by Tim Tigner
With worry on her mind, Katya reached the back of the boat. She grasped the swimming platform with a light touch, so as not to rock it. The overhang wasn’t just a good handhold, it provided the perfect place for concealing the tracking pellet.
She pulled the epoxy from her fanny pack with trembling fingers, ripped the caps off the twin tubes with her teeth, and spit them into the black water. Eager to complete her mission and get out of the drink, Katya wedged the tips into the corner where the platform met the hull and applied force to the plunger.
Nothing happened.
She pressed harder.
Still nothing.
Looking closer, Katya spotted the problem. The tips had to be cut off — and she didn’t have a knife. With a roll of her eyes, she started in with her teeth. Was this stuff poisonous? She wondered. After a few seconds of fruitless chewing, she realized that it didn’t matter. She’d freeze to death before she severed the thick plastic. She had to get out of the water, and if she was getting out anyway, the epoxy was superfluous.
That alternative course of action posed another predicament. Could she climb aboard without rocking the boat? She didn’t have enough experience with yachts to know how sensitive the Winsome Whisper would be to her 120 pounds, but she had to assume that any sudden move in these calm conditions would be enough to alert Wang. Achilles had suggested gradually increasing the natural rise and fall of the boat, but in this calm, there wasn’t any natural movement. With no time to waste mulling options, the math professor in her made the snap decision to go with the slow-and-steady approach. She couldn’t change her mass, but she could diminish the force she imparted by minimizing her acceleration.
Positioning herself just left of the swimming platform, she pulled herself up inch by inch, handhold by handhold, until she could grasp the top railing with both hands extended overhead. She slowly stopped kicking, allowing the boat to absorb her weight gradually. Once she and the boat had settled into this new arrangement, she walked both her hands out to the sides, until they were as wide as she could get them, and her breasts were just above the waterline.
For three deep breaths, she built strength and focus, then she began to pull. She didn’t heave or jerk. She kept the pressure steady, trying to picture shipyard cranes in place of her skinny little shoulders. Slow and steady. She nearly lost it at the midpoint where her arms had the least leverage, but the thought of Achilles’ encouraging smile helped her to break through, and a second later she exhaled a sigh of relief as her elbows locked into place.
Katya maintained muscular discipline until she’d lifted her right leg up atop the swimming platform, then she slowly dumped her weight into it.
The boat remained steady.
The breeze froze her wet flesh even as the danger ignited Katya’s core. She buoyed her mood by recalling the old statistical joke that on average her temperature was just right.
Not wanting to remain in this exposed position any longer than she had to, Katya immediately began searching for a proper place to hide the tracking pellet. As she scanned the bare deck beneath the dim glow of clouded crescent moonlight, she wondered what Wang would do if he came out and found her, clinging naked to the back of his boat. Would he shoot her? Hold her hostage? Attempt something even worse? Oddly enough, her first thought after that unpleasant image was that she couldn’t die before giving Achilles her big news. Funny how the very day she received the culminating offer of her career, something even more momentous had come along. God laughs while man plans.
After resolving not to waste her next opportunity to talk with Achilles, she found the answer to her current problem right before her eyes. A seat cushion. Probably nautical blue in daylight, at night it looked black in contrast with the white yacht.
She leaned over with a slow, deliberate move and found the end of the slipcover’s zipper. The sea air hadn’t been kind to the mechanism. When it didn’t respond to a few gentle tugs, she put some oomph into it. This gave her the inch she needed, but it also sent the epoxy tube clattering to the deck with a reverberation that may as well have been a bowling ball striking ten pins.
Struggling to remain calm, she stuffed the tracking pellet into the cushion and reversed the zip. Her mission was accomplished but not complete. The telltale epoxy tube was a few feet away, laying where Wang couldn’t miss it. She made the split-second decision to retrieve it rather than immediately abandoning ship. Working as quickly as she could without generating sound or sway, Katya stepped over the rail and onto the aft deck. Snatching up the offending object, she hurled it back the way she’d come with all the force her frightened frame could muster. It soared like a frisbee further than she’d have thought possible and disappeared with a distant bloop.
“What was that?”
Katya spun about at the sound of the familiar voice to find herself looking down the barrel of the largest handgun she’d ever seen.
Chapter 112
The Rat
Airborne, over Europe
ACHILLES AND MAX went aft through the bathroom to the jet’s luggage compartment, leaving Glick alone in the main cabin to contemplate his new life. Throwing open the small door, there was no mistaking the strange sight that met their eyes. When they’d loaded Ignaty through the luggage hatch, packed in the big black duffel, he’d resembled a fat golf bag. Now that he was awake and squirming, that illusion was shattered.
Ignaty had information critical to America’s national security, and Achilles and Max only had a few hours to get it. They had worked out a ruse to frighten their captive into talking. Some might consider their tactic cruel, and to be honest Achilles wasn’t entirely comfortable with the plan, but it was far better than the fingernail-pulling, bone-breaking alternative, and if their acting skills were up to par, it would be much more effective.
“No cries for help,” Achilles noted, slipping into character and kicking off the psychological game by speaking loud enough for Ignaty to hear through the bag. “I was certain he’d be a whiner. Desk-jockeys usually are.”
Max leaned in toward Achilles’ ear and spoke low. “I couldn’t find anything else to use as a gag, so I stuffed a wig in his mouth. I’m guessing he thinks it’s a rat.”
Achilles cringed at the image, but didn’t comment.
Ignaty didn’t speak even after Max ripped off the tape and pulled the soggy hairball from his mouth, but his eyes were talking — impolitely.
“So the strategy guy has nothing to say,” Max said. “Too proud to snivel. Too blind to bargain.”
Ignaty remained quiet.
“You did miss a lot of excitement while you were snoozing. Allow me to fill you in. Achilles, please show our prisoner the video.”
Achilles pulled up the helicopter crash on his cell phone and put the screen a foot from Ignaty’s face. “Care to guess? I’ll give you a hint. It’s not porn.”
When Ignaty didn’t respond, Achilles hit play.
To his credit, Ignaty didn’t begin blathering as Korovin’s helicopter disintegrated. Instead he asked, “Where are we going?”
“Not a bad start,” Max said, playing his role beautifully. “What do you think, Achilles? Pretty efficient question if you ask me. An inclusive pronoun, and a structure that will provide a whole lot of context from a one-word answer.”
Following the script, Achilles grabbed two thick luggage straps off a rack and handed one to Max. With Ignaty watching wide-eyed, Achilles secured one end around his own waist while Max did the same. Then each clipped the other end to a D-ring on the wall. “Sorry, we only have two of these.”
Ignaty began to tremble as Achilles walked over to the luggage loading hatch and put his hand on the big red handle. There were safeties that needed to be manipulated both there and in the cockpit before the handle would actually release the door, but those technical details weren’t front of mind, judging by Ignaty's face. Hardly surprising, since he’d just seen them kill Korovin. “I jumped from a Gulfstream GV once, over a Middle-Eastern city that w
ill go unnamed. It was like getting sucked up by a vacuum cleaner and spit out into space.”
“How’d that turn out?” Max asked.
“Just fine. I actually enjoyed it. Of course, I had oxygen, insulated clothing, and a parachute.” Achilles drummed the handle. “I think you should explain to Ignaty that you and I are going to the U.S. Whether he’ll be landing with us or in the Atlantic is entirely dependent on his answer to a single question.”
Both spies turned their heads to look at Sunset’s architect. Achilles had to give Ignaty credit for keeping it together. Many a rough-and-ready man would be babbling by now.
“What question?” Ignaty asked.
Max held up a finger, halting Achilles. “Let’s reposition his hands behind his back before you ask. If I don’t like the answer, I want to be able to kick him in the balls. Send him out into space with a split scrotum. Can’t do that with the current configuration.”
Achilles whispered in Ignaty's ear while he cut and reapplied the zip ties. “It would be a favor, really. Kinda keep your mind off things to come. Takes a long time to fall from 30,000 feet.”
With Ignaty now hog-tied, wrists to ankles, Achilles propped him up on his knees and leaned his back against the exterior hatch. He put one hand on the red handle and the other on Ignaty's shoulder. “Just one question. I suggest a prompt and accurate answer. He’s been dying to do this for quite some time now. Are you ready?”
Ignaty looked back and forth between the solemn faces of his captors, then nodded.
“Good. Here it comes. How did you learn about my mission?”
“What happens if I tell you?”
Max drew his leg back for the punt while Achilles shook his head.
“Reggie Pepper,” Ignaty blurted. “Do you know Reggie Pepper?”
“Never heard of him,” Max said.
“I met him once,” Achilles said. “He’s the president’s body man — a young, fit guy who shadows Silver and serves as his extra set of arms.”
Ignaty nodded. “That’s Reggie. Good kid. I put a voice recorder in his shoe.”
Chapter 113
Complications
Seattle, Washington
WANG HAD SPENT PLENTY OF TIME sighting in targets, and he particularly liked doing so over the serrated barrel of his SIG MPX submachine gun, but this was the first time that he’d seen a nearly naked woman in the crosshairs. Even wet as a drowned rat, stunned into silence, and trembling, the Russian was stunning.
“What was that?” Wang repeated. “What did you throw?”
She blinked a few times before answering. “My phone. The water ruined it.”
“You expected otherwise?”
“It was in a bag, but the bag leaked.”
Wang had a long list of questions far more serious than phone mechanics but securing the site had to come first. “Unbuckle your fanny pack and let it drop to the deck.”
She complied. There was no thunk when it fell.
Wang stepped aside and gestured with the MPX for her to step down into the cabin. He paid particular attention to her eyes throughout, looking for a tell that she wasn’t alone.
Her gaze didn’t drift.
He snatched up her bag and followed her in. “Have a seat at the table. Lay your palms flat atop it.”
She complied. “Can I borrow a bathrobe?”
He unzipped the fanny pack and looked inside. It was empty. “Who are you with?”
“I’m alone. Obviously.”
She was still trembling. He was no master interrogator but that was probably a good thing. “Where’s Max?”
“He’s out of the country.”
“Moscow?”
She nodded.
“And the brunette?”
“Back at the hotel, waiting for my call to confirm that you’re still with your umbrella.”
“With my umbrella?”
“That’s how I found you. The other day, while dancing, my colleague put a tracking device on your umbrella. Just a precaution but obviously a good one.”
Wang wanted to kick himself. If it was true, he’d been played. By women.
If it wasn’t true, if there was more to the story, then his goose was cooked. He had three, thirty-round magazines for his MDX. Ninety bullets. Plenty for a power play or small skirmish, but laughably insufficient if the Russians were coming.
Keeping the MPX trained between her naked breasts, Wang grabbed the umbrella from the hook by the door. “Where’d she hide it?”
“On the inside, near the tip I think.”
Rather than opening the umbrella, Wang felt for it. There was too much other stuff at the hub to tell. His eyes locked on those of his hostage, he said, “I spent some time in Dallas last year. Texans have a saying that fits this situation nicely.” He paused to let her tension build. “You mess with the bull, you get the horns.”
“It’s there,” she said, clearly trying to sound certain. “Can you at least turn the heat on?”
Wang grabbed a purple U-Dub sweatshirt from the same rack that held the umbrella and tossed it to her. While she pulled it over her head, he opened the umbrella and felt inside. Sure enough, his fingers found a kidney-bean sized something glued to the apex. Without further fuss, he opened the outside door, closed the umbrella, and hurled it over the rail like a spear.
While his old friend sank to the bottom of Puget Sound, Wang’s mind began racing for his life, working the permutations of his predicament. If the Russian was alone, now she was cut off. If she wasn’t alone, then there was nothing he could do about it. Whoever was out there would have called for the cavalry by now. Wang would run the hostage ploy when they showed up, of course, but he wasn’t going to delude himself about how that would end. Escape was his only option. For that, he’d have to employ both quick and nimble movements, and Sun Tzu style cunning.
He took two brisk steps toward the girl and pressed the tip of the MDX between her breasts. “What was your plan?”
She stared down at the gun. “My plan?”
“Why did you come here?”
“To confirm that you were on the boat with the umbrella, that you hadn’t discovered the tracker and sent it off on another boat as a decoy. I watched the boat for a long time, but nobody ever came out, so I had to swim.”
That made sense to Wang. Had he found the tracker, he might have done exactly as she’d suggested. “And what were you going to do, once you found me.”
“Spook you into turning over the activation code without payment.”
“Spook me?” Wang blurted with incredulity before giving her the once over with his eyes. “How were you going to do that?”
“That’s what the phone was for. I was going to leave it on the boat — and then call you.”
The simplicity of her plan hit him like an ice bath. Apparently he wasn’t the only one familiar with The Art Of War. Wang pictured himself reacting to a ringing phone that wasn’t supposed to be there. In his circumstances, it would be the audible equivalent of spotting the red dot of a laser sight on his chest. “How do I know you’re not making that up?”
She spread her arms. “Can you think of another explanation why I’d be here rather than a SWAT team?”
He couldn’t. But he could think of a telling question. “Why bother? Why not just pay? It’s only $20 million. You Russians shouldn’t have to think twice about a paltry sum like that.”
“Would you want to tell your boss that he has to cough up $20 million because you screwed up? It’s more than our lives are worth. We don’t work for terribly understanding men. Surely you can appreciate that.”
Wang could. He chided himself for failing to anticipate that angle.
Cracks were forming in his well-laid plan, and he was becoming nervous that his bright future might shatter, leaving nothing but dark days ahead — at best.
He took a deep breath and shooed away the worry birds. He had to get moving. Fast and unpredictably.
They’d expect him to head west for the
open waters of the Pacific or north toward Canada and the Salish Sea, so he decided to turn the Winsome Whisper south and get lost among the lesser waterways leading to Puget Sound. There were many hundreds of miles of coastline down there, much of it winding through locales with minimal habitation. He knew. He had studied the maps. Just in case.
Wang resolved that he wouldn’t be bested. He’d blown a battle, but whatever it took, he’d still win the war. “Get up!”
Her eyes grew wide. “Where are we going?”
“You’re going into lockup — where you’ll stay, until the $20 million is paid. If it’s not paid promptly or if you give me problems, well…” Wang gestured toward the dark waters with his gun. “You’ll be following the phone and the umbrella.”
Chapter 114
Panic
Seattle, Washington
WHEN MUTE MEN in black suits diverted her and Max into a helicopter, Zoya had become nervous. When she’d been conscripted into conning an American spy out of his deepest secret, she became anxious. When Achilles had uncovered her ruse, her tension turned into panic. But it wasn’t until Zoya saw Wang capturing Katya at gunpoint that she worried she might lose control.
Zoya scanned her surroundings, literally looking for an answer while struggling to remain calm. She was on a riverbank at midnight in the middle of nowhere, with a dead phone and no backup plan. On top of that, she was mentally exhausted, physically depleted, and Max was halfway around the world.
But she couldn’t let Katya down. As bad as Zoya had it, Katya had it worse.
What could she do?
Zoya grappled for answers as she clung to sanity. Had Katya successfully planted the tracking pellet? Zoya would have to recharge her phone to find out. Was that what she should do? Should she run back to the hotel and charge the phone, then try to contact Max and Achilles? Or should she stay there, watching the boat and waiting for the opportunity to assist Katya?
