Desh could continue surveillance and hope he got a lucky break that would provide a handle on Frey’s network. But he had to weigh the probability of success against the probability that Frey would learn Desh was on to him and go to ground. In the end, the decision was obvious.
It was time to act.
44
Desh waited patiently inside the shower of the guest stateroom of Frey’s multimillion-dollar yacht, the Codon. The craft was spectacular. Frey had moved up in the world since he had purchased his last boat, but access to Kira’s gellcaps could do that for you.
The Codon was a sixty-foot triple-decker that, despite its size, had sleek, aerodynamic curves that screamed speed and agility: a racing boat scaled up ten-fold. The cabins were elegant and decadent, resembling nothing more than the sleeping quarters of European royalty. Desh was sickened by the thought of what was certain to have taken place on this magnificent ship. If anything, Frey’s dramatic increase in wealth would make him even more of a predator than he had been in his previous life.
Desh had arrived early enough to avoid being seen by the few marina residents who called their boats home. After silently inspecting every square centimeter of the upper decks of the Codon, and disabling a red and black jet ski, he had picked a lock and hurried below, out of sight from any awakening eyes. He had gone over the rest of the boat just as carefully as he had the outside decks, finding nothing that had caused him any concern. No alarms. No surveillance equipment. And no means of leaving the ship other than swimming.
Now Desh was sitting as comfortably as he possibly could on the floor of a shower, reading one of the eBooks he had downloaded to his phone the night before. He finished the first book and had started on the second when he heard noise from above
Frey had finally arrived for his scheduled outing. If Desh’s intelligence was correct, the man who had become Adam Archibald would be alone on this excursion.
Before long the boat began to move slowly as it cleared the dock and harbor. After five minutes, Frey opened the throttle and the huge ship darted forward. Desh waited another ten minutes and exited the shower. He pulled a military style stun gun from his pocket and walked soundlessly across the cabin.
Desh’s face twisted in confusion. Why did he feel so weak? He stumbled, shaking his head as if to clear cobwebs. He righted himself and tried to take another step, but he couldn’t get himself to move. His arm returned to his side as if it had a mind of its own, and his hand became so weak the gun slipped from his fingers. Seconds later he slid to the floor as well, and blackness rushed up to greet him.
***
Desh returned to consciousness without any sense of how much time had passed. He was clothed and unbound, but his pockets had been emptied and his stun gun and Glock were gone. He reached for the handle of the cabin door, but it was locked.
“Why don’t you sit down and let’s have a talk,” said a clear voice from a hidden speaker. A voice belonging to Eric Frey.
Desh’s eyes darted around the room, his mind calculating. He kicked the stateroom door with as much force as he could and felt a pain surge through his leg as the door held, clearly reinforced in some manner.
“You can’t leave unless I let you,” said Frey. “And the next dose of gas I send into that room will be just as odorless and colorless as the first. But this one will be lethal. So I’ll be expecting your cooperation from now on,” he added pointedly.
“How long was I out?”
“Only ten minutes,” replied Frey. “I’m not a patient man.”
“Oh yeah, that’s your fatal flaw.”
Frey ignored him. “Sit down in the chair by the bed and turn on the monitor in front of you.”
Desh did as instructed and a video image of Frey appeared, wearing blue swim trunks and a white, button down shirt, opened to reveal a tanned but pudgy body. He was on the bridge, but nowhere near the helm, which he must have put on autopilot. In a small corner of the large monitor, Desh could see an image of himself, which was no doubt being transmitted to Frey’s own screen.
Frey leaned in close to the camera with a self-satisfied smirk. “I knew from Alan that his sister didn’t like to use her own invention,” he said. “And she’s managed to surround herself with others who share the same view. Incredible. How noble and yet how fucking stupid. You’re good, David Desh, but if you thought you could eliminate me on my home turf without being amped, you’ve got your head up your ass.”
“I wasn’t going to eliminate you,” said Desh. “Just stun you.”
“What if I was amped?—what you call enhanced.”
“Even with perfect control of your body, you can’t stop electricity,” replied Desh. “The gun would have worked. I’ve used myself as a guinea pig to make sure.”
“Good to know,” said Frey. He shook his head derisively. “So what took you so long? When I got wind you were talking to my old colleagues, I expected you sooner.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” said Desh. “How did you know I was on board?”
“I have hidden cameras in the staterooms. Especially in the guest shower,” he added with a twisted, lecherous grin, and Desh had an overwhelming urge to jump through the screen and beat him to death with his bare fists. “Cameras modulated to avoid detection from traditional detectors or any you’ve come up with,” continued Frey. “As you no doubt have realized, while amped, I’ve gone to considerable effort perfecting surveillance electronics, capable of both defeating yours and making mine undetectable.”
Frey raised his eyebrows. “And if you haven’t guessed already,” he continued with a smug expression, “the fancy electronics you have in your waistband are useless on the Codon.” He paused and then shook his head in disgust. “I have to say, I’d have more respect for you if your plan was to kill me.”
“Yeah. And your respect means the world to me,” snapped Desh sarcastically. “If it makes you feel any better,” he added with bitter intensity, “I plan to kill you the next chance I get.”
Frey ignored him. “So . . . what? You were going to interrogate me? Try to learn the extent of my organization?”
“You know what they say: it’s not the cockroaches you can see when the light goes on. It’s the ones hidden under the floorboards you have to be sure to exterminate.”
“Be as big of an asshole as you like, Desh. You’re going to be a prisoner for a some time, and I have a long memory.” He tilted back in his seat and put his feet up on something off camera. “When I learned you were talking to my ex-colleagues, I knew it wouldn’t be long until you came after me. Finally. My plan was to be patient, and I have been, but I’m not getting any younger,” he added pointedly.
“So why am I still alive?” asked Desh.
“So I can trade you for the secret of longevity.”
Desh frowned. Kira’s life would have been so much easier if she had never developed this treatment in the first place. “She can’t give it to you if she wanted to. I’m sure you’re aware of the lengths John Putnam and Alan Miller went to get her to reveal it. But it’s hidden, even from her.”
Frey laughed. “We both know that’s not true anymore. I wasn’t there in person, of course, but I was listening in when Alan pulled off his perfect storm. When he tricked her to voluntarily unlock the memory cage in which she had trapped this secret. I have no doubt it’s still unlocked.”