Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

Left arm, right leg, right arm, left leg. He moved in this fashion, slow and steady.

By the shape and fury of the bow wave beneath him, Kurt could tell the yacht was picking up speed. He guessed they were passing fifteen knots, heading for twenty. He continued to climb. The hard part was over, he told himself.

At least the first hard part.

The main deck of the Massif held a sprawling oval parlor, about twice as long as it was wide. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the sides. Intricate repeating patterns of warm-hued inlaid wood covered the walls. Art deco furnishings wrapped in buttery-smooth Italian leather were tastefully arranged. And the entire space was lit by soft recessed lighting.

At the center of this room, like the funnel of a whirlpool, lay a circular staircase. It swirled its way into the lower levels of the yacht beneath a skylight twelve feet in diameter. The skylight allowed natural light to enter during the day, but at night it acted as a dark mirror, reflecting all that went on below.

Spread about the parlor were fifteen people, not counting the ship’s staff. Some were admiring the artwork, others drank and spoke among themselves.

Calista Brèvard entered this quietly swirling landscape in a shimmering black cocktail dress. Her makeup was more restrained than usual, her dark hair hidden beneath a wig of platinum blonde that fell to her shoulders in the back and gave her graceful bangs that halted just above her eyes in the front.

She moved slowly toward a grand piano where Rene Acosta was holding court.

“The bottom line is simple,” Acosta was telling a Chinese man. “You will be locked out and they will still have access to your deepest secrets.”

“Can this system really be that advanced?” the man asked. “We’ve heard tales like this before. All systems have weaknesses. It is only a matter of time until we penetrate the Phalanx.”

Acosta shook his head. “Would the United States put all its eggs in one basket if it didn’t know that basket was absolutely untouchable?”

“Perhaps they’re wrong.”

Acosta shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “Can you really afford to take that chance?”

The Chinese man turned and began to discuss this with two of his countrymen, and Acosta excused himself and took Calista by the arm.

“You have them right where you want them,” she said. “I must admit you’re far smoother than I expected.”

“I’ve learned to be tactful,” he said.

“And my brother has learned to be a brute.”

“You could have stopped him,” Acosta said. “Poor Kovack. He has to learn how to shoot and stab people with his other hand now. Perhaps it would be best if you avoid him for the time being.”

“I doubt he’ll recognize me.”

“And if he does?”

“Then he’ll find that he got off lucky.”

Acosta chuckled, and they moved to the bar. The bartender immediately poured him a glass of fifty-year-old port.

“And for the lady?”

“Ice water,” she said.

“It runs in her veins,” Acosta added.

The bartender immediately filled a lead crystal glass with ice water. He wiped the side with a napkin before handing it to her.

“You could have at least tried to limit the damage,” Acosta said.

“And show my true colors? I don’t think so. If I protected Kovack, my brother would have become suspicious. He may be anyhow. If you don’t return the woman to us, it will be all-out war between you two.”

“I only need her a little longer,” Acosta said.

“Not just her, the others as well. All three of them.”