Blue Moons and Unicorns

By Kathryn Allen

While holidaying with her friends in the Hamptons, Interpol agent Samira Neves finds out her father is missing. Following his cryptic breadcrumbs from New York to Amsterdam and London, Samira’s view of her father is challenged. Unwilling to involve the authorities, Samira is cut off from her usual networks to investigate the smuggling and trafficking she is uncovering. While never afraid to use her sensuality to her advantage, she finds herself stretching her erotic horizons when her bisexual friend Ashleigh suggests an unorthodox tactic to infiltrate the world of her swinger targets. Will this be enough to track down her father and find out exactly who was behind it all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathryn Allen
• Release date: Mar 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463119686

Kathryn Allen

I live in Brisbane with my husband and three dogs and write in my spare time. While I generally write fiction, my script ‘Point of Decision’ took me through to the Top 8 of the screenwriting completion Project Greenlight Australia II. My novel Ever Man is the first of a number of works I plan to publish through Smashwords.

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Blue Moons and Unicorns

KATHRYN ALLEN

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2021 Kathryn Allen

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Certain real world institutions, places and incidents are mentioned, but extensive creative liberties have been taken. The characters and their activities are fictional overall.

Please note: Australian English, idioms and general approach to language are used throughout the book.

Also available in paperback.

DEDICATION

To everyone who has ever thought of opening their umbrella.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to my husband John, without whom I would not have had the time, mental energy or enthusiasm to write this book. Thank you also to all my beta readers who provided me with extensive and detailed feedback; the Gorgeous Girls’ Book Club, my family and other friends who know who they are but might prefer to remain anonymous.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

About the Author

Last Loose End

Ever Man

CHAPTER 1

She pushed the accelerator down a little harder, enjoying how the Maserati surged forward when she dropped down a gear. It was totally unnecessary but completely worth it for the noise. The sound filled the air, no roof or windows to separate them from the glorious engine note. Despite the coastal views, Samira almost wished for a tunnel so she could hear it all around her.

Chelsea laughed suddenly. Samira glanced back to see her friend unsuccessfully trying to control her normally faultless blonde hair from whipping around in the wind. Samira grinned. She'd offered Chelsea both a hair tie and a cap at the start of the day, but Chelsea had waved them away. Of course, the stylish broadbrimmed hat Chelsea had brought had swiftly ended up in the trunk as it was wholly unsuitable for open top driving. Samira’s own hair was braided down her back and held tight under a bright, white baseball cap. She'd been driving convertibles long enough to know the ads with women's hair streaming back elegantly were all crap. Beside her, Ashleigh, hair similarly under control, reached forward to turn down the music.

God, I love the sound of that engine. It's such a sexy purr. Even better than the Ferrari.

Well, it is a Ferrari engine. Samira said.

Whatever, don't care. Ferraris are just so shrill. This sounds better. Ashleigh shimmied in her seat. All bassy, throaty gorgeousness.

They should get you on the ads. Samira said, amused.

And you could drape yourself over the hood.

And scratch up the paintwork? Dad would kill me.

Worth it. Ashleigh murmured.

What?

Nothing.

Samira took it more gently as they turned off the Montauk Highway heading towards the house. This was a condition of her mother letting her stay for the week. Apparently last time there had been some complaints about her driving even though, as she’d tried to argue, Maserati were a dime a dozen around the Hamptons, and it may not have been her. Her mother had responded with a raised eyebrow and a steady gaze. She capitulated. In Meadow Lane she dropped to a quiet cruise, which was more a consequence of the traffic than true obedience on her part. For an exclusive road it was surprisingly packed at this time of year as everyone tried to squeeze the last enjoyment out of the stubbornly lingering summer season. Rightly so, she thought, given the endless blue of the sky overhead.

Finally, she turned into the driveway, waited for the iron gate to slide aside and headed up to the five-car garage under the house. With her parents away all the vehicles were in their places except for the open slot next to the Jeep Cherokee her father normally drove.

The girls popped the trunk and collected together their various bags with the day's shopping treasures before splitting off to their bedrooms.

Cocktails in the pool house in ten minutes! Samira called as they headed off. Ashleigh raised a hand over her head in acknowledgement. Chelsea was too busy dragging her fingers through her tangled hair. Good luck hun, Samira thought, the only way that was getting sorted was with a wash and an intensive treatment. Actually, Chelsea might need a treatment for her body too. Samira could see the beginnings of sunburn flushing the back of Chelsea's long pale legs beneath the denim cut-offs. Her back, under the sheer grey top, had an ominous reddish glow about it too. Chelsea had been so pleased to see sun after a long stint in Seattle that she took every chance she got to lay in it. Particularly with her international financial services company assigning her to Manchester for the next six months. Samira was going to miss her. Again. The long, lazy summers they used to spend together as children seemed like a million years ago.

Samira dropped her packages in the living room and threw open the doors onto the terrace letting the warm air flow into the house. The breeze was light but carried the fresh, salt scent of the ocean with it. If it stayed warm, they might take a walk down to the beach after dinner. By now the weather should have turned cooler and autumn well established, but not this year. She crossed the terrace and unlocked the pool house with the key set she kept in the handbag that was never far from her side. She'd never really been a fan of how the pool house was set up. The bar and kitchen were at the back with low couches in a lounge area between that and the French doors which led onto the pool terrace. She would have preferred the bar at least to be closer to the terrace so it was more accessible, and a person could keep connected to the conversation when an alcoholic top up was needed. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she shook her head at how appallingly boujee that sounded. Poor little rich girl. Her family's holiday home's pool house was not to her liking. She'd been around the world enough to know that multiple families could live in that space and be very pleased with the luxury accommodation.

Dropping her handbag on one of the couches, she got to work. She took the liquor bottles out of the cabinet, lining them up on the white and grey marble bar top. Then she added the containers of lime wedges and other fruit from the fridge, salt, assorted glasses and other cocktail accoutrements. By that time, Samira could hear the cheerful voices of her friends coming through the house.

She retrieved a pile of towels from the stacks in the storeroom next to the bathroom and took them out to the sun lounges on the terrace between the pool house and the pool. The sun was still solidly warm on her skin even though it was starting to head for the western horizon. It reminded her of the seemingly endless holidays she enjoyed with her family and friends as a kid. Which was a little odd since her parents had bought this house just before her 30th birthday, so all the memories it sparked were of other places. Still she only had a couple of weeks this time, but Samira was determined to enjoy every second of it.

CHAPTER 2

If it weren't for the black eye and bleeding blunt force trauma to the back of the head, it would have looked like two mates helping their drunk, stumbling friend down a hallway. The middle man's head lolled back every step or so before he could bring it back on level. While he was walking, to a point, the firm grips of each arm propelled him forward more than his feet had the capacity or the desire to do. Reaching a door, one of the men pushed it open firmly with his foot to reveal a tiled floor and a single metal chair in the centre of the room. The two men dragged the dazed prisoner into the room and professionally handcuffed him to the metal chair. One man took up his standard position next to the door, back to the wall, right hand comfortably resting on the butt of the gun in the holster at his hip. His partner stood behind the handcuffed man, out of grabbing range, as if that were a possibility for the prisoner, and waited for further instruction. A third man walked into the room, dropped an open gym bag onto the floor in front of the chair with a disturbing metallic clatter. The prisoner's gaze sank apprehensively to the bag and the knives, saws and pincers visible through its gaping zip.

Right, you bastard. We've waited long enough. Let's get you talking.

CHAPTER 3

As Samira came back into the pool house, the others walked in. Chelsea had kept her bikini on but swapped her shorts and top for a light, wrap around cover up purchased at a tiny boutique in Sag Habor. Her skin was shiny with what was probably moisturiser of some sort to offset the sunburn and she'd wrapped her unruly hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Her colleagues would have had a hard time reconciling her almost bohemian air with the polished business woman they normally saw.

Ashleigh had also shed her shorts and tank top, changed into the black and white striped bikini she’d found that day and knotted a sheer black sarong around her hips. Her red hair had been loosed from the braid she'd kept it in for the car ride and hung down to her elbows. Letting it grow out was the first thing she'd done when she moved from the army to a defence contractor. Both women headed straight for the alcohol station Samira had set up and Chelsea began choosing bottles and glasses while Ashleigh hooked up the app on her phone to get the music started. Soon chillout lounge music filled the air.

Just as Samira was pulling a bottle of vodka towards her, her friends exchanged a puzzled look.

That must be you Sam. Chelsea said as Ashleigh turned down the music.

It took her a second to register the sound Chelsea was talking about. It was her family cell phone. The one that she kept charged but which rarely rang. She retrieved it from her handbag on the couch as Ashleigh mouthed 'that had better not be work'.

Mama?

Are you alone? Her mother’s voice sounded stressed.

Sort of. Ashleigh and Chelsea are here. Samira walked out onto the terrace. They can't hear me though. What's up?

Oh, they're okay. Look, I think your father is missing. I think he's in trouble. He certainly thinks he is.

Wha'd mean? Where is he?

Samira. her mother admonished her.

Sorry, just a reflex. Do we have any idea where he was heading?

He told me he was heading to Virginia.

He's still in the States? Samira had had the impression he was going abroad but he hadn’t really said anything specific either way and she had known better than to ask.

I don't know. I don't think so. We haven't been in contact for weeks. Her mother’s volume dropped a little as though she was concerned about being overheard. His phones went dark at Newark. He was worried about this one though. I can't imagine he'd be that concerned if he was only going a few hours away. Even if he was in trouble he could have crawled here by now.

So how do you know he’s in trouble?

He got me a message of sorts today, tripped an alarm really so I’d know something was up.

Samira looked through the glass doors to where her friends were mixing cocktails and sharing a joke.

He didn't say anything to me when he left. Samira felt out of kilter. Do you know why he was worried?

All he would say is he had the feeling something was going to bite him.

Doesn't really narrow things down.

No. According to Dave he's not over his evacuation threshold yet but he's worried too.

He's been gone for over a month!

Obviously they weren't expecting a quick result. Her mother's tone was dry and slightly annoyed.

But they're not looking for him.

No.

The two women were silent for a long moment.

Where are you? Samira asked.

London. But I'm not the one who can help.

Samira raised her eyebrows even though her mother would not be able to see them. And what's that supposed to mean?

You've got more options than me.

Mama.

It's not my -. Hey, do you remember that time in Tobago? For a moment she was thrown by her mother's bright tone then Samira had a flash of memory of hunting for slips of paper her father had hidden in the white sand going from clue to clue. You and your dad were as thick as thieves on that trip.

What's that got to do with anything?

You always were good at puzzles.

You're not making any sense.

Sorry, sweetie, gotta run, my diary's absolutely crazy today.

The abrupt silence in her ear was just as strange as the sudden change of attitude of her mother moments before. The lurking eavesdropper came too close perhaps? Although she couldn't imagine her mother making a call like that without privacy. More likely, however, than someone hacking into the very secure phone connection her mother had developed for their family. Maybe it was an indication of how desperate her mother was to talk to her that she didn't wait until she was completely clear of people.

She looked out to where the long timber walkway led across the dunes to the beach. She had a feeling they wouldn't be taking that walk.

She tried the obvious thing first and called her father, secure family cell to secure family cell. It switched straight to voicemail. Her normal phone was in her handbag so she would have to try that in a moment, but first she rang his normal cell. Again, there was not so much as a ring before it went to voicemail. Both phones were clearly off, as her mother had said. She rang both again and left a short message.

Back inside she tried again on her regular cell with the same result. It wasn't the first time she hadn't got a response from a phone call to her father, but with her mother so concerned it was impossible not to worry. And if her mother was right, she had to do something, but what exactly? It was true she had experience in tracking people, but that was usually people on the run which meant there were certain things they tended to do or not do. She couldn't remember an occasion where she tried to find someone who was in hiding unintentionally, although to be fair, she didn't know that was the situation yet. She stared at the phone for a long moment before she dropped it back into her handbag.

Sam, are you okay? Chelsea put her glass on the counter and came around to her friend.

I don't know. Dad's missing.

Something in her tone must have clued Ashleigh in. Missing as in taken or missing as in hiding?

Mama thinks taken.

Shit. Ashleigh muttered. Is his - um - company looking for him?

Mama thinks not. Apparently, he's not over the compromised timeframe yet. Samira didn't try to disguise what she thought of that.

Ashleigh joined them. Unbelievable. Honey, I'm so sorry.

Both girls wrapped their arms around Sam and squeezed hard before releasing her.

Right. So, what do we need to do? Chelsea asked.

Mama thinks I can find him. He told her he was going to Virginia.

Biggish state. said Ashleigh as she pulled out her phone.

Yeah. Although he was probably going to Langley.

So step one, find out if he made it and figure it out from there. Chelsea said firmly. Is there anyone you can ring there?

Not really. Uncle Dave I guess but Mama's already spoken to him.

Pity. Did he fly or drive? And what day did he go? Ashleigh tapped away at her phone without looking up.

I dropped him to Newark so I guess he flew.

When was this? Ashleigh asked.

September 15.

Ashleigh hummed. Did he get you to drop him to Domestic or International?

Virginia is domestic. Chelsea said.

Yeah but that doesn't mean anything. Samira said. He could have got me to drop him at either and then used the other. Or gone somewhere else entirely. He didn't say anything to me about where he was going. He was a bit distracted, but I didn't spot any warning flags that he expected this to go south.

The women moved to the couches to discuss flights and options, but without knowing whether he got onto any plane it was a bit of a lost cause. Newark was an accessible airport both for the US and the rest of the world so even on the day she dropped him off there were simply too many possibilities to feasibly check. And in any case, as a member of the public how could they really?

Do you want me to put some feelers out? I still have some contacts in the service. Ashleigh asked. Samira's first impulse was to say yes, but after a moment she shook her head.

I don't think the CIA would take very kindly to the army poking around their operatives, however discreetly it was done.

Hmm. And are you going to ask around?

Samira grimaced. I'm on leave for another two weeks. I'll only bring Interpol in if I need to, I don't want to be drawn back in early. Although as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew exactly what her boss Maxime Toussaint, would think of that approach. He’d never stand for Interpol’s resources being used in such a way. Particularly by her.

Even for your dad?

We don't know there's an issue yet. I mean, there is, obviously, but it may not be critical. We need more information before we panic. He's not going to thank me if I mess up some investigation he's working on. The databases would be very helpful at this point though. I might check in with Uncle Dave. Mama mentioned him so he might know whether he made it to Langley at least. Assuming that's where he was going.

What else did she say? Chelsea asked.

Samira related the rest of the short, bewildering conversation.

Tobago?

It was years ago. I was just a kid. Well before I met you even. I don’t know why Dad would be leaving me messages now.

Your mother said he was worried. Maybe it was just an insurance kind of thing. Or a back up. Ashleigh added.

But notes? Why not just ring me up and talk to me? Or tell me when I was driving him to the airport?

Chelsea moved a cushion from behind her back and put it on her lap as she crossed her legs underneath. It could be that Haydn was hoping whatever went wrong wasn’t going to and that you never had to know there was an issue.

That was a bit of a worrying idea, although, if she saw it from a protective father perspective it kind of made sense. He didn’t doubt her capability, but he didn’t want to have her involved if he didn’t have to.

Samira pushed herself upright with her hands on her thighs. Right. I guess I’d better go look for whatever he left.

Can we help? asked Chelsea already laying the cushion aside as a prelude to getting up.

Thanks, but no. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. You girls go and kick back and I’ll give the place the once over.

Samira left them heading out to the terrace to sun themselves as she went back into the house to try to work out where to start. Normally, she would begin her search by methodically going through the premises room by room. That seemed a bit of overkill in her own parents’ beach house, particularly if her father wanted her to find it as her mother had implied. Instead she headed for her dad's favourite room.

Her father's den was on the top floor looking over the ocean. He'd echoed his den in New York City with the heavy dark furniture and here too the room had a bank of windows that drenched the room in light. The worn leather reading chair backed shelves and shelves of white timber filled with books on all topics. The other wall was crowded with prints of cities across the globe. So where to start?

Right, Dad, talk to me. she murmured as she surveyed the room.

She searched the room as she would have any where she was hunting something hidden. She poked at all the fittings to see if there were secret catches or alcoves, shook open every book, examined every picture on wall. Occasionally she found a note from her dad. 'Amateur' or 'Really, Sam?' or something similar that made her smile. She came across heaps of photos in drawers of various holidays they’d been on. Uncle Dave featured in many of them as they travelled firstly with him and his wife, and then after her death, with an array of girlfriends. Chelsea too was present more often than not since they spent most school holidays together. Occasionally, their family would holiday on their own, but it wasn’t usual. On his desk was a photo of the three of them at Aspen one summer when she had decided that she was into horses. Sensibly her parents didn’t buy her thirteen year old self a horse despite her insistent begging that all her friends had them, but instead invested in a three week horse riding and education camp. The photo was taken when they came to pick her up, she was bright eyed with excitement at going home and they were pleased they weren’t going to have to worry about horses anymore. It turned out she enjoyed horse riding but that was all the interaction she wanted. She smiled involuntarily at the look of relief on her father’s face. God, they all looked so young. She was a gangly teenager, all legs and arms, yet to grow into her mother’s beauty. Her mother, maybe 35 at the time, had the ease and confidence of someone much older a with her combination of dark eyed good looks and sharp intelligence. On the other side of her, with an arm slung around her shoulders and hand resting on his wife’s shoulder, was her father. At the time he sort of looked like a young Gerard Butler with a squarer jaw. He was clean shaven back then with no hint of the sheared, short beard shot through with grey he now sported. Little else had changed. She shook her head and turned over the photo to disassemble the frame. Apart from the words ‘My two beautiful girls’ in her father’s handwriting on the back of the photo there was nothing to be found. It was just a photo her father liked of his family.

Leaving the photo, she returned to searching the room. After almost an hour she put her hands on her hips and leant back to stretch her spine. She couldn't have missed it, could she? Not that she even really knew what 'it' was. Papers were probable, USBs or something similar were possible but 'it' could be anything or 'it' didn't exist at all. Then she remembered the notes. Ah. He was telling her that she was looking in the wrong place. She was thinking like he was a stranger. He would never have put anything important in so obvious a place as his den. He'd put it somewhere she would think of, but it was unlikely anyone else would. So...where the hell was that then? She let her mind wander through the house trying to think like her father. Nothing leapt out at her. Maybe she was looking at this the wrong way. She remembered that holiday in Tobago and she'd found her father's notes because he was thinking like her, not the other way round. So, Sam, she asked herself, where would you hide something? In her mind she toured the house again. Everywhere was either too obvious or too accessible. So, then she mentally extended her thoughts into the grounds. Aha! The garden shed. They called it that even though it was practically a barn. She was pretty sure she remembered there was a plastic envelope hung on the wall by a piece of string which held all the manuals for the mower and other garden equipment. If she was going to hide something, she'd put it there.

It had been years since she'd been in the shed and her nose wrinkled automatically at the stale smell of gasoline, oil, and dried grass. There were two grounds staff that came by every week to mow, tidy the gardens, and do minor maintenance around the property. She'd not seen either of them for the few days that she'd been at the house but then her mother probably told them to take some time off knowing how Samira liked her privacy. Similarly, the house had been cleaned, stocked and prepped for her and her friends when she had arrived, so she wasn't expecting to see the cleaner or housekeeper during her stay either.

One side of the large shed held half wall bays where the ride on mower, push mower, hedge trimmers and the like were stored along with their accessories and spare blades. The opposite wall to the door where she'd entered was a full sized roller door. Along the wall to her right was a workbench with hand tools hanging neatly on the pegboard above it and racks below it for smaller power tools. Beside that were racks for storage of fertilizer, oil, gasoline, weed killer and a myriad of other bottles and bags. Enough stuff that she could make a bomb if she ever needed to. The layout was as she remembered it even if the contents had probably changed many times.

There it was, hanging above the workbench. The envelope was grimy, but not as dirty as it should have been if it had been untouched for years. She leaned close and checked it for booby traps before unhooking the string from the nail in the wall and lifting the envelope free. It didn't feel unduly thick or weighty, but then she realised she didn't know what it normally felt like so the instinctive assessment was based on nothing. On the workbench she carefully tried to slide the contents onto the pitted surface. The random bulk of old mower manuals, all dog-eared, wrinkly and slightly mouldy in that been-left-out-in-the-rain-occasionally way, meant she couldn't slide out more than a couple of warranty cards. Reluctantly she prised the biggest manual out then tried again. This time a sheaf of loose papers and pamphlet-sized instruction sheets slid out. Nothing immediately screamed 'secret papers here'. No shiny USBs lay there with all the secrets she needed to know.

With one hand she spread all the papers out, still nothing. For a moment she doubted her thought process. Would her father have hid secret information somewhere that a random employee might come across it in the course of simply doing their job? She looked at the manuals and then wandered around the shed, taking an inventory of what was there. One of the manuals was for a leaf blower that they didn't own anymore. Perfect! No one would be looking through that one.

She leafed her way through it and found a couple of folded sheets of thin note paper stuck in it about half way through. Holding her place in the manual she unfolded the sheets and saw the top one at least was covered in her dad's handwriting. Finally. She swiftly checked the rest of the manual in case there were more, but that was it. In the interests of thoroughness, she checked the other manuals and documents too, without success.

Right, Dad, let's see the big revelation, she thought as she examined the sheets. It was like trying to read hieroglyphics. Since the sheets were so thin, the heavy black pen from the bottom page ghosted through the top sheet confusing and blurring the words. Once she separated them things improved a touch, but it seemed these were notes not meant for anyone but her father. Words were scattered all over the pages interspersed with sketches of three-dimensional diamonds and concentric hexagram rings. She looked at them blankly. Her dad was many things, but an artist was not one of them. With all the question marks and arrows leading nowhere it was like he was trying to remember a weird dream. Nothing seemed connected, or at least not in an obvious way.

She ran down the words and phrases on the first page: more than K-I-N?, fucking blue moon, Muchena, ALROSA, IDI, Kimberley, Valerie, Julia Horgen – can help if still safe? Relocate if need be after – maybe Budapest. Lower down he'd had a few goes at spelling 'Matryoshka' before crossing it out, she could see the irritation in the slashed lines and writing 'nesting dolls'.

The second page was just as bewildering. Most notes seemed to relate to a market of some sort, with an array of amounts in various currencies scribbled randomly around the page. To one side he’d put the words ‘Pink Panthers’, underlined the phrase several times with an equal number of question marks. A little way further down were the words ‘silver fox’. At the bottom he'd written 'thread'.

She sighed deeply. She didn't realise her mother's Tobago reference was going to be so literal. Her dad had scattered notes all over the place and it had taken her ages to hunt them all down. The 'thread' notation was a signal that this was a part of a series of sheets. No hint as to where it would fit in the larger order though. If he was worried why wouldn't he have just put them all in the same place and made this easy for her?

By the time she’d found the papers the girls had brought themselves inside and were kicking back with their phones on the lounge.

What’d ya find? Ashleigh, asked laying her phone aside as Samira dropped the sheets into her lap on her way to the kitchen.

I don’t know yet.

As Samira returned with a bowl of corn chips and salsa dip Ashleigh handed the papers to Chelsea who read both pages swiftly.

Thoughts? Samira asked.

Do you think this is recent? That could have been there for years. Chelsea asked.

Samira thought about that. No, Mama mentioned that he'd left something for me. Well she didn't say that exactly but that's what she meant. He's been gone for months before and she's never said anything.

Well then, maybe it doesn't make sense yet because he hadn't figured it out yet. I mean, if he left it before he went off then maybe he was still getting information and he's left you as much as he had then.

Samira grinned. So I'm following his breadcrumbs?

Maybe. Ashleigh said with a return smile. Nesting dolls is a Russian thing. Could it be something related to that? Also that bit there, K i N and the question mark. It could be that he only caught the end of someone's name.

On that. A lot of it seems to be women's names; Julia, Kimberley, Valerie. A trafficking ring maybe? Chelsea suggested. Although ALROSA is that Russian diamond company, so yeah, I don’t know.

Samira studied the pages again. Both of those things would be of interest to her father. While they didn't talk in depth about their respective cases, she knew that over the past year at least he'd been working on uncovering a smuggling ring that appeared to operate through Russia, Albania and Michigan of all places. The CIA were more interested in the weapons moving around than the people trafficking, unless it was for radicalisation purposes. Her father was less focussed.

The next thing would be to search her parents’ apartment in New York City. She glanced at her watch. If she got a helicopter out here she could be in New York by 8pm. They had a booking to take them back to the city Sunday week so she might be able to bring that forward.

Samira excused herself and went back to her room to make some calls and pack her overnight bag. Regretfully, she left her new swimwear and beach gear in the drawers and changed into jeans and a sweater. She thought of the rest of their plans; winery trail tomorrow, East Hampton for more shopping, a trip out to Montauk, a hike or two around Sag Harbor and how it had taken so much effort to get their schedules to align. They would have to stay on without her for the moment and she would just have to hope that her mother's concern was a false alarm.

By the time she carried her bag through to the kitchen Ashleigh and Chelsea were sitting at the island bench in the kitchen munching on a thrown together cheese and fruit platter.

Chelsea eyed the bag as Samira placed it on the floor at the end of the island.

You've made plans?

Samira nodded and explained what she was going to do in New York. Her friends exchanged looks and before either of them could speak Samira said: I know. We had things we were going to do but I need to check out what's up with Dad. You girls can stay here. I'll go home, head to my parents’ place and see if I can turn up anything there. If everything's good and well, I'll come back and we can pick up where we left off. If not, I might have an idea of what to do next. No point messing your plans up until then.

Sam, you know we aren't worried about that. Chelsea said.

I know.

They walked down the gravel driveway together, the hard packed rock barely moving beneath their tennis shoed feet. At Meadow Lane they had to step off the road into the long grass every few feet to avoid the cars heading for and coming back from the beach and camping area at the end of the road. They had reached the low flying aircraft warning sign when they heard the distant sound of a helicopter coming in over the lake.

Good timing. Chelsea said. I guess you’ve done this before.

Yep but not that often. The neighbours would go nuts.

The cars on the road slowed further when they saw the approaching helicopter and the women were able to walk along the edge of the road with little risk. On the opposite side of the road to the helipad, Samira gave them both one armed hugs and left them standing behind the low stone wall.

The chopper's appearance made the cars on the road slow to a virtual crawl and Sam was able to trot past them easily. Crossing the road she went over to the helicopter where she and the pilot walked in front of the craft. She tossed her overnight bag into the rear seat and buckled herself into the pilot’s seat. Her co-pilot strapped in too and she lifted them off the helipad seeing the downforce flatten the water and reeds around them and blow sand up around her friends. Ashleigh and Chelsea waved her off but with both hands occupied she could only nod before directing the craft away.

CHAPTER 4

Through the haze of pain, Haydn tried to analyse the information that he had. The room could