“I’m sorry?”
“A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be standing without a date or a drink. Allow me to provide either that you choose.” Russian accent.
She forced a smile. “I’ll take a drink. Thank you.” Anything was better than raising suspicion.
“Of course.” The older man caught the eye of one of the waitresses. He took two flutes of champagne from her, handing one to Renee.
“My name is Vasily. And you are?”
“Renee.”
“It is very nice to meet you, Renee. Come — this area is getting crowded. Let’s go up here, away from the noise.”
He took her arm and led her up three steps to the elevated aft section of the open-air deck. It was only fifteen feet from where they had been standing, but there were considerably fewer guests up there. And the view of the ocean was better.
A waitress headed toward them with coconut shrimp. Vasily grabbed a few, fitting an impossible quantity all onto his tiny white napkin. The waitress left, and the two of them were alone and out of earshot.
“My God, these are delicious.” He examined one of the coconut shrimp before stuffing it in his mouth. He used the back of his hand to wipe off some of the sauce that was dribbling down his chin. “Have you tried these?”
“Not yet.”
“Here. Would you like one of mine?”
“I’m not hungry, thank you.”
“What do you do, Renee? Why are you here?”
Renee had gone over this in her mind a dozen times on the ride over. It felt so inadequate now. “I’m an IT security consultant. I hope to work with Mr. Morozov in the future.”
“Really?” He stopped eating the shrimp and looked at her with new interest.
She spoke before he could get off another question. “What do you do, Vasily?” All men liked to speak about themselves, if given the opportunity. Keep it about him.
“I work at the Russian Embassy.”
“Really? That’s very interesting.” She managed an impressed look.
A gong went off. A sharp staccato sound, silencing the party.
Each of the heads turned to the entrance on the top deck. Two glass doors slid apart and Pavel Morozov walked out, a nameless blonde bombshell at each arm. The guests clapped. Several raised glasses in admiration. Pavel smiled, scanning the crowd.
His eyes settled on Renee and Vasily, and his smile faded.
Max chopped three cloves of garlic on his wooden cutting board, sliding them onto the knife and then into the pan of sizzling olive oil. The garlic crackled, its pleasant scent wafting through the room.
Max had decided on Italian instead of French food. He threw a sprinkle of crushed red pepper and minced onion onto the now-browned garlic. Once the onions were soft, he added two cans of crushed tomatoes, some salt and pepper. He dipped in his wooden spoon and gave it a taste. Not bad.
Turning the heat to low, he was almost ready to place the eggplant into the oven. Eggplant parmesan was one of his specialties. The key was to use salt to dry out the eggplant before breading it. This gave it a nice crunch.
But one couldn’t enjoy an Italian dinner without red wine. And Renee had forgotten the wine — so she had run back out to get a few bottles.
He checked his watch. She had been gone for over an hour. How long did it take to get wine?
Max breathed through his nose, slowly stirring the sauce. A feeling of dread grew in his chest.
He placed the spoon down on the counter and stormed into her empty room, looking among her things.
Max and she had agreed that she should do the shopping alone that afternoon. Max needed to keep his face out of public view. It was a gift that he wasn’t already in the news, and they shouldn’t push their luck.
So Renee had gone out on her own after lunch. She’d said she wanted to check out a few of the shops. Then she’d finished up at one of the few grocery stores on Key West — an overpriced market a few blocks from their rental.
Max had seen the clothing store bags when she came in. She had held them up with a look of defiance in her eyes. It had been his money she was spending. Max had figured that the purchases were a playful way of getting back at him for what she considered a sexist remark about women and shopping.
He was wrong.
That wasn’t why she had made the purchases. He was looking through the bags. Empty but for a receipt. What did you buy, Renee?
A dress. A pair of shoes. Platinum-and-diamond drop earrings and a necklace. Holy shit, those were expensive. But that wasn’t what upset him. He looked around the room. In the closet and in the drawers. Then he checked the bathroom, just to be sure.
None of the clothing or jewelry she had purchased was there. And she sure as hell hadn’t been wearing it when she’d left.
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Renee, Renee, Renee. Why would you do this?
He knew exactly where she was. He just couldn’t believe it. He ran into the kitchen and turned off the stove, then checked that the oven was off as well.
Back in his room, he opened his travel bag, grabbing a pair of binoculars, his pistol, and a silencer and placing them all in a fanny pack. He threw on his sunglasses and ball cap and hurried out the door.
It would take him a good fifteen minutes to reach the yacht, and he had no idea what he would do once there. It was getting dark. He needed to come up with a plan.
Morozov walked directly over to them. A strongman’s walk, confident and showy, with just a touch of what Renee’s brothers liked to call ILS — Imaginary Lat Syndrome. The way some guys held out their arms like their lat muscles were bigger than they really were.
Pavel Morozov had walked past his guests and stood uncomfortably close to Vasily. His hand was extended.
“Good evening, Vasily. I hear we have business to discuss.”
Vasily shook Morozov’s hand, replying in Russian.
“And who is your guest?” Morozov looked at Renee, an eyebrow arched.
After an uncomfortable silence, Renee said, “We only just met. Please excuse me, I’ll let you two talk.”
Morozov turned back to Vasily and spoke to him in Russian. Renee walked away, trying not to rush. She didn’t want to draw any more attention than she already had. Renee could see two of Morozov’s security team holding their earpieces across the room. One of them began heading her way. Renee again began to wonder if she had made a mistake in coming here. But then the security man walked past her and she exhaled.
She traveled along the outer walkway of the yacht. It was time to get to work.
Renee stepped out onto a forward observation deck. She was alone. The first twinkle of stars began to overcome the fading sunlight. She could hear the noise of the boozy party coming from the opposite end of the yacht.
There were seats and couches in various places. It took her a moment to find what she was looking for. A docking station near the armrest of one of the built-in seats. Luxury yacht owners wanted to be able to charge their phones while they lay out in the sun, right?
She looked around to make sure no security guards were near. Seeing no one, she sat down and removed her laptop from her shoulder bag. She didn’t know how long she would have. She checked the docking station. It was equipped with a USB Type C port. That would get her speeds of at least 5 Gbps as long as there were no bottlenecks in the network.
Her fingers danced over the keyboard. Each keystroke was a moment closer toward solving the riddle — or being discovered.
There.
She had accessed a part of the ship’s network that showed an enormous number of data transfers over the past week. It was a treasure trove of information. More than she could analyze right now. But she didn’t need to. She just needed to send it off the ship so that she could look at it later.