by Leslie Jones
“Yeah, I found that fake account in the malware.” Lark whipped her head around, mouth dropping open as she realized what she’d just said. “Wait—you’re saying that the person who stole the mob’s money is also the one selling classified secrets?”
Jocelyn’s eyes widened. She shifted in the chair, crossing her legs and uncrossing them. “You . . . cracked the malware? I didn’t realize.”
“Uh, yeah,” she mumbled, realizing in hindsight she should have kept her mouth shut. Doug would fire her if he realized she’d so casually revealed the existence of a spy in their midst.
“Good job,” Jocelyn said. “Have you told Doug yet?”
“Yeah. So who created that user account?” she asked, trying to distract the other woman.
“Melvin.”
“What?” she gasped. “Are you serious?”
“Everything okay?” Doug asked, appearing beside them. Lark jerked in surprise. “Melvin didn’t look too happy.”
“He just wanted an update,” Jocelyn said. “No big deal.”
Lark cast her a doubtful look. No big deal? It was huge. Why on earth didn’t Jocelyn want to toot her own horn and report their odious boss?
Doug raised his brows. “I’m glad to hear it. My plate is about as full as it’s going to get. Lark, do you have a moment?”
“You bet.” Lark followed Doug toward the front of the SCIF, pausing to glance back at Jocelyn as she went through the door. The woman lifted her hand. Lark did the same, then let the heavy metal contraption swing closed behind her. They collected their cell phones, then walked toward Doug’s office. It felt strange to watch everyone step aside to let them through.
“I thought I’d give you an update,” he said. “I called in a Cyber Action Team from Washington, DC. They’ll be here tomorrow morning to start the espionage investigation.”
“Okay, good,” she said. “I, uh, might have something for them when they get here.”
“No, it’s their baby now. We can’t touch anything if we hope to get convictions out of it.” Doug placed both hands at the small of his back, stretching as they walked. “The attorney general agreed that in exchange for material information on the whereabouts of the mini-nuke, Viktor Sokolov will be granted immunity for his role in procuring the bomb.”
“Wonder of wonders; someone over there showed common sense. I have his business card. Do they talk to him? Do you? Should I give his card to you?”
Doug stopped and turned to her, forcing her to halt, as well. “While it would normally be the job of a supervisory special agent to liaise with members of the public who are helping with an ongoing operation, in this case I think it makes more sense for you to continue to deal with him directly. He seems to like you, and we need to keep on his good side.”
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me at all. He threatened to chop off my finger.” Lark swallowed, hands fisting at her sides. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s scary.”
He ducked his head to meet her gaze soberly. “And dangerous. Believe me, I know what I’m asking of you. Computer scientists don’t have any field training; you’re supposed to be strictly support staff. And if you don’t feel you can do it, tell me now. No harm, no foul. It won’t be held against you.”
“But it would help you.” She pressed her palms into her eyes, rubbing furiously. Could she walk back into the lion’s den? Put herself into Palachka’s crosshairs again? Sure, maybe Sokolov liked her. That would not, however, save her. “Okay. All right. I can do this. I will do this.”
“I’ll give you every support. You won’t be out there on your own. Thank you, Lark. I owe you.”
She shook her head. “Am I a member of the FBI or not? I can do dangerous.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You’re as brave as they come.”
She laughed. No, she wasn’t. She was the biggest scaredy cat in the world. “What about returning his money? Are we returning his money? What did they say about that?”
“I didn’t ask them.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he cast her a sideways glance and a tired smile. “One of my computer scientists tracked the illegal theft of money belonging to a private individual against whom no charges are pending. I have no reason or desire to illegally withhold those funds from him. I had Finance give you temporary access to our bank account downstairs. Arrange the transfer back to him, will you?”
A whoosh of air left her lungs as she sagged in relief. “Yes. I will. I’ll do that right now. Oh, he wanted the deal in writing.”
Doug started walking again. “The attorney general’s working that right now. He’ll have it to me before close of business today. You can reassure Sokolov it’s on the way.”
“Okay.” She sighed, contemplating her new role as mob liaison. Shit.
They reached Doug’s office. “Let me know if you need anything from me.”
“I’m good for now.” Lark left Doug talking with his assistant and strode back to her cubicle. She needed to talk to Jocelyn about her findings, but not until Lark did her own verification. Her phone buzzed.
“Center—”
“Lark, it’s me. Elliott.”
“Hey ho.” She opened a small green container and sprinkled tiny flakes into the goldfish bowl. Goldie darted to the top to swallow the food. “Have you decided to escape? Be free?”
Elliott laughed, but it sounded forced and sad to Lark. “I dream that every single night. Listen, he wanted me to call you.”
Lark rubbed her pinkie against her palm. “Your timing is perfect. You can tell him he’ll have his immunity agreement by the end of the day, and his money pretty much as soon as we hang up.”
“That should make him less surly. I’ll call again when he knows when and where the auction will be.”
“Elliott—”
“Gotta go.” Elliott hung up.
Lark dropped her head into her hands. She could easily have turned out like Elliott, trapped and unhappy. Thanks to ChaosCowboy, she’d landed on the right side of the law. Maybe she couldn’t save him, but it made her even more grateful for her own position.
Using her new banking access, she logged into the FBI account housing Sokolov’s fifty million dollars, and transferred it back to the account number Elliott had given her. Done and done.
Chapter 35
Saturday, February 25. 7:00 p.m.
Chartered Yacht. Massachusetts Bay.
Mace tucked Lark close to his side as she fidgeted with her chunky bracelets for the umpteenth time. He felt her anxiety pulse along his own nerves. He squeezed her shoulder to bolster her confidence.
The state department had delivered Sokolov’s immunity agreement as promised, stipulating that it would reimburse him for whatever the nuke cost him. None of them wanted to raise suspicion by trying to inject a last-minute bidder. If Mace had his way, Lark would be a thousand miles away and safe, but Sokolov remained insistent that Lark join him, and Doug had asked her to go along as some sort of FBI liaison. And since Mace wouldn’t permit her to board the yacht alone, here he was, dressed in a suit and tie. A regular suit, since his had been damaged.
“Only one bodyguard can be armed, and that’s Palachka. You’ll have to leave your weapons behind,” Sokolov said.
Mace nodded his understanding, even though he didn’t like it one bit. He glanced down at Lark, who looked delicious in her green dress.
The past week with her had been amazing. Even though the members of the joint task force had trained together for countless hours, practicing scenario after scenario, he’d had free time to spend with her. They’d gone sightseeing, cuddled on the sofa watching movies, and made love in her colorful bedroom.
“I’m out of a job,” she’d said days ago, as they lay in bed. “The Cyber Action Team from Washington, DC took everything. The server, the router, even my own freaking laptop. I’m not allowed within a hundred miles of any of it.”
He’d hugged her, loving the scent of her skin.
“Are
you sniffing me, Mace Beckett?”
“Mmm.” He nuzzled into her neck. “You bet your ass I am.”
In fact, she’d groused about it all week. Something drove her unease about the investigation, but he’d been unable to pry it out of her.
“If you know something, are you really not supposed to tell?” she’d asked. “Just wait for the dimwits to catch up, or maybe even miss it entirely?”
When he’d pressed her, she’d slid on top of him, and he promptly forgot what he’d been about to say.
“They move like stagnant pond water,” she’d grumbled a few hours ago. “I mean, I get how an investigation works. But do they really need to spend days and days examining every period and semicolon? If they’d just let me show them, we’d be done tomorrow.”
Her phone had buzzed. She hit the speaker button.
“Center—”
“It’s me, Elliott.”
“Hey ho. Whatcha got for me?”
“My uncle says the auction will be tonight on a rented yacht out of Massachusetts Bay called the Lazy Bee. It sails at 7:00 p.m. sharp. He wants you there by six thirty.”
Her heart sank, but she’d given Doug her word. “They won’t let me go alone.”
“Yeah, he figured that. You can bring the guy who was with you in the limo. Oh, wear something fancy. I guess this will be some sort of floating cocktail party.”
“Okie doke. Will I see you there?”
“Me?” Elliott’s voice lifted in surprise. “No way. I don’t rate. Kerghakov will be there, though.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” She thumbed her phone off and turned to Mace. “Way to wait till the very last second.”
“I’m positive that’s the auctioneer’s doing,” he reassured her. “Fatianova Uvarov, not Sokolov.”
Now, Sokolov’s party strolled down the pier to the impressive five-story, two-hundred-foot yacht awaiting them. A festive atmosphere permeated the dock. No one seemed to mind the metal detection wand, laughing when their excessive jewelry or Rolex watches set it off. Sokolov endured the wand with aplomb, then gestured to Palachka, who was admitted without being checked. Lark leaned over the gangplank as they ascended, looking into the deep water. Mace tightened his hold on her.
“Don’t fall in, little bird.”
She tossed him a mock look of disdain. “I swim like a fish, not a bird.”
The FBI/DHS/Delta task force had spent the past few hours planning and coordinating a shipboard assault. His palms itched. No strategy ever survived more than a minute or two after the go order, then everything became free-flowing. That’s when accidents happened. Would he be able to stow Lark away in a safe place?
Probably not.
As they stepped aboard, a crewman offered champagne. Women in flawless makeup and fancy cocktail dresses accompanied self-assured, self-important men. Mace mentally catalogued them, but at this point he couldn’t classify them. His mission to identify the bidders required vigilance and attention to the smallest details.
Lark accepted the glass of bubbly, holding the widemouthed wineglass by the stem and swirling the liquid gently before sipping. “Holy cow. This is good stuff. Krug Grande Cuvée, if I’m not mistaken. Runs about two hundred a bottle.”
Mace took a glass for himself and sniffed it, as he saw others doing. “I thought you served champagne in flutes.”
Lark gave a lopsided smile. “The experts will tell you that flutes prevent enough oxygen from reaching the liquid to bring out the aroma properly. One must not limit the flavor of a high-end champagne.”
“Naturally,” he said, mentally shaking his head. Give him a Pilsner or a stout any day. “A few years ago, we helped train a couple of German Army units at a place in the Bad Kissingen district called Wildflecken.” He pronounced it Veel-flick-en. “It’s called Top of the Rock. At the end of the week, if the training went well, the commanders would organize a six-kilometer run to Kloster Kreuzberg at the top of the mountain. Beautiful old monastery with a fantastic view, and it’s still a working brewery supervised by monks. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a big ol’ mug of German lager.”
“That’s a long way to run just to drink beer.”
He looked down at her in surprise. “It’s less than four miles. I do that just to warm up in the morning. Although, to be fair, it’s all uphill, and pretty steep at the end. Still. Worth it. I’ll take you sometime.”
He felt her freeze beside him. Shit. Why had he said that? He wanted to get to know her better, but she was skittish as a colt. He had patience in spades, though, and she was worth the wait.
“I would like that,” she whispered.
His heart bumped crazily. Before he said something to make her withdraw again, he forced himself to be silent and simply hugged her to his side. After a moment, she returned the pressure.
They joined the rest of Sokolov’s party as they made their way to the roof of the yacht, where other laughing, chattering groups mingled. Altogether, more than two hundred guests milled about, admiring the view as the yacht raised anchor and pulled away from the dock. He needed to check out the other guests on the ship.
“Will you be all right on your own for a bit?” he asked.
She nodded, fingers tightening on his waist before she pulled away. “Be careful.”
“Bank on it, little bird.”
He spent an hour roaming through the decks, passing cliques on all levels. Several huddled in small sitting areas. Covertly watching their body language, he marked in each group the person to whom the others deferred. Peeking into the bridge, he waved to the pilot, who gave him a friendly smile.
“Want to see how she operates?” he asked.
“You bet.” Mace entered the bridge.
The pilot began explaining the various computer screens. Mace barely listened. He knew how to pilot a ship, even one this size. Instead, he checked their heading.
“We’re heading out of Massachusetts Bay?”
“Yep. Right out into the Atlantic Ocean. The stars will be brighter than you can imagine.”
Mace grimaced. “Let me guess. Twelve miles out?”
The pilot checked his log book. “Closer to fifteen, but yes.”
“Into international waters.”
He shrugged, looking uneasy. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I do what the client wants me to do. I don’t ask questions.”
Twelve miles from shore, US laws became hard to enforce. Still, Title 18 of the US Code stipulated that crimes committed in international waters could still be prosecuted if the vessel itself was registered in the United States and the crime involved illegal nuclear material. Even if the auction itself took place offshore, the participants could still be prosecuted. Fatianova apparently didn’t realize that.
He left the bridge and found a quiet corner, pulling out his cell phone. Jace answered on the first ring.
“Whatcha got?”
“We’re heading into the Atlantic, past the twelve-mile mark.” He gave Jace their heading and course. “The yacht is laid out exactly as the plans showed—thank you, Majesty Yacht Charter—except that they removed the long dining table on the observation deck to accommodate the guests. Also, they modified the saloon on the aft lower deck into a kick-ass movie theatre. The television has got to be a hundred inches.”
Jace laughed. “Bet the sound system is unreal.”
“Yeah. I’m virtually certain the auction will take place there. It’s big enough, and there’re pads of paper and pens near the seats.”
“Okay. Any way you can vanish into a corner?”
“No way in hell. The other problem is they closed off the escape hatch. The one on the starboard side is operational, though.”
“Anything else?”
Mace gave a quick look to ensure no one had come into hearing distance. “I’ve identified three of the bidders. One from the Asia, maybe North Korean. One from the Middle East. I’m guessing Iranian. The third looks South American. Venezuelan, no doubt. They’re known
to want nuclear weapons.”
His team leader blew out a breath. “Wish we knew how many bidders there are. When she actually starts the auction, do you think Sokolov will tell us?”
Mace considered it. “He says he will. He’s as invested as we are in stopping this thing, if I believe him. Anyway, he did give us the yacht, so for now I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Where are you?”
“About three miles behind you on a coast guard cutter. We’re prepped to close with you and blow the hull when you give the signal.”
He stared up at the ceiling, thinking. “Total personnel on board is two fifteen, plus or minus five. Fatianova turned this into a major party. Tag will have to reduce the charge on the limpet mine.”
“Not a problem. Have you ever known Tag to miss his mark?”
Never. Tag worked magic with explosives. “I’ll call when I have more.”
He made his way back to the observation deck. A steward offered him a tray of smoked oysters on a half shell. He waved the man away and found Lark.
“Having fun?” he asked, slipping his arm around her waist.
“Tons,” she said. “It’s a terrific party.”
He laughed at her sardonic tone. She didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted her in danger.
Viktor Sokolov joined them. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you earlier for taking care of our little issue.”
Returning his fifty millions dollars, he meant.
“Easy peasy.” She peered at him. “So which one of these high society bitches is in charge of this shindig?”
Sokolov looked around. “She’s already gone below. That’s what I came to tell you. The auction is about to begin.”
Chapter 36
Saturday, February 25. 8:00 p.m.
Chartered Yacht. Atlantic Ocean.
Fatianova surveyed the group gathered in the saloon with the enormous television. The only compartment on the yacht large enough to hold all of them, it was still crowded with eighteen bidders, two interpreters, and Fyodor. All men. She controlled a sneer. Men tended to be much easier to control than women.