The Conspiracy of Silence by Augustine Sam

Author:Augustine Sam [Sam, Augustine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: AuthorSuite Books
Published: 2015-09-27T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

On the eve of the long-awaited trial, Rita sat cross-legged behind the large desk in Carlton’s opulent study, gazing distractedly at the glass of whiskey he had brought her. Thoughts swarmed her mind as she tried, for the umpteenth time, to piece together the gory details of everything Leland had told her in Washington, D.C. Flushed by the revelations, she bit her lip nervously as Carlton watched her from a comfy chair beside the desk; neither of them spoke. Scared of the unknown, the superstar sat quietly for a few tense moments, pouting.

“Are you okay?” he said, trying to dilute the tension in the room.

She turned her head and gazed in his direction without speaking. He shrugged, not sure if she was mad at him or nervous about the trial, both of which seemed bad in equal measure. Preoccupied, he glanced at his wristwatch and wondered if it might help if he invited her downstairs now for dinner. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he saw Rita rise from her chair and walk around the desk toward him. In an unhurried, wooly motion, she removed her jacket, flung it on the chair beside him and sat down on his lap.

His jaw dropped. Not sure what to say, he gazed at her in silence, nonplussed by the gesture. He wrapped his arms around her, waiting for her to speak. She did not; she lifted strands of hair from her face and leaned against him quietly. Like a baby in need of a reassuring cuddle, he mused.

“I’m sure it’ll be all right,” he mumbled, his voice unconvincing even in his ears. Still, it pleased him that she didn’t seem mad at him though there were still unresolved issues between them. Releasing the air in his lungs easily, he lifted a hesitant hand and caressed her neck. “Maybe we should go downstairs for dinner, what do you think?”

Rita turned her head. “Okay, let’s go and have dinner,” she said but continued to sit on his lap.

And, while she sat there, two men stepped slowly out of the shadow in the Brentwood district near her villa. A third man sat behind the wheel of a nondescript van and watched the road artfully, a communication device in his hand. Rays of light from the security lamps outside the villa fell, orange-hued, across the neat courtyard. The two men, moving swiftly in the shadow like ghosts, meandered through the barbed wires, ran across the lawn, and paused outside the back door. Silence whirred in their ears.

“May I?” the man closer to the door reached for a tiny gadget in his pocket, pulling up his hood. His accomplice, eyes flashing wildly in the semi-darkness, nodded. He slipped the device carefully into the keyhole and turned it; the door swung open. Pleased, the men slipped into the house and stood in silence for a moment, listening for any sound of movement. When none was heard, they felt their way through the darkened room slowly,

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