Ghost Ship

FIFTEEN

The main deck of the Massif held a sprawling oval parlor, about twice as long as it was wide. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the sides. Intricate repeating patterns of warm-hued inlaid wood covered the walls. Art deco furnishings wrapped in buttery-smooth Italian leather were tastefully arranged. And the entire space was lit by soft recessed lighting.

At the center of this room, like the funnel of a whirlpool, lay a circular staircase. It swirled its way into the lower levels of the yacht beneath a skylight twelve feet in diameter. The skylight allowed natural light to enter during the day, but at night it acted as a dark mirror, reflecting all that went on below.

Spread about the parlor were fifteen people, not counting the ship’s staff. Some were admiring the artwork, others drank and spoke among themselves.

Calista Brèvard entered this quietly swirling landscape in a shimmering black cocktail dress. Her makeup was more restrained than usual, her dark hair hidden beneath a wig of platinum blonde that fell to her shoulders in the back and gave her graceful bangs that halted just above her eyes in the front.

She moved slowly toward a grand piano where Rene Acosta was holding court.

“The bottom line is simple,” Acosta was telling a Chinese man. “You will be locked out and they will still have access to your deepest secrets.”

“Can this system really be that advanced?” the man asked. “We’ve heard tales like this before. All systems have weaknesses. It is only a matter of time until we penetrate the Phalanx.”

Acosta shook his head. “Would the United States put all its eggs in one basket if it didn’t know that basket was absolutely untouchable?”

“Perhaps they’re wrong.”

Acosta shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “Can you really afford to take that chance?”

The Chinese man turned and began to discuss this with two of his countrymen, and Acosta excused himself and took Calista by the arm.

“You have them right where you want them,” she said. “I must admit you’re far smoother than I expected.”

“I’ve learned to be tactful,” he said.

“And my brother has learned to be a brute.”

“You could have stopped him,” Acosta said. “Poor Kovack. He has to learn how to shoot and stab people with his other hand now. Perhaps it would be best if you avoid him for the time being.”

“I doubt he’ll recognize me.”

“And if he does?”

“Then he’ll find that he got off lucky.”

Acosta chuckled, and they moved to the bar. The bartender immediately poured him a glass of fifty-year-old port.

“And for the lady?”

“Ice water,” she said.

“It runs in her veins,” Acosta added.

The bartender immediately filled a lead crystal glass with ice water. He wiped the side with a napkin before handing it to her.

“You could have at least tried to limit the damage,” Acosta said.

“And show my true colors? I don’t think so. If I protected Kovack, my brother would have become suspicious. He may be anyhow. If you don’t return the woman to us, it will be all-out war between you two.”

“I only need her a little longer,” Acosta said.

“Not just her, the others as well. All three of them.”

“You don’t understand,” Acosta said. “You have no idea what these foreigners are willing to pay. Ten million for a month of work. Twenty million for six weeks. Can you imagine? She can’t possibly be worth more to your brother. Hold him back. Tell him I will cut him in on the spoils.”

“He has other plans,” Calista said.

“What kind of plans?”

“How would I know,” Calista said. “He tells me only what he wants to. But I promise, they are important to him. He sent me here to take her from you. The only way I can stop that is if you deliver her to me as planned and blame the Iranians for the delay.”

Acosta hesitated and Calista narrowed her gaze. She saw something in his eyes. It said he’d already crossed the Rubicon. “What have you done, Rene?”

He didn’t respond, but the tension was obvious in a tightening of the muscles in his thick neck.

“Rene?”

“She’s not here,” he said finally. “I delivered her to Than Rang last week. He wants the others as well.”

Than Rang was a Korean industrialist. Calista’s mind raced trying to figure out why he would need or want the American or the other hackers. “If that’s so, you’d best retrieve her.”

“I can’t,” he said. “Than Rang is not a man to be trifled with. I’d rather deal with your brother’s wrath than his.”

Calista wondered if he was lying or not. “Sebastian will not wait,” she said. “The woman must be delivered into my brother’s hands before the Americans finish their trial run with Phalanx or three years of effort will be ruined, that much I know. And if that occurs, Sebastian will not rest until he murders you.”

As she spoke, Calista stared at her former lover with unblinking eyes. The more nervous he appeared, the more joy it brought her. Anything to increase his agony.

“What’s done is done,” he said. “The only question is where your loyalties rest.”

“My ‘loyalties’?”

“Yes,” he said. “If it comes to war, whose side will you be on?”

She tilted her head as if the question was silly. A wicked smile grew on her face. “Why, my dear Rene,” she began, “I’ll be on my own side of course. I thought you would have learned that by now.”

She put the glass down and turned away.

He watched her walk off, headed for the spiral staircase. Despite a plan to remain calm, he found his emotions had become unbalanced, a volatile mixture of anger and lust as always where Calista was concerned.

But the facts were simple. He could not retrieve the American woman from Than Rang’s clutches even if he wanted to. Nor could he forego the revenue from transactions involving the other three experts he held. To keep up his extravagant lifestyle he needed more cash and he needed it now.

He snapped his fingers and two of his men appeared. “Keep an eye on her,” he said. “I don’t want her causing any trouble or upsetting the other guests.”

They nodded and turned to follow.

For her part, Calista expected to be followed. She walked slowly to the center of the room and took the spiral staircase down to the accommodations deck. She traveled toward the stern, where a small but warmly appointed cabin with a single berth had been reserved for her.

She opened the door and held it, pausing long enough to make sure Rene’s men spotted her. They slowed their pace but kept on coming. She winked at them and then ducked inside and shut the door.

They would likely guard her until the auction. But Rene would want her there. She was a mysterious presence and a distraction. The bids would be higher because of her. That would make it easier.

She turned the radio on and started the shower. She figured that was enough. She’d already swept the room for bugs and other listening devices.

Unzipping the cocktail dress and removing the wig, she quickly changed into another outfit consisting of dark slacks and a gray silk shirt. It was fancy enough that she could pass for one of the guests but utilitarian enough to let her move freely.

Next she removed a false panel from her suitcase, pulled out a satellite phone, and slid it into her pocket. A compact Bersa .380 pistol came out next. It was a thin, nickel-plated automatic, with black polymer grips. It carried seven hollow-point rounds in a short magazine and one more in the chamber. It was a trusty weapon, accurate, with a smooth trigger pull. Calista had taken out several adversaries with it. As a final precaution she slid a four-inch knife into a thin scabbard above her ankle.

Ready for action, she made her way to the cabin’s large window. It slid open with ease. She glanced down the narrow gangway that ran around the edge of the yacht. Seeing no one, she climbed through the window and onto the deck. With smooth precision, she slid the glass shut and began walking toward the bow.