by John Sneeden
He did respect the fact that the Serpent wasn’t taking part himself. Earlier in the evening, just after dark, the Serpent and several other members of the security team departed with Mironov and Marrese to parts unknown. They left in the former priest’s smaller craft, and there were whispers that they were on their way to Montreux or Geneva.
As Pavel took another draw on his cigarette, a door opened behind him. The back of the boat was bathed in light, and the sound of trance music burst forth. Pavel hid his cigarette and swiveled around to see who it was. Standing in the lit doorway was one of his comrades, a drink in one hand and a brunette in the other. The brunette seemed to be nibbling on his neck while he looked around for a place for them to enjoy their privacy, but as soon as his eyes fell upon Pavel, he pulled the girl back inside. As the door closed, Pavel could have sworn he saw the woman look over at him and wink.
He clenched his jaw at the thought of what he was missing, which caused him to angrily toss the remainder of the cigarette into the lake. He watched the flying butt soar out over the water like a miniature missile. And then, just as the cigarette was about to hit the surface, he saw it—something that hadn’t been there seconds before was floating on the water.
A frown crossed his face. Had it been there before? He was certain it hadn’t. And what was it? From that distance, it looked like a mound of vegetation, which was confusing because he hadn’t seen that on the lake before.
Gripped with curiosity, the Russian stood and squinted at the unidentified floating object. To his surprise, the mass moved in his direction, sliding across the surface of the lake as though propelled by an unseen force. It reminded Pavel of a crocodile drifting toward its prey in one of those animal programs he had seen on television.
His heart beating faster, the Russian reached down and grabbed his rifle. He stood up and walked over to the gunwale for a closer look. When he arrived at the side of the boat, he could see that it was indeed a mound of vegetation. Not only was it moving toward the boat, but it spun.
Seconds later, the mound actually seemed to rise a bit. Something was moving beneath the surface, and the Russian instinctively knew that it was trouble. His hands shaking, he lifted the rifle into position and slid a finger over the trigger. As he took aim, something rose out of the vegetation, and his heart froze with fear. Two seconds later there was a popping sound, and a projectile flew out of the mass and affixed to his chest. The Russian grunted in pain as the electroshock from a Taser seized his body. His muscles completely paralyzed, he fell over the gunwale and into the cold water of Lake Geneva.
*
At the precise moment Pavel's body hit the surface, a head and chest rose out of the water a few feet away. The figure swam over to the Russian, wrapped an arm around his chest, and pulled him to a ladder on the side of the yacht. The figure then turned, lifted a laser pointer into the air, and made two quick signals toward a point out on the lake.
Approximately thirty seconds later, an inflatable boat appeared out of the darkness. Two men in neoprene black suits were crouched inside, rowing in relative silence. When they were within about ten feet of the yacht, they stopped rowing and allowed the boat to glide the remaining distance. The smaller craft arrived, and the figure in the water guided it over to the ladder and tied it down. All three boarded the yacht, pulling the limp Russian with them.
The three crouched in a defensive posture, their pistols raised, as they surveyed the area. Satisfied that all was clear, they bound the Russian with flex-cuffs and stuffed him into a storage compartment near the stern.
Having eliminated their first obstacle, the figures moved toward the nearest door.
*
Anatoli Lobov stopped in mid-sentence and looked at his partner, Fedor Litvin. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
The two men stood on the port bow of the Grey Goose. Despite being on duty, they had just been discussing how they might figure out a way to meet some of the beauties that were partying below deck. The more conservative Anatoli had recommended they wait until the next morning and approach them at breakfast, while Fedor suggested they each go down now, one at a time, on the pretense of using the bathroom. He figured that if they were lucky enough, they might be able to run into one of girls and strike up a conversation.
“It sounded like a splash,” Anatoli said.
“I heard nothing. You wish it was you splashing around with one of the ladies.” Fedor slapped Anatoli on the back and opened a nearby door. Trance music thumped loudly for a moment before the door closed shut. Anatoli frowned. He knew the splash was too loud to have simply been Pavel tossing a piece of trash into the lake. Concerned, he reached inside his down jacket and pulled out his radio. He used his thumb to press a button on the side and spoke into the device, “Pavel, are you there? Over.”
The Russian released his thumb, and there was only crackling. No response. He pressed the button again. “Pavel, come in.”
Once again, there was only static. Something wasn’t right, and he knew it.
Anatoli was an organization man, always looking for ways to move up. He hoped to have Koehler’s job one day, and would do everything necessary to get there, which meant that if there was a problem at the rear of the boat, he wanted to be the one to take care of it.
Sliding the radio back into his pocket, he walked to the starboard side of the bow. There was a walkway on that side that ran all the way to the rear of the yacht. It was time to go back there and figure out what was going on.
As he began to walk, the Russian wondered why Pavel hadn’t answered his radio. Was he inside taking a leak? Was he playing some kind of prank? He doubted either was true. All he knew was that the whole thing didn’t feel right.
A slight thumping sound drew Anatoli out of his thoughts. What was that? It had sounded like footsteps, and yet it was hard to be sure. Noises had a way of morphing and echoing in strange ways out on the water.
Lifting his rifle, the Russian walked more slowly. If it was only Pavel, he might end up looking stupid, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Soon the sound of footsteps reached his ears again, and he slid a finger over the trigger of his rifle. There was no mistaking it. Someone was walking around back there, and he knew instinctively it wasn’t Pavel.
When he reached the back, a shadow fell in front of him, and a figure rounded the corner.
Anatoli pointed his gun, but then he dropped it by his side, confused.
Standing in front of him was a woman. Her straight black hair that fell down past her shoulders. She had olive skin, high cheekbones, and exotic eyes. The Russian quickly made the assumption that she was one of the party girls who had come up top for some fresh air. He thought it strange that she was dressed in a black neoprene suit, but his hormones had already overridden any hint of common sense.
“Ciao.” The raven-haired beauty smiled and raised an eyebrow invitingly. His arousal now complete, Anatoli smiled back at her like a teenager in heat. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. His mouth would soon be savoring those beautiful lips while the idiot Fedor was still wasting time at the bathroom door downstairs.
The Russian decided the girl’s inviting look meant the green light had now been turned on. She was his for the taking. But as he opened his mouth to suggest they move to a more private area, there was a shuffling behind him. The noise snapped him out of the trance, and he swung around.
But it was too late. There was a swish, and a hard blunt object come crashing down on the top of his head. The Russian’s knees buckled, and he fell to the deck.
It was then, just as he began to black out, that he remembered where he had seen the woman before.
*
The Delphi operatives moved quickly once the Russian crumpled to the deck. First, Carmen located the man’s radio a few feet away and tossed it over the side. She watched as its digital display disappeared into the depths of the lake. Next, they bound the man with flex-cuffs and shoved a towel in his mo
uth. Satisfied he was secure, Reid and Skinner picked him up and placed him in the storage compartment with the other guard.
Once the body was hidden, Carmen motioned the other two to join her in the shadows just outside the rear door. They had been watching the boat for two hours and knew the deck was guarded by three members of the Renaissance security team. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to look for him," Carmen said. "Skinner, stay here and make sure he doesn’t sound the alarm. He’s likely to come back here looking for his partner. Hit him with a Taser, or if you’re under attack, don’t hesitate to use lethal force. Whatever you do, just make sure he does not get on that radio. If he does, all hell will break loose, and Reid and I may have a tough time getting back up. Understood?”
Skinner nodded.
Carmen turned to Reid. “Remember, once inside we go straight down and we work our way back to the top.”
After Reid acknowledged that he understood, Carmen glanced around one last time. Satisfied all was clear, she grasped the handle of the door and opened it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WHILE THE OTHER two watched, Carmen opened the door a crack and peeked inside. The roar of the music was deafening. She was thankful that the sound of their movement would cloaked by the rhythmic beat, but she also realized they wouldn’t be able to hear anyone approach, either.
Immediately in front of her was a long hallway that ran the entire length of the boat. At the other end, she saw someone standing halfway in the door to the room where the music was playing. Apparently, that was where all the action was taking place.
Based on their due diligence, the operatives had determined that Zane was likely being held one floor down on the lowest level. It would be impossible to pass the open door, so Carmen stuck her head further inside and looked both ways. On her left was just what she was looking for—a spiral staircase.
Pulling back out and closing the door, Carmen whispered to Reid, “We’re taking the stairs on the immediate left. I’m going down first. When you come in, make sure the door is closed behind you. There are tangos in a room on the far end, including one standing in the door. Make sure no one is looking before following me down.”
“Roger that.”
Carmen checked her Beretta one last time. The safety was disengaged, and the red dot of the laser sight bounced around on the deck next to her feet. She made sure the magazine was clicked in all the way and chambered the first round.
Giving Reid a thumb-up, she opened the door slightly. The man was still standing at the far end, his body halfway in the room. Carmen stepped all the way inside, and without hesitation, she entered the stairwell. She descended through the darkness, her trigger finger firmly in place in case they should run into someone coming up the stairs. Moments later, she stepped out onto the bottom floor and was soon joined by Reid.
The corridor was mostly dark, with the only illumination coming from underneath a few of the closed doors. Carmen pulled out a flashlight and clicked it on briefly to get her bearings. The hall ran the entire length of the yacht, just like the one above, and there were doors lining both sides.
“We start at the other end and work our way back here,” she whispered, pointing ahead.
Reid nodded.
Carmen extinguished the light, and they both began to walk as softly as they could. The sound of the music up above was muffled, but it was still loud enough to cover any sound their steps might make.
The operative assumed the doors they passed were living quarters, although it was impossible to know with any certainty. All were closed, and there was only silence behind each and every one.
When they reached the other end of the corridor, they came to a t-shaped intersection with a shorter hall that ran from one side of the boat to the other. Directly in front of them was a large door that appeared to be made of reinforced steel. There was a keypad just to the right, along with a screen that appeared to be some sort of facial recognition device.
“My money says that’s Mironov’s suite,” whispered Carmen. They had seen him leave with the entourage earlier in the evening, so she knew he wouldn’t be there now.
“Agreed,” replied Reid, who was already walking toward another room to the left, in the shorter hallway. “Take a look. It's smaller but has a keypad like the larger one.”
Carmen joined him and squinted at the device in the dim light. Unable to make anything out, she switched on her flashlight. As Reid had indicated, the keypad was similar to the one at Mironov’s door, but it had an entry pad and a small blinking red light in place of a screen. “He could be in here, but something still doesn’t seem right.”
“What?”
“If Zane is in there, don’t you think they’d have a little muscle down here watching over him?”
“Not necessarily,” Reid stated. “They probably figure if the door is secure, he’s not going anywhere. I think they’re more concerned about people boarding the boat who aren’t supposed to be here than someone getting off. And who knows—maybe there is supposed to be someone down here. And maybe that person decided to go upstairs and rub up against one of those lingerie models.”
“Maybe,” Carmen said, clearly not convinced.
Suddenly there was a loud clicking sound that seemed to have originated along the longer hallway they had just left.
Carmen immediately extinguished the flashlight as she and Reid dropped to the ground in defensive positions.
What was that? Carmen mouthed at Reid.
He shrugged and pointed at himself and then the corner, indicating he was going to take a look. Carmen nodded. Reid stood up and slid with his back against the wall. When he reached the corner, he slowly took a peek down the longer corridor. There was no movement or further noises, only silence. He remained in place for two minutes and then returned to Carmen.
“Nothing,” he whispered.
“Copy that.” Carmen stood up from her crouched position. “This old steam boat probably creaks a lot.” She turned on her light again and directed the beam toward the keypad. “Do you think we can crack this thing?”
“It’s possible. Brett taught me a few tricks,” said Reid. “If not, we can always do it the old-fashioned way.”
“Which is?”
“Disconnect the keypad and kick the door in.”
Carmen looked at the door. It was not reinforced steel, but it was made of older heavy wood, the kind that would be hard to break.
“Let’s see what you can do with the keypad first. I doubt we can go through that door without alerting the folks upstairs.”
Reid nodded and pulled out a knife that contained a number of multi-purpose tools. He selected a screwdriver, placed it under the housing of the keypad, and pried off the cover.
“What was that?” Carmen asked, raising her gun to her shoulder.
“What was what?”
“That noise.”
Reid shrugged. “Honestly, I think you’re hearing things.”
The two remained still for a few more seconds before the Italian finally lowered her gun. “Sorry, I could’ve sworn I heard another noise. Almost like steps.”
“It probably was steps. But they’re coming from upstairs.” Reid turned his attention back to the uncovered keypad. There was a tangle of wires and circuits underneath the buttons.
“What are you trying to do exactly?” Carmen asked, staring at the device.
“Brett gave me a tip one time. On some of the cheaper models there are two wires—”
“That will not work,” said someone standing directly behind them.
Both operatives swung around at the sound of the voice. Standing a few feet away, cloaked in the darkness of the hall, was a shadowy figure that appeared to be pointing something at them.
Without hesitation Carmen raised her weapon, put the laser pointer on the person’s chest, and squeezed the trigger.
CHAPTER THIRTY
AFTER CARMEN FIRED her suppressed Beretta, she expected to hear the sound of the bulle
t ripping through bone and flesh. Instead, there was the sharp clang of metal. Assuming she must have hit some kind of body armor, she lifted the laser pointer to the figure’s head and pulled the trigger again, with the same result.
“Your shots will have little or no effect on me,” the voice said. “I am protected with five millimeters of titanium. I would not recommend firing any more shots as you are likely to alert the men upstairs.”
What’s happening? Carmen was confused but didn’t lower her weapon. She could tell the voice was female, yet it didn’t sound like any voice she had ever heard. It was almost mechanical. Keeping the laser sight pointed at the woman’s head, Carmen shouted, “Lift your hands up. Now!”
“I will be happy to raise my hands, but you need not worry. I am a friend.”
Carmen could see the woman’s hands rise into the air, so she pulled out her flashlight with her left hand and pointed it at her. What she saw made her mouth open slightly. Standing in front of her was an Asian woman, perhaps in her thirties. But there was something about her that didn’t seem right. Her skin was too smooth, and her eyes glowed a soft aqua blue.
Carmen stood up, keeping the flashlight and the pistol aimed at the women. “Reid, put some cuffs on—”
“I know you are having trouble believing me,” said the woman, “but trust me when I say those will be of little use. I can apply enough pressure to snap them instantly.”
Carmen signaled Reid to hold off. If the woman couldn’t be brought down with a bullet, it might be dangerous to approach her.
“Who are you?” Carmen asked. “What are you?”
The Italian thought she saw the hint of a smile on the woman’s face. “My name is Keiko. I am a third generation humanoid in the service of Renaissance.”
It all made sense. Transhumanists like Mironov were obsessed with humanoid robotics. It was the reason he had lured Ian Higgs away from NASA. But what sort of robot was it? It—she—was spectacular in every way—the facial expressions, the ability to think, and even the ability to reason with others.
