Three SEALs were deployed in front of Lana and Don. Two moved on their flanks. One followed. She felt as protected as she could under the circumstances — until she received a text. She pulled out her phone thinking it was from Galina, worrying that Oleg had spotted his prey. It wasn’t from the Russian, though it was heartbreaking news: Tanesa’s mother, Esme, said Tanesa and Emma had been lost in a flood in Anacostia.
What? Lana looked up, as if an answer to her horror might be written in the night sky. She recalled seeing the rising waters in Anacostia as they flew in the chopper to Andrews, but she’d had no idea Tanesa and Emma were down there.
She returned immediately to the text, reading as she trudged up the dune that “Unknown to me,” Esme wrote, “the girls had volunteered to fill sandbags in Anacostia.” They’d been working on a headwall when the sea broke through. Tanesa’s mother wanted to know if Lana had any contacts who could help search for the girls.
Damn it! It was just like Emma—and Tanesa — to jump into the fray. Emma had been feeling so useless during the crisis, and had said as much, compared to the heroics that she and Tanesa had displayed last year. And what was fighting a flood, the two must have thought, compared to going up against men with a backpack nuclear bomb?
Lana did the only thing she could under the circumstances: she forwarded the entire text to Holmes. She didn’t need to add a single syllable. Her own desperation was so great it could have been etched in the sky — and would be immediately apparent to the deputy director. Then she sent a quick message to Esme saying that she’d alerted federal authorities who might be able to help.
What Lana did not do was tell Don, struggling up the dune to her right. She didn’t believe a dope dealer, of all people, could do anything to help Emma right now.
All the SEALs were looking side to side, which did little to protect them when floodlights poured down the dune and a man’s deep voice bellowed in accented English for them to stop.
“Halt,” Red ordered a split second later.
What choice do we have?
All Lana could spy behind the floodlights were shadows blending into one another. She wondered how those men had known they were hitting the beach. Or had they been using the bluff to watch both sides? “Is this how your guy does business?” she asked her ex.
“That’s not him. My guy has a squeaky voice. He got kicked in the throat by a horse.”
From Red’s cautious manner, he already knew they’d been met by the wrong party.
For a moment, Lana thought maybe they’d been intercepted by a routine patrol.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. It felt like a million maybes might flood through her mind in the next few seconds — along with a few well-placed bullets.
“We’re here to meet Nikita Mikov,” Red called out.
“Mikov? Mikov’s not feeling so good right now,” the commanding voice responded. “He said you should talk to us instead.”
“Maybe I will,” Red answered. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On who I’m talking to. How much are my words going to cost me?” Red asked.
“So you are prepared to pay for the privilege of conversation?”
“I’m an agreeable man.”
“Then put down your guns. I find they reduce the desire for honest negotiation.”
“What are we negotiating for?” Red replied, still holding his weapon by his side, as were his men.
“What you were always negotiating for. A boat.”
“Dehler 38,” Don muttered.
Red nodded. “The Dehler 38,” he called out.
“Yes, a fine boat. One of our best.”
“And I think I know what’s going on here,” Don said softly to Red. “This guy must have taken control of the marina.”
“I hear you,” Red whispered back.
“It’s happening all over Europe,” Don added.
Not just in Europe. Lana recalled the gangbangers in Miami seizing boats and gleefully giving the owners the old heave-ho right into the harbor.
“We can’t drop our weapons,” Red yelled up the dune. “But we can promise you that we came to complete a deal.”
“American dollars?” the man asked.
“Good as gold.”
“Used to be. Rubles are better.”
“We’ve got them, too,” Red said.
We do?
“Whatever you want,” the SEAL went on.
“Then by all means point your weapons down and we’ll walk down there to you. But if one of your men makes a move, a grenade is going to land right on your heads. Let’s do it peaceably.”
And they did. A squat man walked out of the shadows with gunmen on either side of him who also kept their weapons low.
The leader pulled out his phone and showed them photos of the Dehler and quite a few other available boats.
“The Dehler,” Don insisted.
“Storm Season,” said the squat man, pointing to the name. “One million rubles for five days.”
“Hold on,” Red said. “That’s $22,000.”
“Yes, it is. That’s the price to charter,” said Squat, who looked even shorter up close.
“Mikov said $10,000.”
Squat looked around theatrically. “Do you see Mikov? I don’t see Mikov. He can’t protect your interests. To be honest, Mikov can’t even protect his own anymore.”
Red looked at Lana, who nodded quickly. Let’s just get the deal done.
“Five days, one million rubles,” the SEAL agreed.
Lana noticed Squat hadn’t demanded a deposit for the boat itself. Further proof, Lana thought, that he and his men had hijacked Mikov’s boat-chartering business and wouldn’t be sharing the profits with the boat owners themselves. Squat would be indifferent to the boat’s return if he and his hoods planned to be gone by the time she and Don got back.
And where would Emma and Tanesa be by then? She had a horrible image of them both drowned.
After strolling down a wide dock, the thugs lit up Storm Season, a handsome, sleek-looking sloop.
Don hurried to check the furled sails, nodding as he announced, “Carbon fiber, just like Mikov said.”
Squat nodded as if he knew why Don was elated.
“And fully battened,” Don added. “She should move.” He put out his hand to help Lana on board.
The cabin had a raked-back racy look with long, angled windows. The helm had electric winches for the halyard and sheets — the lines that raised and trimmed the sails. They made it possible for one person to sail the Dehler, which was good because Lana didn’t expect to be much help when it came to the actual voyage. And right now she needed to provide the rendezvous coordinates as soon as possible to Galina.
“We’ll wait till you’re under way,” Red said to her and Don.
The mood dockside turned amiable with the transfer of funds. Squat offered vodka to the SEALs. Lana was pleased to see that none accepted.
“Duty calls,” Red explained.
“Me, too,” Squat replied. “And my duty is to give praise where praise is due. To Stoli Gold.” He raised the distinctive bottle high.
“To Stoli Gold,” his men amen’ed.
Squat glugged down the clear alcohol for several rewarding seconds, to judge from his sigh when he stopped.
Don activated the depth finder and started the engine to motor out of the marina. The fuel tanks were full. He asked Lana to check the seventy-nine-gallon freshwater tank under the companionway. Topped off as well. Evidently, Mikov had been around long enough to attend to the details.