CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Miramar, Mallorca
December 3
Cam stood in the open doorway as Atlas March sat behind his desk, one hand spread on the surface, attempting the knife trick and paying no heed to the mahogany he was marring. Cam knocked.
Atlas summoned him in without looking up. “Come.”
Adopting the persona of Miguel Ramirez, Cam walked five steps into the room and remained standing. He knew better than to do anything beyond what was instructed.
“Damn this thing,” Atlas groused. “How do they get the knife going so fast?” He looked up then and scanned Cam from head to toe. “I’ll bet you can do it,” Atlas challenged.
“I used to do it on a plank of wood on the street in my village for coins,” Cam responded.
Atlas tossed the knife end over end, and Cam caught it by the blade. He grabbed a magazine—a foreign issue of Vogue with Gemini March on the cover in a massive ball gown—from the coffee table in a small seating area and tossed it on the desk. Then he placed his left hand flat on the cover and began slowly moving the tip of the knife from one gap between his fingers to the next in a familiar rhythm. It didn’t escape his notice that each jab of the blade created a tiny stab in the image beneath his hand. After completing the pattern twice, he sped up, the hand wielding the knife moving like lightning. He finished with a final plunge into the magazine, leaving the knife protruding from the center of Gemini March's head, and calmly turned his attention to his one-man audience.
“You’ve killed my cousin,” Atlas smirked.
“Apologies, señor. I thought it was better than damaging the wood.”
Atlas scoffed. “There are a thousand magazines and a thousand desks.”
Cam nodded, still standing.
“Take a seat, Miguel.” Atlas gestured to the two green leather chairs that faced the desk. Cam sat. “Tell me about your work for Dario Sava.”
Cam shrugged. “I did what I was told.”
“And what was that, exactly?” Atlas pressed.
The lack of reply answered the question.
“I see.” Atlas nodded. “And you were given responsibilities? I mean more than just cleaning up messes.”
“Yes.”
“One of Mallorca's most successful industries is copper mining. I own the largest mining operation in the region. March Mining is global, but the headquarters is here in Palma. I also own the shipping company that handles exports.”
That got Cam's attention.
Atlas continued, “I had urged my uncle Ulysses to purchase a shipping company when I ran the Colombia mining operation, but he felt it was unnecessary. I disagreed. Now, I make the decisions. It was a substantial initial investment, but it's already paying off.”
Atlas pulled the knife from the magazine and set it to the side. “I have a position for you—security to start. If you prove yourself, we can take it from there. There is some job mobility, but not just yet. I don’t know what sort of, eh hem, pay scale you’ve had in the past, but I think you’ll find the salary competitive. Certainly, the benefits, you know, health insurance and no constant threat of death, will be enticing.”
Cam's lips twitched in a calculated move.
“When I’m confident where your loyalties lie, there will be opportunities.”
“I am loyal to the man who signs the checks,” Cam replied dryly.
Atlas nodded, satisfied. “My cousin brought you here for a reunion. Apparently, you made quite an impression. I’m sure I can put her impulsiveness to good use, and I can assure you none of the rats scrambling to the top of the trash heap in your former career can offer you the same.”
Cam leaned in slightly, the only indication of his interest, but Atlas noticed.
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you on a tour of the mines. I can show you the operation and explain your duties. I can assure you it's an enticing offer for a man with your…” He scanned Cam from auburn head to booted toe. “Abilities.”
Cam shifted. Something was tainting the air between them. A trap? A setup? He didn’t know what it was, but he smelled it.