Jet (28 page)

The shoes were a size too large but would work for her purposes. She practiced walking in them, the dress clinging to her like a second skin, and after tightening the ankle straps to limit the looseness, she strolled out of the bathroom, her clothes rolled up into a tight bundle, her pistol concealed within it.

Jet stashed the clothes and weapon in the motorcycle seat compartment and headed to the waterfront, where music was booming from the yacht club. Outside, guards with unreadable expressions stood around the perimeter of the grounds, stationed every five meters. She approached the entry and a hard-looking guard in a suit, his earbud cord hanging down his neck and disappearing under his jacket, eyed her security pass before nodding.

“Welcome to the party, Svetlana,” he said. Jet beamed a high-wattage smile at him and took the pass back.

“Why, thank you, young man,” she said with a playful lilt, and strode into the club, drawing appreciative stares from nearby males old enough to be her father and, in some cases, her grandfather. She affected a cool, detached expression, her hair gleaming in the lights from the chandelier, the hooker’s oversized earrings glinting with her every step as she began scanning the room for her target. The hooker whose clothes she’d borrowed would be out for forty-five minutes to an hour, so the clock was already ticking, and she needed to make every second count if she was going to be successful in her night’s work.

Jet made her way toward the water side of the clubhouse, eyes searching for Leo as a ten-piece band in matching green silk jackets launched into a bouncy version of Prince’s “Kiss” to an indifferent crowd. Service staff in starched uniforms carried trays laden with canapés and glasses of champagne, vodka, and beer, dodging between the attendees with the practiced dexterity of ballroom dancers. Jet thought she saw Leo’s arctic white jacket near the picture windows and tried to move closer, but the dense crowd near the bandstand was blocking the way.

She edged past three men smoking imported cigarettes with the indifference that the elite in Russia typically demonstrated for rules that barred the practice, and spotted Leo speaking with an older woman in a floor-length cobalt blue formal gown that would have been at home on the red carpet of an awards show. Jet wasn’t worried about him recognizing her – with the heavy makeup and the hooker heels, her own mother would have had a difficult time doing so.

She had the pen she’d filched from Anton’s drawer in the prostitute’s clutch purse, the innocent-appearing implement a honed aluminum cylinder with a sharp end that could be driven through his eye or ear; but how could she get close enough to do it and escape? The obvious solution would be to get him alone, lured by her charms, and dispatch him somewhere private – she’d only need a second and he was a dead man.

A meaty hand grabbed her bottom from behind her and she nearly jumped, but resisted the urge to spin and knock the groper out, remembering her call girl cover story. Instead, she turned to find herself staring at a portly man with thinning white hair and a nose that was a tapestry of ruptured blood vessels only a lifetime of hard drinking could create. Beady pig eyes with heavy bags beneath them took her in and she angled her head at him. “Like what you see?” she asked.

“That’s quite a dress. Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for someone to bring me one.”

“Oh. I thought you might be…looking for a friend.”

“I’m always looking for a friend,” Jet said, her emerald eyes sparkling. “But give me a few minutes, will you?”

“I’m Oleg,” the man said.

“Svetlana.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

“Thank you.”

Jet moved away from Oleg and her hand slipped into the clutch purse as she neared the windows where Leo stood, facing the marina. The woman he was speaking with waved at someone across the room and excused herself, leaving Leo unattended for a few moments, looking out over the water, unaware of her approach. Jet pushed past two men laughing and patting each other on the back, and was only four long steps from Leo when she spotted a security man in the corner, his hands folded in front of him, eyes roaming over the room. Her hand moved from the purse and she waved at a nearby catering person carrying a tray of finger food. The woman approached, her face impassive yet telegraphing what she thought of being ordered over by a hooker. Jet ignored the expression and selected a thin slice of grilled bread with a processed meat roll tacked to it with a toothpick.

When she turned, Leo wasn’t there any longer – he’d moved closer to the bar and was talking to a dignified older man in a tuxedo with hair slicked back, his face the color and texture of a catcher’s mitt. She was closing on him when a female voice called from behind her.

“Svetlana?”

Jet didn’t turn around. She’d known there was always a risk that one of the other call girls would recognize her friend’s dress and sound the alarm, but she’d figured she could talk her way out of it. Jet moved toward the restrooms, ignoring the hooker, and was almost to the swinging door of the women’s room when the woman called out again. “Svetlana! Wait up.”

Jet pushed the door open and was relieved to see she was alone. The hooker appeared in the doorway and stopped just inside, confusion etched on her face. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you…” She took in the dress and her eyes dropped to Jet’s shoes. “What the fu–”

Jet’s lightning blow to the woman’s throat silenced her, and she followed it up with two strategically aimed strikes to the base of her neck. The hooker crumpled, unconscious, and Jet dragged her into the last stall. She was about to deliver another strike when she heard the bathroom door open and someone entered.

She peeked around the corner and spied a middle-aged woman in an expensive dress, checking her makeup in the mirror. The woman caught Jet’s reflection and turned to look at her. Jet emerged from the stall with a smirk. “My friend had a little too much to drink,” she apologized, and didn’t stay to challenge the woman’s look of distaste. A drunk escort passed out in the bathroom wouldn’t draw much attention from the high-end crowd – at worst perhaps a complaint that security would deal with swiftly.

But Jet was keenly aware that her window of opportunity was closing; she needed to act, or it would be too late.

Nobody seemed to have noticed the hooker’s disappearance when Jet exited the bathroom, and she scanned the crowd for Leo’s white jacket. She saw it by the pocket doors that led out to the dock area, and she made for that side of the room, wending her way through the press of overfed bodies.

As she neared him, she stopped at a long table laden with plates and silverware and a centerpiece of an ice sculpture of a swan surrounded by caviar and crab claws, and palmed a knife. Her worst-case scenario was to plunge it through his heart and escape in the chaos that would follow. It wasn’t elegant, but a woman in a short skirt would be the last person anyone would suspect of killing him, especially if she was the one who screamed an alarm, creating as much confusion as possible. It would only take a few moments.

She could do this.

Jet was edging to where his back was turned to her, speaking with two earnest-looking men in a low voice, when a hand gripped her arm.

Oleg’s voice rang out over the music. “So now you have time for me, babushka?”

It was tempting to drive the knife through his ribs, but she instead grinned and looked down at her arm.

“A few more minutes, and then our lives together will start for real.”

He leaned into her, vodka heavy on his breath. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

“Smart enough to know a good man when I see him.”

“I have a room across the street.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

She detached his hand and pointed to the bar. “Can I ask you to get me that drink now, Oleg?”

“Anything.”

“French champagne, if they have it.”

“Ah. You have expensive taste. I like that.”

Oleg tottered off and she spun to where Leo was standing, and then froze at the sight of the man who’d taken her aboard the plane in Kosovo standing beside him – Rudolf. She was only footsteps away and could barely make out what he was saying to Leo as she turned away.

“We must go. I have a boat waiting. They’re at the port.”

Rudolf had seen Jet in person and, even with the makeup, might recognize her. His presence changed everything.

She watched helplessly as he and Leo moved to the pocket doors and out toward the docks, where a cabin cruiser’s lights twinkled at a side tie in the gloom.

Oleg bumped her arm with his shoulder and handed her a champagne flute. “Here you go, my dear.”

She took the offering, her mind working furiously, and offered him a small toast as she pulled away. “I’ve got to use the little girl’s room, Oleg. Will you wait for me?”

Oleg grinned, revealing Soviet-era dental work that hadn’t worn well over the decades. “Until the end of time.”

“Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you? Hold my drink and I’ll be right back.”

“Anything, my dear. Anything at all.”

She set the drink in his fleshy hand and made for the entrance, any need for subtlety abandoned now that her target was getting away. But she had a destination – the port – and the boat wouldn’t cover the distance as quickly as she could on her motorcycle, so if she was lucky…

Jet forced her way past the throng at the entryway and out onto the sidewalk, where police were directing traffic around a line of arriving limousines. She kept Leo’s cabin cruiser across the water in sight as it got under way, and removed her roll of clothes from the seat compartment.

A minute later she’d pulled on her pants beneath the miniskirt and exchanged the hooker heels for her running shoes and was goosing the throttle as Leo’s boat headed toward the breakwater and the massive industrial docks beyond.

Port of Novorossiysk, Russia

Two men waited by a black van in the shadows across the boulevard from a concrete wharf, watching the darkened hull of a freighter tugging at its dock lines at the end of the pier. A pair of pelicans perched atop pilings near the water ruffled their heavy feathers and resumed dozing. The area was quiet except for the sounds of traffic and faint music traveling across the water. A ribbon of moonlight silvered the small wind waves that dented the surface of the protected harbor, providing the only illumination on the silent wharf.

One of the men checked his watch with obvious impatience and murmured to the other in American English, “I hate this part. I always do.”

“Relax. Our boy has it all under control. Our hands are clean. All we have to do is get the stones and drive away. Piece of cake.”

“Not all that easy. I still have to verify they’re genuine. It’s my ass hanging out while I do it, not yours.”

“That’s why they pay you the big bucks. I’m just the humble chauffeur.”

Both men laughed. The driver was actually the diamond checker’s superior – the local case officer for the operation. That he was actually at the meet was a rarity, but there was a lot of money at stake, and he wanted to ensure that everything went according to plan. It wouldn’t do for fifty million in diamonds to go missing on his watch – and with a number like that involved, he trusted no one, not even his own agents.

“As long as the Russian has the weapons, there’s nothing to go wrong,” the driver said. “If only all our assignments were this easy.”

“I don’t like that he’s handling security. More of our guys on the ground would make me feel better.”

“This is his deal. It’s on him to ensure it goes smoothly. No point in duplicating effort in his backyard. Besides, he has the depth with the port authority people and the local cops. We don’t, and any of ours would get in the way of his crew.”

“Oh, I understand. I just don’t like it.”

“Just get in and get out. Simple.”

“You’re the boss.”

Minutes dragged by, and then the driver looked out over the water. “Hear that?”

“No. What?”

“Engines. A boat’s approaching.”

“You sure?”

The driver pointed out the faint lights of a slow-moving yacht entering the mouth of the harbor. “See?”

“So game time in a few more minutes.”

“Looks that way. Let’s give them a chance to get situated. His people will ping us when they’re ready to hand over the stones. The Africans need to inspect the weapons first.”

“Why not do it simultaneously?”

The driver shrugged. “Probably because the attorney’s going to have his own people verify the stones are the real deal before he calls us in. That’s what I’d do. Like I said, it’s his ass if this goes sideways, so he’s not going to take any chances.”

“Makes sense.”

They watched as the boat cut through the water and slowed as it neared the wharf, its engine revs dropping to a low drone on approach. The driver raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes and nodded slowly. “There’s four men aboard, plus the captain.”

“Sounds like game on.”

~ ~ ~

Jet raced along the waterfront, ducked low over the handlebars, urging the little motorcycle motor to maximum speed as it wailed like a scalded child. She had no idea why Leo had left the function to go for a boat ride to the port, but whatever it was might provide a better opportunity for her than a potentially suicidal rush at the party.

Her windbreaker flapped as the wind tugged, the gaudy miniskirt over her pants completing the unlikely ensemble. A car in front of her braked for no apparent reason, and she swerved just in time to avoid eating its rear bumper, swearing from beneath the helmet as she took evasive action. She bounced onto the curb and narrowly missed a pair of drunks staggering along the waterfront road from one of the dive bars strung along its reach, and then dropped off the sidewalk at the end of the block and steered back onto the road, thankful that no police cars were roaming the area.

She downshifted at a turnoff and glanced at the water. She could barely make out the cabin cruiser as it churned a white froth on its way toward one of the piers. She was now close enough to the wharf to slow down and be on the alert for any threats – if Leo was going there with his enforcer, it was likely for a clandestine reason, and it would be foolish to expect there to be no security.