Sam studied the yacht through the binoculars. In his mind, a vessel that size had far too many places to hide hostages. And if the Kyrils were, as Nikos said, part of some organized crime family, Sam suspected that once the police boarded—and failed to find Remi or Dimitris—it’d be the last anyone would see of either of them.
He immediately called Rube to update him on this newest detail. “How long until you can get a team out here to rescue them?”
“Through the proper channels? Tomorrow at the earliest. There’s a team in Italy. How sure are you that she’s on that boat?”
“Does gut instinct count?”
“Between you and me? Yes. To my bosses? Before they commit any resources, they’re going to need some firm evidence to back that up.”
“I can give them some once I’m on board.”
“Do me a favor? Let me see what I can do before you do anything that gets you in trouble, which then gets me in trouble.”
“Keep them on speed dial,” Sam said. “If you don’t hear from me by morning, send them in after me.”
“Fargo, do not—”
Sam disconnected. By the time Rube gathered the necessary intel to put together a rescue operation, their window of opportunity might be gone.
“What did he say?” Nikos asked. “Can he help?”
“He can get a team out here by morning, if we can get evidence they’re on board.”
“That’s a long time from now. And how do we get evidence?”
“Too long, and we get it the old-fashioned way, in person.” Sam took one last look at the yacht, then lowered the binoculars. “Which is why I plan on going in after dark.”
Nikos nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. If it goes wrong, I’ll either end up dead or in jail. Someone’s got to make sure to tell Rube what happened. Then, make sure someone follows up.”
“But—”
“If I know you’re here to do that, I’ll be able to concentrate better.” He looked at his watch. A little after seven. “We have a few hours to get everything we need. First thing on the list, a very fast boat.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Remi, hands zip-tied in front of her, had her ear to the door, listening, while Dimitris, cuffed in similar fashion, searched the tiny cabin. Until ten minutes ago, they’d been held down in the tender garage very near the same speedboat they’d been kidnapped in. She wasn’t sure why they’d been moved to the small cabin one deck up. She was, however, grateful, since now they had water and a toilet, and no longer had to call out for a guard to escort them to the head.
During their time below, their captors hadn’t bothered to give them food or water, which told Remi they probably weren’t interested in how they were faring. No doubt their being thrown in this tiny cabin was more a matter of convenience for them, not their prisoners.
After standing at the door, she heard footsteps, then heard one of the guards saying, “Ilya’s on his way.”
That was a name she hadn’t heard before.
“Found something,” Dimitris said.
“Someone’s coming.”
She hurried to her spot on the floor. Dimitris stepped out of the head and sat next to her as the door opened. A guard stepped in, his hand on his pistol. A second stood just outside, his posture straightening as a third man finally walked up and entered the cabin. Several inches taller than the other two, he had dark curly hair, and a thin mustache covering his upper lip. He wore a charcoal gray suit and a white shirt, open at the collar. The sheen of the material told her this was not something off the rack. The fit told her it was definitely custom-made.
Ilya, no doubt.
He took one look at Dimitris and Remi, then spoke to the lead guard in Greek, asking, “Why are they here and not down below as usual?”
“We’re short-staffed. It’s easier to watch them from here.”
Ilya’s gaze narrowed and he suddenly switched to Italian—rebuking the man for discussing staffing levels in front of the prisoners.