St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

that—theirs, not hers. If she thought of their money at all, it was simply as numbers to be moved from one place to the next.
    The check clipped to the folder was hers—$246,407.
    Exactly.
    Without meaning to, she looked at the battered backpack stuffed into the passenger foot well.
    I could go anywhere in the world.
    Until the money ran out. Then I’d have nothing.
    Grow up.
    It was a good chunk of money, but Phoenix’s red-hot housing market would gobble it up and not even burp.
    Looking away from the backpack, Kayla started the vehicle. She hoped her next real estate deal would be as clean and easy asthis one had been. On the real estate agent’s advice, she’d offered the ranch at a high price, “looking for the market.”
    She’d found it, at full price.
    The buyer’s agent had handled the transaction with the dispatch of the lawyer he was. She’d gotten her price, subtracted the closing costs and rent for the next month, and driven to the ranch to begin packing.
    Today she’d have her own money to deposit in her American Southwest account. It wasn’t the answer to all her problems, but it was a financial security she’d never had before.
    Maybe that security would help her to deal with Elena Bertone, the most demanding client in the history of the demanding world of private banking.

4
    Phoenix, Arizona
Thursday
8:40 A.M. MST
    A ndre Bertone shifted his weight, making the expensive leather chair creak. Few office chairs were built well enough to accommodate the barrel-chested bulk of a man who stood six foot three inches and weighed two hundred and eighty pounds, most of it muscle. The satellite phone he held to his ear looked almost dainty against his hand.
    The musical accents of Brazilian Portuguese spilled out of the decoder and into Bertone’s ear. Despite the beauty of the language, what was being said made a red flush crawl up Bertone’s face. There were very few people in the world who could call him to task. Joao Fouquette was one of them.
    For now.
    “Naturally, you are impatient to—” Bertone cut in.
    Fouquette kept talking. “—more than a quarter of a billion dollars American must be laundered to pay for the arms. The money is coming in from France, Liechtenstein, and Dubai. I counted on you to—”
    “And I’ve never let you down,” Bertone interrupted. “Relax, my friend. All is well.” Besides, asshole, half of it is my own money.
    A big gamble, but Bertone hadn’t gotten where he was by being timid.
    “All is not well,” Fouquette insisted. “Neto hired St. Kilda Consulting.”
    “What? I thought Neto was ours.”
    “He was until he found out who we really backed in the revolution five years ago.”
    Bertone shrugged. Allies were people you hadn’t screwed yet, and peace was bad for business. “I assume that’s why he refused to extend the oil contracts with us.”
    Fouquette didn’t bother to respond to the obvious. “There will be a rise in oil prices soon. We want to sell Camgeria’s output at the new level. We’ve moved up the timetable for revolution. Do your connections have the arms we need?”
    “As soon as they see the money, we see the arms. Arms are easy to find. The only problem comes in transportation and distribution.” That was Bertone’s area of experience. He’d seen the choke points in the arms trade, bought planes and pilots, and got very rich transporting cargoes no one else would touch.
    “Whatever you do, don’t use the old laundry,” Fouquette said. “St. Kilda is probably watching LuDoc, waiting to pounce.”
    “LuDoc is dead.”
    Fouquette laughed. “So you finally discovered how much he was skimming.”
    All Bertone said was, “I have been developing a new conduit. A true naïf.”
    “You have a day to transform your naïf into a whore. The arms exchange must be completed immediately.”
    “What? You gave me four weeks to—”
    “Complain to Neto,” Fouquette cut in. “He’s the bastard who brought in St. Kilda. I have to move the money fast and get the arms to Neto’s enemies faster.”
    “When will you have all the money transferred to me?” Bertone said.
    “As soon as you set up an account, each participant has agreed to put in his share within forty-eight hours.”
    “By Saturday?” Bertone grunted. “I can’t guarantee weekend bank—”
    “Don’t tell me your problems,” Fouquette said over the complaint. “Since he has become president, my sponsor has lost all patience. Get that account set