Roskov, Book 10, page 15
He nodded, Ross with his head in files. How someone could work on a plane like this baffled me.
Less than an hour later we could see Corsica, and I could soon see the runway – so I was relieved, a slow smooth approach and soft touchdown offered to me. We taxied to the waiting police cars, and we disembarked our noisy ride in fine weather.
The wind was a bit chill, but the sun was out as we waited in an Arrivals area for private customers, the toilets used, tea and coffee sipped.
Luggage collected, minibuses ready, police escort ready, and we set off north and past the city, the contessa remembering places and pointing at them.
Beyond the city, we drove up the middle of a flat gentle valley of farmland, which opened out into a large golf course, the golf hotel seen on the right through the trees, then we finally glimpsed the wide two-storey Kudulov house behind tall thin trees ahead of us.
Gate guards greeted us, saluting Ross Daniels when he clambered down to speak to them, and we were met at the main house by a line of staff – stood as if about to be inspected by a drill sergeant, stood in front of a huge stone house that could house sixty people.
Down from the minibus I took in the ornate gardens, the hedges and ponds, a few fountains seen, old gardeners tending the bushes, and I noticed the obvious building work.
Inside, bedsheets hanging up to hide the dusty building work, the staff led us to rooms on the second floor, a lift available for the short trip up, and I found a room that looked like a movie set. It was definitely not to my taste.
The view of the gardens and golf course from the balcony was great, guests - and future sick pensioners - would appreciate it, but I preferred a simple room. The one in Iceland with the bad-smelling water was better than this, this was … my super-rich eccentric granddad’s bedroom after cleaning.
Back downstairs, I met Ross and David in the main kitchen area, staff on hand to serve us, ladies in pink aprons. Maria and the contessa came down, Isabela, then finally Luka, Katerina, and the social worker.
Ross gave us the tour, explaining the renovation as the empty old house was converted into what would someday soon be a busy nursing home. We got to see the indoor heated pool, the huge conservatory, the small cinema, and outside we viewed several large ponds full of colourful fish.
Golf carts arrived outside the main door, and we all jumped aboard, a short ride through the fantastic gardens and up a slight slope to a row of two-storey apartments behind the golf hotel, the apartments made to look as if they were old via an outside covering of local stone tiles.
Entering on the ground floor, we viewed what would soon be a Phase-One style apartment for someone to buy. It was a good size, and it came with a small kitchen, already hand rails fitted in the bathroom and a red emergency cord to pull.
The lounge opened onto a stone terrace, which opened directly into the sumptuous gardens, so the residents would be spoilt. And those residents could have meals delivered, or they could eat in the main house or at the golf hotel.
Over at the golf hotel it was quiet, now off-season, just twenty percent occupancy being reported to me by the staff - as if I owned the place, and some of those guests were long-term residents.
The staff showed us the gym and the pool, the sauna and massage areas, and up in a lift three floors we found a roof terrace with a view of the distant ocean, the golf course and the gardens.
Sat, we were brought drinks, and we enjoyed the view, the weather today pleasant enough for November, Maria taking photos.
‘This will all be a nursing home?’ the contessa asked Ross.
‘No, the golf course will remain as it is now, so too this hotel, but the apartments you just saw will join with the house to make the nursing home. It will be exclusive, already many enquiries from rich people on the island.
‘More apartments will be built, the other side of the house, so our Phase One will hold perhaps sixty people, the house will hold perhaps forty, some being married couples of course.’
‘Small and exclusive,’ I noted. ‘Golf on hand for Phase One residents. I think the gardens will sell the apartments, the residents get to walk around them each day.’
A tall, well-dressed and grey-haired man walked out to us in a blue blazer, Isabela standing and greeting him, the contessa standing and being greeted. He finally shook my hand. ‘I am Robert de Castillion,’ he announced, the Robert pronounced as Row-bair.
‘I’m Roskov.’
He laughed. ‘There is no mistaking you.’
We sat, a drink ordered for our new friend.
He began, ‘I know Isabela here quite well. In fact, my ancestors kidnapped and raped the women in her family and then fled to the Crusades – and never came back.’
‘We forgave them,’ Isabela began. ‘And then took their lands by force, several marriages forced upon them.’
‘Yes,’ Robert agreed with a smile. ‘You now own my favourite valley here.’
‘Did anyone own Mandoch Valley?’ I asked him.
‘Here, our ancestors would own land that could produce wine or crops or animals, or had a natural spring, not barren rocks. There was no Lord of Mandoch, it was waste ground, a place for pirates to hide sometimes.’
‘Have you heard of any modern day protests about my involvement there?’
‘No, we care little for goats, and if the tourists have access ... there will be no complaints.’
‘Isabela and the countess wish to build villas there,’ I told him.
‘A fantastic place to have a house when the new road is complete, yes. I may also ask you.’
‘There’ll be plenty of villas to buy, and land to buy, but I may ask … that you assist with my social projects here.’
‘I am already doing as such, and I follow these new nursing homes with interest. Here in Corsica and France … if you give to charity you benefit from good tax rules, so us rich land owners give to charity if we believe in them or not.’
‘Where is your land?’
‘The east side, plenty of good beaches, and we now own six hotels.’
‘Our new import venture could supply your hotels at good prices, and we would place stock with you – you pay when you use it.’
‘A generous scheme, which I must look at, yes. And this retirement village?’
‘My aim is to create rooms for fifty thousand people here on the island.’
‘There are many small nursing homes, and many old people are nursed in their own homes here. When they get too sick to live at home then I guess they will consider your retirement village.’
‘We have the cooperation of the French Government, who would be happy to see us house fifty thousand people here, the same number in Paris.’
‘Yes, they struggle with this dilemma; our nursing homes in Paris have a bad reputation. Perhaps you will reverse it.’
‘We will,’ I adamantly stated. ‘Did you know Kudulov?’
‘Yes, I played golf here often and entertained guests and friends here.’
‘I’ve tripped across a few people that would have wanted to break a bottle over his head.’
He smiled. ‘He did not talk nicely to people, and he had no patience at all. It was no good trying to make small talk with him.’
I faced Isabela. ‘Does he … know?’
She faced him. ‘Air Kudulov was my biological father.’
‘Kudulov?’ the man asked, wide-eyed. She nodded. ‘My god. You make a claim?’
‘No, and the lawyers say there is no claim.’
I told him, ‘Isabela will join with the contessa and myself and we’ll build nursing homes here, we’ll help each other. In Italy, I recently secured a deal for nursing home beds. They sell for ten thousand Euro normally, but I will buy a thousand beds for only four thousand Euro each and bring them here.’
‘These special beds are expensive, yes.’ He faced the contessa. ‘We first met in the city, a function, 1970 I think.’
‘You were young and good looking then,’ she noted.
He laughed loudly as I smiled widely. ‘Yes, I was good looking back then. And I had some time with Isabela’s mother. We were close for a while.’ He faced her. ‘I may have ended up as your father.’
‘The man that raised me was a good man, taken when young.’
‘A heart attack?’
She nodded. ‘Now I have lost my mother, but I have gained a … cousin of sorts in Ricky and a new sister in Luka.’
Robert now clocked the baby. ‘My god, Katerina Mary?’
‘Yes,’ Isabela told him, and she lifted the baby over for Katerina to get a good look at the newcomer, Katerina now in a cute hat to keep the sun off.
‘You make this film about her?’ he asked me as he held her hands.
‘It will be released in a few months, then we’ll start on a film about Kudulov.’
‘A film about him?’
‘His life story.’
‘He said little about his family, sent to the gas chambers they say.’
‘Yes. When the Russian Army drew near, at the end of the war, his father hid him under the hut, then the Germans killed everyone and fled. Kudulov walked a hundred miles barefoot, got on a boat to Sweden and made it to France.
‘But he told me that he was always hungry, because he had starved in the camps. He never recovered, he had the emotional baggage all his life, and when I asked him where he would chose to die – if he could chose, he said: between crisp white sheets in a nice hotel.
‘He took his own life in a hotel in New York after meeting with me.’
Robert stared at me, squinting in the bright sun. ‘And now you control the estate, and the charity…’
‘To do some good for the world with his money. Atonement.’
Katerina made an odd noise and turned to me, a small hand raised towards the man walking out the door. And that man looked out of place somehow, his expression not a friendly one.
I stood and eased past my guest, my face turning to Ross, my expression alerting him to trouble. Turning back to the new man, we had perhaps six or seven steps between us.
The man had been focused on the baby but was now focused on me, and my expression said that I was about to kill him as I quickly closed the distance.
His eyes widened, and his hand went inside his jacket as I rushed in, my foot hitting him in the solar plexus, the air leaving his lungs, his pistol dropped after a loud shot had discharged past my ear.
Screams registered from somewhere.
He bounced off a wooden pillar, my chop to his throat startling him as he was again knocked back towards the pillar.
My punch was well timed and well-aimed, not that my opponent was thinking clearly - he was focused on his closed windpipe, and my punch to his chin knocked him out, but his head smashing into the pillar for a third time may have contributed.
He slumped as David and Ross came running, staff running out from inside, Ross shouting orders at the staff.
Security men appeared after I had gone back to the tables and checked on my group; none had been shot. And I remembered that Robert was in the way, no line of shot at the baby. So who had the assassin been focused on?
The contessa was on her feet and wanting blood. ‘Who does he come for?’
‘I don’t know. Robert, have you upset someone’s wife?’
He did not look happy at my comment, his phone out, a glance at me and not appreciating the humour, many sentences issued in French into the phone as he stepped away.
With his call ended, he finally came back and faced me squarely. ‘I will find out who sent him,’ he growled as his own security men appeared, rushing to him. He waved them off and they stood near the door.
He finally returned, and he faced me again. ‘How did you know?’
‘The look on his face.’
He studied me. ‘You move like James Bond.’
‘I had training, for the movies, stunt work.’ I sat and sipped my drink, the social worker terrified, Isabela stoic, Luka terrified.
A guard shouted something to Robert.
Robert faced me. ‘The man is dead.’
‘I’ll send flowers to his family,’ I quipped. ‘Unless you did upset his wife of course.’
Sirens registered a minute later, and we soon had what looked like sixty police officers here, some with rifles, Robert making calls and taking calls, the contessa reporting the incident, Ross on the phone – and not a happy bunny.
I had seen Ross take the assassin’s ID and call it in before placing it on the man’s chest. Robert had snatched it up and examined it, also calling it in.
Ten minutes later the fat old Chief of Police stepped to me and introduced himself. ‘This man has fake ID, he is not French. We must run the fingerprints and his face.’
‘I defended myself and the baby, so …am I in trouble?’
‘No. Whoever sent that man … is in trouble,’ he angrily stated. ‘If Kudulov was alive … that man does not come here.’
‘I don’t hire men to break the law,’ I told him. ‘I am not Kudulov.’
He nodded, his features softening, and he returned to the crime scene, Maria distraught so I comforted her. She downed a white wine.
I finally had a quiet moment with David and Ross. ‘How did he know we would be here?’ I posed.
‘The staff knew yesterday, and they might have talked in a local coffee shop, but that guy would need time to plan something.’
‘So maybe Robert was the target?’
‘He has enemies,’ Ross whispered, and I exchanged a look with David as the sirens wailed in the distance, blue uniforms everywhere.
‘You moved fast…’ David noted.
‘Katerina kind of told me to. She had him spotted first.’
David’s eyes widened. ‘Fuck me.’
A police officer approached. ‘May we have a brief statement, sir?’
‘Of course. I was sat, but facing the door, the man appeared looking angry at us, so I jumped up and took a step towards him. He rushed towards us, a hand inside his jacket, so I kicked him.
‘He hit the pillar, I punched him twice, he went down. That’s it I’m afraid, I don’t know him and … I wasn’t expecting trouble here, but … I’m always alert.’
‘There is camera footage.’
‘May I ask … that it not go to the media?’
He nodded. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Ross Daniels is my attorney, for more information. My name is Ricky Roskov.’
The man laughed. ‘I know the name, sir.’
Under heavy escort, we were led to the house without Robert, and guards had now been posted with police everywhere, which left me cursing. I wanted to kill that man all over again.
In my room, I called my father first. ‘Listen, don’t worry or panic -’
‘Oh gawd, what now?’
‘I killed an armed assassin.’
‘You’re hurt?’
‘No.’
‘He was after you?’
‘We think not, too soon to tell, there were many people with me – including Katerina Mary.’
‘She’s OK?’ came in gasp.
‘Yes, relax, tell mum and Michelle, and lazy fat Carter.’
Next call was Lucas. ‘We’re OK, ignore the news, but I killed an armed assassin in Corsica.’
‘You … what?’
‘Chat later.’ I called Rolf. ‘Where are you?’
‘At home.’
‘Twins?’
‘On a photoshoot with Eva and Claudia in Berlin.’
‘I … killed an armed man coming at me.’
‘Oh my god. He wanted to shoot you?’
‘No, we think he was after a rich man with us, and … Katerina told me the man was coming at us.’
‘She … what?’
‘She alerted me to him, and pointed him out.’
‘I … I need a lay down, and more stiff drink.’
‘We’re OK, update everyone. But no mention of the baby, eh.’ I cut the call. ‘Poor bastard, he has me dating his daughters.’
Back downstairs, I ordered food from the lady in the pink apron, Ross sat making calls and writing things down.
He finally came and sat next to me with his files. ‘That man’s face was recognised by immigration, an Italian by birth and linked to the Mafia, fake French ID – so he spoke fluent French I guess.’
‘Mafia would never risk the baby!’
‘No, so I’m leaning towards Robert; his son gave evidence against the Italian Mafia, and a Mafia man hiding here was caught thanks to Robert.’
‘I … have a sneaky idea. Which Mafia group?’
‘Genoa, the Matelli family.’
In a sneaky move, I called Bishop Armani. ‘It’s me. I just saved Katerina Mary from a man armed with a gun, sent by the Genoa Matelli Mafia family. Look into it quickly please.’
‘She is OK?’ came from a shocked bishop.
‘Yes, fine.’
Ross was grinning as I put my phone away. ‘Every last person in Italy will be against them now.’
‘Yes, so leak it to the Italian media.’
He made a call and finally returned to the table.
‘Your wife?’ I asked.
‘Will be here soon,’ he said, letting out a loud sigh.
‘I think Rolf will have a heart attack someday soon thanks to me. If your wife calls from the airport, calm her before she gets here, eh.’
He lifted his eyebrows and nodded.
Robert came in fifteen minutes later. He sat without saying anything and faced me. ‘I must apologise to the contessa, and … I am horrified that the baby was there. This man … he … he came for me.’
‘You worked against the Mafia, the right thing to do, so don’t feel bad - and you have nothing to apologise for. Within an hour, everyone in Italy will know that the baby was in harm’s way thanks to the Mafia, and they will take action.’
‘But … the man came for me.’
‘And if he had missed you by a few inches…’
His head dropped and he looked worried. ‘Yes, the baby was right there.’
‘So we will deal a blow to these Mafia men,’ I told him.
Bishop Armani called back. ‘The baby is OK?’
‘Yes, Bishop Armani.’ Robert’s eyes widened.
‘And you are OK?’
‘Yes, don’t worry.’
Less than an hour later we could see Corsica, and I could soon see the runway – so I was relieved, a slow smooth approach and soft touchdown offered to me. We taxied to the waiting police cars, and we disembarked our noisy ride in fine weather.
The wind was a bit chill, but the sun was out as we waited in an Arrivals area for private customers, the toilets used, tea and coffee sipped.
Luggage collected, minibuses ready, police escort ready, and we set off north and past the city, the contessa remembering places and pointing at them.
Beyond the city, we drove up the middle of a flat gentle valley of farmland, which opened out into a large golf course, the golf hotel seen on the right through the trees, then we finally glimpsed the wide two-storey Kudulov house behind tall thin trees ahead of us.
Gate guards greeted us, saluting Ross Daniels when he clambered down to speak to them, and we were met at the main house by a line of staff – stood as if about to be inspected by a drill sergeant, stood in front of a huge stone house that could house sixty people.
Down from the minibus I took in the ornate gardens, the hedges and ponds, a few fountains seen, old gardeners tending the bushes, and I noticed the obvious building work.
Inside, bedsheets hanging up to hide the dusty building work, the staff led us to rooms on the second floor, a lift available for the short trip up, and I found a room that looked like a movie set. It was definitely not to my taste.
The view of the gardens and golf course from the balcony was great, guests - and future sick pensioners - would appreciate it, but I preferred a simple room. The one in Iceland with the bad-smelling water was better than this, this was … my super-rich eccentric granddad’s bedroom after cleaning.
Back downstairs, I met Ross and David in the main kitchen area, staff on hand to serve us, ladies in pink aprons. Maria and the contessa came down, Isabela, then finally Luka, Katerina, and the social worker.
Ross gave us the tour, explaining the renovation as the empty old house was converted into what would someday soon be a busy nursing home. We got to see the indoor heated pool, the huge conservatory, the small cinema, and outside we viewed several large ponds full of colourful fish.
Golf carts arrived outside the main door, and we all jumped aboard, a short ride through the fantastic gardens and up a slight slope to a row of two-storey apartments behind the golf hotel, the apartments made to look as if they were old via an outside covering of local stone tiles.
Entering on the ground floor, we viewed what would soon be a Phase-One style apartment for someone to buy. It was a good size, and it came with a small kitchen, already hand rails fitted in the bathroom and a red emergency cord to pull.
The lounge opened onto a stone terrace, which opened directly into the sumptuous gardens, so the residents would be spoilt. And those residents could have meals delivered, or they could eat in the main house or at the golf hotel.
Over at the golf hotel it was quiet, now off-season, just twenty percent occupancy being reported to me by the staff - as if I owned the place, and some of those guests were long-term residents.
The staff showed us the gym and the pool, the sauna and massage areas, and up in a lift three floors we found a roof terrace with a view of the distant ocean, the golf course and the gardens.
Sat, we were brought drinks, and we enjoyed the view, the weather today pleasant enough for November, Maria taking photos.
‘This will all be a nursing home?’ the contessa asked Ross.
‘No, the golf course will remain as it is now, so too this hotel, but the apartments you just saw will join with the house to make the nursing home. It will be exclusive, already many enquiries from rich people on the island.
‘More apartments will be built, the other side of the house, so our Phase One will hold perhaps sixty people, the house will hold perhaps forty, some being married couples of course.’
‘Small and exclusive,’ I noted. ‘Golf on hand for Phase One residents. I think the gardens will sell the apartments, the residents get to walk around them each day.’
A tall, well-dressed and grey-haired man walked out to us in a blue blazer, Isabela standing and greeting him, the contessa standing and being greeted. He finally shook my hand. ‘I am Robert de Castillion,’ he announced, the Robert pronounced as Row-bair.
‘I’m Roskov.’
He laughed. ‘There is no mistaking you.’
We sat, a drink ordered for our new friend.
He began, ‘I know Isabela here quite well. In fact, my ancestors kidnapped and raped the women in her family and then fled to the Crusades – and never came back.’
‘We forgave them,’ Isabela began. ‘And then took their lands by force, several marriages forced upon them.’
‘Yes,’ Robert agreed with a smile. ‘You now own my favourite valley here.’
‘Did anyone own Mandoch Valley?’ I asked him.
‘Here, our ancestors would own land that could produce wine or crops or animals, or had a natural spring, not barren rocks. There was no Lord of Mandoch, it was waste ground, a place for pirates to hide sometimes.’
‘Have you heard of any modern day protests about my involvement there?’
‘No, we care little for goats, and if the tourists have access ... there will be no complaints.’
‘Isabela and the countess wish to build villas there,’ I told him.
‘A fantastic place to have a house when the new road is complete, yes. I may also ask you.’
‘There’ll be plenty of villas to buy, and land to buy, but I may ask … that you assist with my social projects here.’
‘I am already doing as such, and I follow these new nursing homes with interest. Here in Corsica and France … if you give to charity you benefit from good tax rules, so us rich land owners give to charity if we believe in them or not.’
‘Where is your land?’
‘The east side, plenty of good beaches, and we now own six hotels.’
‘Our new import venture could supply your hotels at good prices, and we would place stock with you – you pay when you use it.’
‘A generous scheme, which I must look at, yes. And this retirement village?’
‘My aim is to create rooms for fifty thousand people here on the island.’
‘There are many small nursing homes, and many old people are nursed in their own homes here. When they get too sick to live at home then I guess they will consider your retirement village.’
‘We have the cooperation of the French Government, who would be happy to see us house fifty thousand people here, the same number in Paris.’
‘Yes, they struggle with this dilemma; our nursing homes in Paris have a bad reputation. Perhaps you will reverse it.’
‘We will,’ I adamantly stated. ‘Did you know Kudulov?’
‘Yes, I played golf here often and entertained guests and friends here.’
‘I’ve tripped across a few people that would have wanted to break a bottle over his head.’
He smiled. ‘He did not talk nicely to people, and he had no patience at all. It was no good trying to make small talk with him.’
I faced Isabela. ‘Does he … know?’
She faced him. ‘Air Kudulov was my biological father.’
‘Kudulov?’ the man asked, wide-eyed. She nodded. ‘My god. You make a claim?’
‘No, and the lawyers say there is no claim.’
I told him, ‘Isabela will join with the contessa and myself and we’ll build nursing homes here, we’ll help each other. In Italy, I recently secured a deal for nursing home beds. They sell for ten thousand Euro normally, but I will buy a thousand beds for only four thousand Euro each and bring them here.’
‘These special beds are expensive, yes.’ He faced the contessa. ‘We first met in the city, a function, 1970 I think.’
‘You were young and good looking then,’ she noted.
He laughed loudly as I smiled widely. ‘Yes, I was good looking back then. And I had some time with Isabela’s mother. We were close for a while.’ He faced her. ‘I may have ended up as your father.’
‘The man that raised me was a good man, taken when young.’
‘A heart attack?’
She nodded. ‘Now I have lost my mother, but I have gained a … cousin of sorts in Ricky and a new sister in Luka.’
Robert now clocked the baby. ‘My god, Katerina Mary?’
‘Yes,’ Isabela told him, and she lifted the baby over for Katerina to get a good look at the newcomer, Katerina now in a cute hat to keep the sun off.
‘You make this film about her?’ he asked me as he held her hands.
‘It will be released in a few months, then we’ll start on a film about Kudulov.’
‘A film about him?’
‘His life story.’
‘He said little about his family, sent to the gas chambers they say.’
‘Yes. When the Russian Army drew near, at the end of the war, his father hid him under the hut, then the Germans killed everyone and fled. Kudulov walked a hundred miles barefoot, got on a boat to Sweden and made it to France.
‘But he told me that he was always hungry, because he had starved in the camps. He never recovered, he had the emotional baggage all his life, and when I asked him where he would chose to die – if he could chose, he said: between crisp white sheets in a nice hotel.
‘He took his own life in a hotel in New York after meeting with me.’
Robert stared at me, squinting in the bright sun. ‘And now you control the estate, and the charity…’
‘To do some good for the world with his money. Atonement.’
Katerina made an odd noise and turned to me, a small hand raised towards the man walking out the door. And that man looked out of place somehow, his expression not a friendly one.
I stood and eased past my guest, my face turning to Ross, my expression alerting him to trouble. Turning back to the new man, we had perhaps six or seven steps between us.
The man had been focused on the baby but was now focused on me, and my expression said that I was about to kill him as I quickly closed the distance.
His eyes widened, and his hand went inside his jacket as I rushed in, my foot hitting him in the solar plexus, the air leaving his lungs, his pistol dropped after a loud shot had discharged past my ear.
Screams registered from somewhere.
He bounced off a wooden pillar, my chop to his throat startling him as he was again knocked back towards the pillar.
My punch was well timed and well-aimed, not that my opponent was thinking clearly - he was focused on his closed windpipe, and my punch to his chin knocked him out, but his head smashing into the pillar for a third time may have contributed.
He slumped as David and Ross came running, staff running out from inside, Ross shouting orders at the staff.
Security men appeared after I had gone back to the tables and checked on my group; none had been shot. And I remembered that Robert was in the way, no line of shot at the baby. So who had the assassin been focused on?
The contessa was on her feet and wanting blood. ‘Who does he come for?’
‘I don’t know. Robert, have you upset someone’s wife?’
He did not look happy at my comment, his phone out, a glance at me and not appreciating the humour, many sentences issued in French into the phone as he stepped away.
With his call ended, he finally came back and faced me squarely. ‘I will find out who sent him,’ he growled as his own security men appeared, rushing to him. He waved them off and they stood near the door.
He finally returned, and he faced me again. ‘How did you know?’
‘The look on his face.’
He studied me. ‘You move like James Bond.’
‘I had training, for the movies, stunt work.’ I sat and sipped my drink, the social worker terrified, Isabela stoic, Luka terrified.
A guard shouted something to Robert.
Robert faced me. ‘The man is dead.’
‘I’ll send flowers to his family,’ I quipped. ‘Unless you did upset his wife of course.’
Sirens registered a minute later, and we soon had what looked like sixty police officers here, some with rifles, Robert making calls and taking calls, the contessa reporting the incident, Ross on the phone – and not a happy bunny.
I had seen Ross take the assassin’s ID and call it in before placing it on the man’s chest. Robert had snatched it up and examined it, also calling it in.
Ten minutes later the fat old Chief of Police stepped to me and introduced himself. ‘This man has fake ID, he is not French. We must run the fingerprints and his face.’
‘I defended myself and the baby, so …am I in trouble?’
‘No. Whoever sent that man … is in trouble,’ he angrily stated. ‘If Kudulov was alive … that man does not come here.’
‘I don’t hire men to break the law,’ I told him. ‘I am not Kudulov.’
He nodded, his features softening, and he returned to the crime scene, Maria distraught so I comforted her. She downed a white wine.
I finally had a quiet moment with David and Ross. ‘How did he know we would be here?’ I posed.
‘The staff knew yesterday, and they might have talked in a local coffee shop, but that guy would need time to plan something.’
‘So maybe Robert was the target?’
‘He has enemies,’ Ross whispered, and I exchanged a look with David as the sirens wailed in the distance, blue uniforms everywhere.
‘You moved fast…’ David noted.
‘Katerina kind of told me to. She had him spotted first.’
David’s eyes widened. ‘Fuck me.’
A police officer approached. ‘May we have a brief statement, sir?’
‘Of course. I was sat, but facing the door, the man appeared looking angry at us, so I jumped up and took a step towards him. He rushed towards us, a hand inside his jacket, so I kicked him.
‘He hit the pillar, I punched him twice, he went down. That’s it I’m afraid, I don’t know him and … I wasn’t expecting trouble here, but … I’m always alert.’
‘There is camera footage.’
‘May I ask … that it not go to the media?’
He nodded. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Ross Daniels is my attorney, for more information. My name is Ricky Roskov.’
The man laughed. ‘I know the name, sir.’
Under heavy escort, we were led to the house without Robert, and guards had now been posted with police everywhere, which left me cursing. I wanted to kill that man all over again.
In my room, I called my father first. ‘Listen, don’t worry or panic -’
‘Oh gawd, what now?’
‘I killed an armed assassin.’
‘You’re hurt?’
‘No.’
‘He was after you?’
‘We think not, too soon to tell, there were many people with me – including Katerina Mary.’
‘She’s OK?’ came in gasp.
‘Yes, relax, tell mum and Michelle, and lazy fat Carter.’
Next call was Lucas. ‘We’re OK, ignore the news, but I killed an armed assassin in Corsica.’
‘You … what?’
‘Chat later.’ I called Rolf. ‘Where are you?’
‘At home.’
‘Twins?’
‘On a photoshoot with Eva and Claudia in Berlin.’
‘I … killed an armed man coming at me.’
‘Oh my god. He wanted to shoot you?’
‘No, we think he was after a rich man with us, and … Katerina told me the man was coming at us.’
‘She … what?’
‘She alerted me to him, and pointed him out.’
‘I … I need a lay down, and more stiff drink.’
‘We’re OK, update everyone. But no mention of the baby, eh.’ I cut the call. ‘Poor bastard, he has me dating his daughters.’
Back downstairs, I ordered food from the lady in the pink apron, Ross sat making calls and writing things down.
He finally came and sat next to me with his files. ‘That man’s face was recognised by immigration, an Italian by birth and linked to the Mafia, fake French ID – so he spoke fluent French I guess.’
‘Mafia would never risk the baby!’
‘No, so I’m leaning towards Robert; his son gave evidence against the Italian Mafia, and a Mafia man hiding here was caught thanks to Robert.’
‘I … have a sneaky idea. Which Mafia group?’
‘Genoa, the Matelli family.’
In a sneaky move, I called Bishop Armani. ‘It’s me. I just saved Katerina Mary from a man armed with a gun, sent by the Genoa Matelli Mafia family. Look into it quickly please.’
‘She is OK?’ came from a shocked bishop.
‘Yes, fine.’
Ross was grinning as I put my phone away. ‘Every last person in Italy will be against them now.’
‘Yes, so leak it to the Italian media.’
He made a call and finally returned to the table.
‘Your wife?’ I asked.
‘Will be here soon,’ he said, letting out a loud sigh.
‘I think Rolf will have a heart attack someday soon thanks to me. If your wife calls from the airport, calm her before she gets here, eh.’
He lifted his eyebrows and nodded.
Robert came in fifteen minutes later. He sat without saying anything and faced me. ‘I must apologise to the contessa, and … I am horrified that the baby was there. This man … he … he came for me.’
‘You worked against the Mafia, the right thing to do, so don’t feel bad - and you have nothing to apologise for. Within an hour, everyone in Italy will know that the baby was in harm’s way thanks to the Mafia, and they will take action.’
‘But … the man came for me.’
‘And if he had missed you by a few inches…’
His head dropped and he looked worried. ‘Yes, the baby was right there.’
‘So we will deal a blow to these Mafia men,’ I told him.
Bishop Armani called back. ‘The baby is OK?’
‘Yes, Bishop Armani.’ Robert’s eyes widened.
‘And you are OK?’
‘Yes, don’t worry.’
