by Linda Ladd
Lori had always been good at poking holes in theories and clearing away the fog. She was making him look at this whole thing in a new light. She could very well be right. Still, to go to this kind of extreme to trick Novak into some elaborate plot just seemed ridiculous to him, unless their plan was for Novak to end up dead. If he was working in league with the Kremlin, Petrov would have had the means to find Novak, even in the wilds of Missouri. Or the Syrians, or the Iranians—all those countries had done business with him. Following Novak’s boat without him knowing would not be difficult, either, not with Russian satellites in the sky.
Still, Novak had no reason to think anybody was after him. He was always wary of being followed, and he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, not even on his voyage from New Orleans to D.C. On the other hand, a GPS tracker attached to the hull of his boat would not be something he’d easily spot when he had no reason to suspect trouble. If they were being tracked, they still were, this very moment. Lori’s theory was beginning to sound feasible.
Lori took the sat phone back down to the main cabin, leaving him alone to think things through. Novak fixed his gaze on the vast blue water stretching out in front of him. Far away at starboard, long tan beaches stretched out along the coast as far as his eye could see. He got a mental picture of Irina the last time he’d seen her, lying white and bruised and unresponsive in that hospital bed. She was already jaded and used and weary from a childhood spent in hell. Her lot in life had been worse than imaginable, and he feared it might already be over at the tender age of sixteen.
Novak wavered back and forth, not sure what to believe. It was an unusual feeling for him, to feel out of touch, to fear he’d been so easily manipulated. Lori’s take on everything made sense, but there were still things that made him doubtful. He felt there was more to this than met the eye, but which way did it go? He hoped she was wrong about Sokolov. He had believed him, had felt the man’s desire to free his daughter had been sincere. He hoped Sokolov had simply moved Irina somewhere safe, that she was still alive and getting better. His gut kept telling him they could both be dead. If Blackwood and Petrov had gotten them, there was no question they were, probably left to rot in the backwoods of South Carolina or weighted down at the bottom of the Atlantic.
When Lori came back topside, Novak said, “You may be right. Can you use your contacts at the Pentagon to see if you can find out if Sokolov’s still connected in Moscow?”
“I can try. My security clearance certainly won’t warrant that level of intelligence, but I have some friends in high places. Lucky for you.”
“I do, too, but they might not be as eager to help me as yours. Last time they got involved, it didn’t turn out so well for them.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Novak grinned, but it took serious effort. If she was right, and the Russian government was sanctioning this entire pipeline, things were going to get sticky. Criminals running illegal drugs up the East Coast was one thing. If the Russian secret service was behind it, it turned into a whole different ballgame. How the hell had he ended up smack-dab in the middle of a Russian conspiracy theory? What if everybody involved were spies, including Irina? Had she enticed him to help her for ulterior motives? What if she hadn’t been stolen as a child? The adoption story had come from her and Sokolov. He had no verification if any of it was true. Again, the one pertinent but elusive question plagued his mind: why him? Even if Petrov wanted him dead for some unknown reason, he could have done it without all these complicated machinations. There had to be answers, and Novak had to find them before everything came crashing down on his head.
Chapter 17
They tracked Blackwood’s car all the way down to the Florida Keys, ending up at the Oceans Edge Resort Hotel & Marina in Key West. The Lincoln was now sitting in a reserved parking space in front of a huge white yacht. Novak found a place offshore, out of the cruise lanes, but close enough to observe what was going on at that hotel dock. He used his binoculars to get a close-up look at the boat. It was a beautiful ocean-going yacht, black and white, sleek and fast, with smoked windows, and maybe sixty or seventy feet long. That boat must have cost Blackwood some big bucks. Novak’s guess was that it was purchased straight out of some offshore bank account where Blackwood kept his misbegotten drug profits.
“You think Blackwood can afford that monster boat?” Lori asked him, taking a sip of her iced tea.
“Not on a retired senator’s cash flow. But he could if he’s dealing drugs or providing a shill cover for a Kremlin game. More likely, it belongs to whoever he’s getting his product from. If that’s the case, we’re probably not the only ones surveilling him right now. You can bet the DEA is somewhere around here, hiding and watching everybody who goes up and down that fancy railed gangplank.”
“Yeah, not to mention the FBI. Maybe they’re on the job now, so we can go home. Think about it, Novak. Like I said before, this is getting too complicated for the two of us. I hope we don’t get caught up in their dragnet when they lower the boom.”
“If the Feds are out here watching, it’ll complicate things, all right.”
Novak didn’t want to become entangled with law enforcement red tape, but he also didn’t want to lose an opportunity to find out the source and name of Blackwood’s opioid suppliers.
It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon, very hot out on the water despite the ocean winds. Novak felt his bare skin burning, but it felt good after the autumn chill of New England. They were near a group of sailboats about the same size and weight as Sweet Sarah, anchored in a protected spot, and that gave them good cover. They were both lying on their bellies atop the main cabin now, each watching the yacht with high-powered binoculars. The name was right there for all to see, in big reflective gold letters that pretty much nailed down its place in Blackwood’s empire: Trident Point. It was listed out of Key West, Florida. The pier the hotel used was not a private dockage but open to the public. There with other boats of similar size, it would be less noticeable. He examined the nearby boats, but he was pretty certain that the Lincoln was parked in front of the black-and-white yacht.
Lots of people were moving around aboard that yacht, a real hive of activity—guards, most likely, each dressed in spotless white nautical uniforms, replete with fancy gold-braided epaulettes on their shoulders. All were armed, too, not concealed or hidden, their pistols secured in belt holsters. Somebody aboard that yacht was important. Novak believed that to be Charles Blackwood, or better yet, his contact from Mexico who arranged their shipments.
“You think he’s got Sokolov and Irina tied up on that thing, below decks somewhere, maybe?” Lori asked, sitting up and wiping sweat off her brow. She was whispering to him, spooked by her own envisioned scenario. Her face was starting to sunburn after weeks spent working inside.
“Maybe they’re all aboard. Maybe they’re all co-conspirators. I think the people on the yacht have been waiting down here for Blackwood to arrive. Not sure why they’d choose a dockage as public as this one. Blackwood may not be the owner, but I think he is. To answer your question, I think it’s unlikely Sokolov and the girl are aboard. I think they’re dead, and it’s back to business as usual.”
“Somebody stayed behind to get them? That’s what you’re thinking?”
“Yeah. I’m beginning to feel like they’ve already gotten rid of them. We’ll never find their bodies, not if Petrov was in charge.”
“I just cannot see Blackwood murdering his own daughter.”
“Maybe he didn’t order the hit. Maybe Petrov got fed up with her and fixed it to look like she overdosed herself. He’s not above doing that.”
“Oh God, I just want this to end. I especially want Petrov. I’m so ready to take them down. I’m going to see if I can find out if the DEA’s infiltrated Blackwood’s organization. There might be an undercover agent onboard that yacht. It could even be Sokolov.”
“Don’t think so.”
Novak watched her get up and disappear below decks. She was dead on. He wished he’d never craved that steak. He might never eat another one without a gun gripped in his hand. Whether they had targeted him specifically that night or he’d been a random victim like Irina had sworn he was, Novak was in too deep to get out now. This was too important, and too many people were dying from the drugs they smuggled. As Lori reappeared holding her laptop and sat down under the awning, he refocused his glasses on the yacht.
“There’s a lot of movement on the stern deck now,” he told her. “Looks like the stewards are getting it ready for afternoon cocktails, and if we get really lucky, they’ll have a big powwow with all the players around that dinner table. Now that would be a nice photograph to show the Feds.”
Novak kept watching. A group of men were milling around at the stern seating area, about ten of them. Most of them looked like guards or crew members, judging by their pristine white uniforms. The other guys had come out of the main salon wearing dress slacks and linen tropical shirts patterned with palm trees, leaping dolphins, and beach umbrellas. Three of them sat down around a glass-topped table. A steward scurried over and filled stemmed goblets from a magnum of champagne cooling in a silver bucket. The armed guards stood around the railings at a distance from the table, facing out, as if the meeting were private. Other men aboard in various areas were dressed in white T-shirts and white jeans. All of them carried guns.
If FBI agents were watching this meet, they were getting their money’s worth. Novak snapped a bunch of pictures, zooming in on each man’s face. The wind was blowing inland, ruffling the hair away from their faces, giving him good, clean shots. Then he moved back to the men at the meet. He recognized Blackwood, with Petrov sitting on his right. There were two others now whom Novak had never seen before.
Lori climbed back to the roof and lay down on her stomach close beside him. Novak said, “Snap some pictures of the guy in the pale blue shirt. And the one in the black T-shirt with the dolphins. We need their identities. They’re dirty, in this thing up to their necks, believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you. I already got them from the stern. Want me to go down and run them now?”
“Yeah, I want their names and countries of origin. I hope they don’t pull anchor and sail tonight, but they might. If they do, they’re meeting someone out at sea.”
As evening approached and the sun dipped low with one of its famous fiery red-and-gold Key West sunsets, sending swathes of water-colors out over the fading blue sky, everything on shore was bathed in pastel shades of pinks and lavenders and golds. Lights began to come on around the harbor and the big hotel they watched. The four guys still sat hunched around the table; after having dinner and several breaks, they were back, deep in serious conversation. Novak wanted to hear what they were saying in the worst way. Whatever their subject, it was damn important to each of them. It didn’t appear they were in agreement, nor that they were particularly happy with each other. The new guys both looked Hispanic, maybe of Cuban heritage, judging by the cigars smoking between their fingers. That guess was a stab in the dark—they could have been anybody from anywhere. On the other hand, Key West was ninety miles north of Havana, so Novak was betting on Cuba being the final leg of the pipeline.
When he caught movement on the gangplank, he refocused his glasses on the man descending to the long dock. At first Novak didn’t recognize him, but when his target passed beneath a dusk-to-dawn lamppost positioned at the bottom, Novak could see him as clear as a spotlighted deer. Stepan Sokolov was coming blithely off that yacht for anybody to see. Novak was stunned to see him there. He watched the Russian chat with the armed guard standing duty. They conversed a while before Sokolov strode on down the pier toward the big parking lot behind the marina slips. Novak never took his eyes off him. When Sokolov reached a late-model, dark green Ferrari, he opened the trunk, rummaged around inside, and pulled out a knapsack. Then he headed back to the boat. As he walked up the gangplank, Novak lowered his field glasses and glanced at Lori, where she was bent over her laptop right below him, hard at work searching for answers in the Pentagon’s facial recognition database.
“I just saw Sokolov. He’s alive, right over there, cozying up with Blackwood and Petrov.”
She raised her eyes to his face. She looked as shocked as he felt. “What? He’s down here? Is Irina onboard, too? Did you see her?”
“No. She’s either locked up below deck, or a part of this whole thing. Or she’s dead, weighted down with concrete blocks on the ocean floor, compliments of our friend Sokolov.”
“Oh, my God. Has Sokolov been playing us this whole time?”
“I’m beginning to believe you were right, Lori. I don’t know why he approached us, but he’s been lying from day one. He wanted our help getting Irina back, so he gave us that sob story about her being his daughter so we’d help him. Like an idiot, I handed her over on a silver platter. I’m pretty damn certain she’s dead. I have no idea who he really is or why he got us out of that hospital. None of this makes any sense whatsoever.”
“She can’t be his daughter. If she were, he could never deliver her back into the hands of the devil who’s been abusing her. That has to be a lie. He’s got to be just another one of Blackwood’s flunkies.”
“He told me he had video proof of Blackwood molesting her, but I didn’t want to watch it. I did see them in a bedroom together on Fripp Island, and you can bet that’s what was about to go on. Maybe she’s not anybody’s daughter. Maybe she’s Blackwood’s lover and has been all along. This whole thing could’ve been some kind of trap for us. Why they’d go to this kind of trouble, I cannot imagine.”
“A more important question to me is, why us?” She glanced around at the other sailboats anchored around them, suddenly paranoid about their safety.
Novak followed suit. Most of the boats were still battened down and completely dark, the owners probably staying in the hotel or sightseeing in town.
Lori looked worried. “You think they know we’re out here, and have been watching us watch them?”
“I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.”
“How?” Now Lori’s voice was wary. She was spooked, all right.
“I’m taking the Zodiac into the hotel, and then I’m going to get Sokolov alone and have a little heart-to-heart with him. He’s going to tell me everything I want to know tonight, trust me on that.”
“I’m coming, too. You’ll need backup with that many guys.”
“Not if I get him off by himself. I need you to stay out here. Watch my back, but keep your rifle beaded on him. That’s the best way you can help me. By the way, don’t hesitate to pull the trigger if he gives you cause.”
“You’re too angry to go after him now. Wait until you cool off a little bit.”
Novak said nothing. He wasn’t waiting. His anger lit his resolve.
“How do you intend to get him off by himself? Are you thinking of infiltrating that yacht? Might I remind you of the number of armed men aboard that thing?”
“Not unless I have to. It’ll be easier if I wait for him to come ashore again. I can take him in the parking lot. It’s nearly always deserted.” He put down the binoculars and shook his head, so furious at possibly being duped so thoroughly that he wanted to kill somebody. Sokolov would be his first choice. “He retrieved a bag from that car, which probably means he didn’t sail here on the yacht. We know he wasn’t in the Lincoln with the others, not unless they picked him up somewhere along the way. That could be the case. I’ve got a feeling he took a flight down here and met them when they docked. That means once he got Irina out of that hospital, he got rid of her. I’m going to make him tell me where she is and what he did to her.”
“You’re upset that you trusted him. I understand that. But you need to stop and think this through, Novak. She could be alive, right over there onboard that
yacht, or he could’ve put her into safekeeping before he came down here. We just don’t know. That boat looks impenetrable. You’ve got to take time and plan out how you can get him when he gets off. One more thing, Novak: I’m going with you. Don’t even try to argue.”
“No, you’re staying here. You need to keep trying to identify the men Blackwood’s meeting with. Now I feel we’ve got to turn all this over to the DEA. I think those men at that table are the sellers who provide the product for his pipeline. They’re negotiating terms for the next shipment right now, out in the open for anyone to see. Who would expect that to happen outside a busy hotel? Who would have cause to storm that boat and arrest them for drug trafficking? We need their names because they’re the important players. I want to know where they’re going next. I can handle Sokolov, so quit worrying about it. I’ll stake out the lot and place a GPS tracker on his vehicle. If he took Irina and told her he was her father only to gain her trust and murder her, I want him worse than I want Petrov.”
“You’re not planning to kill him tonight, I assume?”
“Of course not. I don’t kill anybody unless they’re trying to kill me. Or you. Which Petrov has already done once. But tonight, Sokolov’s going to tell me the truth.”
“Well, talk to him and then turn him in. This whole thing is blowing up soon. The Feds could be watching him right now, and they don’t need to see you do something they have to charge you with. They’ll call you a co-conspirator. You’ll never see the light of day again.”
Lori was right, of course. He knew that. He wouldn’t kill the man, but he could grab him and force him to tell him what he wanted to know. Novak was pretty sure that Sokolov had taken a teenage girl out of the hospital and murdered her, most likely on Petrov’s orders. The two men were Russians, both formerly in espionage, and they had worked together. They were probably still working together; Novak had been naïve to think otherwise. Rage kept boiling and brewing inside him. He had to calm down and regain control. He didn’t usually let emotion get the better of him. This time he felt extremely foolish, so he was having a hard time beating down his humiliation. He was their fall guy, all right, and had been all along. He would be the one who got the blame for everything, including the girl’s murder. Lori would, too, since she’d used her credentials to get Irina help at Parris Island.