103

 

THE SUPER-YACHT, ZEPHYR, 9:30 P.M.

Sheikh Ali stood in his stateroom, feet braced against the pitching and tossing. The windows, uncurtained, gave out onto unrelieved blackness. Rain lashed the glass and he could hear the wind roaring. His yacht was still in control, but the storm was challenging her.

He was speaking on his encrypted cell phone with The Man. He was on the edge of control. “Have you found Gwen Boudain?” he demanded, voice fast and clipped.

“We’ve not closed with her. Not yet. But we know where she is.”

“Then go in and eliminate her. Every second passes she could be on the phone to the cops.”

“I don’t think there’ll be a signal where she is.”

“Meaning?” Sheikh Ali bent down, took a mouthful of hot coffee, slammed down the cup. The contents lurched over the side of the golden cup and dripped from the mahogany low table onto the handwoven carpet.

“She’s in a cave, hiding out, on the beach one mile north of her home.”

“Since you know where she is, why the delay?” The Sheikh’s voice rose with disbelief.

“We think it could be a trap. We cannot find her car, nor Jacobsen’s, just the signal coming from her pocketbook.”

“How many men are out there?”

“Five.”

“And you are hesitating, with five men up against one woman, possibly with a man at her side. A meteorologist and a journalist. Have your men killed before?”

The Sheikh held the cell phone in a death grip. His fury, his disbelief was threatening to overwhelm him. He struggled to control himself, not for the sake of The Man, but for his own clarity. Loss of temper was a weakness he despised.

“You know they have. They are your men. Handpicked.”

The Sheikh nodded slowly. “They have the blood of many on their hands, and you hesitate to use them against these amateurs. Send them in now. Kill them. Leave no trace of the bodies. Do you think if they had called the cops they would be hiding in some cave on a seashore?”

“No. I just don’t know why they would feel the need to hide. Doesn’t make sense. That bothers me.”

“They probably spotted your surveillance guys! Maybe old Freidland told them something new. Khalas! Enough! It’s their time. Send in the men. Now!”

The Man nodded. What choice did he have? And as the Sheikh pointed out, even if Jacobsen were there with Gwen, the man was a journalist. Neither of them posed any real threat.