The Hidden Revenge

The Silence Call Missing

Martins moved across his lavish study, his feet muffled by the expensive Persian rug covering the floor. The room, with its dark mahogany shelves filled with leather-bound volumes radiated classic elegance.

As the evening light sank below the horizon, large windows were enclosed by heavy velvet drapes creating deep shadows. The room smelled of polished wood and aged paper, evidence of years of well-chosen knowledge and money. Martins gripped his smartphone in hand; despite his repeated attempts to bring it back, the screen stayed blank. Once more his thumb poked the power button, but the gadget stayed unresponsive.

The only visible indication of his growing irritation was a muscle in his jaw tightening. He had been waiting for Victor's call, now hours late. The quiet was awful; every minute that passed increased his discomfort. Victor was never late; his consistency was like that of the tides. There seems to be something wrong. Martins's thoughts flew, each darker than the next. Had Victor been exposed to compromise? Was his situation dangerous? Still worse, had he betrayed him? The uncertainty bit Martins, a merciless hunter devouring his calm. He launched the dead phone across the room with a frustrated growl. It hit the wall with a loud bang, plastic and glass bits flying like shrapnel over the spotless floor. The gesture provided a brief solace to the storm roaring within of me. Helen watched the spectacle from the doorway with an inexplicable face.

Her thin frame was covered in a silk robe; her porcelain skin stood out greatly from the deep emerald fabric. Her delicate yet strong face was framed by dark hair falling in wild waves over her shoulders. Her eyes, a sharp blue tint, fixed calm attention on Martins. Her voice calm and steady, slicing through the tension like a dagger through silk, "Breaking things won't get you answers." Martins turned to meet her, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of desperation and wrath. Then tell me the damned truth, Helen.

She fixed his attention, uncompromising, then entered the room closing the door softly with a gentle click. The stillness that followed was dense, loaded with unstated statements and secret motives. Helen walked elegantly to the middle of the space, her motions flowing and under control like a predator weighing up its target. She stopped at the broken pieces of the phone, then looked momentarily at the trash before backtracking to Martins.

"You've always had a flare for the dramatic," she said, a trace of entertainment coloring her voice. Martins's hands tightened at his sides; the knuckles whitened under the effort.

This is not a game, Helen. I need responses; Victor is missing. She raised a precisely sculpted brow, her lips barely smiling. And you wonder whether I have them? Martins shot back, his voice slanted with accusation, "I think you know more than you're letting on." Helen's smile grew more like a predator showing its teeth.

" Possibly. But Martins, knowledge has a cost. Are you able to pay for it?" He moved forward, the distance between them getting to be only a breath. Tension permeated the air, an electric charge setting the hairs on his rear of the neck on end. "Name your price," he said, his voice low and lethal. Helen's eyes glittered with a predatory brightness, the excitement of the hunt clear in her stare.

"All in good time, dear." First, though, let me go over the terms of our... collaboration. Martins battled to keep control, his jaw tightened and the muscles under the skin worked. "This isn't game time, Helen." She slanted her head to look at him, amused yet curious. "Oh, but it is. The players are all in place; the stakes have never been more. Are you ready to play? That is the question. Martins's eyes closed, mistrust blazing down their depths.

" What do you want?" Helen's smile was deliberate, slow, like a cat taunting a mouse. "I desire Martins, what I have always wanted, power, force. You too. The words, loaded with innuendo, hung in the air. Martins experienced a cold run down his spine as the weight of her stare dropped upon him like a tangible force. He stepped back, needing space between them, to help him to relax. But Helen pursued his withdrawal with predatory grace, persistent. She said, "Don't run from me, Martins," a seductive whisper.

You know you can't run from what's coming. Stopped, his back against the frigid, unforgiving wall surface. Helen closed the last distance separating them; her body just missed his. Her hand lifted, fingers barely brushing his chest to send fire under his skin. Martins's breath stopped, the unexpected surge of want mixing with his fear and wrath to produce an explosive emotional concoction.

Helen said, "Let me help you," her lips barely inches from his. "Between us, we can find the truth. You must, however, believe me." Martins looked in her eyes, trying to find any hint of dishonesty, but she just saw relentless will. He gulped hard, the weight of the choice bearing on him.

Martins's pulse hammered against his throat and his breathing was laborious. Helen was too near; she coiled around him like a serpent. He smelled her something dark and exotic, tinged with peril.

Her fingertips had hardly touched his chest, yet it was enough to cause shock of awareness for him. Helen looked the least bit angry even though he urged himself to go away and create distance between them. Her lips curved in pleasure, as if she had just proved a point. Martins replied, his voice cutting through the tension between them, "I have time for none of your games."

"If you know anything, Victor is missing. Helen exhaled loudly and walked to the smooth black leather chair across the room. She neatly sat down putting one long leg over the other. She said, "I do know something," slanted her head slightly and watched him with those disturbing blue eyes. But power comes from knowledge, Martins. And I do not freely give my away. Martins clearly frustrated himself as he ran a hand over his dark hair. You always do this, he snarled. Before you specify your price, you dangle knowledge in front of me like bait, waiting to see how desperate I am.

helen graced her. Still, you always wind up paying it. Martins closed his jaw. She had nothing to be incorrect. Helen had always been a shadow in his life never really on his side, never totally against him. She was a mystery; her allegiance changed with the breeze.

He let out a hard breath. "What do you wish?" The smile of Helen grew more pronounced. To help you. He laughed without humor and yelled. That is a falsehood. Helen's tone became grave. "Is it? She slanted forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "I know Martins, I have contacts. Among those you might not enjoy. Still, they can provide the necessary answers.

Martins's stomach turned over at her words. "Connections." Semene nodded. "Strong ones. Those who work in the shadows and know things not meant for public knowledge. She reached into the side pocket of her robe and dropped a sleek black folder between them on the coffee table. Martins saw it warily. "What is this?" "Proof," Helen responded simply. Martins moved slowly ahead to grab the folder. He opened it and looked about inside. His heart hit his ribs hard. Banking records.

Recording of transactions. Private notes. And in the middle of all Victor and Charlotte. Martins's fists tightened around the folder's borders. "What the hell is this?" Helen eyed him, her face inscrutable evidence. That events occurring here are more than you could ever imagine. Martins's blood was frigid. The deals were cover-ups, not only commercial ones. Big quantities of money flowing into untraceable records. Undercover investments. Backroom deals with names he knew but would have like not to. He closed the folder quickly and turned to Helen. "Where did you come upon this?" She stood slowly and headed toward him. "Does it matter?" "Yes," he said in a snap.

"Because I need to know how deep this goes if you got this from one of your "connections." Helen watched him for a moment before she spoke. "Deep," she answered at last. "Deeper than you are ready for." Martins turned away, ran a hand over his face. "Charlotte," he said, the name like poison on his tongue. Was she putting me in position? Helen did not respond right away. She moved forward instead, resting a hand on his arm. "You have to decide, Martins," she added, her voice quieter now, nearly begging.

You may battle this with me or keep acting as though you are in charge. The body of Martins stiffened. He put little faith in Helen. He had never had. She was the only person providing him with a lifeline right now though. He turned once more to look at the folder.

To the appalling evidence of Victor and Charlotte's treachery. He held his hands tightly. "Exactly what are you asking me to do?" Helen twisted her lips into a gentle smile. Follow me. Martins's breath was erratic, and his chest lifted and dropped. He was teetering on the brink of something terrible, something permanent. And Helen was volunteering to push him across. He would fall? Alternatively, would he fly?