True (19 page)

Then he looked up and his eyes met Isabella's. She froze, her heart in her mouth, but he didn't flinch or change his rhythm. Instead he smiled at her and thrust harder, all the time keeping eye-contact. She would never forget the look on his face -- not only the mask of lust and power that contorted his features but the challenging, shameless gleam in his eyes. It was as though he had wanted her to see him abusing Phoebe. She half expected him to raise a hand and beckon her closer. Then Phoebe moaned again and moved her head. The thought that her friend might see her witnessing this humiliating scene broke the spell. Isabella ran to her room.

ASHORTWHILE EARLIER, JOACHIM AND STEIN RETURNED TO THE dining-table and collected the bridesmaids' empty glasses, taking care to identify which glass came from which place setting. Joachim wiped a cotton bud near the lipstick-smeared rim of each glass, then put the swab into an individual glass tube labelled with a name. After he had sealed the fourth he paused at a fifth place setting. 'You said you wanted the four bridesmaids' glasses,' Stein said. 'That place was Delphine Chevalier's.'

Joachim hesitated, then picked up the glass and took a swab sample. 'It can do no harm.'

'During dinner two of my men went through each of their rooms and combed their hairbrushes for samples. You want them too?' Stein asked.

Joachim put the five glass tubes into an envelope. 'Give me everything,' he said. 'My father doesn't want to leave anything to chance.'

THE MEETING WAS HELD AT COMVEC, SOUTH OF ZURICH. A WALL OF glass, engraved with the Comvec logo -- an arrow entwined with the DNA spiral of the double helix - divided the soundproofed conference room from the main laboratory. It was eight o'clock in the evening and the place was empty, except for the four Kappels.

Max laid the first newspaper on the conference table and opened it at an unflattering colour photograph of his father. As Helmut leaned forward to study it, Joachim and Klaus rose from their seats for a better view.

Max laid out the other papers and magazines before his father. They all displayed variations on the same story: 'Phoebe Davenport, aged 28, the most beautiful supermodel in the world, to marry reclusive Swiss banker Helmut Kappel, 65.'

Since his father had leaked the news to the media, the world press had had a field day. Even the respectable broadsheets had covered the unlikely pairing. With varying degrees of subtlety every publication had featured the least attractive picture of Helmut that they could find and focused on one key question: how had a sick elderly man won the heart of one of the most desirable young women in the world? More than one tabloid bore the headline: 'Beauty and the Beast'.

Max was surprised that, far from upsetting his father, the pictures had delighted him. He sat smoking a Sobranie, shoulders shaking with silent mirth, as if he was enjoying some private joke. 'Excellent,' he said. 'Excellent.'

Joachim smiled with his father, but Klaus frowned. 'Is it wise to draw so much attention to ourselves? We could still revert to Max's original plan. A low-profile weekend retreat with--'

'No,' Helmut said. 'The publicity was necessary for Project Ilium. When we send out the invitations over the next few days, not one of our targeted clients will be able to resist. Anyway, we're dull bankers and this is Switzerland, the land of secrecy. The media won't discover anything damaging about us.'

Klaus seemed unconvinced -- and Max agreed with him, but once his father had decided on something there was little point in arguing.

'Speaking of secrecy, Klaus,' Helmut asked, 'how are the arrangements for the wedding going?'

'Everything's in place. Odin's delighted to host it, especially as he intends to launch Valhalla as an exclusive designer hotel next year and he'll benefit from the publicity. Valhalla is spectacular, exclusive and remote enough to contain the target clients and keep out the media. It's ideal for what you want.'

Helmut laughed. 'For what we want, Klaus. Come on, relax! This is going to be great!'

Klaus sighed, then smiled reluctandy. 'Perhaps you're right. Anyway, the construction of the ice chapel on the lake is almost complete. Norway's having an unusually mild winter and we had to wait for the lake to freeze sufficiendy to hold the construction vehicles' weight, but everything's now on track.' He clicked the remote control at his side and the plasma screen on the far wall fizzed into life. 'This was taken two days ago.'

Max let out a low whistle. The image of Valhalla's crystal spire rising from the iced lake surrounded by snow-clad peaks was straight out of a fairy-tale.

'How romantic,' Helmut said drily. He turned to his younger son. 'And the samples?'

Joachim left the conference room and entered die main laboratory. Through the glass wall, Max watched him unlock a refrigerated stainless-steel safe and take out a moulded Perspex tray. He returned and placed it on the table. It contained four plain chrome rings in individual recessed wells. A tag was attached to each ring by a thin thread. Joachim removed one and held it up. It looked solid but when Joachim turned it, Max saw that the inner edge contained a glass indicator window, through which a white powder was visible. 'Each ring has been specially designed with two chambers. One contains the NiL powder and a small explosive PowerDermic nozzle.' He pointed to a barely discernible bump on the underside of the ring. 'The other, smaller chamber is linked to a retractable micro-fine needle.' He pointed at the side of the ring. 'Apply pressure by squeezing your fingers together for five seconds, shake your target's hand and, voila, you inject them with the drug and take a blood sample simultaneously.'

'Joachim, did you need Professor Bacci's help to make the powder?' Helmut asked.

Joachim shook his head emphatically. 'We don't need Bacci any more. He's been preoccupied with his wedding, anyway. We can get rid of him whenever we like.'

'But what if you discover problems further down the line?' Max heard himself say. We may need his expertise. He's not yet a threat, and if we eliminate him now we risk drawing attention to the project.'

'Not getting too involved, are we, Max?'

'Far from it, Joachim. I just don't want you to endanger the project.' Max could feel his father's eyes boring into him.

'Whatever you say.' Joachim reached across the table to take the remote control from his uncle. 'This ring contains NiL Seventy-two with Gisele Steele's facial imprint.' He pressed the remote and Gisele's face appeared in one quarter of the plasma screen. He replaced the ring, lifted two others from the tray and checked their tags. 'These contain Claire Davenport and Kathryn Walker's facial imprints.' There was another click of the remote and the faces of Phoebe's sister and Kathryn joined Gisele's on the screen. Joachim checked the label on the fourth ring, then turned to Max and smiled maliciously. 'This is Isabella Bacci's.'

Max focused on the final quadrant of the screen. As Isabella's face appeared, her remarkable eyes seemed to stare at him. He felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest, his mouth dried, and when he clasped his hands together his palms were clammy. The sensation unnerved him.

His father turned to Klaus. 'Let's play Cupid.'

Seconds later the plasma screen showed four men.

The first was Giscard Corbasson, a French media tycoon, who dominated the pornography market in Europe and the United States. His empire encompassed movie production, distribution and the Internet. Desperate for mainstream respectability, he had recently tried unsuccessfully to buy into a major American film studio.

The second was Feliks Lysenko, a Russian arms dealer, who spent most of his time in Europe and the States. Snubbed by New York and London society, he made large donations to worthy charitable causes in an attempt to buy acceptance.

The third was Christophe Nadolny, a Swiss industrialist, whose Italian design partner had independently invented a revolutionary stay-fresh food-packaging format that was both cheap and environmentally friendly. The Italian had been about to dissolve their partnership when he had died mysteriously in a factory accident; the patents and subsequent fortune had gone to Nadolny.

The fourth was Warren Hudsucker, an American real-estate magnate, who had made his fortune back in the 1980s using mob money facilitated by Kappel Privatbank. He had recently been elected a US senator and was keen to distance himself from his past in a bid for even higher office.

All four men had been struggling to make their mark before the Kappels took them on. And each had happily broken any law to slither up the greasy pole. Except for the still-handsome Hudsucker, who resembled a white-haired Gregory Peck, they looked old and bloated. Not one was less than fifty, and not one was worth less than a billion US dollars.

'According to my client database,' Klaus said, 'all are divorced, single or in sham marriages. All are basically heterosexual and open to offers, if you understand my meaning.' He glanced at Helmut and a cunning smile played on his lips. 'And, of course, each has recently threatened to move their remaining personal accounts from Kappel Privatbank, although we were instrumental in building their fortunes.'

Helmut glared at the faces on the screen. 'Regardless of everything we've done for them, they'd happily ruin us. I say, bleed them dry. But first we need face-to-face access to them to deliver the drug and to get a blood sample.'

Max checked the laptop in front of him. 'Over the next few weeks we've arranged annual status meetings with two, and I'm sure we can do the same with the others.'

Helmut nodded. 'How do we match them up?'

Joachim laughed. 'It doesn't really matter because we can make any of the clients fall for any of the women and vice versa. However, I like the symmetry of Corbasson, the French porn producer, falling madly in love with Gisele Steele, the Hollywood actress.'

Helmut smiled. 'Excellent. And we can pair Lysenko, the arms-dealing social pariah, with the wealthy New York socialite Kathryn Walker.'

'Let's give the youngest, Phoebe's sister, to the oldest, Nadolny.' Klaus was enjoying the game now.

All eyes turned to Max, who was still staring at the screen. Only Isabella Bacci and Senator Hudsucker were left. Officially he was happily married, and Christian family values had formed the cornerstone of his election campaign. But the Kappels knew it was a marriage of convenience. On Hudsucker's frequent business trips to Europe, he invariably took advantage of his relative anonymity to indulge his appetites. 'Looks like it's all arranged,' he said eventually.

'So, Max,' Joachim said, 'are you happy to play Cupid to your pretty friend and the handsome Hudsucker?'

Max saw that his father was scrutinizing his reaction. He gave a weary sigh, stood up, and walked slowly round the table. Joachim waited nervously until Max was looming over him. 'You don't intimidate me, Max.'

Max looked down at him, impassive and silent.

'What are you playing at? What do you want?'

Max rested a hand on Joachim's right shoulder. His touch was light, but it broke his half-brother's nerve. Joachim squirmed out of his chair and stepped away like a scalded cat.

Max reached down and picked up the tray containing the rings. 'Stay in your nice safe lab, Joachim, and make your little bullets. Let me worry about going out into the real world and firing them.'

Their father laughed, and Joachim's pale face turned scarlet. But as Max held the tray he still couldn't understand why his palms were clammy.

AS ISABELLA BACCI PLAYED HER MOTHER'S OLD GUITAR AND watched her father dance with his bride, she returned his smile. But her thoughts kept straying to another wedding at which she would also be a bridesmaid. Part of her concern for Phoebe was selfish: she missed her and had only seen her a few times since the engagement party at Schloss Kappel. It was more than that, though: she still couldn't forget the cool way that Helmut Kappel had stared at her while he abused her friend. However much she tried to convince herself that what Phoebe and her fiance did in their bedroom was none of her business, his cruelty had unsettled her. Regardless of the age difference, she found it hard to accept that her friend was happy with him. The wedding venue was still secret, and Isabella couldn't believe that Phoebe's big day was only a few weeks away.

Today, however, it was her father's wedding and as Isabella played with the band she knew he hadn't been so happy since her mother had died. The usually unkempt professor looked splendid in a new suit, while Maria wore a beautiful, flamboyant gown and even more jewellery than usual: a pearl necklace, earrings encrusted with diamonds, two silver bracelets and at least four rings.

The wedding was a family affair and Maria's had filled most of the small church; a couple of Isabella's aunts had flown over from the States and some of the late Marco Trapani's family had come up from Sicily to wish their long-lost relative well.

After the service, the hundred or so guestsmoved on to a restaurant owned by one of Maria's brothers. The entire upper floor was reserved for the reception and one end had been cleared for the band and dancing. The tables at the other end still bore the evidence of the wedding feast. Another of Maria's relatives was a florist and the room was filled with white flowers; each table had an arrangement of white orchids and elsewhere there were exquisite bouquets of roses and stephanotis.

When her father's new bride beckoned to her from the dance floor Isabella put down her guitar. Maria was gasping. 'Please dance with your father, Izzy. He's exhausting me. If I'm to survive this marriage I'll have to pace myself.' As Bacci took his daughter into his arms, Maria tapped her shoulder. 'Izzy, before I forget, do you still want the flowers for the children at your hospital?'