The Greatest Betrayal

THE GREATEST BETRAYAL A romantic thriller with a shocking twist IAIN HENN Published by THE BOOK FOLKS London, 2023 © Iain Henn Polite note to the reader This book is written in Australian English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate. This book was previously published as “Obsessive” in 2018. You are invited to visit www.thebookfolks.com and sign up to our mailing list to hear about new releases, free book promotions and other special offers. We hope you enjoy the book. For my wife and our family. Contents PROLOGUE ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE THIRTY-TWO THIRTY-THREE THIRTY-FOUR THIRTY-FIVE THIRTY-SIX THIRTY-SEVEN THIRTY-EIGHT THIRTY-NINE FORTY FORTY-ONE FORTY-TWO FORTY-THREE FORTY-FOUR FORTY-FIVE FORTY-SIX FORTY-SEVEN FORTY-EIGHT FORTY-NINE FIFTY FIFTY-ONE FIFTY-TWO FIFTY-THREE FIFTY-FOUR FIFTY-FIVE FIFTY-SIX FIFTY-SEVEN FIFTY-EIGHT FIFTY-NINE SIXTY SIXTY-ONE SIXTY-TWO SIXTY-THREE SIXTY-FOUR SIXTY-FIVE SIXTY-SIX SIXTY-SEVEN SIXTY-EIGHT SIXTY-NINE SEVENTY SEVENTY-ONE SEVENTY-TWO SEVENTY-THREE SEVENTY-FOUR SEVENTY-FIVE SEVENTY-SIX SEVENTY-SEVEN SEVENTY-EIGHT SEVENTY-NINE EIGHTY EIGHTY-ONE EIGHTY-TWO EIGHTY-THREE EIGHTY-FOUR EIGHTY-FIVE EIGHTY-SIX EIGHTY-SEVEN EIGHTY-EIGHT EIGHTY-NINE NINETY More fiction by Iain Henn Other titles of interest FREE BOOKS IN YOUR INBOX PROLOGUE There is a bird that sounds like a woman screaming. Liz Carter first heard that cry when she was ten years old and staying on her grandparents’ rambling farm. She had imagined a lost soul wandering in the dark, and the thought chilled her. Now alone and on the other side of the world, she thought of the curlew’s eerie wail as she crashed through the thick foliage of prehistoric-looking ferns. She sighted a very different bird, a vulture that was perched on a low-hanging branch just ahead. The bird of prey flapped its wings as it lifted off the branch and soared away among the towering pines. From the dense woodland behind her, Liz heard the crunch of the pine needles that covered the forest floor as her pursuers closed in. Enraged, relentless, murderous. She was short of breath, her pulse pounding in her temples as she pushed forward. The sloping ground was rough and uneven and when she fell, she fell hard, gouging her knee. Covered in scratches from the shrubs and clad only in underwear, she clutched a bloodied branch, her feet stinging from the spiky undergrowth. The birds of prey that hunted her were armed and ready to kill. She was everything they despised, and her very existence was now the greatest threat to their way of life, to everything they had, and they would never allow her to bring them down. She pushed herself back to her feet, adrenaline pumping and clouding the pain, and she ran, sweat running in rivulets into her eyes. No matter how fast she ran, the crashing sounds behind her became closer, louder. I can’t outrun them. She stumbled on a stone and her foot slipped out from beneath her. She hit the ground again, pain searing through her ankle. She thought of her baby son and the man she loved and the thought of never seeing them again was like a spear through her heart. Terror consumed her. And then she caught a glimpse through the trees of dark shapes in the distance, revealed by the filtered shafts of dim light. Her executioners. Just minutes away. ONE Two years earlier Sheets of rain were driven across the tarmac of Kingsford Smith International by a brisk wind. Sharing an umbrella as they dashed across the open ground were Liz Carter and Trans Pacific Air’s new marketing manager, Martin de Courcey. Another hectic moment in a week that had been a whirlwind for Liz. She’d had many discussions with senior managerial staff at TPA about their airline, the state of the aviation industry, and their future plans, always in the company of Martin. With his own piloting days behind him, Martin had gravitated to the marketing role with ease. He was energetic, still passionate about aviation, more debonair now than he’d probably been in his youth, and his finger was always on the pulse of everything happening. Liz liked Martin. He was a little frenetic and inclined towards the dramatic, but he certainly kept everyone’s adrenaline flowing. He hadn’t chosen the best day to take her on a tour of the airport’s operations, but Martin de Courcey wasn’t someone who changed his momentum to suit the weather. And this was the first operating day of her new agency, the first day TPA was officially her client. The umbrella came down as they entered Hangar Number Five. It seemed to Liz a cast of thousands was buzzing around the metallic giant, catering to its every whim: maintenance men, technicians, flight engineers, servicing its mammoth appetite for safety, fuelling, checks and double checks. Back in Martin’s office later in the day, Liz savoured a hot cup of coffee and watched the rain beating against the window that normally afforded a grand view of the bustling, big city, Sydney airport. ‘Your window on the world is temporarily out of order,’ Liz said as she brushed a single strand of her blonde hair away from her face. ‘Now there’s a line with some pizzazz,’ Martin said. ‘You say we need an integrated PR and ad campaign with a central message.’ ‘Absolutely.’ ‘One big, single corporate idea, like the great ad campaigns of the seventies and eighties. That “window” thing, maybe that’s it.’ ‘Maybe,’ said Liz. ‘I remember some of those campaigns. Those brands – airlines and cars and petrol companies – became iconic. Of course, that was all before your time, young lady.’ ‘All the more reason it’s due for a comeback,’ said Liz. ‘The trick is to make your name synonymous with the product.’ ‘Just like McDonalds when you think of fast food.’ ‘Exactly.’ After leaving Martin’s office, Liz waited for the elevator. When it arrived, a tall, dark-haired man in an airline captain’s uniform came out impatiently, colliding with her. ‘My apologies,’ he said, a twinkle