Somewhere in Hamad Katchi’s brain, all was not well. Even though all around him the azure blue seas of the Mediterranean were calm and sparkling and a gentle four-knot wind was blowing.
Katchi had been on the huge yacht of his partner, Caesar Demas, many times before. This was the first time, though, that Demas had used such a small crew. Only a captain, a first and second mate, neither of whom Katchi recognized, and two other fellows. The last two appeared to be pretty useless. They were thick necked and muscular, looking more like bodybuilders or bouncers than sailors.
The Pakistani-born arms dealer was afraid of boats. He made no pretense of that. It was the general unpredictability of the sea that gave him that unease. The undulating expanse constantly changing. He found the absence of the sight of land disconcerting. As well as the fact that it contained living, teaming creatures under the surface. Things you cannot see. But creatures that can eat you.
Seated in a soft chair on the rear deck next to Caesar Demas, Katchi was trying to look relaxed.
They’d been making small talk.
Then Demas changed the subject. He wanted to discuss their plan to sell the RTS laser weapons technology as soon as Atta Zimler had obtained it.
“We’ve talked many times about our arrangements to sell off RTS.”
“Yes. Any news from our messenger?”
“He’s very close. At this point, he’s virtually unstoppable.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“So,” Demas continued, “we are still of one mind, you and I, that when we are in possession of the RTS design, we should sell it to a group of willing nations. No exclusive rights to just one nation. Right? Didn’t we agree on that?”
“Of course. Best way to maximize profit.”
“Profit, yes, of course.”
Caesar Demas glanced around for one of the crew. Then he spotted one of the muscle guys sunbathing on the upper deck. He was wearing dress slacks but had his shirt off.
“Georgio,” Demas called out, “get me a gin and tonic.”
Demas looked over at Katchi, but he said no, he didn’t want anything except a glass of water.
By that time Katchi was feeling slightly nauseous. Maybe a bit seasick.
After a few minutes Georgio came with the two drinks.
There wasn’t any ice in Katchi’s water. A small thing. Katchi was going to ask this guy to fetch him some but decided against it.
“So,” Demas said, making a sudden right turn in the conversation, “how was your trip to Moscow?”
Katchi was stunned. He hadn’t told Caesar anything about the trip.
“Good,” was all he said in response.
The rolling sense of imbalance on the ship was now getting to Katchi. He hoped he didn’t vomit on the varnished wood deck of Caesar Demas’ ninety-million-dollar yacht.
Katchi took a big gulp of water. But it didn’t help.
Caesar Demas was casually inspecting the gently rolling blue sea all around, but he wasn’t talking.
Now Katchi was getting nervous. He felt as if he needed to give some explanation about the Moscow trip. If I don’t explain, Caesar might think I just didn’t consider it a big deal. Which would be good. On the other hand, my silence might make him think I’m hiding something. Which I am. Does Caesar know why I was there? Maybe he does and he’s just playing with me. That’d be just like Caesar. Why did I go on his yacht today? I could have come up with an easy excuse. Told him I was sick. That I don’t like boats.
Demas took a slow sip from his glass and wiped his lips.
“About the Moscow trip,” Katchi finally said. “I’ve always had an understanding with you…”
“Oh?”
“About doing small side deals myself. Small arms. Nothing big. But you gave me the impression that was not a problem.”
“Small-weapons deals? Not a problem. Is that what Moscow was all about? Small arms?”
“Yes. Yes, it was.”
“Selling to some small-time Russian thugs I suppose.”
“Right. A little pocket change. To pay the electric bills.”
Katchi tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat.
“Small arms…,” Demas muttered.
“You know. AK-47s. Rocket launchers.”
Caesar Demas said, “Hmmm.”
“I trust you’re okay with that?”
“Oh, yes. I would be okay with that.”
More silence.
Then Demas glanced over toward Georgio, who, Katchi suddenly noticed, had worked himself, his shirt still off, closer to them and was standing up.
Then he was joined by the second muscle guy who had a silly smile on his face.
Both of the men had their hands in their pockets. They were looking at Hamad Katchi.
“The Moscow trip was successful for you?” Demas asked.
“Oh, sure. Not a lot of money. But worth the trip I suppose.”
Demas made a quick, flitting gesture to the two men, quick, almost indecipherable.
The two men came up to stand on either side of Katchi.
“Please stand up,” Demas said calmly to Katchi.
Something wasn’t clicking in Katchi’s brain. In his business of trading in weapons of destruction and death, he should have recognized what was happening. The survival instinct should have kicked in. Fight or flight.
Except in this case, neither was an option. And the brain was jamming.
“Get up on your feet, Hamad,” Demas said again. “And step on the mat.”
Looking down, Katchi noticed a thick fabric mat in front of his chair.
He also noticed a life vest lying on the deck. But the life vest was not orange like all the others he had ever seen. It was blue. Like the ocean. Which was strange, because someone wearing it would not be noticed from the air.
Katchi followed Caesar Demas’s command and slowly rose, trying to come up with something clever to say. Something to stop the clock from ticking. To stop the bad thing he vaguely felt in his inner gut was about to happen.
He tried to smile. “On-deck calisthenics—”
But he couldn’t finish his lame attempt at a joke.
Before he could, the muscle guy with his shirt off had whipped a small handgun from his pocket and fired once into Katchi’s thigh.
The explosion of searing pain went through his midthigh. He screamed and collapsed on the mat.
Caesar Demas was still sipping from his glass. Then he bent forward toward Katchi who was gripping his leg and moaning in pain.
“Who did you meet with in Moscow?”
“I told you, just some local gang. Small time operators—”
This time the other muscle guy pulled out his handgun, took aim, and shot Katchi in the other leg.
Katchi was pleading and screaming.
“Did you meet with anyone else?”
Katchi was unable to talk through the pain, but he was shaking his head.
Demas gave a nod to the two fellows.
The two guys strapped the screaming Katchi into the life vest.
Then they tossed him over the side.
Bobbing in the cold Mediterranean as the blood flowed out from the wounds in his legs, Katchi was still conscious. He could see Caesar Demas and the two muscle guys bending over the rails of the yacht.
Demas yelled out to him. “Just tell me yes or no. Did you agree to sell the RTS to Vlad Levko in Moscow? Agree to give Russia exclusive rights to the RTS? Just nod your head up and down if you can’t talk. If you tell the truth, we’ll pull you in. Fix up your legs.”
Katchi nodded his head up and down.
Then a thought flashed through Katchi’s mind. I’m in the sea. Sharks? I’m spilling blood…
It was as if Caesar Demas could read his mind. “No need to worry about sharks. I read an article by a marine biologist that they are very rare in the Mediterranean.”
Half a minute went by, but Demas made no effort to pull the man into the yacht. Katchi tried to yell out but didn’t have the strength. He tried to lift an arm to get their attention, but it felt as if it were filled with cement.
Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something moving in the water to his left.
But Demas and his two guys saw it first, and they had a better view.
It was a blue shark, its fin cutting the water toward Katchi. It was maybe four or five feet long.
Caesar Demas’s last words to Hamad Katchi were, “I guess I need to tell that marine biologist he was wrong…”
Katchi felt a collision with his leg, like he had just been hit by a car. Then another hit.
Now Hamad Katchi was being pulled down under the water. He was fully in the jaws of the blue shark and it was wagging him back and forth.
The currents of blue water above him and the frothing bubbles from his own silent, underwater screams were the last thing Hamad Katchi saw before everything went dark.