Return (Matt Turner Series Book 3) (24 page)

As Matt’s thumbs hammered away at the phone, Joss quipped, “You writing a novel over there?”

“The stuff of,” he replied, and remained silent for the rest of the drive, freezing periodically as he reviewed scenes from the ring wrapped around his middle finger.

During their relatively short hop over the Mediterranean Sea, Matt and Joss had the half-capacity jet’s rear rows to themselves, so he used the time to update Joss on all-things-Tuni, and answered her many questions.

“So Absko had set all of that up just to get revenge on this Rheese guy in Cuba?”

“Absko wasn’t simply out for revenge with Dr. Rheese,” he said. “It started out that way back in Kenya, since Rheese screwed him, but that ended up being a lesser motive. Rheese was one of a handful of people who knew the other side of Absko—the gangster. Or I should say, the handful of people who Absko couldn’t trust with that knowledge. And rightfully so, really. Rheese would’ve sold him out in a heartbeat, given the opportunity. Since Absko was prepping for his big step into the public eye, he was legitimizing all of his businesses and cleaning the skeletons from his closet.”

“I get that,” Joss said, “but it must’ve been a personal thing, too, since he didn’t just send his people to handle it. Seems like he really wanted to pull the trigger himself.”

“It wasn’t his original intent,” Matt said. “His plans changed several times after Tahiti. In the end, killing Dr. Rheese ended up a bonus on top of his real prize: Tuni, the beautiful and inspiring wife. He saw her as his final ticket to becoming Nairobi’s mayor, then a senator, and finally, President. Already painting himself as a descendent of Marc Antony, he’d now acquired his very own Cleopatra. He knew it was all about the story with the voters.”

“Yeah, well, I know you see your ex as this sad victim of a master manipulator, but from everything you’ve told me so far … no offense, but I hate her.”

Matt laughed. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that sentiment, believe it or not.”

“I believe it. For your sake, I’m withholding the derogatory terms that come to mind. But go on, tell me the rest. I want to know how a girl goes from madly in love with you, to marrying the murderous gangster who got your father and others murdered, nearly got you killed, and somehow she doesn’t realize a few months later that dude’s the biggest crime lord in Africa.”

“Valid skepticism,” Matt said, and then took Joss through the chain of events.

After convincing Tuni to resume her work at the Narok/Pwin-T archaeological site, Absko had begun taking her out on the weekends, showing her “all of this beautiful country,” while secretly hiring photographers to capture their outings. Journalists were paid to publish “rumors” about the happy couple before they were even a couple. Absko would show Tuni these reports, feigning outrage at the invasion of privacy. Then came the announcement of the mayoral run, followed by opinion pieces from entertainment news outlets romanticizing a future with so beautiful a couple at City Hall, and beyond.

Absko hadn’t anticipated just how well the mayoral campaign would work on both fronts: his spreading popularity, and a dazzled Tuni. Still unaware of a criminal past or questionable activities, Tuni genuinely liked this character Absko was playing, and soon after, found herself swept away by Kenya’s instant love for her, with tabloids fueling the fire with premature speculation:
When Will Jivu Propose to Tuni?
accompanied by the inevitable name combo a la
Brangelina
and
Kimye
. They became
JiTu
—eventually stylized to simply
G2,
much to the delight of the Gatorade marketing team. Paparazzi just happened to be nearby when he got down on one knee.

“Okay, but five years later and she’s just now crying for help.” Joss shrugged, then put her hand on Matt’s arm. “And if I’m out of line in the slightest bit, please tell me to shut up. You stay so cool when I’m jabbering on, and I think it encourages me to keep on with the
blerrrgh
…” She hunched over and pantomimed violent vomiting.

“You’re fine, really. I can’t be offended by the opinion you develop from the given information. But remember that this is only her first
successful
communication. In reality, she’s been trying to contact me and others since the very beginning.”

Matt went on explaining Absko’s quick rise in Kenya following the “leaked” proposal photographs. In short time, the people had demanded Absko skip the middling Mayor’s Office, and run in the country’s first presidential election.

Combined with his touted lineage from famed ancient royalty, his history of philanthropy, support for admirable causes, and the fact that one of his organizations singlehandedly crushed the drug trade in East Africa (by shutting down his own drug business), Absko appeared to simply ride the wave to the executive office.

But now Matt knew all the little schemes hidden beneath the surface, the bribes and staged sound bites, eliminated opponents and detractors, and where all the
literal
bodies were buried. More importantly, he’d found out who Absko was currently crossing, and as soon as Matt and Joss reached their low-profile hotel in Alexandria, Egypt, a phone call would be made.

* * *

“Well, hello,” Markus answered. “Matthew, I presume?”

“How’d you know it was me?” Matt winked at Joss, sitting on the bed beside him, listening near the cell phone’s earpiece.

“A number from a virtual phone pool, calling my mobile from Alexandria? Not so mystifying. I wish I could claim I was expecting your call, but alas.”

“You can tell where I’m calling from? How the hell do you manage that?” Matt had already explained to Joss how the app he was using would fool Markus’s phone’s reverse lookup tool. It should appear they were in the Windsor Plaza at the opposite end of the city, and that Matt had made an effort to hide this fact.

Markus smugly ignored the question. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Matt sighed for effect. “Well … look, I’ll be honest. I’m not trying to screw over Mr. Ostrovsky. I’m trying to live a normal life, do my thing quietly, and mind my own business.”

“Of course. Commendable.”

“I’m serious, Markus. You should know, after all I’ve been through, I have no interest in stirring up pots. I’ve got family, friends, and plenty of other people who I don’t need pulled into some mess I created. I mean, I guess
I
didn’t really create it—I was trying to protect myself and my employee—but I shouldn’t have taken the artifacts with me. It was stupid.”

Markus was quiet a moment before responding. “Go on.”

“Okay, so what’s done is done, right? I can’t take that back. But maybe I can give you something else of value to make up for it.”

“Three days, and you’ve found the scrolls already?”

“No,” Matt scoffed. “And the more I read these things the lower my hopes fall, but we can talk about that another time. No, I’m talking about the item you were holding for me, and some very interesting information I happened upon that I think your boss would like to know.”

Markus hummed an enticed little purr, “Mmm … Matthew, I enjoy you more with our every interaction.”

Joss grinned and gave Matt a thumbs-up.

“Anything of immediate concern?” Markus asked.

“Absolutely
all
of it of immediate concern.”

Markus dropped the playful tones. “Tell me. You know well that I, personally, wish no harm ever comes to you, and so you’ll believe me when I say that if your information is of the value suggested, I’ll do what is within my power to refurbish your current status.”

“That’s all I ask,” Matt said. “I’m sure you know the name Nestor Utkin?”

“No questions, please, Matthew. Share what you called to share.”

“He’s been paid off to report rapidly declining returns from all of your Kenyan and Ugandan mines, has apparently been doing so for a while, and has been told to advise your board to dump them as soon as possible.”

“Interesting indeed,” Markus replied. “I presume the returns had not been declining?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Very well. Is there anything else?”

“Oh yeah,” Matt said. “That’s only the beginning.”

Matt spent the next fifteen minutes sharing all of Absko’s juiciest betrayals, double-dealing, bribery, “disappeared” Ostrovsky employees, as well as a sampling of sabotage against some of Ostrovsky’s associates and competitors.

“…
and that’s about it,” Matt concluded. “Sound like enough info for you to—how’d you put it?
Refurbish
me?”

“I should certainly think so. I’ll obviously be working on this right away. If you discover or recall anything more, you may wish to use text messaging instead.”

Matt took the opportunity to fish. “Because you’ve got people here looking for me?”

“You already know what’s coming, Matthew. I explained what is beyond my control.”

“So I should be worried?”

Markus was quiet for a beat. “Not
today
. Now, I’ll bid you−”

“Just a second,” Matt interrupted. “My note—would you tell me if you were able to stop it before it arrived?”

A smile seasoned Markus’s voice. “Unfortunately, despite all my efforts to prevent it, your message was delivered. Good day.”

* * *

Joss was sure Matt remained conflicted about her staying in Egypt, but he seemed to consider her valuable enough to keep around. After concluding his phone call with Markus, he’d chewed his cheek while regarding her, gears apparently cranking on whether or not he needed to put her on a plane. He hadn’t said anything, instead proceeding to jot down the next batch of to-dos for her to handle while he was out
“taking care of some stuff.”

Now three days into their stay, they’d fallen into a good rhythm, and Joss had begun to feel like an actual asset. Before heading out for his morning who-knows-what activities, he handed her the latest list, but offered none of the usual explanations or clarification. No words at all—he simply stood and waited.

She quickly scanned the notepad, choking near the bottom. “Oh God, really?”

“Sorry,” he said, turning for the door. “It’s necessary. Work out the arrangements with I.T. She already knows what’s up. Back in a bit.”

She plopped down on her flimsy bed, greeted with a chorus of
twangs
from the pokey mattress.

Sure was nice of someone to wrap a sheet around these springs.

Though their bargain-basement hotel room offered no pyramid or sphinx views, Joss didn’t mind hanging out inside. They were in a sketchy part of the city, and she’d been enjoying working with Iris. Joss had always thought herself pretty damned organized and resourceful, but I.T., as Matt called her, was a no-nonsense efficiency machine—and any name or ambiguous task Matt had given Joss, I.T. always knew exactly what he was talking about.

Lacking a desk to work on, Joss liked to steal the blanket off Matt’s bed for extra butt cushioning, prop up all of the room’s pillows against the headboard, and nestle in with her notepad and phone.

She always waited until after noon local time to begin her calls to Iris back in New Jersey, where it was 6:00am, and then ended up chatting with her off and on throughout the rest of the day. I.T. preferred to tackle one or two tasks at a time, instructing Joss to keep the next items on the day’s list to herself until the previous job was complete.

At 12:30, Joss figured I.T. had had a chance to get some coffee in her, and made the first call. “Morning, Mizz Turner. All right, number one for the day: he wants me to track down a ‘low-profile’ archaeologist here.”

“Other specs?” Iris replied. Regardless of the time of day, she tended to be curt, but Joss didn’t mind. Matt had mentioned I.T. always spoke like their father when work lay ahead.

“Yeah. He wrote ‘Not Pete, not connected to Pete, available on short notice for a full or half-day excursion.’”

“So presumably a field specialist knowledgeable about the area. Did he say why not Pete Sharma? The guy would literally drop whatever he’s doing to help Matt, plus he’s taken to calling me every hour on the hour. Guessing he’s still avoiding him?”

“He didn’t say.” Joss scanned her notes again. “Oh, and I’m supposed to remind you not to even tell Pete that Matt’s here.”

“I think I’ll get that tattooed on my hand. You know, since I can’t seem to recall the other eighteen reminders.”

“Sorry,” Joss said.

“Pshh, don’t be. Nothing to do with you. Did you give him my list yesterday of Things Pete is Desperate to Reach You About?”

Joss flipped to the previous page in the notebook. “Ehhh … yup. Translations, emcee, highlight selections, VIP list, common courtesy and manners … the whole shebang. He put little checks next to most of it, but I don’t know if he gave me any of these things as tasks for today. Again, I don’t get to know what any of this stuff actually means.”

Iris sidestepped the not-so-subtle request for insight. “Yeah, that’s my bro. Speaking of broken record requests, do you know if he’s called Isis yet?”

Joss was well aware he hadn’t, and she’d stopped passing on Iris’s reminders.

Iris, Isis. That’s gotta be confusing as hell. I wonder if that’s why he calls Iris “I.T.”

It was pointless. Matt had zero interest in calling this ex for whatever she wanted. “I’m not sure. He hasn’t mentioned it, and I’m sorta not really−”

“No, no, you’re fine. It’s not your job to press him on it. He knows what it’s about now, and it’s his fricken job to call her.”

Joss wasn’t going to ask about personal business, but if Iris needed a sounding board, Joss was more than happy to listen to any juicy tidbits that might slip out. She uttered an unassuming “Mm-hm.”

“And I know what it is …” Iris continued, “… without those questions—
legitimate
questions—but without excuses anymore, you know? Now he’s just scared. Like he needs another weakness, you know? That’s what it is.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t shipped
you
off back home yet. Can I ask you something personal? You don’t have to answer. But, you know, if you don’t, I guess it’s pretty much an answer anyway.”