“Yeah. It’s harder to fire somebody who maybe knows something you don’t want them to know. Five people—that we know of—worked on this major campaign. Two of them are dead. It makes you wonder.”
“It’s a damn complicated and callous way to get rid of a competitor or a blackmailer—or inconvenience.”
“I don’t know. Business is dog eat cat, right?”
“Dog.”
“I said dog.”
He chuckled, sent her a look of amused affection. “Dog eat dog.”
“That’s just stupid. Dogs eat cats. Everybody knows that.”
“I stand corrected. Business is dog eat cat.”
“Like I said. So. Factor in Mira’s profile. Not getting the attention he wants, craves, no conscience, a need for power and control. Add in both times a woman—say, girl—was used as the vessel. He’s pissed off. It’s time for a goddamn statement. But he doesn’t have the balls to kill direct, to get his hands bloody. Let the girl do it. The girl’s beneath him anyway. Delivery girl—menial—the girl at the bar—just some unimportant drone.”
For a moment or two she tapped her fingers on her knees. “So, if it’s one of them, it’s not Weaver.”
“She’d have used a man.”
“Bull’s-eye. Using men is what she’s used to. And if, again, it’s one of them and Cattery was a target, she would have used him as the vessel. Just slip the vial in his pocket, walk out. Same with Fisher. Plenty of opportunities for her to plant the substance on Fisher. Say she ran into her, like she said, on Fisher’s way out. She could’ve walked out with her, told Fisher to go on in, get them a table. Just have to run over to the wherever for a minute.”
“Yes, it’s simpler. Why complicate it?”
“And Weaver’s not a loner, not by nature. Engaged twice. Maybe she can’t commit, but she makes personal connections. She’s a team player, just one who wants to captain the team.”
Time well spent, Eve considered. The meeting at S&R had been time well spent.
“I’m going to look at Fisher’s financials, run her hard, just in case. But until I see different, she was Weaver’s protegee. Someone she was training and molding to rise. And that rise would be a feather in her pocket, right?”
“I hesitate to say, but that would be cap. And yes, it would be.” He drove through the gates, wound up the drive. “Who is it then? Vann or Callaway?”
“I don’t know if it’s either of them. Maybe Scientist Lester. Maybe somebody I haven’t looked at hard enough yet. We still haven’t nailed down any connection to Red Horse, and that’s key.”
He got out of the car with her, looked at her in the brisk, breezy fall evening. “But you’re leaning toward one.”
“I’m thinking about leaning toward one. What I’d like to do is think about leaning toward one with a glass of wine and a clear head.”
“Why don’t we arrange that?”
“Why don’t we?” She held out a hand for his. “You were aloof, superior, and just a little rude.”
“And it comes so naturally.”
“Yeah, it does.”
He laughed, leaned in to kiss her. And bit her lightly on the bottom lip. “And here I was considering arranging spaghetti and meatballs with that wine.”
“I take it all back. You had to put on an Oscar-winning performance to pull off the aloof, superior, and just a little rude.”
“Now you’re just pandering. Speaking of Oscars, the premiere for Nadine’s vid is only a few weeks away.”
“Please, don’t remind me.” She walked inside where Summerset stood in the foyer. Before she could formulate an opening insult, he stepped forward. “I have a name. Guiseppi Menzini.”
“Who is he?”
“Was he. He was a scientist, reputed to be the leader of one of the Red Horse factions. He was apprehended in Corsica, two weeks after the incident in Rome.”
“He was responsible?”
“One moment,” Roarke interrupted. “We’ll go sit down in the parlor. Eve wants a glass of wine, and you look as if you could use one.”
“Yes, I could. I’ll get it.”
Roarke laid a hand on Summerset’s arm. “Come in, sit. I’ll get the wine. Have you eaten?” Roarke asked as he crossed to a japanned cabinet.
“Tending to me now?”
“You look tired.”
Eve stood for a moment, hands in pockets. “I was thinking you look even more dead than usual.”
That got the slightest ghost of a smile as the cat rubbed against his legs. “The day’s been long.”
So they should get to it, Eve decided, and sat on a plush ottoman as rich as rubies. “Guiseppi Menzini. What do you know?”
“Born in Rome, 1988, the son of a defrocked priest and one of his faithful. My information indicates Salvador Menzini’s literal interpretation of the Bible meant women were to bear children in pain and blood. Guiseppi’s mother died a few weeks after his birth from complications in childbirth, attended only by Salvador.”
“Rough start.”
“Indeed. Thank you,” Summerset said when Roarke handed him a glass of wine. “Salvador raised the boy alone, educated him. They traveled across Europe, Salvador preaching. He may have fathered more children as part of his doctrine held that man was obligated to populate the Earth, and women were created to subjugate themselves to a man’s will, his needs, his desires. There was no rape in Salvador’s teachings as he claimed it was a man’s God-given right to take any women he pleased, over the age of fourteen.”
“Handy for him.”
“The law, however, disagrees. He was arrested in London for sexual assault. Guiseppi would have been twelve, if records are correct.”
“Close enough,” Eve told him.
“The boy evaded child protection. One of Salvador’s wealthy followers posted his bail and he went into hiding. There isn’t much information on either of them for the next several years, but the Red Horse cult was born during that period, or at least the seeds of it were planted. In 2012 Salvador was shot and killed by the father of a fifteen- year-old girl during an attempted abduction.”
“And the son?” Eve prompted.
“He came to the attention of the CIA, MI6 and various other covert organizations two years later. He had an aptitude for chemistry.”
Eve looked into her wine, thought:
“It’s believed he must have studied under an assumed name, but I can’t find any confirmation. Between 2012 and 2016, and the dawn of the Urban Wars in Europe, he developed biological weapons for various terrorists groups. He had no particular allegiance, even to Red Horse, though it’s believed he stood as leader of a faction of that group. He had fortifications in at least three locations in England, Italy, and France.”
“Not here?” Eve interrupted. “Not in the U.S.?”
“Nothing on record, no. He enjoyed Europe, and preferred cities over the country, as had his father. While the Urban Wars raged and spread, he supplied the highest bidder with munitions, explosives, and his specialty— bioweapons.
“He had no children on record,” Summerset continued, “but witness reports—including those of recovered children his sect and others abducted, state he had many—though it’s not verified if they were biological offspring, or abductees he’d taken as his own. There were others like him, and others with more followers, more power. He wasn’t considered a top priority, though there were attempts to capture or assassinate. Again, according to reports—reports that were and are carefully buried, one of the assassination attempts resulted in the deaths of five children. Two months after that, the cafe outside of London was attacked. He became a top priority.”
“Sometimes late’s as bad as never.”
Summerset studied Eve as he sipped his wine. “To say the world was in disarray is the least of it. Looting,
