into a project that sucked up millions of dollars.
‘By 2003 the US Army had the first functional PGSLM missiles from the company that took over Lisson’s development contract. The design was closely based on Lisson’s original and Galenka paid an expert thief called Jane Oxford to steal a batch of functioning PGSLM missiles. But even with a functioning missile, Galenka still had a mountain to climb.’
Ethan looked confused. ‘Surely she could just copy it?’
Lombardi laughed. ‘I own a toaster, but that doesn’t mean I know how to build a toaster factory. Money got so tight that Galenka was working on the stolen missiles in a workshop in the basement of your California beach house.’
Ethan had seen his mum spend hours in a locked basement room at his old home, and she’d never hired a cleaner because she didn’t like having strangers snooping around.
‘Fast-forward to 2011,’ Lombardi said. ‘Leonid had grown increasingly violent and erratic. When his mother got sick, she became wary of handing exclusive control of the Aramov Clan to Leonid. She reached out to Galenka, who by this time ran a highly profitable computer security business.
‘I don’t know all the details, but by the time she died Galenka had perfected the missile guidance technology, and set up a production facility capable of producing missiles as good as the US-built originals.
‘For Leonid this was a complete nightmare. Instead of taking the clan over like he’d always imagined, Leonid would become junior partner in a business run by his sister.’
Ethan nodded, and finished the story for himself. ‘Uncle Leonid’s ego couldn’t take that, so he had my mom killed and blew our house up to stop anyone else finding out about PGSLM.’
‘What about the production facility?’ Ted asked.
‘What about it?’ Lombardi asked.
‘Location?’ Ted asked. ‘Suppliers, logistics, finances?’
Lombardi shrugged. ‘The less I knew about the illegal stuff the better. But as Leonid Aramov has surfaced in Ciudad Juárez with missiles to sell, that’s where I’d start looking.’
Ethan felt strange. It was satisfying to finally understand why Leonid had killed his mother, but he’d always pictured her as someone who’d broken away from her family and succeeded as an honest businesswoman. But apparently the only thing separating his mum from the rest of the Aramovs was the scale of her ambitions.
‘One thing I still don’t get,’ Ethan said. ‘If the factory can make missiles worth billions, why risk everything by selling seventy-four missiles to drug smugglers right on the factory’s doorstep?’
‘Leonid’s a thug, not a businessman,’ Lombardi said. ‘He arrived in Mexico with a few thousand dollars and begged me to wire him some money. Based on past behaviour, I’d say that once Leonid’s sold the missiles he’ll have enough money to pack up the production line. Then he’ll sell it to whichever defence contractor or government makes the highest bid.’
Getting thumped and sneaking around his dad’s office meant Andre had barely slept the previous night. He slept solidly until his big brothers rolled in from a nightclub at 5 a.m. After fifteen minutes trying to ignore their racket he peeked out of his door to see what was going on in the open-plan kitchen and living-room below.
Alex and Boris both had company, though based on the women’s attitude and tarty dress it was the kind you had to pay for. Latino pop came out of a music channel as the quartet stood around the kitchen counter snorting cocaine. After a couple of lines each, they moved back towards a pile of beanbags and started stripping off.
Andre made a mental note never to sit on any of the beanbags downstairs again as he got back in bed and tried blotting out his brothers’ sex noises. The sounds made him uncomfortable and he kept hoping that Leonid would emerge and tell them to shut up. But the master bedroom’s double doors were apparently too well insulated.
Once the women took their money and strutted out on their high heels, Andre went back for another peek as Boris and Alex sprawled out in the open-plan living area, naughty bits on display as they slugged half-bottles of Jack Daniels.
‘I’m gonna ask my girl to marry me,’ Boris said.
Alex snorted with laughter, making the golden bourbon drizzle down his chin. ‘You soft shit!’
‘I’m gonna go all sweet on her,’ Boris said. ‘Tell her I love her. Tell her to pack her bags and come to the Caribbean with me. Then when we get to the airport, I’ll tell her I was joking.’
‘That’d be so funny,’ Alex said,