The Steel Shark

Chapter 22

Vivian slid into a red booth at the Russian Tea Room. On the forest green wall, in a beveled gold frame, a yellow cat looked back at her menacingly.

The woman Vivian had come to meet, Marina, smoothed her metallic blue dress. She reminded Vivian of a wasp — thin, shiny, and dangerous. “That picture is Tiger by Franz Marc. Early Cubism.”

At least it didn’t have fish in it.

“Nice,” Vivian said.

Marina poured them both tea into glasses set into silver holders, her movements so fluid and graceful Vivian felt like a lumbering bear. “It is delightful to see you, Miss Torres.”

Vivian searched for the right response. She was weak at small talk, whereas Marina was superb. “And you.”

“I guess by your demeanor you’re not here to take me up on my offer?” Marina added a lump of sugar and a dash of milk to her tea and stirred.

“Not exactly.” Marina ran a bodyguarding service, like Mr. Rossi, but she focused on protecting high-priced escorts, particularly those who catered to rich men with unusual tastes. Vivian’s mother would kill her if she started working for prostitutes.

Marina crossed her beautiful legs and leaned forward. “Is it intrigue?”

“I guess you could call it that.” Vivian took a long sip of a Darjeeling tea strong enough to compete with coffee for her affections.

“I’m a vault, as you must know. I can’t divulge client secrets.”

“I’m not asking for information about a client.” Vivian had worked out her approach on the subway ride here. “I’m looking for information about his enemies.”

“You mean the drowned bodyguard who should have been a drowned prince, I presume?”

“Who’d want to kill him?”

“The press believes it was your employer.”

A well-dressed server set a plate in front of each of them. Vivian admired the blintzes, artfully stacked with a streak of cherry jelly arcing out from the side and a small bowl of vanilla ice cream on the end.

“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered blintzes with our tea,” Marina said. “Russian Tea Room blintzes are an indulgence of mine.”

Vivian bet she had a lot of indulgences. “I love the blintzes here.”

Not true, strictly speaking, because she couldn’t afford to eat here, but since this was going on the Tesla expense account, she was liking them already.

Marina took a delicate bite of her blintz, and Vivian went back to their conversation. “No one believes that Joe Tesla wanted to kill Prince Timgad or his bodyguard. And there’s since been another attack on Tesla’s life.”

“If we assume the attack was directed at Prince Timgad.” Marina cut off another corner of her blintz. “How do you know the prince’s enemies aren’t clients as well?”

“Are they?”

Marina sipped her tea. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps they are and you know who they are, or perhaps they are because you have so many clients?”

“Perhaps.”

“If no one knows his enemies, then justice can never be done,” Vivian persisted.

“Serving justice isn’t my purview.”

She hadn’t expected that tactic to work, but she’d felt obligated to try it. “Are we at a standoff?”

“Never.” Marina smiled. “I would say one can always reach a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Knowing my finances, I doubt it.” Marina believed in the power of money, and Vivian lived under the shadow of broke.

“I always accept barter.” Marina’s eyes traveled up and down her body, lingering on her chest.

Vivian set down her metal tea glass holder so hard it thunked. “I won’t work for you.”

“Not,” Marina lifted her eyes to Vivian’s face, “in any capacity but your current one.”

She hated to ask the next question. “What does that mean?”

“I’m hosting a private party.”

She lifted her cast. “I’m in no condition to work a security detail.”

“A broken arm takes six to eight weeks to heal, does it not? And I believe your arm is only cracked, so you could be healed in as little as four weeks.”

Unsettling that she knew that off the top of her head. “So you moonlight as an orthopedic surgeon?”

“My party is in nine weeks, so your arm doesn’t present a problem.” Marina smiled. She even had perfect teeth.

“What kind of party?”

“Black tie. Nothing indiscreet. I need someone who can handle drunks without making a fuss, someone who blends in with the scenery.”

“A woman in a skimpy dress who can put a joint lock on an offensive businessman and ease him out the door quietly?”

Marina chuckled. “Exactly. I’d be happy to pay your going rate, through Mr. Rossi or directly. It’s hard to find women bodyguards who are also attractive.”

Vivian ignored the flattery. “I’ll pencil you in. Set it up with Mr. Rossi.”

“Excellent.” Marina finished her tea and set the cup in the saucer with a genteel clink. “Now, as to Prince Timgad.”

“Yes?” Vivian tried a piece of blintz with a dollop of ice cream. This was the best lunch Tesla had ever bought her.

“He is a difficult client. He likes to hurt women, and he pays extra for the privilege.”

“And you let him?” She wished she hadn’t committed to working for her. She didn’t want to be part of that kind of business.

“Sometimes, letting men do things to women is my job. For Prince Timgad, I take all precautions — hidden cameras that are constantly monitored, a safe word for the woman, a team ready to intervene, a legal agreement he signed to prevent him from raising a fuss should he be injured during the intervention. That kind of thing.”

“Sounds expensive.”

Vivian waved her hand. “He can pay for that and more.”

She bet he could.

“All his partners know his preferences and are happy to work for the extra compensation. No one is forced to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

“Do you think any of the… escorts or security team might have wanted to kill him?”

“They were well paid for their work, and they understand the nature of such clients. It wasn’t any of my people, I assure you,” Marina said. “But you wouldn’t be amiss in thinking a woman could have wanted to kill him, although I assume a woman would use something harder to trace, like poison.”

“Do you have any names?” That information wasn’t worth an evening of kicking out gropers.

“He is a member of the House of Dakkar. A distant member, but he was engaged to one of the king’s nieces. A niece from a well-connected brother, as you may know.”

She hadn’t known, but she said, “I see.”

“Prince Timgad is greatly favored by the king and the princes, but he is too distant a relation to consider imbuing with power until he’s more closely aligned with the royal family. After his marriage, there was talk, discreetly and at the highest levels, that he would be under consideration for succession as king.”

“Doesn’t the king’s son become the next king?”

“Traditionally, yes, but the king of the House of Dakkar passed a royal decree a few years ago stating the next king would be chosen by a committee of princes instead of through straight inheritance. It’s not, I believe, widely known, but Prince Timgad is thought to be the leading choice of the members of that committee.”

Vivian had trouble believing she’d nearly been killed because of a squabble for the kingship of a country thousands of miles away, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her. “You think the next choice for the throne tried to kill him?”

Marina’s bright blue eyes went out of focus for a moment as she thought. “Perhaps. But things are more complicated, because the marriage that would have given him the legitimacy he needed could never have taken place.”

“Why not?”

“He married the first niece, and it looked as if his path to succession was clear when the king died or stepped down, but then his royal wife died under mysterious circumstances.”

“What does that mean?”

“She was found, beaten beyond recognition, in his bedroom.”

“What did the police say? She was a princess, after all, so they must have looked into it.”

“No one knows.” Marina shrugged. “But it’s known no investigation followed. The prince wouldn’t countenance one, and in his home country, that means there will be no investigation.”

“So he murdered her?” Poor princess.

“It’s believed so.”

Vivian wondered if the royal family had the connections to divert a submarine for a revenge killing. Probably, but it seemed an odd and expensive way to kill someone. “Was his attempted murder about the princess’s family taking revenge?”

“The princess’s value to them wasn’t so high as you might think from your Disney movies. After her death, the family betrothed the second sister, a twin, to the prince, and he had a second chance to become king.”

Vivian’s stomach did a slow roll. “After he killed their first daughter, they offered him the second?”

“They wanted the alliance and the path to kingship as much as Prince Timgad, I would imagine. They had sons, but none found favor with the king, so their daughters provided the only way.”

Vivian was going to go home and give her mother a giant hug for not selling her to the highest bidder. “If the second daughter solved his problem and he was on track to become king, why wouldn’t the next guy in succession be a prime suspect?”

Marina lifted her shoulders in a graceful movement that looked practiced. “He might have been, but the second sister also died.”

“How?”

“Right before the wedding, she and her wedding party were in a plane that crashed into the Sea of Japan.”

“The women in that family seem pretty unlucky.” Vivian had another bite of blintz. It was amazing.

“Perhaps the second sister was luckier than the first.”

“Because she died quickly?”

“Because she escaped from the prince.”

Vivian thought about that. “But she had to die to do it.”

Marina shrugged. “She had to appear to die at least.”

“Do you think she faked her own death?”

“I think nothing. It is not my place to speculate.” Marina took a tiny sip of tea. “Do you have any other questions?”

“If the princess died before the wedding, could the attack on the prince have been from an enemy of the royal family in general? Maybe it’s bigger than Prince Timgad?”

“A submarine accident isn’t a usual assassination tool, nor is downing a plane in the middle of the sea.” Marina refilled their teacups. “Perhaps the deaths were simply accidents.”

Somehow, Vivian didn’t think so.

“So, he’s a sidelined prince?”

“It is said Prince Timgad is in negotiations for a quick marriage to another niece. She’s twelve years old, but they’re hoping to rush the marriage so that it can take place before the next king is chosen. So, he may yet have a chance to become king.”

Poor twelve-year-old. “When will that be?”

“That, my dear, even I don’t know.”

Or wouldn’t tell.