“Natural?”
“Yes.” Potassium chloride is a naturally occurring substance, after all.
Il Magnifico leaned forward, elbows on knees, pointing the cigar at Gage. “Can you get the business going again?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Then why are you here?”
Eyeing the deck, Gage thought things through…
Stop playing cat-and-mouse. Let him have it all, right now, then let the chips fall where they may.
“Well, sir,” Gage said, unsuccessfully trying to halt the words charging up his throat. “Despite what the authorities have said, I do believe that Karl Vogel was murdered. After digging into his affairs, I zeroed in on you as someone I needed to speak with.”
To his credit, the drug baron didn’t react. He tried to puff the cigar. He relit it, spinning it slowly until it was burning again. Then he asked Gage a question. “What would I have to gain by killing a sick old man?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked if you owed him money.”
Gesturing with his hand, Il Magnifico said, “Do I appear insolvent?”
“I’m not into appearances.”
“You’re also not in any type of law enforcement. You’re an American with a vanilla past. Too vanilla, especially to be working for the Vogels. So, Mister Hartline, after I’ve graciously hosted you on my yacht, and despite the insults I’ve endured, I request the totality of your truth.” His gaze hardened. “What’s your role in all of this?”
Gage told him, taking his time. He explained why he’d been hired and nearly all he’d learned since first arriving at the Vogel estate. The only major point he left out involved his suspicion of the daughters, and the allegation that they’d been sexually abused. There were dozens of questions, which Gage answered.
By the time the conversation had resolved itself, Il Magnifico had smoked his cigar to a nub and tossed it overboard. He sat thoughtfully for a moment. “It could be anyone, assuming he was murdered. The man was an asshole, and a deviant.”
“Explain the deviant part,” Gage said. He’d not mentioned anything sexual in nature, so this was Il Magnifico’s supposition alone.
“I’ll explain briefly. And then I’d like you to leave.”
“Fine.”
“Years ago, maybe fifteen years, soon after Herr Vogel and I began to work together, he stayed with me on my yacht. It wasn’t this one. It was smaller.” A humorless smile. “The Internet was young. My operation wasn’t as substantial then.”
Gage was silent.
“He stayed about a week. We hammered out many points that led to the business that has transpired since then.”
“And?”
“And, after he departed, I began to hear tales from my crew. There was one, a maid from Ethiopia. According to her, he bribed her to do many unusual things in his stateroom.”
Although Gage couldn’t shake what Katja had told him, he didn’t want to seem overly moved by this story from a notorious criminal. He looked out at the sea. “That doesn’t tell me much.”
“She was thirteen.”
Gage rotated his eyes to the Italian.
“Thirteen, Mister Hartline, the daughter of the chief stewardess.”
“Do you know for sure?”
“The mother complained to me after Herr Vogel had left. Though I didn’t want to, I phoned him about it. He denied it but sent them a check. A very large check.” Il Magnifico shook his head as his nostrils flared.
“And you continued to work with him?” Gage asked, hardly able to contain the fury from his voice.
“Who are you to judge me?”
Gage stood and walked to the stairway. “Call your man to take me to the shore. Being in your presence makes me sick.”
During the entire ride back to the Cote d’Azur, Gage awaited a bullet to the back that never came. He was disgusted by what he’d heard, but he had to consider Il Magnifico’s intelligence before jumping to conclusions. If what Katja had said was true, about their father abusing them, then a man with Il Magnifico’s resources might know this. If he had indeed killed Herr Vogel, might he have spun this tale about the Ethiopian girl to throw Gage from his scent?
Was the man that intelligent, or was Gage reaching?
After the launch deposited him without fanfare at the point, Gage waited until it sped away before he unloaded the pistol, flinging it out into the deep. He dropped the bullets, one by one, in the water as he walked the quay back to the parking lot.
Three hours later, Gage sat in the window seat on the very last row of another Lufthansa Airbus A320. He watched the city of Nice grow smaller as the plane banked out over the water. It climbed as it continued to turn, eventually headed to the north-northeast.
Gage Hartline had no idea what to do. None whatsoever. Years ago, when he’d been on Colonel Hunter’s team, the good colonel had always preached what a person was to do when finding themselves bewildered.
“Get back to basics.”
Tomorrow, Gage would do just that.
Or, so he thought.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Despite the late hour, Frankfurt International Airport bustled with its typical intensity. Saddled with only his backpack, Gage exited the secure area, passing through the wide arrivals pavilion dominated by shops, rental car agencies and currency exchange booths. He passed over the numerous lanes of the busy arrivals thoroughfare via the glass bridge, noting that it must have grown colder here today, based on the clothing he saw on people’s bodies and the visible breath from their mouths. The security officer directing traffic was even wearing a ushanka hat—never a good sign.
Gage checked his phone messages. There was nothing from Doctor Kudlak about the blood test results. Kudlak would have just received the sample today. Gage would have to be patient—something he didn’t
