Zoya lowered herself down through the hatch, dropped into a crouch, then raised her weapon. Court came down himself a few seconds later, and he found himself in a hallway lined on both sides with doors. He imagined this was all crew living space. He had no idea how many berths there were, but a yacht this size could easily house a crew of twenty-five or more.
After midnight Court didn’t expect much action here belowdecks, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He felt a little glare from Zoya as he passed her, but he wasn’t going to let her take the first bullet that came up this narrow hall.
He thought about checking the doors one by one. But this was a 160-foot yacht, and it was a long hallway, and he decided he needed some intelligence about where to look. He just walked past all the doors and into the engine room beyond.
Court knew the engine room would be the easiest place to find someone working alone, or at least not out in the open.
Directly inside the hatch, electrical panels displayed all the generator battery levels, water tank levels, and other gauges used by the engineers on the crew. They passed several water filters and more control panels, air-conditioning equipment, and the hydraulic pump. The massive Caterpillar engines took up the main part of the room. Court and Zoya passed them by moving low and carefully.
He found a target just thirty seconds later: a man sitting at a desk and eating a piece of chocolate cake. He was in his fifties, wearing blue coveralls and glasses, and he couldn’t have been easier to sneak up on with all the noises here in the engine room.
Court tapped him on his back with the pistol, then held it in his face as he turned around.
The man sat stunned, bits of cake hanging out of his beard.
“English?” Court asked.
The man’s response came in a hoarse whisper. “No. Italiano.”
Zoya had been keeping an eye out for others, but when she heard this she stepped in to the desk area and began speaking in rapid-fire Italian.
Court stepped out and began covering the rest of the engine room.
After a minute Zoya leaned out. “He says we can kill him, but he won’t talk.”
Court pulled the small vial of scopolamine hydrobromide out of a zippered pocket in his wetsuit. He held it in front of the engineer. To Zoya he said, “Tell him what this is, and how fast it works.”
She did, and the man listened a minute, drew his shoulders back, and spit at Court.
Zoya reared back to punch him in the face, but Court grabbed her arm. “No. Allow me.”
He cracked the little vial in his hand, lunged forward, and shoved it in the man’s left nostril. In the shock of the moment the engineer inhaled through his nose, then almost immediately began thrashing.
Court held him down and held his hand over his mouth. He turned to Zoya. “Find a head.”
“You mean a bathroom?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him with bewilderment. “You have to take a bathroom break now?”
“No,” he said, “I’m going to lock him in when I get what I need from him.”
Ten minutes later the engineer was in his underwear, he had his arms and hands taped behind his back, he had been pushed into the tiny head aft of the engine room, and the door latch was broken off on both the inside and the outside.
The man was conscious but completely out of it. He’d conveyed in Italian that the Thais had come out to the boat yesterday in a party of eight men. He didn’t know anything about a Chinese prisoner, but he told Court and Zoya that all the new guests were staying in the five staterooms on the upper deck.
Court realized he was as far as he could be from his target as possible.
After they had him tied and locked in the head, Court turned to Zoya. “One more thing. Ask him where the tenders are.”
Zoya spoke again, and the utterly compliant man answered through the door. She looked at Court. “The subdeck below has two fifteen-foot tenders. They can be deployed out through hull hatches.”
Court now wore the blue coveralls and tennis shoes he’d taken from the engineer. The coveralls were baggy and the shoes were a full two sizes too large, but Court tightened the laces and wore them anyway, because a barefoot engineer would be an odd sight. He and Zoya went aft out of the engine room to the ladder that led both down to the subdeck and up to the upper decks. Here Court said, “Any chance I can get you to go down to one of the tenders and get ready to deploy it? I might come hard and fast with Fan and we’ll need to get out of here in a hurry.”
Zoya shook her head. “You’ll need me upstairs and you know it.” When Court started to say something else, she added, “Forget about me leaving now. I’m with you all the way.”
Court let it go; it was a battle he knew he’d lose before he’d even begun fighting it.
Passing the lower deck, they went through the kitchen. Zoya was still in her wetsuit. All the lights were on and they could hear noises just around the corner.
Zoya peeked out first, then stepped out fully. Court walked out into the passageway and saw Zoya stepping up close behind a female server in black slacks, a black button-down shirt, and a black tie. Her black apron lay on the stainless steel island next to her, and she was well into the process of drinking a glass of wine.
“Long night?” Zoya said, and the woman spun around, sloshing some of the wine on the deck.
The woman spoke with a French accent. “Who are…”
She stopped speaking when she saw Court appear behind Zoya, the pistol low in his hand and facing down.
Zoya said, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need your clothes, and some information.” Her voice was soft, friendly, but she had an intensity on her face that made it plain she could be trouble if challenged.
The woman nodded, an expression of terror on her own face.
“How many more working in the kitchen?”
“Two,” the French server replied.
“Where are they now?”
“Upper deck, serving at the party.” Her eyes then went even wider.
“What is it?” Zoya asked.
“A dishwasher. He went to smoke. He will be back in a moment. I’m sorry. I forgot about him.”
“We all make mistakes. How many armed security on the yacht?”
“I don’t… Maybe ten?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know for sure. At least ten. And I think the Thais have guns.” The young woman started to cry.
Zoya said, “Calm down, dear. You aren’t in trouble.” Then she said, “I’ll need to borrow your outfit. Let’s go somewhere private where we can change.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-SIX
Court waited in a head by the kitchen while Zoya followed the woman down to the berth she shared with two other hostesses. Zoya changed into the dark slacks and dark blouse, and she quickly tied the black tie. All the while the woman stared at her, fighting back some but not all of her tears. Then Zoya tied the woman’s hands expertly around one of the bunk rails; as she did this, she leaned into her ear. “The prisoner. Where is he?”
The French crewmember looked to Zoya, blinked away more tears, and said, “I don’t know about a prisoner… but there is a stateroom on the upper deck. Last one at the end of the hall. We’ve been told to prepare meals but not to go in. The men from Thailand take the meals into the room. That’s all I know.”
Zoya said, “That’s all I need. You’ll be safe right here.”
Court and Zoya made it to the upper deck without encountering anyone else, but as soon as they climbed off the ladder they realized their luck would not last much longer. Here armed guards stood around a long table of at least a dozen men.
By turning away from the table at the stern and towards the salon, they avoided having anyone see that they were not, in fact, members of the crew, but as soon as they closed the door to the upper-deck hallway, finding themselves in an ornate area that looked like an Italian wine bar, they encountered two Italian men wearing polo shirts across broad chests. The men were in their thirties, and they definitely had the look of security.