The Power Trip

by Jackie Collins

  Cliff had the stance down. Over the years he’d played three detectives, two cops, a renegade gunrunner, a man out to revenge his wife’s murder and a maverick cowboy.

  When Cliff was six, his mother had shot his father right between the eyes. It was a secret from his past that he’d managed to hide from the world. Oh yes, Cliff Baxter and guns were way too familiar. Yet he refused to keep one in his home lest a visitor discovered it and shot someone by accident.

  So far, he and Den had encountered no lurking pirates.

  ‘Think they’ve run their sorry arses outta here,’ Den said, as they finished a sweep of the lower deck. ‘Must’ve found out we caught their mates, so they pissed off.’

  ‘You think?’ Cliff said, lowering his gun.

  ‘Bunch of yellow bastards,’ Den scoffed. ‘We’re done.’

  ‘But we didn’t find Flynn or Taye,’ Cliff pointed out.

  ‘They’re probably in the mess-hall with Aleksandr,’ Den said, quite full of himself. ‘Uh . . . I mean Mr Kasianenko.’

  ‘Right,’ Cliff said.

  ‘We should go join up,’ Den said, wondering if anyone had a camera so he could get a souvenir photo of himself with Cliff Baxter. What a coup that would be.

  ‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ Cliff said.

  Den started off in the other direction, and as he did so, Basra appeared.

  The pirate made a grotesque sight. Gaunt and haggard, with his matted dreadlocks and filthy clothes drenched in blood. His face was cadaverous, his eyes manic: he looked like a feral animal caught in a steel trap.

  Den had his back to him, he was already heading for the mess-hall.

  But Cliff was facing him.

  Man to man.

  There they were, the grisly murderous pirate and the handsome movie star.

  They both raised their guns.

  A shot rang out and one of them fell to the ground.

  Den spun around. It was too late for him to do anything.

  Too damn late.

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  The 378-foot, high-endurance Coast Guard cutter Sunrise pulled up next to The Bianca. Several maritime law enforcement officers immediately boarded the vessel, guns at the ready.

  Flynn greeted them. ‘You’re too late,’ he informed them with a cynical shake of his head. ‘Guess we did your job for you.’

  Captain Dickson was on deck. He led the officers straight to the captured pirates – Cashoo, Hani, Daleel and Galad, who were put in handcuffs and taken away.

  Medical personnel also boarded and began getting the wounded onto stretchers before transferring them to the cutter’s helicopter.

  Aleksandr insisted that his guests were taken care of first. Jeromy got the star treatment, with Renee next in line, then Den, and finally Aleksandr – but not before he’d made sure that Bianca and the other women were safe.

  A medic attempted to attend to Flynn, but he waved her away. ‘I’m fine,’ he said curtly.

  Aleksandr personally gave Sierra the news about Hammond. Her reaction was not what he’d expected. She’d remained dry-eyed and surprisingly calm.

  Then came the morbid part. The photographing and removal of the dead bodies from the yacht. First Senator Patterson, then the bodyguard Kyril, and finally the two dead pirates.

  Cliff Baxter was hailed as a hero, for he was the one who’d shot and killed the man who’d brutally raped Renee then murdered Senator Patterson.

  In her mind, Renee had convinced herself that this was exactly how it had all gone down. She was a victim, and she told her story with great conviction. It was all about how she’d been in her cabin when the pirate had entered, attacked and raped her. Then Senator Patterson had burst in to try to save her, only to get himself shot.

  Nobody questioned why the Senator was naked. Aleksandr had spoken on the phone to certain people in power, and the investigation was cursory.

  Case closed.

  Nobody cared about a dead Somalian pirate.

  Den, the barman, was somewhat bummed. Just his luck that the friggin’ movie star had been the one to shoot the wanker. It should’ve been him. He was the person who deserved hero status.

  The guests were all anxious to get off The Bianca as soon as possible. The crew also couldn’t wait.

  Captain Dickson headed back to Cabo full speed ahead, where chaos waited.

  The world press were in ecstasy. What a story! One of the greatest ever. A gaggle of stars. Power. Money. Fame. Sex. Murder. Luxury.

  Headlines roared across the world. The Internet blew up.

  Senator Patterson’s sex scandal was forgotten. Along with Cliff Baxter, the Senator was now a hero. Albeit a dead hero, but a hero all the same.

  Aleksandr made arrangements for an army of bodyguards to meet The Bianca when it docked. A fleet of private jets awaited to take his esteemed guests to wherever they wished to go.

  Aleksandr’s personal doctor had flown in to tend to him. Fortunately the injury to his thigh was not as serious as he’d feared, and he jetted off to Moscow with Bianca by his side.

  Ashley and Taye flew back to England, where the British press descended on them in full force. So many photographers, so many flash bulbs blinding them as they stepped out of the airport.

  Their two mums were waiting to greet them, accompanied by the twins, Aimee and Wolf, in matching girl/boy outfits.

  Ashley let out a yelp of pure joy as she bent down to cuddle both her children. ‘Mummy’s home,’ she crooned. ‘And I promise you that Mummy will never leave you again.’

  ‘You got that right,’ said a grinning Taye.

  To Jeromy’s chagrin, Luca left him languishing in a hospital in Cabo while he flew back to Miami. ‘If I stay, the press’ll drive us crazy,’ Luca explained. ‘It’s better that you recover quietly without all the fuss of me being around.’

  Jeromy was not a happy camper. Cliff, feted as a hero, avoided the press altogether. He and Lori returned to L.A. and holed up in his mansion while the furore died down. ‘I’m no hero,’ he kept on protesting to his inner circle.

  But everyone – including Lori – knew that he was.

  Xuan refused the offer of a private jet and took a commercial flight to Syria, where she had an assignment to write an in-depth piece for the Huffington Post.

  Which left Sierra and Flynn.

  And where exactly did it leave them?

  Not in a perfect place, for although outwardly calm, Sierra was horrified at what had taken place. She might have hated her husband, but she’d certainly never wished anything like this on him.

  Flynn made an attempt to comfort her.

  She rejected him. Turned away from anything he had to say.

  They parted ways without resolving anything.

  Sierra travelled to New York.

  Flynn took off to Paris.

  Both understood that for now – sadly – it was not to be.

  Epilogue

  Three Months Later

  Scandals come and go. There is always something outrageous going on in the headlines, whether it be political, sexual or money-oriented. Sometimes all three combined.

  The Bianca débâcle was up there with the best of them, much as the main players involved tried to leave it in their wake.

  Aleksandr Kasianenko would always be known as the Russian oligarch whose yacht was taken over by pirates.

  Bianca, the famous super-model whose name was synonymous with the scandal, would always be known as the girl after whom the infamous yacht was named.

  The press never tired of writing about the pirating of The Bianca. Especially as the main pirate, and the mystery girl who was apparently working on the inside, were never captured. Their speedboat vanished, and since a second storm came in later that same day, the most popular theory was that they had been caught in the storm mid-ocean, and that possibly their boat had gone down, and they’d both drowned.

  * * *

  Mercedes couldn’t help smiling when she read the stories on the Internet
. Talk about a clean getaway!

  After Cruz had tossed the Captain overboard, a move she considered genius, he’d disposed of Jabrill the same way – although ill-fated Jabrill had no one to rescue him.

  As soon as that business was taken care of, Cruz had landed the boat on one of the less tourist-filled islands, sold it to a local fisherman with the stipulation that he hid the speedboat until the name was changed and the boat repainted, then he’d taken off on his own with hardly so much as a goodbye. ‘I’ll be in touch, carino,’ he’d said to his one and only daughter.

  Really? Where and when?

  Mercedes hadn’t minded. Why would she? She had the money and the ring. Cruz had been too concerned with plotting his getaway to even bother asking her what was in the garbage bag.

  After making it to Madrid, where she knew people with connections, she’d gotten in touch with a man who was able to get her a new identity and passport, then she’d flown to Argentina, because it was far enough away, and she’d read about how beautiful it was in a magazine.

  Now she was happily ensconced in Buenos Aires, living with a young polo player she’d met while sitting at the bar in one of the big hotels. The boy was twenty-two and his parents were major rich! Naturally they didn’t approve of her.

  Did she care? No. He loved her. And so he should. She knew sex tricks he’d never even thought of.

  Yes, Mercedes was perfectly content. On her new passport her name was Porsche. She was a girl with a hot boyfriend, some money, and tucked away in a safe-deposit box was the emerald and diamond ring. Her lucky prize. Her annuity.

  Mercedes was ready for the next chapter.

  * * *

  Captain Dickson decided that the time had come for him to retire. He did not like the notoriety that now surrounded him, nor did his wife. Much as he’d enjoyed his many years at sea, the events that had taken place on The Bianca were too much for him to stomach.

  He settled comfortably in his house in the Cotswolds, and never took to the sea again.

  * * *

  Cashoo, Daleel, Hani, and Galad were arrested and thrown into jail where they were repeatedly questioned through an interpreter.

  None of them spoke a word. They upheld the code of silence.

  In his heart, Cashoo was convinced that Cruz would come and rescue them.

  Three months later, he was still hoping.

  * * *

  Cast out in the middle of the night from the remote villa, with only the clothes on her back, Ina was burning to get her revenge on Sergei. He’d crossed the wrong girl. She wasn’t her brother’s keeper. It wasn’t her fault that Cruz had screwed him.

  Freezing cold and soaked by the storm, she’d made it to a narrow road, and huddled under a tree until early in the morning when a gardener’s truck had stopped and picked her up.

  She’d lost everything. Her home. Her clothes. Her life.

  But Ina was not Cruz’s half-sister for nothing. The vengeful streak Cruz possessed ran in the family.

  If she was to end up with nothing, then so was Sergei.

  He was a drug lord. She knew plenty of his secrets, and she was prepared to reveal them.

  With the one credit card she had concealed on her person, she purchased a ticket to Mexico City and went straight to the police.

  There she went into hiding at the expense of the government, waiting to testify at Sergei’s trial.

  Unfortunately this never happened, because even though she was in protective custody, an assassin managed to get past her two bodyguards, and shot her to death while she slept.

  At least she never knew what hit her.

  * * *

  Guy returned to his hometown of Melbourne and his faithful partner. He’d decided to take a month or two off before going back to work.

  Guy was frankly confused. How had Renee been able to change her story and get away with it? She’d quite clearly told him and Jeromy Milton-Gold that Senator Patterson was on top of her when the pirate had entered her room. Then she’d switched, and said it was the pirate on top of her, raping her, when Senator Patterson had burst in to save her.

  That’s when the Senator had gotten shot. In the back, no less.

  Neither story made sense. And what certainly made no sense at all was Senator Patterson being naked.

  Guy realized it was not for him to ask questions. He’d got a right dressing-down from Captain Dickson for hiring Mercedes in the first place. The inside girl. The insolent little twat. Who’d have thought?

  Reflecting on all the drama, Guy realized that Mercedes had been a squirrelly piece of work, always skiving off, never around when he needed her.

  He’d done nothing about getting his revenge on Jeromy Milton-Gold. Wasn’t it revenge enough that the pervert had gotten himself shot?

  Karma was a right old bitch.

  * * *

  Den seized every opportunity he could. Returning to his native Australia, he appeared on countless TV shows, giving interviews and becoming quite a mini-celebrity in the process.

  Den revelled in the spotlight. So did his family. Unfortunately it didn’t last. So what next?

  He took a chance and sent a letter and resumé to Aleksandr Kasianenko, reminding him of his part in The Bianca fiasco, and requesting a job in security. To his amazement, several weeks later he received a response with a job offer. He was currently packing up and preparing to move to Moscow.

  * * *

  Like Guy and Den, Renee returned to Australia, but unlike Den, she refused to do any interviews. She was still shell-shocked after all that had happened.

  Before leaving the yacht, Aleksandr Kasianenko had taken her aside and handed her a cheque for one hundred thousand dollars. ‘It’s best you keep your story to yourself,’ he’d cautioned her. ‘The press have a way of making things up, and you wouldn’t want that, would you, dear?’

  No. She wouldn’t want that.

  Silence was golden. Especially when it came to protecting a US Senator’s reputation.

  * * *

  Cruz considered going back to his guarded compound in Eyl. Then he reconsidered.

  Sergei would know exactly where to find him. And how about the friends and relatives of the missing pirates?

  Eight pirates had left. None had returned.

  There would be mothers, fathers, wives and other relatives hot to tear him into a thousand little pieces.

  Cruz ran to Brazil, planning to lie low for a while. His life was in danger, so, like his daughter, he forged himself a new identity and began scheming about what he would do next.

  Whatever it was, he would make money. Cruz always landed the right side up.

  * * *

  Like a snake waiting to pounce, Sergei sat back and bided his time. He could be patient when he had to. He’d waited long enough to track down his brother’s killer. Now he would wait for the pond scum, Cruz, to surface, and only then would justice be done.

  Just as he’d dealt with Ina, so Cruz would be next.

  And sometime in the future, Aleksandr Kasianenko.

  It wasn’t over . . . Not at all.

  * * *

  Dateline: London

  Jeromy Milton-Gold eventually returned to London after spending a week in a hospital in Cabo. A week alone. A week during which Luca seemed to think a phone call or two would suffice.

  Jeromy could not believe that Luca would dare to treat him in such a cavalier fashion after all he’d been through. Damn the trumped-up pop singer with delusions of super-stardom. Luca was nothing but a lucky boy plucked from the chorus line to feed Suga’s enormous ego.

  Jeromy was angry. And bitter. And filled with envy that only the stars who’d been on the cruise were getting the headlines.

  He was the one who’d been shot. Yet it seemed that nobody cared.

  Except Lanita and Sydney Luttman, who’d come to the hospital to visit him. They’d wanted to hear everything.

  Jeromy had obliged as best he could, digging up whatever salacious details came to m
ind.

  The Luttmans arranged to meet up with him in London, where they’d decided to buy a townhouse.

  ‘You’ll be in charge of everything,’ Lanita had informed him, waving a diamond-encrusted wrist in the air. ‘Sydney pisses money. Spend whatever it takes.’

  Jeromy knew he was capable of doing exactly that.

  Two weeks later, Sydney Luttman was felled on the tennis court by a massive heart attack. He died instantly.

  A few weeks later, Lanita arrived in London, and Jeromy soon found himself spending more and more time with her. She found him to be the perfect walker, and sometime sex partner when she was up for an orgy or two. Lanita was going ahead with her townhouse, and was ready to spend an outrageous amount of money.

  One day she’d sat herself down in Jeromy’s showroom, given him a long penetrating look then made him a proposition he couldn’t refuse.

  Well, he could’ve. But who would?

  Lanita was super-rich.

  Lanita was a sex freak.

  Lanita was generous.

  Lanita wanted a husband by her side, and Jeromy was the man she had in mind.

  ‘You do understand that I’m gay?’ Jeromy said.

  ‘Honey, gay – schmay – we can work it out.’

  And so, with a meticulously put-together financial agreement, Jeromy became Mr Lanita Luttman. A role he was most suited to.

  * * *

  Dateline: Miami

  ‘We should have another baby,’ Luca announced.

  The Bianca débâcle was long past. Jeromy was history. And recently he’d persuaded Suga to sell her Miami mansion and move into his. Luca junior was thrilled to see his parents back together,

  ‘I’m too old, carino,’ Suga responded, stroking his cheek. ‘Besides, you and I – our making-love days are over.’

  ‘That’s not what I was thinking,’ Luca said. ‘I was thinking adoption.’

  ‘You were?’ Suga said, noting how much more relaxed and happy Luca was since he’d finally gotten rid of Jeromy. Recently he’d been seeing a young man nearer his own age. Their partnership was a much better fit. And the best news of all was that Suga and he actually got along.

  ‘Imagine what a blast it would be to have a baby in the house again,’ Luca said, full of enthusiasm. ‘A little girl. A little Suga.’