stop at the hospital, other than sleeping on the long drive. “Where are we?” she asked, eyeing the wooden-beamed ceiling.
He walked into the room, stood at the side of the large double bed. “Our safe house. Your CT scan was clean, so other than a few bruises and scrapes, the cut on your hand from the shovel—”
“The least of my worries…Tex?”
“Nothing yet. But it doesn’t look good.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But he recognized me. Adami’s cousin. From the hotel. He came after me.”
Griffin didn’t respond.
“Is anyone going to look for Tex?” she asked.
“Tex didn’t follow orders. He should have left. He knew the rules.” Before she could think of what to say, he turned, walked toward the door, and with his back to her, said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She knew. Rules or no rules, he was going to look for Tex.
Jon Westgate exited the sedan that pulled up in front of Adami’s villa. The morning sun lit up the hillside. It also blinded him as he was approached by one of Adami’s goons, who patted him down for weapons. If Adami weren’t so bloody important to their operation, he would never have submitted himself to such humiliation. Surely the man knew that all Westgate needed to do was make one phone call, and for all Adami’s millions, he would never survive the next day.
But that was just it. Adami knew. And he also knew that as long as he held the cards he did, Westgate would never make that call. They’d needed him. But that was about to change.
Weapons search over, the goon escorted Westgate up the travertine stairs, through a large salon, then past the impressive double staircase, and a length of windows that looked out over a massive veranda, which bore the remnants of the previous evening’s festivities. They continued on up a back set of stairs that led to a private balcony with an unparalleled view of the lake, where Adami sat eating his breakfast. He looked up, smiled at Westgate, then indicated he should sit.
Westgate pulled out a chair, taking a seat across from Adami.
“Would you care for something to eat or drink?” Adami asked him.
“No, thank you. Tell me about the party.”
Adami took his damned time, sipping at a glass of orange juice, keeping him waiting. “An unexpected visitor,” he finally said, then proceeded to tell him what had happened the night before.
“Griffin was here? How did he get in?”
“The back wall, apparently. The guard who was working it is no longer in my employ.”
No doubt now residing at the bottom of Lake Nemi, Westgate thought. Adami’s penchant for killing aside, he turned his thoughts to what had transpired at the party before Griffin had arrived. “This woman, do you know who she was?”
“Unfortunately, not yet. I sent someone out to the hotel where they first ran into her, but apparently the records were sanitized. We learned from a maid that a woman of her description checked in, but as for any names…” He shrugged in that insolent way of his, as though he couldn’t be bothered by such minute details. “A shame we lost her, though. I had some high hopes of using her to bait some of the attending dignitaries.”
And there was the crux of Adami’s power. He had taken the lessons learned from the old Propaganda Due Masonic lodge, disbanded over two decades ago, and used them to his advantage. On the surface he was the king of altruism. Beneath, he had a number of high-ranking politicians and dignitaries from countless countries in his pocket. Most were brought into the fold by way of Freemasonry, a common bond exploited by Adami. He was careful to nurture this connection until he had them where he wanted them. Some were there due to simple bribery on a grand scale. Others because they believed in the cause, domination of the world’s banking system. A few very powerful heads of state, however, needed a bit more coercion, and therein was the key to Adami’s success, because he had dared to find out what their innermost fantasies were, then presented them with such, only to blackmail them once their wishes were fulfilled.
Surprising how many of them were sexually deviant, when presented the right opportunity. Not surprising how many caved, once they were faced with reality and a few choice photos or tapes of their escapades. And the Freemasons were the perfect venue with which to