Марк Грини - One Minute Out

The doctor said, “We will need to spend quite a lot of time together, you and I. I promise, by the time you reach your destination, you will be so happy about everything that has happened to you, and thankful to me for helping you digest it all and appreciate it.” She smiled broadly. “You have to be at least a little excited that you’re getting to come to America?”

“What makes you think I want to come to America?”

“Every little girl’s dream where you come from.”

Roxana cocked her head. “Maybe my mother’s. Not mine. Romania is actually a very nice country now.”

“I’m certain it is, dear.” It was the most disingenuous-sounding thing Dr. Claudia had said so far. “But the West Coast is magical, you will see.”

“Does every American think that the rest of the world is just dying to immigrate? I’m not. I was in school; I come from a good family. I didn’t want to be kidnapped.”

The American woman sighed. “It is so crucial that we make progress. There are eyes upon us.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, if you come along in this process with a more positive attitude, then it will only help you.”

“So . . . I should play a role in my own abduction?”

Claudia looked to the ceiling, obviously frustrated. She said, “Good things are in store for you, young lady.” Then she darkened considerably. “But, please, for your own good, listen to one piece of advice from me.”

“Which is?”

“The South African. John. Do what he says, when he says it. He is not a gentle man. He would fall in great disfavor with the Director if anything happened to you, but the Director would forgive him in time, and John knows it. The organization needs him to keep the operation running smoothly, so that won’t protect you. Trust me, John is the cruelest person I’ve ever met and, frankly, dear, in this organization, that is saying something.”

She added, “I am here to help you along your path, but this path will have some bumps along the way. John, and the Greek who owns the yacht, they are the bumps you’ll have to contend with before I get you to your final destination.”

Maja didn’t know what the doctor meant by any of this, but she knew it was nothing good.

• • •

I sleep like the dead until my alarm goes off—no dreams about the girls, but they are the first thing I think about when I wake. I feel the aches and pains of the fight in Dubrovnik, the fatigue of the days of little rest, but at least I’m doing better than I was when I got to town.

I stumble into the bathroom and toss water on my face, then go check on Talyssa. I find her awake, but lying in the fetal position on the bed.

“You okay?”

“Everything hurts. My neck, my shoulder, my arm, my back. I can barely move.”

“Some asshole must have flipped your van over last night.”

She smiles a little at this and makes herself sit up. We both take anti-inflammatories, drinking them down with bottled water, and then she brews coffee in the pot in the kitchen, which we consume quickly, purely for the caffeine.

At nine p.m. we head out the door, our arms full of gear.

At nine thirty we are standing by the speedboat bobbing in its slip at the marina. I have a perfect view of the south from here, so I’m scanning the night with my binos. There are a number of vessels on the water, but my eyes fix on an especially bright light that grows by the minute. It’s a couple of miles out in the sea lane, and while I don’t know it’s La Primarosa , the general size looks about right. It’s a very large vessel, but smaller than a cruise ship or one of the big ferries that deliver people and cargo up and down the coast.

Each minute the vessel nears I become more and more certain I am looking at my target, and I know that if it is planning on coming to port here at Pula, it will change course to put it on a northeasterly heading, and then begin slowing.

But the vessel just keeps heading to the north, making no correction to bring it closer to Pula.

When it is still a mile or so to the south without any noticeable change in course, I can see well enough to recognize the outline of the yacht I saw last night.

I say, “She’s the right boat, but she should be turning this way, and she’s not. Wherever they’re heading, it’s not here.”

Talyssa is crestfallen that her theory is incorrect. “What are we going to do?”

I look at her, then at the boat below me. “No chance you know how to drive one of these, is there?”

She shakes her head in bewilderment. “Me? No.”

I heft my gear bags on my shoulder. “No problem. You’re about to get one hell of a kick-ass lesson.”

“You want me to go out there? On the water? And drive the boat?”

I climb aboard and take her hand without replying. She comes along, but reluctantly.

“Yeah,” I reply. “It’ll be fun.”

I fire the engines and we head off through the marina, slowly and inconspicuously at first, but soon I’m pushing the throttle forward and we pick up speed.

The tiny forested island of Brijuni sits at the mouth of Pula Bay, and I decide to try to shoot between it and the shore in hopes of getting ahead of my target. Passing a superyacht in a speedboat wouldn’t necessarily be suspicious in itself, but I don’t know how alert those on board will be, so I don’t take any chances.

I’m going to follow them from the front, because my boat can turn a hell of a lot faster than theirs, and if they do go into port somewhere up the coast, I’ll have no trouble turning around and keeping up the pursuit.

Soon we’re making twenty, then thirty, then nearly forty knots, while the yacht, now on the other side of the island off to our left, is probably doing about fifteen.

The water is choppier here between the two land masses, and the faster we go, the harder we slam back down on the surface. It’s a rough ride, and our aching bodies protest every single moment of it, but once I’m clear of the island I find myself slightly north and about two miles east of the vessel. It’s open water now, so I throttle up even further and head slightly west, converging slowly on the yacht’s current heading.

I begin coaching Talyssa on how to operate the twenty-four-foot speedboat. I save a little time in my tutorial by skipping the safety features, because what I have in mind tonight is so fucking unsafe I’m not terribly concerned about her burning her hand on the outboard or slipping on the wet deck. Instead, I just give her the basics.

Soon I’m confident she can pull off the simple task I have for her, and she sits there and stares at the megayacht. She’s holding on for dear life and looking sicker by the minute as we bounce along the slowly undulating sea, but I can tell she’s still thinking about her sister.

I figure it’s a hell of a thing to not know if your sibling is alive or dead, but to know, either way, that you were the one who put your sibling in peril . . .

But then I remember that I know exactly what that feels like.

I have skeletons in my closet, too.

• • •

Dr. Claudia Riesling entered the main-deck saloon of the Primarosa and sat down next to Jaco Verdoorn. The South African was finishing a dinner of pork tenderloin, and while he ate he communicated to his men, already at the yacht’s final destination in Venice. She heard him talk about the American man who had been causing difficulties to the pipeline, and their efforts to lay traps for him around the Venice market the next evening.

She planned on remaining on the yacht during the market, as she did most trips. It would give her more time to work with Maja, who would not be going ashore because she was one of two items on the boat that were not for sale.