CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

 

 

Jarkko cursed several times in multiple languages when he saw the interior of his yacht. Liquor bottles and glassware had been smashed, mattresses and furniture had been slashed, and some of the navigational equipment on the bridge had been destroyed.

The Russians had done more than search the boat.

They had expressed their displeasure.

Payne immediately checked to see if they had found Jarkko’s hidden armory. Thankfully, the secret closet hadn’t been spotted, and his arsenal remained intact. Payne quickly armed himself and handed weapons to the others in case the Russians returned.

Much to his surprise, Marissa took a Beretta and checked its clip with a practiced hand. She may have never served in the military, but it was pretty apparent she had been around guns at some point in her life. He made a mental note to ask her about it later, but for the time being, they had more important things to worry about.

After a quick search, it was obvious the Russians had found the documents that had started Jarkko’s journey. Ironically, he had been uncomfortable with bringing the collection to their initial meeting with Marissa, so he had left the boxes in his stateroom for safekeeping.

And that decision had cost him everything.

Payne knew his friend was hurting, so he approached with trepidation. Jarkko was standing on the flybridge, just staring out at the harbor. His swearing had stopped a few minutes earlier and had been replaced by total silence. “I’m sorry about your yacht. I know how much it means to you. Is there anything I can do?”

Jarkko shrugged. “Yacht is just a thing. She can be fixed.”

Payne nodded. “Do you think she can run?”

Jarkko forced a smile. “Why? Are you looking to buy?”

Payne shook his head. “Right now, we’re sitting ducks. We could be attacked by land or sea. I’d feel a lot safer if we were in the open water. Easier to see people coming.”

Jarkko gritted his teeth. “Jarkko wants them to come.”

“I do, too—but on our terms. Why give them an edge?”

Jarkko nodded in understanding. “You get ropes. Jarkko start yacht.”

Although Payne had been around boats for most of his life, he had little experience with yachts. Growing up in the Steel City, he used to watch the massive barges as they crawled at a snail’s pace before unloading their freight on the local wharfs. Then at Annapolis, he was introduced to the best ships in the naval fleet before he tested their full capabilities in combat. And once he had retired from the military, he had bought a pleasure craft for lazy summer days on Pittsburgh’s three rivers, but it was half the size of Jarkko’s boat.

Measuring seventy feet in length, the sleek yacht had twin V12 engines and a maximum speed of forty knots but was built for entertaining. With spacious foredeck seating and a separate area for sunbathing, several people could stay outside, while several others remained in the air-conditioned comfort of the glass-lined saloon. Private stairs led to the master stateroom on the lower level, while a separate stairwell led to three other cabins, each with a private bathroom.

Despite its current state, it was one impressive vessel.

Payne hustled to the stern, where he went to work on the ropes. The first line came off the bollard with ease, but a second line went into the water underneath the pier. Payne tugged on the line with one hand, and it hardly budged.

“What’s the holdup?” Jones asked from above.

Payne glanced up at him. “You know anything about yachts?”

“Not really, but I do know this: Jarkko’s yacht is nicer than your plane.”

“Believe it or not, I agree with you. I might ask him to trade.”

Jones laughed as he walked down the rear stairs toward Payne. “If you do, never turn on a black light. I can’t even imagine the stains that Jarkko’s made on this thing.”

Payne grimaced. “Good point.”

Jones kept laughing. “Truth be told, if the Russians touched anything in his bedroom, we may not have to hunt them down. They’re probably already dying of syphilis.”

“Well, you’re the expert.”

“Says the guy who gave it to me.”

“Wow!” Payne blurted. “I have no idea who you were trying to insult with that one, but it just kind of blew right up in your face, didn’t it?”

“You know what I meant.”

“Honest to God, I have no clue what you meant!”

“Me, neither,” Jones admitted as he signaled to move on. “So, why did you ask me about yachts when I asked you about the holdup?”

Payne pointed at the rope. “Because I have no idea what this line is for. For some damn reason, it goes underneath the pier. I pulled on it, but it’s caught on something.”

Jones tucked his weapon under his shirt. “Here. Let me help.”

Payne grabbed the line with both hands while Jones did the same. By pulling together, the rope slowly emerged from the murky depths of the marina.

One foot, then two.

Five feet, then ten.

And then much to their surprise, two actual feet appeared.

Both of them tied to the end of the line.

“What the fuck!” Jones shouted as he let go of the rope and hopped backward in disgust. “Is that a body?”

Payne struggled to keep the line in place. “Dammit, DJ. Keep pulling!”

“Why? I don’t need a body. I already have one.”

“Come on,” Payne growled. “We need to see who it is.”

Jones swore under his breath, but he grabbed the rope.

A minute later, they were hauling the faceless henchman onto the pier. Jarkko heard the commotion and came running, just in time to see Volkov’s handiwork. The corpse had so many slashes that they were tough to count—a process made difficult by teeth marks.

The goon had wanted to be a plumber, but he had ended up a seafood buffet.

Nothing more than dinner for the creatures of the deep.

As much as he hated to do it, Jones took out his phone and scanned the dead man’s fingerprints. Most of them were still intact. Then he opened the man’s mouth and took a single photograph of his teeth. There was no way they were going to identify him with facial recognition, but maybe his dental work would give them a lead.

“Guys,” Payne whispered as Jones continued to work. “Nothing about this makes sense. Not this. Not the assault at the library. None of it. Bodies are piling up, and I have no idea why. Who the hell are we facing, and why are they so damn pissed?”

Jones winced in disgust as he wiped his phone on his shirt. “Obviously it has something to do with the treasure, or else they wouldn’t have stolen Jarkko’s collection.”

Payne agreed, so he glanced at Jarkko. “Who else knew about the collection? Did you tell anyone? Someone you slept with? Someone at a bar? Someone you slept with at a bar?”

Jarkko shook his head. “Jarkko tell no one! Jarkko is sure!”

“Fine,” Payne said. “What about the guy you got it from? Could he have told someone? You said he was Russian, right? Maybe he’s the source of the leak.”

Jarkko shrugged. “Jarkko don’t know. Jarkko no talk to him since Jarkko get collection. Should Jarkko call and ask?”

Payne nodded. “At this point, I don’t see how it could hurt. Whoever we’re facing already has the damn collection, so what do we have to hide?”

Jones glanced at his phone. It was still slimy. “I’ll send these prints to Randy and see if he found out anything about the other goons. Maybe that will give us a lead.”

Payne took a deep breath. “And I’ll call Nick. He’ll want to know about the body.”

Jones laughed. “Good luck with that.”

“Trust me, I’d rather be calling Randy.”

“I’m gonna tell Randy you said that. It’ll probably make his day.”

“Why bother? If I know him, he probably tapped our phones and has been listening to us the entire time. Haven’t you, Randy?”

There was a slight delay before all of their phones beeped once.