Targets of Revenge (17 page)

“Why?”

“The profile doesn’t fit.”

Ronny shook his head. “If he’s working for the United States government, regardless of the agency, that means they know he’s here. Which means we can’t just shoot him in the head and throw him over the side.” The look in his eyes confirmed to the others what they already knew—that this would be his preferred course of action. “If he disappears while he’s here that’ll only bring more of them down on us.”

“What could he learn from a night aboard the
Odessa
? That he saw the girls snorting coke? Why not just send him on his way tomorrow and be done with him? We can shove off as soon as he leaves.”

“No, that doesn’t feel right either. He came to Sharm el-Sheikh for something, and whatever it is I don’t intend to let him leave with it.”

The others waited without speaking.

“I believe you’re right,” Ronny said. “Whoever he is, he has something to do with the raid in Venezuela, I just feel it. Tonight you keep an eye on him. Tomorrow he’s going to have a nasty little accident.”

L
ILLI HAD KICKED
off her shoes, fluffed up some pillows, and was sitting on his bed, a glass of champagne in hand and a curious look on her pretty face. She watched Sandor pace the room, raking back his dark, wavy hair with the fingers of his right hand. “You upset about something?” she finally asked.

He stopped and shot her a look that said he had almost forgotten she was there. “I have a lot of nervous energy.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said, then flashed one of her genuine smiles.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing here?”

“Having some wine and waiting for you to wear a rut in the carpet.”

“Very cute. I mean, what do you do back in New York?”

Lilli shrugged. “I’m trying to break into the fashion industry. You know that routine,” she said in a way that made it clear she assumed everyone knows that routine. “Did some fit modeling, runway stuff, worked in a couple of showrooms. It seems like every good-looking girl in New York who isn’t trying to make it as an actress wants to be in fashion.” She took a gulp of the sparkling wine, then added, “And almost all of them end up waiting tables.”

“But not you.”

“Not me. Maybe I’m too clumsy to be a waitress, or maybe I just refuse to give in.”

“So instead you hopped a flight to Egypt and ended up with the Russian mafia.”

She looked away.

“I’m not making judgments,” he said, “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

When she turned back to him it was as if her features had softened. The world-weary attitude had melted into something far more vulnerable. “You worried about me, Jordan Sandor?”

“Actually I am.”

“That’s sweet.”

Sandor smiled. “That’s the second time you’ve called me something I never hear from an attractive woman.” Then his grin dissolved into a look of real concern. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “You may not believe this, but when they chose you to find me tonight they put you in danger.”

She pulled back from him and forced a laugh. “You haven’t been dangerous so far.”

Moving beside her again, keeping his voice as low as possible, he said, “I’m not kidding, and keep your voice down. They may be eavesdropping on us. My invitation here was not a social call. When they put us together, they made you expendable.”

“You sound so melodramatic,” she whispered. “They told me you were a rich guy who just got to town. They said they wanted to meet you, that’s all.”

Sandor nodded. “And all true,” he lied.

“So?”

“These are serious people. There are things they want to find out from me, and when they’re done, well . . .” He hesitated. “They’re done.”

She drew back slightly. “Who are you? I mean really.”

He tugged her toward him again. “Let’s just say that from their perspective I’m a person of interest.”

She placed her glass on the nightstand and leaned forward, their cheeks touching. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on here or are you going to keep talking in riddles?”

Sandor drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’ve already said you have no parents, no siblings, no one to come looking for you if you disappear. If they told the other girls that we ran off together, none of them would give it a second thought. Am I right?”

“Pizdet,”
she cursed in a thick Russian accent.

“Well said.” He sat back and thought for a moment. Then he leaned close to her again. “There are things I have to do that you cannot be any part of. So you’ve got two choices. One is to let me find a way to get you off this yacht so you can get the hell out of Sharm el-Sheikh as quickly as possible.”

“And the other?”

“The other is to mess up your hair and rip your nightgown, then have you run out of this cabin, go back to the main salon, and make up some story about what an animal I am, how you didn’t sign on for that sort of abuse and ask them to put you in another room.”

This time, when she studied the look on his face, she understood how serious he was. “And they won’t come here to do something bad to you?”

“Not likely. Not for that, anyway.”

“And what if I tell them what you’ve just told me?”

“Then I would have made a mistake in judgment that I’ll have to deal with. But you will almost certainly be a dead woman.”

She gaped at him without speaking for a moment. Then she said, “I don’t like them. I didn’t like them from the time I got here. And that Ronny, he scares me.”

“As well he should.”

She thought it over. “I’d rather take my chances staying with you, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all. But you’ve got to agree to do everything I say. Understood?”

She nodded.

“I mean everything.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“All right. Then you sit tight for now. I’ve got some work to do.”

————

An operator like Ronny would never use his own vessel to transport a large cache of narcotics or weapons. Or anthrax, for that matter. Sandor was not looking for contraband on the
Odessa
. He was searching for information.

He left Lilli in his cabin and ventured silently out to the passageway. It was pitch dark except for the ship’s courtesy lights, and the deck was clear. He began to move to his left when he heard someone walking slowly around the corner behind him, sounding as if he was keeping a sentry’s pace. Sandor reacted quickly, hustling forward until he reached a companionway leading above. He ascended, two steps at a time, until he reached the sundeck on the upper level.

He crouched down and had a look below. A man came into view, one of the large Russians Sudakov had neglected to introduce earlier that evening. Even in the dim light Sandor could make out the automatic short-barreled rifle slung across the man’s chest.

As his host had mentioned, the yacht was patrolled by armed guards, but Sandor suspected this man had been instructed to pay particular attention to their new guest. That was confirmed when he stopped just outside Sandor’s cabin, leaned over the rail, and lit a cigarette.

As the sentry looked out toward the harbor, Sandor had the opportunity to hurry back down the stairs, which were far enough behind the guard to be out of his view. He moved quickly aft, seeking access to the lower decks. Around the first turn he found a narrow set of stairs that led him down, into the large galley. Everything was quiet there, so he continued swiftly on, past the assortment of stainless steel counters and high-end appliances, until he found himself in a corridor that headed toward the bow.

Sandor figured the communications center of the yacht would be positioned just below the bridge. Ease of access would dictate that the bulk of the electronic equipment would be found there. He checked to see that the passage was empty, then went on.

He passed a number of doors on his left that were set close enough to suggest smaller cabins, not what he was looking for. He pressed on until the corridor ended in a T, where he found what he was looking for. To the right was a short jog that turned forward, to the left a passageway that would lead to the port side of the yacht. Dead ahead was a door that he calculated to be just below the command deck.

Sandor felt for the compact 9mm in his back pocket. If this was the communications center it was likely to be manned 24/7 and, at
two in the morning, he could hardly claim to be lost and searching for his own cabin. He decided to improvise, reached out for the handle, and opened the door.

Sudakov was seated comfortably at a small conference table bracketed by Pavel and another of the men Sandor had not been introduced to earlier in the evening. “Come in, Mr. Sandor,” Sudakov said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

S
ANDOR STEPPED INSIDE
and closed the door behind him. “Expecting me?”

Ronny pointed to a bank of monitors to his right. “We’ve been watching you as you were exploring my yacht just now. I take it my guided tour was not enough to satisfy your curiosity.”

“Let’s just say it was a lot to absorb in just one viewing.”

Ronny nodded. “So what did you think of our galley? Worthy of a five-star restaurant, is it not?”

“It certainly is.”

“You didn’t take much time to look around.”

Sandor shrugged. “Never been much good in the kitchen.”

“I take it our all-seeing nerve center here would be of more interest to you.”

Sandor had a look around without replying.

“Impressive, yes?”

“Very.”

“So then, have a seat. I would feel far more comfortable if you were sitting on that peashooter you carry in your back pocket. Come, come, don’t look so surprised. And don’t make the mistake of underestimating me. There is a scanner on the rear deck. We knew you were armed as soon as you boarded.”

Sandor took the chair opposite the three Russians. There was another man present, his back to them as he worked at a large control panel. “But you didn’t ask for my weapon.”

“Please be assured, if you had so much as sneezed in the direction of that little automatic, you would not have had the chance to draw another breath.”

With that, the men on either side of him responded with confident smiles.

“Well then,” Sandor said, “I’ll be careful not to sneeze.”

“Let’s just say you would be well advised not to suddenly reach for a handkerchief.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sandor had another look at the array of LCD screens. “I assume you have the cabins bugged as well.”

“Some of them. I am told you were quite careful in keeping your voice low in speaking to Miss Lilli, but our technician is working on a retrieval of your conversation right now.” He nodded in the direction of the techie working the keyboard.

“Not very gallant of you, intercepting a romantic tête-à-tête.”

Sudakov responded with a knowing look. “Something tells me that romance was not the topic of your discussion. But we’ll soon know, won’t we?”

“Do I seem worried?”

“No, you don’t. But something tells me you are not a man who worries easily. Am I right?”

Sandor smiled.

“Why not save us both needless gamesmanship by simply telling me who you are and what you are doing here.”

“The girl invited me to your party, remember?”

Sudakov sighed. “I was hoping you would surprise me and dispense with pointless banter.”

“I’d be happy to. You just asked me a question and I answered.”

“Then how about this—what were you looking for just now?”

“I was trying to find your communications center and it appears I have.”

“To what end?”

“You claim to be an oil trader. I suspect that’s not the truth. At least not all of the truth. I wanted to find out who you really are and how you afford a yacht like the
Odessa
.”

“And you thought you would find that in here?”

“I thought I might.”

“You could have asked.”

“You’ve already lied to me. I tend not to ask a liar a second question.”

Sudakov sat up a little straighter. “You take liberties you should not, Mr. Sandor.”

Sandor shrugged. “Maybe so, but as you said, I don’t worry that easily. And you’re the one who wanted to dispense with pointless banter.”

His host forced a tense grin. “All right. What causes you to have such interest in me and what I do?”

“Someone mentioned that you might be a person with whom I could do business.”

“I see. And what sort of business might that be?”

“Narcotics.”

For a moment no one in the room moved or spoke. Even the clicking of the computer keyboard suddenly stopped. Then Sudakov made a loud chortling sound, something between a wheeze and a gasp. “You are quite a character, Mr. Sandor, you know that?”

Sandor treated each of Ronny’s goons to a broad smile and turned back to his host. “It’s been said.”

As quickly as he had erupted into laughter, Sudakov resumed his severe manner. “You have the nerve to come aboard my yacht, a total stranger, drink my wine, sneak around in search of who knows what, and then ask if I want to engage in an illegal business transaction with you?”

“In a word, yes. I mean, if I could have thought of some indirect approach I would have tried, but as you say, you’ve caught me looking for information and you’ve asked that I answer your questions without playing games. It’s a little late for you to pretend you’re offended, don’t you think?”

The Russian glared at him but said nothing.

“I was told you could arrange for the shipment of large amounts of product. And that you might be helpful on the financial side as well.”

“And who told you this?”

“Carlos. A Venezuelan.”

“No last name?”

“I didn’t think it was important. He gave me your name and told me I could find you in Sharm el-Sheikh.”

“I see. And you thought you would march in here, without a reference or any proof of who you are, and inquire about the transport of contraband as if you were ordering dinner from a menu, do I have this right?”