Deadly Secrets

Deadly Secrets

Nina Harrington

Published by NinaHarringtonDigital at Smashwords

Copyright 2014

Cover Image by: TheKillionGroupInc.com

ISBN: 978-0-9571289-2-7

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Table of Contents

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

BONUS CONTENT

ABOUT NINA HARRINGTON

Chapter One

June. Pattaya. Thailand

ANNA PEFANIS COULD feel the beads of sweat running down between her shoulder blades but there was not one thing she could do about it.

The humidity of a Thai morning just before daybreak was compounded by the crush of bodies of the Special Forces team who were packed tightly into the inflatable bouncy castle laughingly called a military hovercraft.

A tropical storm was forecast to blow in during the day so this could be their last chance – their only chance, to raid the pirates before the shipment left base.

Her head banged against the struts in rhythm with the choppy sea of a busy shipping lane. The harness pushing her back into the seat had not been designed for her custom made Kevlar armour and her shoulders were already aching with the weight.

She hated dawn raids almost as much as she hated trusting the police to get the job done. And who could blame her after what happened in Russia? But this time she had no choice. The Thai police had made it clear that this was their mission and she was going to be tolerated as a guest consultant, but that was all.

Two choices. Put up with the discomfort, or stay back in the office.

No contest. This was where she belonged.

Anna had spent most of her adult life in or around the roughest surf in the world, enjoying a passion for open water that few people alive could truly appreciate. She had even made a good living out of it for a few years.

One person against the ocean. That’s how she liked it. A place where she was in control and she knew exactly what she was doing.

It was hard to hand over that control to a pilot she had met only a few minutes before boarding. To leave her fate to the skill of a stranger in a military uniform, his face almost concealed under an armoured helmet with night vision goggles. His name was on a need to know basis. And as far as the Thai police were concerned, she didn’t need to know.

A heavy wave from the chop of a tugboat caught her side of the hovercraft and bounced it three feet into the air before it crashed back down. Her stomach followed. So much for the smooth ride! She felt like a cork on open water.

According to the mission commander, the hovercraft was the only sure way to reach the thin isthmus of land stretching out into the eastern edge of the Gulf of Thailand. No more than a sand bank held together with local trees, with a narrow strip of tarmac to the mainland, any early morning traffic would immediately alert the targets.

They must be close now.

Her gaze scanned the faces of the men around her in the strange green haze that infra-red night goggles created. Their voices had dropped to a low intense whisper. Every sound a warning to the counterfeiters who were going to wake to a different kind of alarm call.

Each member of the two eight men teams had been hand-picked and woken with ten minutes’ notice before the raid. Anna had seen enough corruption in South East Asia to know how tempting it would be for poorly paid security forces to tip off the targets. These officers would seize tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of counterfeit sports clothing during the next few hours.

It would only take one call from an inside man and this raid would be a very expensive waste of time.

They could also be running and in her case walking lop sided, into a trap.

Of course Bernie had tried to persuade her over dinner the previous evening that there was still time to send in a local specialist to take her place on the raid. Strange that he still made the effort after all of these years they had been working together. He knew that she was way past trusting anyone else to get the job done. After all, this was what her clients were paying for – the personal attention of the head of the company on site and looking after their interests.

Her responsibility. Her job.

Anna closed her eyes. Thinking about dinner was a bad idea.

Right on cue, Bernie’s voice sounded so quietly in her headset that nobody else could hear what was being said.

‘Still there and in one piece? Excellent. So I said to her. Sharon. Darling. There is absolutely no point wearing lilac lingerie under a Kevlar jacket. None. Trust me on this. The boys are going to be too busy focusing on the job!’

There was a slight chuckle and snort before her business partner continued with the gossip. Anna never ceased to be amazed that Bernie Abner still sounded like the fashion buyer she had first met all of those years ago, even down the earpiece of a military helmet.

‘Besides, under-wired bras do not work with ceramic plates, no matter what Tom says. I mean, you will get chafing in places that a girl does not want to have chafing. And after all that, guess what I saw in her suitcase at the security check yesterday? I was standing right next to her! Well she will get zero sympathy from me. Anyway, that’s her personal problem. Having a nice trip? It all looks cosy from here.’

Anna stifled a grin, as she leaned back against the reinforced polycarbonate windows, and tried to ignore the vibration and pain, as each bounce stretched her body harness against the armour under her jacket.

Sharon Chen was the intellectual property chief for the largest sportswear manufacturer in Taiwan. And Sharon had definitely been wearing a bulletproof vest when she boarded the second hovercraft almost an hour ago. Not that anyone could blame her.

Anna had chosen to wear her own body armour rather than the heavy plated jackets used by the Economic Crime Division of the Thai police force, which were running this mission. They needed sniper protection, Anna didn’t. Or at least that was the official line. She had decided to bring her own custom made armour – just in case.

‘Roger that.’ Anna whispered softly through clenched teeth. ‘We are in the zone. Five minutes to target. How’s the visual?’

‘Still optimal and recording. That beach seems to be coming up fast. Be safe.’

‘Thanks Bernie. See you soon. Out.’

It had been Anna’s idea to use two tiny micro night and day vision cameras clipped to her helmet to record the sweep team operation from the ground. Her international clients liked to know that their money was being well spent, and this was the proof. The special ops commander had agreed on condition that they shared the live feed, and it had taken Bernie only a few minutes to load the software onto their desktops. The same video stream would be transmitted to Anna’s company network in London for archiving and for use in any prosecutions.

Sudden movement drew her attention to the hand signals from the team leader at the helm. The whispers stopped.

This was it.

Through the Plexiglas screen she watched the beach race towards her at a terrifying rate in the faint light of a cloudy dawn, her heart rate speeding up to match the shuddering vibrations that rattled every one of her bones as the pilot throttled the engine back.

Five seconds later the hovercraft drifted in a controlled slide out of the water and onto the narrow strip of sand.

Instantly the heavily armed men lifted themselves out of their seats as one, whilst the hovercraft skirt deflated. Only seconds before the craft gave a final whine and sank down to the shore, the portside door slid open, and the team leapt down from the side platform and landed with muffled crunches onto the loose sand. The other hovercraft came to rest ten metres to the left so that the first elite squad were taking point covering the exposed second team as they disembarked.

Anna crouched down behind a low wall with the officer she was shadowing, shuffling forward only when she saw the hand signal from the team leader to her left. The two teams fanned out and ran across the narrow tarmac road separating the beach from a cluster of Thai houses, guns raised and ready for action.

The flimsy houses did not stand a chance against the heavy battering bolt and Anna could already hear the sound of crashing doors, glass being smashed, and a woman screaming in anger.

A moment later she was showered with glass fragments as a short, heavily built figure jumped through the window and out into the garden.

He was getting away! No! They had to stop him or all of this would be for nothing!

Anna barely had time to roll swiftly onto her side before two slim, lithe and obviously fitter Thai officers brought the heavy Caucasian man down with an impressive joint rugby tackle.

She swallowed bile, as her twisted knee took the weight of her roll but she had to see what was happening! Pain rocketed up the side of her leg but she fought it down, the same as she always did.

Anna had a clear view of the target for a few seconds as the officers hauled him to his feet, and recognised him instantly. He was the Ukrainian national whom the police suspected of having connections to the Russian Mafia, and a key player in this local network for counterfeit goods. She had already seen his Interpol warrants for clothing, pharmaceutical and automotive rip-offs. In fact anything that could be traded with high margins and at low risk.

Luckily for him the troops did not understand exactly what the thug was calling their mothers, as they snatched his hands behind his back, or he would be sporting a lot more bruises before he reached the police station.

The team leader came around the corner of the low house, and gave a nod to his two officers, before reaching down and offering his hand to help Anna.

Pride made her hesitate for a moment before she clasped her fingers around his wrist just long enough to stand.

‘Ma’am. You need to see this.’

A minute later, Anna was inside the squalid wood and tile shack. Sharon Chen was already standing, stunned and bemused, as the officer pulled the clothing to one side, to reveal a hidden room in complete contrast to the rest of the squalid house.

This home office was fully equipped with high-tech devices, including a top of the range computer, with a wireless network, satellite internet access and a mini-photo studio with a professional quality lighting rig and two digital cameras.

Computer printout and invoices covered the low desk with loose sheets of paper spilling onto the floor. Two walls of the room were covered with metal shelving, packed ceiling high with at least 500 wrapped football jerseys from Premiership clubs in Britain. She already knew that each jersey had been produced for about three dollars and would be sold for at least sixty.

It was exactly what they had been looking for.

Her gaze scanned the shelves until she found what she was looking for and she activated her voice control.

‘Bernie – are you getting this? There are invoices here for shipments worth hundreds of thousands over the last few months.’

‘Are you kidding? We’ve opened the champagne, but the lawyers and accountants have their heads in their hands. If this is anything like representative, they estimate that 70% of the jerseys coming out of Thailand must be fake. That’s serious money. Remind me to thank you sometime for negotiating that percentage revenue bonus into the contract. Can you pan around for a few seconds and hold the shot on a few of the packets on each shelf? Then the invoices? Brilliant. The police can handle the rest. We are finished here young lady. My car is ready and loaded outside. Give me a minute to call your ride and I’ll see you at the airport. Good work.’

Anna gingerly retraced her steps back into the garden and slumped against a palm, just in time to see the handcuffed Ukrainian and two Thai men being manhandled onto the nearest hovercraft. The sweep had been too quick for any of their thugs to come looking to rescue them, and this time there had been no need to use the assault rifles.

Stress eased out of her shoulders as the adrenaline rush subsided, leaving her feeling wrung out and ready to drop. 36 hours without sleep. 4 hours on standby and the whole thing was over in ten minutes. Text book. She should be pleased but instead she simply felt as though the air had been pulled out of her lungs and she was ready to collapse.

Her heart was still thumping, her leg was on fire with pain but Sharon Chen was already nodding and giving her the thumbs up as she chattered away on her cell phone. The official observer from the Thai government walked over to watch as the hovercraft headed back out into open water. His smart designer suit was as flawless as his English accent.

‘Congratulations Dr Pefanis. The team leader tells me it was a clean operation, with only minor injuries to his officers. Your intelligence information proved invaluable.’

Anna turned briefly to shake the hand of the older man, taking time to steady her voice before replying with a short bow. ‘I am grateful for your assistance, sir. I’m sure my clients will increase their investment program in the Pattaya area in recognition of your swift and effective action against the counterfeiters.’

‘Of course. I am only sorry that you are not staying longer with us, ma’am. Perhaps I could persuade you to take a tour of the islands? The Bangkok business parks? I would be happy to act as your personal guide.’

‘That’s very kind, but I have an urgent appointment in Athens and my flight is waiting for me at the airport.’

Any further conversation was drowned out by the sound of fast approaching rotor blades as a small civilian helicopter sped across the water towards them, hovering only seconds later on a wider stretch of the tarmac road fifty metres from where Anna was standing. Curious local bystanders and stray animals ran back into their houses as the blades sent dirt and leaves whipping up in all directions.

‘Ah. I think my ride to the airport has just arrived. Miss Chen will close out the documentation. Thank you again for your help. Good morning sir.’

Five minutes later she was strapped in and airborne, the houses and coastline growing smaller and more distant as she left the shore behind.

The government official was naïve on two counts. What they had achieved today was just a drop in the ocean in a business worth at least 300 billion dollars worldwide to counterfeiters.

She had seen it on the faces of so many officials who thought that this trade in fakes was trivial, and meant nothing to the international sports brand companies who were being ripped off. After all, the trade did provide jobs for local people – for a while, and the international companies still made their millions. But it was always personal.

She knew what it was like to spend months of your life working on designs for your own clothing company, only to see fakes of those same designs on sale only days after you proudly revealed them at the trade fairs. Counterfeiting had almost ruined her own water-sports company, NicKites, forcing her to return to London from Hawaii. It had also very nearly cost her life.

Secondly. She did not spend her precious personal time with security officers. Ever.

Besides. This was her last day at work for six whole days. She was now. Officially. On holiday. The corners of her mouth turned up into a faint smile. The timing had been right to the wire but she had done it. She had crammed in some breathing space with the one person who she called family. Bring it on.

Chapter Two

The Rigatos house

Argostoli

Kefalonia

Dear Miss Moragos

This is so difficult for me. I hardly know where to start.

Gerry was… Well, Gerry was unique.

I suppose I don’t need to tell you that since you knew him so well.

You were his family. He loved you all so much.

Back in Athens he used to talk about Kefalonia all of the time.

Andreas used to tease him about it.

Gerry had always planned to come back here once he had his law degree. Get a job in a law office like his uncle. Start his own firm.

He had such great plans. Grand plans.

I suppose that’s why I’m writing this all down.

While I still remember him.

Do you know what the weird thing is? I still expect him to just walk through the door with that big goofy smile on his face. ‘What did I tell you? Isn’t this the best?’

And he would be right. It is beautiful. I just wish he were here to show me around his favourite places. The village where he grew up with his sister. His school. Church. The white beach where he kissed his first girlfriend.

It’s breaking my heart just thinking about it.

Andreas won’t talk about him. Won’t talk to me about anything.

He wants rid of me now.

He sees me and it takes him back there.

I’m the link, you see. The link back to what happened on his boat that day.

When it all went so very wrong.

Chapter Three

June; Ionian Island of Kefalonia, Greece

POLICE CAPTAIN PETER ARTINO leaned back in his chair and raked the fingers of his left hand through his short curly dark hair, as he mumbled the occasional grunt into the telephone.

Would there ever come a time when every woman on his late wife’s side of the family did not think it was their solemn duty to give him advice on everything from child care to where he could find a reliable plumber?

On a daily basis?

He was beginning to wonder.

‘Yes, I know it has been six months now. But I thought it would be best to get Katina settled into her new school before we started work on the house. Moving to the island has been a big change and she doesn’t handle upheaval very well.’

I am not that good at handling it myself.

A soft knock at the office door, followed by a gruff, ‘Cap’.

Peter set upright in his chair and gave a short cough. ‘I have to go, Aunt Alice, it’s time for my meeting, but thank you for calling. Of course I will let you know when we need to choose some curtains. Goodbye Aunt, take care. Yes. Bye.’

Costas Sarris slid open the door and snorted as Peter stretched out in his chair with an enormous sigh and laced his fingers tight behind his head.

‘Your neck’s red. One of the many lady friends who keep calling you up?’

‘I was just getting yet another reminder from my relatives in law that a child needs a permanent home, and not some hotel to live in. And preferably before she goes back to school in the autumn.’

Costas winced and nodded his head twice. ‘They’ve got a point. You’ve got the shell of a lovely house. Great location. All it needs is a little bit of work and the family will be off your back. Here is an idea. You know my fourth cousin on my mother’s side? He is the best bricklayer on the island. And why not? He had plenty of time in prison to learn the trade and for you – for you I can get a great price. What do you say?’

‘I thought your cousin was a painter and decorator.’

Costas shrugged. ‘That my second cousin on my dad’s side. You remember, the one who had that little misunderstanding about his taxes. Why don’t I give him a call and tell him to come over this afternoon? It won’t cost you a euro to get a quote and the judge was very pleased with the paint job he did in his new bathroom.’

‘This afternoon? I don’t think so. The architect is too worried about making the place watertight first. Wiring. Plumbing. A few things like that need to happen before I can even think about decorating Costas. I never believed all of those tales about things taking forever on the islands until I came here.’

‘Relax, Cap. Things are always slow during the winter. Besides, I thought your Aunt Zoe loved having you there? I mean, you pay rent right? Better than some axe murderer just wandering in off the street. And she cooks.’

‘Axe murderer. Remind me to tell her that. And, if you ask her nicely in between stuffing her food down your neck most nights of the week, she might remind you that she worked as a chef in Paris for almost 17 years.’

Costas Sarris raised both hands palm out in surrender, before replying.

‘Okay, okay. It’s not my fault you have women falling over themselves to give you advice. In fact, falling over to give you anything. I had no idea a seven year old was such a babe magnet. Speaking of which, my lovely fiancé Alexis asked me to remind you about her birthday party on Wednesday night. All four future bridesmaids will be there, and yes, they’re all single and gorgeous. Wear the uniform. The girls love the uniform. You can thank me later.’

‘No, Costas, I don’t think so. I’ll turn up for an hour to toast your good fortune, but that’s it. There are enough women in my life trying to fix me up with dates, without you two starting as well. How is it that all of Rachel’s relatives have a friend with a lovely daughter who’s just dying to meet me?’

‘Luck, Cap. Just plain luck. You should try going out with a few. Get used to the dating scene again.’

The dating scene? The very idea made him feel sick. His lovely Rachel had only been gone two years.

Peter cleared his throat and tapped his pen sharply on the desk a couple of times.

‘Was there anything specific you wanted to talk to me about, Sergeant Sarris?’

Costas sniffed and blinked a couple of times before smiling and passing his boss the folder he had carried in with him.

‘Sure Cap. The Piraeus office just e-mailed a reminder that the Rigatos family entourage will be arriving on the island tomorrow. They’re what pass for our local royalty around here. Used to be a nice family,’ he shrugged then pointed at the folder. ‘Four of the personal bodyguards are authorised to carry handguns and assault rifles. So please could we not shoot them as terrorists? Take a look at the photos on these permits. What do you think?’

Peter stared at the sheets of fax paper for a few seconds as Costas sat down on the corner of his desk.

‘They look like terrorists. Ugly terrorists.’

‘You know, that’s just what I said. Makes you wonder though. If these are the good guys, how ugly can the bad guys be?’

Peter looked up. ‘Good point. Does this mean we have to go and check the bodyguards out when they get off the boat? What’s the usual routine?’

Peter Artino had been working in the one police station on Kefalonia for a grand total of 22 weeks. Costas Sarris had been coming to this station with his father, Sergeant Sarris senior, most days before and after school since the age of four, and had no problem about giving the new guy the inside story.

‘We usually just ignore them. Sophia Rigatos died at the family house in Argostoli a year ago this week, so the whole Rigatos clan will be here for the first anniversary of the funeral. The TV crews and paparazzi will follow them out from the mainland. Now they are the real problem. Human interest story for the colour magazines, you know the sort of thing.’

‘Are we talking about pest control?’

‘We had some trouble a few years ago, but that’s about it. The Rigatos boys will make sure that nobody gets close to their private house or chapel, but they might want back up on sightseers climbing the cemetery walls. The traffic team are already lined up for the funeral service. Most of this town will be there next Saturday.’

‘Sophia Rigatos was born in this area wasn’t she?’

‘In the same house she died in. Spent her first eighteen years right here in Argostoli. This is a small town, on a small island, Cap. She was a pretty girl who went to university in Athens, then married a student. It’s not her fault he turned out to be the heir to the Rigatos shipping empire. She was a sweet lady who chose to come back to the island to retire among her old friends. A lot of local people will be there to mourn her.’

‘Right. Take me through the details. I might only be in charge of this station for a few weeks but I might as well do the job properly.’

***

Anna caught herself mid-scream.

She sat up bolt upright against the padded leather aircraft seat, pushing hard against the arm rests with both hands until her brain caught up with where she was and what was happening around her.

She was in a plane. A large, wide bodied passenger aircraft. Not a car. There was no snow or ice. No sounds of screams or wrenched torn bodies. She was safe and warm and alive.

Heart thumping, she slipped off her cashmere wrap and pushed her feet out of her low heel shoes so that she could feel the rough fibres of the nylon carpet under her toes. Reassuring. Solid. Real.

Her right hand dropped down to try and massage the searing pain of the cramp in her leg. She should stand and walk up and down the aisle to release the tension on the muscles. Try and get some heat into the seized muscle. Do what her physiotherapist told her for once.

But the second she tried to stand her right leg collapsed under her.

Anna reached for the cloth napkin from her dinner tray and pressed it against her forehead and the back of her neck to try and blot the beads of sweat which had already soaked the armpits of her silk blouse.

She glanced quickly from side to side, suddenly grateful for the low lighting of the first class cabin on the night flight to Athens.

The other two passengers in the seat across the aisle were either pretending to be asleep or had decided to politely ignore her. The seats in front of her were empty and a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that the stout Greek businessman who had drunk over a bottle of wine with his meal was still snoring.

Anna exhaled slowly and tried to calm her breathing. She reached out for the glass of water in the cup holder of the next seat but her hand was shaking too violently to pick it up.

It had been the same old dream.

A memory played out so many times it had become like a scene from a favourite movie. A video played over and over