Breath of Hell (Harry Bauer Book 8)

by Blake Banner

  “Yeah, if you’re going to be stabbed through the heart on the ninth of November, 2023, you can take that blade on your knees, begging for mercy, or you can take it standing on your feet, tearing the other guy’s throat out with your teeth. That’s what I meant by how you die, and how you live.”

  Far off I saw the glow of headlamps rise and fade. She said, “Mythology, words.”

  “They’re words if you only speak them. But it becomes a way of life if you feel them and act on them.”

  She turned now and looked up into my face. Then her eyes dropped gradually to my chest and slipped away again, into the dark.

  “Perhaps I choose to live and die on my knees, Robert. That may be repugnant to you, but it’s a choice I have made. Perhaps I am happier that way.”

  “Is that why you escaped to a remote island in the Med? Is that why you opened your own hotel? So you could live on your knees?”

  Her face whipped around. “You know nothing of me or my life!”

  I nodded. “But it’s not hard to guess. People who escape are usually escaping from some kind of slavery, Charlotte. And they are usually escaping because they don’t like to be slaves. You want to live on your knees, be my guest, but don’t kid yourself you like it. My guess is too much self-pity just made you lazy.”

  “You bastard!”

  I reached out and cupped the back of her head in my hand, then leaned down and kissed her. She didn’t resist, but her left hand rested gently on my shoulder. When I withdrew she spoke in a whisper, “Robert, I can’t…”

  I kissed her again, softly, then whispered in her ear. “He owns you, Charlotte. He doesn’t own me.”

  Seven

  The headlamps illuminated the beach, then swung in from the right and the Land Rover pulled up at the foot of the broad steps. Kostas Minor climbed out from behind the wheel and opened the near-side back door. For a moment a pellet of hot coal burned in my gut as I wondered whether the colonel would step down from the back. If she did, I would kill Yushbaev and take her to the Apollonis right then. But it was not the colonel. It was a tall, athletic man somewhere in his forties or fifties. He had thick, dark hair swept back from a handsome, mocking face. His eyes were pale blue and insolent, his clothes stank of money, as did he.

  While Kostas Minor hurried around to the other side of the car, the man I knew was Gabriel Yushbaev climbed the steps, smiling easily at Charlotte. She gazed at him and held out both her hands. He spoke first.

  “Darling, it is wonderful to see you. So nice to return to my little home in the Cyclades.”

  “Gabriel, it has been far too long. We have missed you.”

  “I know, I know.” I watched him take her in his arms and kiss her, long and deep, while her hands clasped the back of his head. As he pulled away her hands slid to his shoulders and she whispered, “I have missed you.”

  Below I watched a man who was probably in his late twenties climb the stairs. He was wearing beige chinos and a navy blazer, and also looked expensive, though not as expensive as Yushbaev. Charlotte gestured at me with her hand, still gazing into her owner’s face.

  “Gabriel, this is Robert Foley, he is a guest at the hotel.”

  He turned to look at me, like he hadn’t noticed me before.

  “Robert Foley,” he said, as though the name had some meaning for him.

  “Gabriel Yushbaev,” I replied, in a strange inversion of the usual form. “How do you do?”

  “What brings you to Koufonisi, Mr. Foley? Not many people come here these days.”

  I shrugged. “Just exploring the islands. Looking for adventure.”

  “And whatever comes your way? An admirable approach to life. Join us for dinner.”

  I wanted to tell him to shove his dinner where the sun didn’t shine. Instead I smiled. “Thank you, that’s very gracious of you.”

  He didn’t bother to introduce the guy in the blazer. He walked into the lobby and suddenly, somehow, it was his. It was his lounge, his drawing room, his house and his party, and he was the host. Kostas Minor and two pretty girls appeared with trays of drinks, glasses and a large bucket of ice with two bottles of Krug shoved in it. One of the girls offered me champagne and I told her dry martini. She went away to make it. Yushbaev crossed the room to the French doors that led out to the pool, saying, “I love this place, small, cozy, like home for me.”

  Charlotte followed a few hesitant steps behind, and the guy in the blazer stepped up to me, holding out his hand.

  “Ben Macleod, I’m Gabriel’s accounts manager.”

  We shook. “Bob Foley, I’m a lay-about with too much time on his hands and a taste for easy adventure.”

  He laughed. “Sounds like fun.”

  “It is.” I jerked my head at Yushbaev. “That’s a hell of a big yacht for just the two of you. Don’t you get lonely rattling around in there?”

  He smiled with limelit pride. “You’ve seen it? She’s a beaut’, ain’t she? We have a couple other people on board, they’re just not here right now. Except…”

  He frowned and looked around.

  “Marie? She’s upstairs getting dressed.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “Hottest thing on two legs, I tell you. But she is private property.”

  “Yeah?” I grinned. “Whose?”

  “The boss. I’m telling you. I had a secretary, Russian guy, six two, thirty-something, real arrogant bastard. He made a pass at Marie, she told Gabriel and Gabriel beat seven bales of shit out of this guy while Marie watched. He sacked him, had him taken away and I never saw him again.”

  I could feel the warm burn of excitement in my gut. I gave my head a twitch and smiled. “That’s pretty intense. You have to be well connected to get away with that kind of thing.”

  “Oh.” He gave a small laugh. “He is well connected. Take my word for it.”

  “That doesn’t worry you?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, the way he’s got things sewn up, I figure I have the safest job on the planet.”

  Her voice came from the stairs, peremptory, sulky, a little demanding.

  “Gabbie?”

  He’d been talking to Charlotte. Now he turned and looked at the stairs that swept down from the upper floor. She was there, a little over halfway down. I had to admit that she was something to look at. Her short black hair framed a doll-like face, and her tanned skin was set off by long, silver earrings that sparkled with diamonds. A platinum and diamond choker highlighted a neck you just wanted to spend all night gnawing on, and her perfectly proportioned, curvaceous body was being hugged by a simple green silk dress that slid and slipped over her thighs and her bosom when she walked. Whatever your intellect told you about her shortcomings as a human being, your body just didn’t give a damn. You wanted her.

  Yushbaev crossed the room and received her at the bottom of the stairs. He spoke to her in Russian and she giggled playfully. A Greek maid offered her champagne, which she accepted without acknowledgment, and Yushbaev led her back across the room to where Charlotte was standing, staring at the floor.

  I smiled at Ben, who was goggling at Yushbaev with unconcealed awe.

  “You have to be some special kind of son of a bitch to enjoy a game like that, huh?”

  He added a frown to his goggle and directed it at me. I figured I’d had enough of teenage hero-worship and carried my martini over to the little group. Something in the anxiety on Ben’s face told me you weren’t supposed to do that unless you were summoned to The Presence by God Himself. I didn’t have a damn to give, but if I’d had one, I wouldn’t have given it.

  “That,” I said loudly as I approached them, intruding on their conversation, “is one mother of a beautiful yacht, Gabriel. I have to congratulate you.”

  He didn’t have much choice. He’d already invited me to dine with him and he wanted to play the gracious lordly host, so unless he was going to spoil his own scene, he was going to have to graciously accept my intrusion. That made me smile broadly, while he smiled
graciously.

  “The Bucephalus? It is fun. I enjoy it.”

  “Fun?” I gave a bark of a laugh and nudged Charlotte with the back of my drink-hand. “It probably cost the annual GDP of a small country!” She winced like I was being vulgar. I knew I was being vulgar, and I was enjoying it like he enjoyed the Bucephalus. “How many cabins has it got? I figure two staterooms, right?”

  His pale blue eyes said he was about to say something dismissive. So I didn’t give him a chance to answer. I turned away from him and started talking to Charlotte, who didn’t know whether to look confused or alarmed.

  “My brother-in-law down in Texas had one of them superyachts. He’s in oil and beef?” I laughed. “He says he can not only give you the steak, he can cook it for you too!” I laughed again. “Whole top deck of his baby was staterooms. Four staterooms with a lounge in the center? And a conch staircase winding down to the deck below. Two hundred feet long, that baby was.”

  Yushbaev was piqued in spite of himself. He addressed his answer to Marie, who was also staring at me curiously.

  “Well, we only have two staterooms, and six cabins on the next deck, but we find it covers our needs.”

  “Only!” I gave my head a twitch. “You are a master of understatement, sir. What size crew you got? I bet it’s about thirty men, isn’t it?”

  He laughed. “Those, Mr. Foley…”

  “Bob, please!”

  He winced with distaste. “Those were the older yachts that required a vast crew. But I value my privacy, so my most valued member of my crew is Hal.”

  “Hal?”

  “A small joke. Like the computer in Arthur C. Clarke’s Space Odyssey. I have a computer onboard, a gift from Bill, which operates just about everything on the yacht. We do still have humans for those little things that require arms and legs, opposable thumbs and independent thought…”

  I laughed and interrupted. “But you don’t want to encourage too much of that, do you?”

  “No, not really. Our crew is just twelve men.”

  I frowned. “Hal take care of security too? Boat like that is just crying out to be burgled.”

  “Oh yes, Bob, Hal takes care of security, and the twelve crew are all drawn from elite Russian special forces. Believe me, if you are planning to burgle the Bucephalus, you are in for a very nasty surprise.”

  We all laughed and I raised both hands, crying, “Oh no! Not me!”

  While we had been talking, Kostas Minor and the pretty maids had been filing in and out through the doors to the pool. Now he approached us and bowed, and addressed Charlotte in Greek.

  “Servíretai deipno, kyria.”

  She nodded. “Dinner is ready, shall we?”

  The question was addressed to Yushbaev. He acknowledged it with a smile as thin as a paper cut and turned to Marie, taking her arm in his, and echoed Charlotte’s words. “Shall we…?”

  He led the exquisite girl toward the terrace. I raised an eyebrow at Charlotte, though she was looking at Marie, not me, and said, “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Charlie, baby.”

  We followed the divine pair and she glanced at me. “Do you mind telling me what all that pseudo-Texan bullshit was about?”

  “Well, ma’am, I don’t rightly know what to say. Ever since you told me I was a cowboy, I feel the call of the prairie and the need to yodleee-i-ho.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Reckon as how you’re right, ma’am.”

  “Stop it, will you?”

  They had set up a long table with six places. Yushbaev had led Marie to the foot of the table and held the chair for her as she sat down, then stepped to the head and indicated to Charlotte that she should sit on his right, effectively making him and Marie the hosts, and Charlotte a guest. He indicated the seat on his left to me and Ben went and sat on Marie’s left.

  Charlotte sat and the men sat. I glanced at the empty seat on my left. The place had been set with plates, cutlery and glasses. I noticed Marie was still watching me with a lack of expression that managed to convey interest, like a cat watching a mouse. I asked her, “Are we expecting somebody else?”

  “The colonel was going to join us, but at the last minute was indisposed.”

  I smiled blandly. “Maybe he hasn’t found his sea legs yet. Have you been long at sea?”

  Yushbaev answered. “Just a few days, from Marbella. The colonel, Bob, is a woman. Colonel Jane Harris, of the United States Air Force. Traveling with us to Divnomorskoye, on the Black Sea. Do you know it?”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I imagine you’ll pass by Istanbul. That is one town I have never been to, but is definitely on my bucket list.”

  He settled back in his chair and gave me the kind of smile a mongoose might give a cobra.

  “Bucket list?” he said. “Isn’t that the list of things you must do before you ‘kick the bucket’?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Then you must go as soon as possible, Bob. It is just here, around the corner! Go!”

  “You know something I don’t, Gabriel?”

  He threw back his head and gave a big, Russian, theatrical laugh. “No, my dear Bob, it is simply that we never know what awaits us—not around the bend—but at the next step! Life is a path into the darkness, which we illuminate with every footstep we take. Leave nothing till later. Strike now and make the moment yours! For it is all you will ever have: this moment!”

  “Good words. But if it’s all the same with you, I’ll stick with this moment right now, and do Istanbul next week.” I smiled, and gestured at the table with both hands. “Good company, the promise of great food, and a charming, beautiful hostess across from me. This moment suits me just fine!”

  Charlotte flushed and looked down at her plate. I felt an icy thunder brewing inside Yushbaev and gave him a big, friendly Texas grin, while carefully ignoring the poisonous babe at the foot of the table.

  “Say!” I snapped my fingers just as Kostas Minor and the maids appeared carrying dishes of seafood and salad. “Speaking of bucket lists and carpe diem, you know what I would just love?”

  He gave the kind of smile you’d call urbane. “I can guess a few things, but I’d hate to say them out loud in mixed company.”

  I pointed my finger at him like a gun. “You got me! That’s funny! You got me.” I dropped the smile. “No, but seriously. And you can just say, ‘Bob, no can do, pal,’ I will understand. But I would love to have a look on board your rig. I have a passion for boats. Seriously, and I have to say your Bucephalus is one of the prettiest boats I have seen in a long time.”

  He gave a small, indulgent laugh as one of the Greek maids set a plate of fish in front of him and another poured more champagne.

  “My goodness, is that all? Come and have lunch with us tomorrow. I’ll show you around. I’ll introduce you to the colonel. It will be nice for her to meet a compatriot.”

  “Well that’s what I call mighty hospitable of you, Gabbie. I will enjoy that a lot, I am sure.”

  “It will be our pleasure, won’t it, Marianne?” He looked down the table at her. She kept her eyes on me. “Absolutely. I can’t wait.”

  The talk moved on to the latest Broadway shows, and the shows off Broadway too, to Marbella and Puerto Banus’s collective status as the two most boring luxury holiday destinations on Earth, but the relative convenience of their proximity to London. From there to the opportunities offered to Russian billionaires by Brexit and the pandemic, plus Yushbaev’s theories on the artificial origin of the virus, and its delivery; and from there, finally, to the possibilities of life on Mars and mining there and on the moon. The talk was him talking and everybody else listening and laughing when required. We all played our parts perfectly. I, for my part, had nothing left to say. I had secured what I wanted and I was on fire inside. Tomorrow I was going to see the colonel, face to face.

  And tomorrow, if all went well, I was going to kill Gabriel Yushbaev.

  Eight

 
It was very tempting to seize on the new conditions, alter the plan and strike right away. It would not be difficult: Come aboard as a guest, and if the colonel came to the table, shoot Yushbaev and his security team, take the colonel and leave. Use the element of surprise to the maximum; and I had slipped the P226 into my waistband, and my knife into my boot, just in case.

  But there were problems, too. Russian special forces were not sophisticated, and not all that well trained, but they were as tough as old boot leather, they were ruthless and they were relentless. They would not back off just because their boss was dead. They’d keep on coming until you killed every man Jack of them, and then they’d come back and haunt you as a Russian choir. That meant it was desirable to have a lot of firepower and a powerful distraction—which took me back to my original plan.

  So by the time I climbed into the Jeep and headed for Pori Beach for the second time in two days, I had made up my mind to stick to the original plan, unless a perfect, irresistible opportunity presented itself.

  When I arrived at Pori Beach at midday, there was a launch waiting for me with a guy who managed to make complete indifference into a special kind of Russian surliness. The truth was, I didn’t give much of a damn about his indifference because the only thought I had in my mind, as we skipped across the green water toward the yacht, was whether the colonel was going to be there, and how she would react when she saw me. I had to acknowledge the possibility that she would alert Yushbaev to who I was, and if she did that I would need to act fast and decisively. Yushbaev would have to die immediately, as would his men. The colonel would have to come back with me and be debriefed, and Cobra would have to reinvent itself from scratch.

  The brigadier would probably have advised against my visiting the boat. Better to strike by surprise, out of the blue. But the advantages to be gained from a recon were too good to be passed up.

  As we moored at the stern, I could see my host in white slacks and a dark blue blazer waiting to receive me. He had a tall drink in his left hand, and Marianne in his right. She was more undressed than dressed, in a mauve bikini that left the essentials to the imagination, but with a lot to go on. Her hair was wet and her skin sparkled with droplets of salty seawater. I climbed aboard and she just watched me while Yushbaev shook my hand.