her since the night of the fundraiser at Stavros Helios’s estate. I think she’s left Athens—’

‘You think?!’ Mak’s voice was a roar. Without thinking, he shot out both hands and clamped them tightly around Cameron’s neck, choking him. ‘You THINK?! Don’t think!’ he bellowed, hurling the Scotsman to the ground in a coughing, spluttering heap. ‘Find her!’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Fatima Ghali – the Turkish girl who had managed all the deliveries from Maria’s bakery for the last six years – eyed her newest assistant with envy as she unloaded the two heavy crates from the boat. With her spindly, tattooed arms and slender body, Marta was half Fatima’s size and at least twice as fit as her superior, showing no signs of fatigue or discomfort at the backbreaking work. In fact, Marta had been oddly wired all morning, full of nervous energy, while Fatima and their other colleague, Helen, yawned and dozed their way through the uncomfortable, pre-dawn boat ride.