The Geneva Deception Read Free

bleached teeth.
    ‘Larry Hewson,’ he announced, his tone and eagerly outstretched hand suggesting that he expected them to recognise the name.
    Tom swapped another look with Archie and then shrugged.
    ‘Sorry, but I don’t…’
    ‘From Ogilvy, Myers and Gray - the Duval family attorneys,’ Hewson explained, almost sounding hurt at having to spell this out. ‘ I sent you the invitation.’
    ‘What do you want?’ Archie challenged him.
    ‘Meet Archie Connolly,’ Tom introduced him with a smile. ‘My business partner.’
    Below them, the chaplain had stepped back from the casket, allowing the senior NCO and seven riflemen to step forward and turn to the half right, their shoulders stained dark blue by the rain, water beading on their mirrored toecaps.
    ‘Ready,’ he ordered. Each rifleman moved his safety to the fire position.
    ‘It’s a delicate matter,’ Hewson said in a low voice, throwing Archie a suspicious glance.
    ‘Archie can hear anything you’ve got to say,’ Tom reassured him.
    ‘It concerns your grandfather’s will.’
    ‘Aim,’ the NCO called. The men shouldered their weapons with both hands, the muzzles raised forty-five degrees from the horizontal over the casket.
    ‘His will?’ Archie asked with a frown. ‘I thought he’d left the lot to Miss 32F down there?’
    ‘Fire.’
    Each man quickly squeezed the trigger and then returned to port arms, the sharp crack of the blank round piercing the gloom, the echo muffled by the rain. Twice more the order to aim and fire came, twice more the shots rang out across the silent cemetery. Hewson waited impatiently for their echo to die down before continuing.
    ‘The senator did indeed alter his will to ensure that Ms Mills was the principal beneficiary of his estate,’ he confirmed in a disapproving whisper. ‘But at the same time, he identified a small object that he wished to leave to you.’
    A bugler had stepped forward and was now playing Taps, the mournful melody swirling momentarily around them before chasing itself into the sky. As the last note faded away, one of the casket party stepped forward and began to carefully fold the flag draped over the coffin, deliberately wrapping the red and white stripes into the blue to form a triangular bundle, before respectfully handing it to the chaplain. The chaplain in turn stepped over to where the main family party was seated and gingerly, almost apologetically it seemed, handed the flag to the senator’s wife. She clutched it, rather dramatically Tom thought, to her bosom.
    ‘I believe it had been given to him by your mother,’ Hewson added.
    ‘My mother?’ Tom’s eyes snapped back to Hewson’s, both surprised and curious. ‘What is it?’
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ Hewson shrugged as the ceremony ended. The congregation rapidly thinned, most hurrying back to their cars, a few pausing to conclude the business they had come there for in the first place, before they too were herded by secret service agents towards their limousines’ armour-plated comfort. ‘The terms of the will are quite strict. No one is to open the box and I am to hand it to you in person. That’s why…’
    ‘Tom!’ Archie interrupted, grabbing Tom’s arm. Tom followed his puzzled gaze and saw that a figure had appeared at the crest of the hill above them. It was a woman dressed in a red coat, the headlights of the car parked behind her silhouetting her against the dark sky in an ethereal white glow.
    ‘That’s why I sent you the invitation,’ Hewson repeated, raising his voice slightly as Tom turned away from him. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a suite at the George where we can finalise all the paperwork.’
    ‘Isn’t that…?’ Archie’s eyes narrowed, his tone at once uncertain and incredulous.
    ‘Otherwise I’m happy to arrange a meeting at our offices in New York tomorrow, if that works better,’ Hewson called out insistently, growingincreasingly frustrated, it seemed, at being