Ryker continued to stare over at Gerardo as the Jet Ski drifted forward. The gun remained trained on him. Neither of the men on the boat said anything more.
‘You’re Gerardo?’ Ryker shouted over.
‘I am. And you must be James Ryker.’
Curiosity flashed in Ryker’s mind. Did Gerardo know his name only because Yasmin had told him earlier, or had he already known?
‘We need to talk,’ Ryker said.
‘You have a funny way of asking for something so simple.’
Ryker raised an eyebrow. ‘You didn’t make it easy to ask.’
He looked over his shoulder to the mess in the sea.
‘Fair point,’ Gerardo said. ‘You owe me a new boat.’
Ryker said nothing to that. The Jet Ski nudged up against the side of the yacht, right next to where the word ‘Princess’ was neatly stenciled.
‘So am I coming aboard?’ Ryker asked.
After a pause, Gerardo answered the question with a nod. He and his henchman both stepped back and Ryker clambered off the Jet Ski and onto the immaculately polished deck.
‘You should—’
Ryker never finished the sentence. The dumb idiot with the rifle decided to make a move on him. He lurched forward, swinging the rifle through the air so he could swipe the butt against Ryker’s skull.
Ryker reeled back. Grabbed the rifle. Pulled the man toward him. A second later he’d wrapped his arm around the man’s neck and his other hand was wrapped around the rifle’s grip, the barrel pointed to the floor.
He squeezed the trigger. A booming shot echoed out across the sea. The bullet thwacked into the wood of the deck, less than an inch from the man’s foot, sending splinters flying.
‘That was your warning,’ Ryker said into the man’s ear, glancing to Gerardo as he repeated the earlier warning. ‘The next one goes in your head.’
He unwound his arm from the neck and used his heel to drive the man forward and away. The guy rolled into the fall, sprang back and whipped around on his haunches as though ready to attack again. He paused when his eyes rested on the rifle barrel, now aimed at his head.
‘Okay, that’s enough,’ Gerardo said, sounding less than impressed. ‘You’ve already cost me plenty this afternoon. I don’t want you wrecking my yacht too.’
‘Then it’s about time you got your man to stand down,’ Ryker said. ‘Him, and any others.’
Gerardo sighed. ‘Go and tell Leo to get us moving,’ he said to his man.
The guy slowly straightened up, never taking his eyes from the gun.
‘And call the others,’ Gerardo added. ‘Tell them to clean up the mess out there themselves.’
The man nodded and went to move off.
‘Stop,’ Ryker said. He did. Ryker turned back to Gerardo. ‘How many people have you got on board here?’
‘My captain and DJ here,’ Gerardo said. ‘That’s it.’
Did Ryker believe him? Or was this guy – DJ – about to go and round up some more troops?
‘And where exactly are we planning to sail to?’
‘I thought you’d appreciate anywhere other than here right now? As well as I know the coastguard, they rarely take kindly to gun battles at sea.’
‘Let me make this clear to you,’ Ryker said. ‘Either of you tries something stupid—’
‘Save your threats,’ Gerardo said. ‘They’re lost on me. Come on. You wanted to talk, let’s talk.’
He nodded to DJ who walked off to the right, where steps led up to the top deck – presumably where the captain, Leo, was located somewhere out of sight. Ryker watched DJ for a few seconds before Gerardo turned and headed toward the doors to take them inside.
‘No,’ Ryker said. ‘We talk out here.’
Gerardo sighed and turned and glared at Ryker. There was a perceptible shudder across the yacht as the engines were turned on and a frothing behind Ryker as the propellers whirred to life. The craft effortlessly glided forward across the water.
‘Very well,’ Gerardo said. ‘Please, take a seat.’
He plonked himself down on the cream leather bench that stretched across the deck, under the canopy of the upper level. Ryker moved over and hovered for a moment before he took the seat opposite. He still held on to the rifle, although a little more casually, the barrel pointed to the floor.
‘I think I know why you’re here,’ Gerardo said.
‘Good. That’ll save me some effort.’
‘Leia Devereaux. You’re on her kill list.’
Ryker ground his teeth but didn’t say anything. He assumed Gerardo was referring to the assassin, but he hadn’t yet come across that name.
‘It seems that way,’ Ryker said. ‘But I don’t know why.’
‘You don’t?’
‘Do you know who I am?’ Ryker asked.
‘Of course I do. And I knew a long time before Yasmin Khaled called me earlier to say you’d been to see her, asking questions about her husband’s murder.’
‘His murder at the hands of Leia Devereaux.’
‘Precisely.’
‘How do you know me?’
‘I didn’t say I know you. But I do know of you.’
‘How?’
‘Let’s just say our interests have been aligned more than once in the past.’
Ryker could only assume Gerardo meant during his time in the JIA, but he wouldn’t seek to clarify yet.
‘And now?’ he asked.
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Which is why you sent heavies after me?’
‘Better safe than sorry, no?’
Ryker humphed. There was something about Gerardo’s nonchalance, his passiveness, that riled Ryker and unsettled him a little.
‘We’ve only been speaking a couple of minutes but you seem to revel in the fact you know more than I do about the mess I’m in. So what’s happening?’
‘What do you want to know about?’
‘Let’s start with Pavel Grichenko.’
Gerardo set a steely glare on Ryker now. ‘I was there. Ten years ago.’
Ryker knew what he meant. ‘Doha.’
Gerardo nodded. Who was this man? A gangster? An agent? A bit of both?
‘Why?’ Ryker asked.
‘Like I said, our interests were aligned. I was one of the key reasons why Grichenko was your target that night.’
‘You work for the UK government?’
‘Does it look like I do?’ he said as he swept his arm around his yacht.
‘So you were working with them?’
‘Let’s put it this way. I wasn’t working against the UK government. Your superiors.’
Ryker chewed on that for a few moments. It wasn’t unusual for intelligence agencies to work alongside businessmen, politicians, others from all walks of life. Anyone who had something to give was game. Clearly, Gerardo was a rich man. Well-connected too, by the sounds of it. Was that how he’d come to be in bed with the UK intelligence services? The JIA? At least, in Doha ten years ago. What about since?
Ryker’s mind took him back to that night. The palace. The faces. Had he and Gerardo crossed paths back then? Unwittingly on Ryker’s part. Knowingly on Gerardo’s. The thought made Ryker all the more uneasy. And just a little vulnerable and foolish.
‘I had plenty of friends in UK intelligence,’ Gerardo said. ‘In the wider government and diplomatic circles too. I still do. Grichenko on the other hand, had gotten into bed with the wrong people, one too many times.’
‘You knew we’d been sent in to kill him.’
Another nod.
‘And I’m guessing you knew that we failed that night.’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t,’ Ryker said. ‘I was told he was dead. I was told the cover story of his disappearance was simply Russia trying to save face.’
‘And I’m sure you simply moved on to the next assignment unquestioningly. It wouldn’t have mattered to you.’
Ryker said nothing to that, even if what Gerardo had said was true. But Ryker was different now. Now he questioned everything.
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ Gerardo said. ‘You had no need to know the truth.’
But apparently, Gerardo had a need to know. How far up the chain did his influence reach?
‘Did you know of Grichenko’s new life?’ Ryker asked.
‘I only knew he survived that night. I didn’t know of his new life until a few weeks ago.’
A short pause as Ryker’s brain whirred. ‘Did you order the hit?’
Gerardo didn’t answer, but the look on his face suggested the answer was yes.
‘So why is your assassin now after me?’
‘She’s not my assassin.’
Ryker shook his head. ‘I understand, for someone like you, the need to operate at arm’s length. So let me take a guess. You quietly got your runt Khaled to order the hit, rather than do it yourself.’
Gerardo looked annoyed at that. ‘He was more than a runt.’
‘You paid him to sort it out. To find someone to do the hit.’
No reaction from Gerardo now.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? And I’d also guess that Khaled didn’t know someone like Devereaux. You gave him her details, and let him sort it all out. Khaled was a middleman to keep your nose clean. So what happened? Why is he now dead and Devereaux trying to kill me and my team from ten years ago?’
Gerardo took a long inhale as he held Ryker’s eye. ‘Kyriakos Anastopoulos happened.’
Another name Ryker had never heard of before. The flicker in his eyes must have told Gerardo this.
‘Don’t worry,’ Gerardo said. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to know Kyri. But you can think of him as a peer of mine. An equivalent. Like two sides of the same coin. A mirror image. You get the idea.’
Ryker felt he did. Most likely another rich and corrupt man, with tentacles extending into political life. But Kyri’s extended into Russia rather than the UK.
‘He’s a friend of Grichenko’s?’
‘Very close. For ten years I knew Grichenko was alive but had no clue as to his new life. For ten years I think Kyri knew and hid the truth. When Grichenko was killed… Let’s just say my Cypriot friend wasn’t very happy.’
‘Stop beating about the bush. Just tell me straight what’s going on.’
Gerardo sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know exactly how this played out, because, of course, I have no contact with Kyri, and Khaled is now dead. But somehow, Kyri got to Devereaux. She killed Khaled, and under Kyri’s order she’s now after each and every one of you who tried to kill Grichenko ten years ago. Kyri is going to make you all pay.’
‘That makes no sense. I’ve not been a target of his before.’
‘But you didn’t know about Grichenko surviving before. Now you do and what? You’re on a warpath to find who wronged you. That’s why you’re a target.’
‘What about you?’
‘Good question. And another reason for my tentativeness earlier. I know this woman. I’ve seen her handiwork. She doesn’t care for morals. She lives for killing. If someone’s paid her to come after you, then there’s nothing you can do.’
Ryker looked away from Gerardo, beyond him and to the rippling water. They were still hugging the coast, but had moved way east of Marbella which was disappearing in the distance. Other small craft were dotted about across the water though no sign of the police or the coastguard coming to accost them about the mess in the sea by Marbella. What had happened to Gerardo’s cronies? Had they simply headed back to shore?
‘I need a drink,’ Gerardo said as he got to his feet. ‘A strong one. What’s your poison? Whisky? Brandy?’
‘Whatever you’re having.’
‘Good answer. Come on.’
Gerardo headed toward the doors again. This time Ryker followed. They moved on through to a grand lounge area, about as opulent as Ryker had ever seen, whether in a mansion, palace, or hotel, never mind on a boat. He didn’t outwardly react despite the knowing look on Gerardo’s face – pride at his display of overt wealth.
‘We’re basically part of the same team,’ Gerardo said, handing Ryker a glass with a good inch or so of caramel-colored spirit. ‘Yet our lives couldn’t be more different.’ The way he said it made it clear that he pitied Ryker. ‘Ever get the feeling you could have worked smarter?’
Another comment designed to rile. Ryker held it in. ‘All the things I’ve done, it wasn’t for the money.’
Gerardo smiled. ‘I see that. I don’t understand it, but I see it. You think you’re a moral crusader, is that it?’
It wasn’t the first time someone had said those words to Ryker recently. He took a sniff of the drink. Whisky. A damn good one too. A large sip confirmed it.
‘But what have you got to show for it?’ Gerardo said. ‘You could have just had a good life instead.’
‘Who set us up in Doha?’ Ryker asked. ‘I still don’t get how Grichenko ended up in England if the people you were working with wanted him dead.’
‘What’s there not to get? No government is controlled by one person. There’s opposing factions everywhere you look. Every country has its own enemies operating from within. I thought a man like you would be well attuned to such matters.’
‘So who set us up?’
Gerardo’s phone pinged in his pocket. Bad timing. Or convenient timing, perhaps. He took the phone out and put it to his ear but didn’t say a word. When he pulled the phone away his face was etched with anger.
‘What is it?’
Ryker heard it before Gerardo answered. The hum of a helicopter. Approaching fast.
Ryker put down his glass, grasped the rifle in two hands and pointed the barrel at Gerardo’s head.
‘I didn’t do this,’ Gerardo said, even more angered.
‘Maybe not. Who is it?’
There was a perceptible shift in the yacht’s momentum. They were slowing.
‘Who is it?’ Ryker said again, with more force this time.
Gerardo took no notice. He slapped his glass down and brushed past Ryker. Ryker spun and followed him, the barrel pointed to his host’s back.
‘Stop!’ Ryker demanded, but Gerardo didn’t heed the warning.
Ryker followed. The noise of the helicopter grew with each step they took. They passed back onto the outer deck. No one there. There was a thud somewhere above. The next moment a hefty object dropped down from the upper deck and landed in front of Gerardo with a booming crash that shook the wood Ryker was standing on.
Gerardo and Ryker both froze. It took Ryker’s brain a half second to figure what he was staring at.
A body. A twisted, bloody body. Definitely dead. DJ.