Targets of Revenge

by Jeffrey Stephens

  He passed a number of doors on his left that were set close enough to suggest smaller cabins, not what he was looking for. He pressed on until the corridor ended in a T, where he found what he was looking for. To the right was a short jog that turned forward, to the left a passageway that would lead to the port side of the yacht. Dead ahead was a door that he calculated to be just below the command deck.

  Sandor felt for the compact 9mm in his back pocket. If this was the communications center it was likely to be manned 24/7 and, at two in the morning, he could hardly claim to be lost and searching for his own cabin. He decided to improvise, reached out for the handle, and opened the door.

  Sudakov was seated comfortably at a small conference table bracketed by Pavel and another of the men Sandor had not been introduced to earlier in the evening. “Come in, Mr. Sandor,” Sudakov said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ABOARD THE ODESSA IN SOUTH HARBOR, SHARM EL-SHEIKH, EGYPT

  SANDOR STEPPED INSIDE and closed the door behind him. “Expecting me?”

  Ronny pointed to a bank of monitors to his right. “We’ve been watching you as you were exploring my yacht just now. I take it my guided tour was not enough to satisfy your curiosity.”

  “Let’s just say it was a lot to absorb in just one viewing.”

  Ronny nodded. “So what did you think of our galley? Worthy of a five-star restaurant, is it not?”

  “It certainly is.”

  “You didn’t take much time to look around.”

  Sandor shrugged. “Never been much good in the kitchen.”

  “I take it our all-seeing nerve center here would be of more interest to you.”

  Sandor had a look around without replying.

  “Impressive, yes?”

  “Very.”

  “So then, have a seat. I would feel far more comfortable if you were sitting on that peashooter you carry in your back pocket. Come, come, don’t look so surprised. And don’t make the mistake of underestimating me. There is a scanner on the rear deck. We knew you were armed as soon as you boarded.”

  Sandor took the chair opposite the three Russians. There was another man present, his back to them as he worked at a large control panel. “But you didn’t ask for my weapon.”

  “Please be assured, if you had so much as sneezed in the direction of that little automatic, you would not have had the chance to draw another breath.”

  With that, the men on either side of him responded with confident smiles.

  “Well then,” Sandor said, “I’ll be careful not to sneeze.”

  “Let’s just say you would be well advised not to suddenly reach for a handkerchief.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Sandor had another look at the array of LCD screens. “I assume you have the cabins bugged as well.”

  “Some of them. I am told you were quite careful in keeping your voice low in speaking to Miss Lilli, but our technician is working on a retrieval of your conversation right now.” He nodded in the direction of the techie working the keyboard.

  “Not very gallant of you, intercepting a romantic tête-à-tête.”

  Sudakov responded with a knowing look. “Something tells me that romance was not the topic of your discussion. But we’ll soon know, won’t we?”

  “Do I seem worried?”

  “No, you don’t. But something tells me you are not a man who worries easily. Am I right?”

  Sandor smiled.

  “Why not save us both needless gamesmanship by simply telling me who you are and what you are doing here.”

  “The girl invited me to your party, remember?”

  Sudakov sighed. “I was hoping you would surprise me and dispense with pointless banter.”

  “I’d be happy to. You just asked me a question and I answered.”

  “Then how about this—what were you looking for just now?”

  “I was trying to find your communications center and it appears I have.”

  “To what end?”

  “You claim to be an oil trader. I suspect that’s not the truth. At least not all of the truth. I wanted to find out who you really are and how you afford a yacht like the Odessa.”

  “And you thought you would find that in here?”

  “I thought I might.”

  “You could have asked.”

  “You’ve already lied to me. I tend not to ask a liar a second question.”

  Sudakov sat up a little straighter. “You take liberties you should not, Mr. Sandor.”

  Sandor shrugged. “Maybe so, but as you said, I don’t worry that easily. And you’re the one who wanted to dispense with pointless banter.”

  His host forced a tense grin. “All right. What causes you to have such interest in me and what I do?”

  “Someone mentioned that you might be a person with whom I could do business.”

  “I see. And what sort of business might that be?”

  “Narcotics.”

  For a moment no one in the room moved or spoke. Even the clicking of the computer keyboard suddenly stopped. Then Sudakov made a loud chortling sound, something between a wheeze and a gasp. “You are quite a character, Mr. Sandor, you know that?”

  Sandor treated each of Ronny’s goons to a broad smile and turned back to his host. “It’s been said.”

  As quickly as he had erupted into laughter, Sudakov resumed his severe manner. “You have the nerve to come aboard my yacht, a total stranger, drink my wine, sneak around in search of who knows what, and then ask if I want to engage in an illegal business transaction with you?”

  “In a word, yes. I mean, if I could have thought of some indirect approach I would have tried, but as you say, you’ve caught me looking for information and you’ve asked that I answer your questions without playing games. It’s a little late for you to pretend you’re offended, don’t you think?”

  The Russian glared at him but said nothing.

  “I was told you could arrange for the shipment of large amounts of product. And that you might be helpful on the financial side as well.”

  “And who told you this?”

  “Carlos. A Venezuelan.”

  “No last name?”

  “I didn’t think it was important. He gave me your name and told me I could find you in Sharm el-Sheikh.”

  “I see. And you thought you would march in here, without a reference or any proof of who you are, and inquire about the transport of contraband as if you were ordering dinner from a menu, do I have this right?”

  “No, in fact I thought we might find time to have a private discussion about business, but you have me at something of a disadvantage here. Since you asked for candor, I’ve provided it.”

  Sudakov gave his head a slow, deliberate shake. “Mr. Sandor, I don’t know who you really are or who you think I am, but you have made a serious error in judgment.”

  “Nothing that we can’t repair, I hope.”

  Sudakov studied him for a few moments. “That remains to be seen. For now I suggest you return to your cabin. My two friends here will show you the way so you won’t need to retrace your indirect route.” On cue, the two bodyguards got to their feet, so Sandor also stood. “We have gotten off to a bad start, but perhaps you are right, perhaps it can be repaired. We are diving in the morning, you should get some sleep.”

  The two large men came toward him. One of them pointed to the door. “Time to go,” he said, his accent thick and his voice stern.

  As Sandor turned to leave, Sudakov added, “I must confess, at this point I will sleep better if you relinquish your weapon. It will be returned to you tomorrow, of course.”

  “Of course,” Sandor said, but as he reached for his pocket the man on his right grabbed his wrist with a backhand maneuver that was surprisingly fast and uncomfortably tight. Without a word the second man reached in and pulled out the gun. “I don’t let just anyone put their hand in my pocket,” Sandor said, “at least not on the first date.”

  No
one laughed.

  ————

  Lilli was still sitting up on his bed when Sandor was shown into his cabin by his two escorts. When they shut the door behind him he listened, but there was no sound to indicate they had been locked in. Having taken his automatic and with surveillance cameras all over the ship, there was no need.

  “So?” she asked.

  There was no reason to tell her anything. He said, “It’s been a long night. Let’s get some rest.”

  Then he turned out the lights. Whatever happened in the dark would happen in the dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ABOARD THE ODESSA IN SOUTH HARBOR, SHARM EL-SHEIKH, EGYPT

  THE NEXT MORNING Sandor rose, showered, and dressed well before sunrise, then had Lilli get ready. When she emerged from the shower wrapped in a large Hermès bath sheet, he sat her on the edge of the bed and leaned over, whispering in her ear one more time. “Once I leave, you’ve got to get off this yacht.”

  “Can’t I wait for you to come back?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not coming back. And these people do not leave loose ends. They will want to know what we discussed, anything I told you. I want you to tell them anything and everything I said.”

  Lilli appeared puzzled. “But you haven’t really told me anything. Except that I should be afraid of them.”

  Sandor pursed his lips, as if about to say something, then thought better of it. “Tell them that.” He drew back and looked into her nervous, aquamarine eyes. After a moment he leaned toward her again. “Just repeat for them anything I said. The point is to get off this boat and out of Sharm el-Sheikh. You understand me? And I mean to get off as soon as possible.”

  She said she would, though she admitted that she still did not understand why.

  A short time later the yacht’s entourage was served an early breakfast on the rear deck. They were seated at a racetrack-shaped table large enough to accommodate thirty people and sturdy enough to support a brass sculpture in the center that looked to weigh half a ton. Sudakov was seated at the head of this enormous expanse of polished mahogany, nearest the stern, accompanied once again by the two brawny escorts who had shown Sandor to bed. Sudakov was an early riser, and not a man to be kept waiting, so he had seen to it that everyone was up just after dawn. He appeared to be in very good spirits and Sandor gave the man high marks acting as if nothing had transpired between them just a few hours before. His men, on the other hand, were far less convivial, some of which Sandor chalked up to his nocturnal wandering, some to their hangovers.

  As for the women, they wore that look young women tend to have the morning after a night of too much wine, too much revelry, and too much of whatever else it was they had indulged in, particularly when they did not have the time necessary to recover their bearings and put themselves back together. The girls had been obliged to dress quickly, hair piled on heads and held with clips or pulled back in ponytails, their makeup not as carefully applied as it had been the night before.

  Either that or the sunlight was not as favorable as the moonlight had been.

  Sandor thought Lilli looked just fine, and he said so. He also announced that Lilli was interested in a small shopping spree in town while he was diving. He said that he would fund the expedition.

  “Sounds delightful,” Sudakov said with a knowing smile. “All of the girls should go into town and pick up some new things for tonight, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely,” Sandor agreed.

  The women voiced their excitement at the prospect.

  “Consider it done,” Sudakov announced. “And I will be the one financing the venture, I insist. I will see to everything myself.”

  Sandor could feel Lilli’s gaze bore into the side of his head, but all he did was smile at their host and say, “Perfect.”

  ————

  While Sudakov and his guests were finishing their eggs and croissants, two of his men were belowdecks, filling the four scuba tanks that would be used for the dive that morning.

  A standard air tank mixture is 21 percent oxygen and 78 percent nitrogen, the balance made up of inert gases. Changes in that combination, or the introduction of other substances, could become dangerous. Or fatal.

  A tank low on air would not guarantee death. No matter how deep the diver went there was always the chance he could jettison his pack and make it to the surface once he discovered his supply was spent.

  A nitrogen-rich mixture would ensure a fatality but the postmortem would reveal it had not been an accident—an autopsy would disclose the unusually high concentration of nitrogen in the lungs.

  Loading a tank with pure oxygen was far more cunning. A diver would not be able to discern any problem at the start of the dive, but in less than a half hour at 45 psi or more—just one hundred feet or so below the surface of the water—the pressure in his lungs caused by the pure oxygen would cause a seizure without warning, and death was assured. The postmortem would be unlikely to disclose anything to suggest foul play. As the diver convulsed, his tank could be removed and dropped to the floor of the sea with extra weights, the evidence of tampering effectively destroyed.

  Oxygen was the smart move.

  Sudakov’s men loaded one of the four tanks with pure oxygen, placed a small blue appliqué on the metal cylinder, then went about organizing the other equipment.

  It would not be long now.

  ————

  Less than twenty minutes later Sandor stood on the platform that hovered just above sea level at the stern of the Odessa, watching as the dive boat came about. A lithe young woman in a black one-piece bathing suit tossed out a bowline from the dive boat. One of Sudakov’s crew caught it and tied it off on a transom cleat as the girl dropped white rubber bumpers over the side.

  The boat appeared to be about thirty-six feet long with twin outboards. It was piloted by a dark-skinned Egyptian who looked to be about sixty, wearing khaki shorts and a tropical shirt in a loud print featuring silk screens of palm trees and coconuts. He killed the engines, climbed forward, and jumped up to the platform.

  “Morning,” he said with a wide smile that revealed a set of uneven teeth.

  The man standing beside Sandor issued a grunt in response, then held out a hand and helped the girl onto the platform.

  “I am Captain Sadiki,” the Egyptian told them. “Everyone ready to go?”

  As if on cue, the two men who had been in the equipment room emerged through a door to the starboard side of the transom. They were carrying four tanks, fins, regulators, wetsuits, weight belts, and other diving paraphernalia.

  “Seems you won’t be needing our equipment,” the captain said with an unmistakable hint of disappointment in his voice.

  Sudakov stepped forward. “Not a problem captain,” he said. “We prefer to use our own equipment, but we have agreed to your rate.” Then with a chuckle he added, “Do I look like a man seeking a discount?”

  “You certainly do not,” the captain replied with his own laugh, obviously relieved that he had not carted tanks out here only to be chiseled on his fee. He took the hand Sudakov extended, gave it an energetic pump, then climbed back into his boat.

  As Sandor watched the gear being loaded, Sudakov moved beside him. “A beautiful day to be on the water, is it not?”

  “Or under it,” Sandor said. He was wearing a new Vilebrequin bathing suit and crisply pressed white tee, both on loan from his host. He turned to Sudakov, who was still in the black gabardine slacks and cotton polo shirt he had worn at breakfast. “A bit overdressed for this adventure, aren’t you?”

  Sudakov offered him an indulgent smile. “Unfortunately I cannot join you. A childhood injury to my ear prevents me from diving. A pity.”

  “It certainly is.” Sandor returned his attention to the young woman to whom the Russians were passing the diving gear. He was far less interested in the girl than the four steel air tanks she was handling. They were all made by the same manufacturer, identical in size and markings.r />
  “I envy you the experience,” Sudakov was saying, “but I look forward to the stories you’ll have to tell when you return.”

  Sandor turned back to the Russian. “And I certainly look forward to seeing you again.”

  “Good. You all enjoy yourselves,” he said, slapping Sandor on the back.

  The women on the yacht were above them, leaning over the railing on the rear deck, jabbering about their upcoming excursion to the shops in town at Sudakov’s expense. Lilli, however, was watching Sandor without speaking.

  He looked up and smiled at her. “And you be sure to enjoy your little shopping spree.”

  She nodded.

  “Of course she will,” Sudakov assured him as he witnessed the unspoken exchange between Sandor and the girl. “We’ll take good care of her.”

  “I hope so,” Sandor said, looking directly into the Russian’s cold blue eyes. “I really hope so.”

  ————

  When Sandor boarded the dive boat he was not surprised to discover that his companions on this excursion would be three of Sudakov’s men.

  “They love to dive,” Sudakov called out to him, answering the question that had not been asked.

  Sandor looked up from the deck of the smaller vessel. “Can’t convince you to just come along for the ride, can I?”

  The Russian shrugged, then pointed to the girls and flashed a smile. “Business before pleasure.”

  Sandor nodded. “Till we meet again, as they say.”

  “Till then.”

  ————

  Captain Sadiki’s destination for the dive was beyond the sandy island in the national park known as Ras Mohammed. A nature preserve off the tip of the Sinai Peninsula, it is a popular location for underwater explorers and snorkelers alike. As they got started Sandor moved forward and stood beside the captain.

  “Nice boat,” he said as Sadiki navigated his way across the deep, calm waters.

  The Egyptian said nothing.