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“And it comes so naturally.”
“Yeah, it does.”
He laughed, leaned in to kiss her. And bit her lightly on the bottom lip. “And here I was considering arranging spaghetti and meatballs with that wine.”
“I take it all back. You had to put on an Oscar-winning performance to pull off the aloof, superior, and just a little rude.”
“Now you’re just pandering. Speaking of Oscars, the premiere for Nadine’s vid is only a few weeks away.”
“Please, don’t remind me.” She walked inside where Summerset stood in the foyer. Before she could formulate an opening insult, he stepped forward. “I have a name. Guiseppi Menzini.”
“Who is he?”
“Was he. He was a scientist, reputed to be the leader of one of the Red Horse factions. He was apprehended in Corsica, two weeks after the incident in Rome.”
“He was responsible?”
“One moment,” Roarke interrupted. “We’ll go sit down in the parlor. Eve wants a glass of wine, and you look as if you could use one.”
“Yes, I could. I’ll get it.”
Roarke laid a hand on Summerset’s arm. “Come in, sit. I’ll get the wine. Have you eaten?” Roarke asked as he crossed to a japanned cabinet.
“Tending to me now?”
“You look tired.”
Eve stood for a moment, hands in pockets. “I was thinking you look even more dead than usual.”
That got the slightest ghost of a smile as the cat rubbed against his legs. “The day’s been long.”
So they should get to it, Eve decided, and sat on a plush ottoman as rich as rubies. “Guiseppi Menzini. What do you know?”
“Born in Rome, 1988, the son of a defrocked priest and one of his faithful. My information indicates Salvador Menzini’s literal interpretation of the Bible meant women were to bear children in pain and blood. Guiseppi’s mother died a few weeks after his birth from complications in childbirth, attended only by Salvador.”
“Rough start.”
“Indeed. Thank you,” Summerset said when Roarke handed him a glass of wine. “Salvador raised the boy alone, educated him. They traveled across Europe, Salvador preaching. He may have fathered more children as part of his doctrine held that man was obligated to populate the Earth, and women were created to subjugate themselves to a man’s will, his needs, his desires. There was no rape in Salvador’s teachings as he claimed it was a man’s God-given right to take any women he pleased, over the age of fourteen.”
“Handy for him.”
“The law, however, disagrees. He was arrested in London for sexual assault. Guiseppi would have been twelve, if records are correct.”
“Close enough,” Eve told him.
“The boy evaded child protection. One of Salvador’s wealthy followers posted his bail and he went into hiding. There isn’t much information on either of them for the next several years, but the Red Horse cult was born during that period, or at least the seeds of it were planted. In 2012 Salvador was shot and killed by the father of a fifteen-year-old girl during an attempted abduction.”
“And the son?” Eve prompted.
“He came to the attention of the CIA, MI6 and various other covert organizations two years later. He had an aptitude for chemistry.”
Eve looked into her wine, thought: Click. “I bet he did.”
“It’s believed he must have studied under an assumed name, but I can’t find any confirmation. Between 2012 and 2016, and the dawn of the Urban Wars in Europe, he developed biological weapons for various terrorists groups. He had no particular allegiance, even to Red Horse, though it’s believed he stood as leader of a faction of that group. He had fortifications in at least three locations in England, Italy, and France.”
“Not here?” Eve interrupted. “Not in the U.S.?”
“Nothing on record, no. He enjoyed Europe, and preferred cities over the country, as had his father. While the Urban Wars raged and spread, he supplied the highest bidder with munitions, explosives, and his specialty—bioweapons.
