Graham Brown - Ghost Ship

Sebastian grinned inwardly. His odd little sister had a way of unnerving even the most hardened of guests. “Where is Rene?”

“He’s here and there,” Kovack said flippantly. “A very busy man.”

“And why has he broken our agreement? The American woman was supposed to be returned to us after the Iranian exercise was over.”

Kovack took a seat in one of the chairs fronting Sebastian’s ornate desk and began to explain. “We have discovered other buyers for her services.”

“Who?” Sebastian asked.

“I’m not at liberty to tell you.”

Sebastian guessed the Chinese were involved, and probably the Russians. Both were known to be interested in cyberwarfare and using computer hacking as a weapon. Perhaps there were others. Under different circumstances, he would have set up a bidding war and sold the woman and the others to the highest bidder just as Rene was attempting to do. But he needed her back. No one else would do.

No doubt aware of this, Kovack shifted in his seat. His new posture oozed superiority and arrogance as if he were ready to dictate terms in Brèvard’s own home. His eye seemed to catch the box of Cuban cigars on Sebastian’s desk.

“These are most delicious.”

“You don’t eat them,” Sebastian pointedly explained. “But if you mean they have a wonderful flavor, then, yes, you’re correct.” With great calmness Brèvard picked up the box and offered it to his insolent guest. “Why don’t you try one?”

Kovack reached out and plucked one of the cigars from the box. In the next instant, Calista appeared in the chair beside him. She moved quickly and startled Kovack. She didn’t sit as much as perch on the armrest with her feet on the cushion.

She reached down, took the cigar cutter from Sebastian’s desk, and toyed with it. “Allow me,” she purred. In a swift move, she cut off the end of Kovack’s cigar.

Sebastian almost laughed. How she loved that little guillotine.

Kovack seemed to enjoy the attention. He smiled and brought the cigar up to his nose, breathing in the aroma. “Do you have a light?”

Sebastian reached for a wedge-shaped block made of iridescent glass. It had sharp edges and looked vaguely volcanic. It held a butane lighter, partially recessed in one surface. “Obsidian,” Sebastian said. “From Mount Etna.” In a moment the cigar was alight. The rich flavor of the Cuban tobacco was soon wafting through the room. Sebastian let his guest enjoy the smoke for a minute and then spoke once more.

“Back to business,” he said. “What exactly does Rene want from me?”

“He wants you to bid. In real money.”

There was a sarcastic tone to the comment.

“Real money?” Sebastian said, his eyebrows going up. Kovack nodded. “He’s arranging a new auction. Some parties have already been rejected. Their bids are too low. If you want her delivered back here, you will have to outbid the others or Mr. Acosta will have no choice but to move the merchandise to the place where it brings the highest profit.”

Despite his ego and pride, Sebastian answered quickly. “Done,” he said. It was foolish to quibble when billions were at stake.

“I don’t think you understand,” Kovack said, puffing on the cigar. “There are many bidders. I doubt you will be able to afford the going rate.”

With that, Kovack exhaled a large cloud of smoke. For a brief instant it made a ring.

Sebastian found his ire growing. Mostly because Kovack was right. There was no way he could outbid the Chinese or the Russians or the Koreans, who were also rumored to want the knowledge the woman possessed. Acosta knew this. He was flaunting it in their faces.

It was obvious that Acosta had broken from them completely now. He didn’t know Brèvard’s plan, couldn’t possibly expose it or threaten to duplicate it. But through simple greed, and stupidity, he was endangering a scheme three years in the making. A masterpiece of a long con. The longest of Sebastian Brèvard’s life — and by far the most profitable, if it worked.

The time for negotiations had ended. Brèvard would not be drawn in. His will would be imposed. He smiled like a wolf baring its teeth.

“You have learned much about capitalism from Rene,” he said. “I compliment you.”

The tension eased a bit. Kovack offered a slight nod of the head.

“Your cigar seems to have gone out,” Sebastian added. “Let me relight it for you.”

Kovack leaned forward and put a hand on the desk to balance himself as Sebastian picked up the obsidian lighter once again.

Instead of relighting the cigar, Sebastian stretched out his free hand and clamped a viselike grip onto Kovack’s wrist. He yanked the man forward as Calista leapt from her perch, landed behind Kovack, and shoved his chair forward.

Kovack was slammed against the desk, one of his arms pinned below the desktop, the other stretched and pulled toward Sebastian to the point where it felt as if it would be ripped from its socket. The cigar was long gone, fallen from Kovack’s mouth, but Sebastian’s free hand still curled around the heavy lighter.

Kovack shifted his weight, trying to get in a position to use his legs, but Calista brought a letter opener up against his throat, pricking the skin.

Kovack stopped struggling instantly.

“Make him mad,” she hissed, brushing Kovack’s ear with her soft lips. “I want to see what he does.”

Kovack was unsure if the words were for him or for Sebastian. Needless to say, he did nothing.

“Don’t listen to her,” Sebastian said calmly. “She will lead you astray. You would not be the first.”

“What’s this all about?” Kovack shouted, panicked by what seemed like a mad game between the two of them. “We’re talking business.”

“This is my way of sending a message,” Sebastian said. “One that will be clearly understood.”

“Call for your men,” Calista advised Kovack. “Perhaps the drink has not gone to their heads yet. Perhaps the poison was not as potent as intended.”

“Poison?” Kovack’s eyes were almost bulging out of his head. They darted back and forth until he forced himself to be still. He focused on Brèvard. The woman was insane.

“What message do you want me to deliver?” he blurted out. “I will tell him anything you ask. I will deliver it personally. You can trust me, I’m Rene’s right-hand man.”

Sebastian winced at the statement, an awkward look that crinkled the edges of his weathered face. “An unfortunate choice of words on your part,” he said.

With that, he tensed further, raised the obsidian lighter and slammed it down on Kovack’s outstretched wrist like a meat cleaver.

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the palace, and Kovack rocked backward, released by Calista and falling to the floor. He landed on his back, cradling the stump of his wrist as blood spurted in all directions.

The double doors burst open and three of Sebastian’s servants rushed in.

“See to him,” Sebastian said, tossing the severed hand at the wounded man.

The servants dropped down beside Kovack and wrapped his arm quickly. A tourniquet was applied, and he was dragged out.

Sebastian glanced around, studying the blood that soaked his desk and suit. “Look at this mess,” he said as if a drink had been spilled.

More servants came in and immediately began cleaning. Sebastian took off his coat and walked through a double French door out onto a balcony. Calista followed.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as the latest storm prepared to soak western Madagascar. He was thinking he’d made a mistake. Anger had caused that. “Rene will not trust you after this,” he said to his sister.

“Rene has never trusted me,” she corrected. “But he lusts for me, and he thinks I’m playing both sides.”