Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

“He wants you to bid. In real money.”

There was a sarcastic tone to the comment.

“Real money?” Sebastian said, his eyebrows going up. Kovack nodded. “He’s arranging a new auction. Some parties have already been rejected. Their bids are too low. If you want her delivered back here, you will have to outbid the others or Mr. Acosta will have no choice but to move the merchandise to the place where it brings the highest profit.”

Despite his ego and pride, Sebastian answered quickly. “Done,” he said. It was foolish to

quibble when billions were at stake.

“I don’t think you understand,” Kovack said, puffing on the cigar. “There are many bidders. I doubt you will be able to afford the going rate.”

With that, Kovack exhaled a large cloud of smoke. For a brief instant it made a ring.

Sebastian found his ire growing. Mostly because Kovack was right. There was no way he could outbid the Chinese or the Russians or the Koreans, who were also rumored to want the knowledge the woman possessed. Acosta knew this. He was flaunting it in their faces.

It was obvious that Acosta had broken from them completely now. He didn’t know Brèvard’s plan, couldn’t possibly expose it or threaten to duplicate it. But through simple greed, and stupidity, he was endangering a scheme three years in the making. A masterpiece of a long con. The longest of Sebastian Brèvard’s life—and by far the most profitable, if it worked.

The time for negotiations had ended. Brèvard would not be drawn in. His will would be imposed. He smiled like a wolf baring its teeth.

“You have learned much about capitalism from Rene,” he said. “I compliment you.”

The tension eased a bit. Kovack offered a slight nod of the head.

“Your cigar seems to have gone out,” Sebastian added. “Let me relight it for you.”

Kovack leaned forward and put a hand on the desk to balance himself as Sebastian picked up the obsidian lighter once again.

Instead of relighting the cigar, Sebastian stretched out his free hand and clamped a viselike grip onto Kovack’s wrist. He yanked the man forward as Calista leapt from her perch, landed behind Kovack, and shoved his chair forward.

Kovack was slammed against the desk, one of his arms pinned below the desktop, the other stretched and pulled toward Sebastian to the point where it felt as if it would be ripped from its socket. The cigar was long gone, fallen from Kovack’s mouth, but Sebastian’s free hand still curled around the heavy lighter.

Kovack shifted his weight, trying to get in a position to use his legs, but Calista brought a letter opener up against his throat, pricking the skin.

Kovack stopped struggling instantly.

“Make him mad,” she hissed, brushing Kovack’s ear with her soft lips. “I want to see what he does.”

Kovack was unsure if the words were for him or for Sebastian. Needless to say, he did nothing.

“Don’t listen to her,” Sebastian said calmly. “She will lead you astray. You would not be the first.”

“What’s this all about?” Kovack shouted, panicked by what seemed like a mad game between the two of them. “We’re talking business.”

“This is my way of sending a message,” Sebastian said. “One that will be clearly understood.”

“Call for your men,” Calista advised Kovack. “Perhaps the drink has not gone to their heads yet. Perhaps the poison was not as potent as intended.”

“Poison?” Kovack’s eyes were almost bulging out of his head. They darted back and forth until he forced himself to be still. He focused on Brèvard. The woman was insane.

“What message do you want me to deliver?” he blurted out. “I will tell him anything you ask. I will deliver it personally. You can trust me, I’m Rene’s right-hand man.”

Sebastian winced at the statement, an awkward look that crinkled the edges of his weathered face. “An unfortunate choice of words on your part,” he said.

With that, he tensed further, raised the obsidian lighter and slammed it down on Kovack’s outstretched wrist like a meat cleaver.

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the palace, and Kovack rocked backward, released by Calista and falling to the floor. He landed on his back, cradling the stump of his wrist as blood spurted in all directions.

The double doors burst open and three of Sebastian’s servants rushed in.