Jet (28 page)

“I’m sorry. I don’t watch the movies,” she said with a shrug. “Are you wildly popular? Famous?”

“Depends on who you ask. Many seem to think so.”

“Ah, then that explains the approach.”

They walked side by side, and then Samuel slowed.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“We are all alone. Tonight, I’m alone, except now, apparently, for you. So we are now alone together, yes?”

He studied her perfect profile, increasingly intrigued as their interaction progressed.

“Well put.” He resumed walking. “And what’s your name?”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask. Sylvia. Sylvia Tronqué, Mister Samuel, the occasionally renowned director, depending on who you ask…”

Samuel took her hand and kissed it. “
Enchanté
.”

“Ahhh. So the sometimes famous Samuel has, how do you say, game? Perhaps tonight will be less boring than I’d feared.”

“I like the way you say my name.”

“I know.”

They exited, and Jet fixed him with a quizzical expression.

“So now where, Samuel?”

“To the boat.”

“You really have a boat here? Isn’t that a little cliché?”

“Even worse. I have a rich Russian friend who has a really big, extremely garish and decadent boat. The ultimate cliché.”

They both laughed together, hers musical and light.

“Decadence is in the eye of the beholder, no?” she said.

“
Touché
.”

As they walked towards the marina, she slipped her arm through his and pulled close to him, looking to all the world like lovers. She could feel Samuel flexing his muscles to appear more fit. Men were so funny.

“So what do you do, Sylvia?”

“A better question might be what don’t I do?” She laughed again. “I’m a writer.”

“A writer! You’re kidding.”

“Why is that so hard to believe? Are you surprised any woman you meet can string two sentences together without calling for help?”

“No. It’s just that…I never thought I’d meet a sexy, incredibly beautiful writer in head-to-toe black leather at the casino.”

She inched closer. “You had me at sexy.”

He tried to kiss her as they walked, and she moved just out of reach.

“You need to buy me a drink first, almost-famous Samuel, remember?”

“You’re amazing. What do you write?”

Her spike-heeled boots clipped along the pavement as the marina came into view, its regalia of yachts a breathtaking spectacle. As they ambled towards the water, she took a deep breath of the salt air.

“Why, Samuel. I thought you might have guessed. I write erotica. Dirty books,
non
? They are also somewhat popular, like your movies, although I think they shock many people.”

If Samuel had been a fish, he would have stripped off two hundred yards of line and leapt out of the water in an aquatic dance of delight. The hook was set. There was no way he would let her get away tonight. Fireworks exploded overhead in a festive display she couldn’t have timed better.

“Interesting,” he said, his voice cracking, just a little, every one of his innermost hidden fantasies about to be realized.

“We’ll see. Now where is your friend’s big, decadent penis symbol?”

Chapter 30

Petrushka
’s security was what she’d expected. Four extremely dangerous-looking men in monkey suits met them at the bottom of the passerelle that led up onto the rear deck of the large yacht. They recognized Samuel and waved him through, but asked to see Jet’s small clutch purse, which they went through carefully. All it contained was the plastic casino card, lipstick, some chewing gum and makeup, a miniature bottle of perfume, her cell phone and a gold Cartier pen – plus two condoms, one of which fell onto the wharf as they rummaged through the contents. An embarrassed guard hastily retrieved it. She beamed a thousand kilowatt smile at Samuel, who looked like he had just won the lottery.

Onboard, a jazz trio played in muted tones as thirty or so well-groomed socialites mingled, white-jacketed stewards navigating easily between them with plates of appetizers and drinks. As promised, the ship was opulent beyond imagination.

“I heard he spent over three hundred million on her,” Samuel said nonchalantly as they moved into the salon and headed towards the bar.

“Refreshingly vulgar. And where is the great man? Your friend, the host?”

“Over by the bar, talking to that older gentleman.”

They approached the bar, and Grigenko regarded Samuel with a grin.

“They will let anyone on this boat,
nyet
? Did security go home early tonight?” he said, then embraced Samuel with enthusiasm.

“I heard drinks were free till midnight so I decided to slum it,” Samuel said, laughing.

“And who is this magnificent creature?” Grigenko boomed, eyeing Jet. She noted he looked exactly like his dead twin. She fought down the image of Arkadi’s dying eyes as she drove her serrated blade into his heart, and instead smirked in a decidedly interesting way. Jet hoped that her expression didn’t hint at the sizing up she was doing, nor of her rapid calculation of the chances of making a clean escape if she rammed her pen through Grigenko’s eye and ran for it.

“Misha, this is Sylvia. Sylvia, Misha: our host and master of ceremonies.”

“
Avec plaisire
,” Jet said as Grigenko grasped her hand and kissed it.

“The pleasure is all mine. Welcome to my little indulgence, Sylvia. May I get you a drink?” Grigenko asked, eyes locked on her face.

“Champagne. French, if you have it,” she said, and he smiled.

“Is there any other kind?”

Grigenko snapped his fingers, and the bartender approached. In rapid-fire he ordered a flute of champagne for her and two vodkas, straight up, for himself and Samuel.

The drinks arrived within seconds. Samuel held his drink aloft as though inspecting it, and then toasted.

“To new friends,” he said, and the two men downed their vodka in a single swallow, as was the Russian custom, while she sipped her champagne. Veuve Clicquot, with a hint of citrus on the finish that was as distinctive as a DNA sample.

“Mmm. Delicious. Thank you,” she said, and then looked around at the crowd.

Samuel and Grigenko bantered, and the Russian listened as Samuel regaled him with an off-color story about a famous actor who had almost died from auto-asphyxiation before being discovered in the nick of time by his personal assistant. Midway through the recounting, she excused herself, asking where the bathrooms were. Grigenko pointed to a powder room at the far end of the salon, and told her there was another one – upstairs a level – on the second entertainment deck if the salon head was occupied. She pretended to only register the last part and moved up the stairway in search of relief.

Once locked in the bathroom, she flipped out her cell and pressed a speed dial number.

“I’m in. Give me fifteen minutes, and then you should be clear,” she said.

She listened at the door, on alert for sounds of movement, but didn’t hear anything. From the blueprints, she knew that one more level up was the bridge with a suite of offices for the busy owner – a command center and a security hub, which would be manned by at least two sentries.

Below decks were the seven massive staterooms and the engine room, as well as the climate control equipment and electrical junctions.

Jet thumbed through a couple of screens on her phone and located the detail on the yacht’s electrical layout. She’d need to be quick so as not to arouse suspicion.

Easing the door open, she spotted a security guard at the far end of the second level, and she waved her champagne glass at him, smiling. He didn’t return her smile, but didn’t give her any further scrutiny, which was fine. Most men wouldn’t suspect a beautiful woman of anything in a party setting – a trait she was using to her advantage.

She descended the forward stairs and continued down to the lower deck, then made her way quickly to the engine room, which was accessible from both the interior and the transom. The heavy watertight door slid open, and she slipped in, closing it behind her. The entire room was painted stark white, glossy and clean looking. Counting the bays on the port side of the massive engines, she stopped at the third floor-to-ceiling box.

The panel swung ajar with a pop, and she quickly sorted through the color-coded wires, stopping when she found two purple cables. She opened her purse and extracted a stick of chewing gum and unwrapped it, then wound it around the two wires at the top. She sprayed the gum with a squirt of the perfume, and after a few moments, it started crackling and smoking. The underwater security sensors would be out of commission within thirty seconds, ensuring that David’s approach would go undetected.

She closed the panel and returned to the forward door and opened it, swinging herself through and back into the corridor that housed the staterooms. Moving along the hall, she heard footsteps on the stairs. A hard-looking man in a tux descended, and she opened the nearest door, peering in.

“What are you doing here? You aren’t supposed to be down here,” he said, first in French, then in Russian-accented English.

She responded in French.

“I was looking at the bedrooms. They’re really cool. What a great layout.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to go back up to the salon, Miss. This area is off limits.”

“Why?” she asked.

“It just is.”

“
D’accord
.”

She could feel his eyes burning into her as she glided down the hall away from him, sipping her champagne as she swayed unsteadily, her gait tipsy. The leather jumpsuit had been a good call for captivating the attention of anything male within a mile, if somewhat impractical and hot.

She returned to the party and sidled up to Samuel, who was flushed from the quick ingestion of so much vodka. Grigenko was standing with a group of young women near the rear deck, gesturing expansively at the waterfront buildings in the foreground, their lights glowing warmly and reflecting off the gentle swell that rocked as it pulsed through the mouth of the harbor.

“Did you miss me?” she teased as she again slid her arm through his.

“Of course. I haven’t thought of anything else but you since I first saw you in the casino. How’s the champagne?”

“Delicious. How’s yours?”

“Hits the spot, although vodka isn’t usually my thing.”

“Really?” she inched closer to him. “What is your thing, Samuel?”

“You are, tonight.”

“You sure you can handle me? I tend to get a little…wild – aggressive, even.”

Were it possible for a man to die and go to heaven and still remain ambulatory, Samuel had just reached that state.

“I don’t scare easily.”

“Name your poison,” she said, nodding at his empty glass.

“Single malt scotch, if they have it. Neat.”

She took his glass from him and gestured to the bartender, relaying Samuel’s preference. He selected a new tumbler and filled it with a generous pour, which Jet then handed to Samuel.

“We were talking about you not scaring easy…”

“I can be as adventurous as anyone,” he said. She noticed a slight slur.

“You don’t say. Do you think we can find some rope on board, and someplace…private?”

Samuel’s eyes widened, and he tossed the scotch back, swallowing it in two gulps.

“I went looking for someplace, but the guards told me the staterooms were off limits.”

“I know the owner. Give me a second,” he said, and then weaved over to where Grigenko was holding court.

After a brief discussion with much laughing and a few appraising looks, Samuel returned, his face glowing like a schoolboy’s.

“No problem. We can use any of the rooms but the master.”

“And the rope?”

“One of the bodyguards will leave some coiled up in the hall. Give it a few minutes.” Samuel rubbed up against her, his excitement palpable.

“Isn’t it kind of creepy to have guards everywhere like this?” she asked.

“He’s Russian. That’s what they do.”

Jet motioned for one more drink, this time ordering them both champagne. He nuzzled her neck as the two flutes slid across the bar.

She pointed at one of the servants carrying a tray of food. “Can you get me one of those? They look delicious.”

“Anything you want,” he said and lurched towards the steward.

She dropped a small yellow pill she’d palmed into the champagne and stirred it with her finger. By the time he made it back with an appetizer for her, it had dissolved in the bubbly. Any unfamiliar taste would be masked by the oak and the palate-deadening effect of the hard liquor immediately prior to drinking it. She gratefully took a small bite of the cracker with brie and then set it on the bar, offering him a champagne flute.

“Let’s celebrate. To famous new acquaintances who don’t scare easily,” she recited, and then drank half the flute in one fluid motion. Samuel joined her, finishing his as she knew he would. She now had about five minutes before he passed out for at least half an hour.

“Come on. Let’s find a room. I need some…attention…in the worst way,” she growled into his ear, then took his hand and led him to the stairway that descended to the stateroom level. She could hear tittering from Grigenko’s group as they walked – a good sign.

The rope was sitting outside of the second master stateroom, and she scooped it up as Samuel fumbled with the handle, having trouble with it as his motor skills began to stall. She reached around him and twisted the lever and then moved him into the room, guiding him to the king-size bed.

“Have you been a bad boy today, Samuel? Meeting a strange girl and convincing her to let you violate her only an hour after your first words? What a filthy, horny dog you are,
cheri
. Pull those pants off, show me what you can do,” she ordered in a commanding tone, heightening Samuel’s arousal even further. She snapped the end of the rope against the bed like a whip, for effect.

“I am filthy. Dirty and nasty,” he slurred, the words now almost unintelligible.