100

 

THE SUPER-YACHT, ZEPHYR, 7:05 P.M.

Sheikh Ali Al Baharna reached inside his kandoora pocket, removed his cell phone, frowned, and took the call. It was The Man. His phone beeped, indicating that the encryption had not been activated. He saw the three-digit code, sent it back, waited until the code came back and the beeping stopped. He walked from the stateroom into his private quarters.

“Speak,” he said.

“Gwen Boudain has just announced she is going to go to the cops. Device on Jacobsen’s car picked it up.”

“Yakhrab baitik,” swore the Sheikh. May Allah destroy your house. His face tightened into the harshest juhayman look as fury punched through him.

“When exactly?”

“Five minutes ago. I was listening in real time.”

“You did well. Where is she now?”

“We’re trying to locate her. She drove away from Jacobsen’s place just after she made the comment. But it’ll be easy to find her. We have the tracker still active in her pocketbook.”

“Good. Find her and kill her. And kill Jacobsen too. Is the team still surveilling him?”

“Yes. Four guys, but they need hardware. One team of two will follow him, the other will peel off, meet me, get the tools. That’ll take an hour.”

“I want them both disposed of tonight. Do not under any circumstance allow Boudain to get to the police.”

“If we have to take her down in public?”

“Do it. Make it look like a robbery. Dress it up if you have time. Either way, make sure she’s dead.”