The Job (20 page)

“Remember that,” Reyna said. “Because eight days from now at dawn, if I haven’t heard from you, I will slit your wife’s throat.”

“That won’t happen,” Nick said.

He stepped up to Kate, slipped his arms around her, and gave her a deep, passionate kiss that sent a flash of red-hot lust curling through every part of her.

“Because you mean everything to me, I’ll be back soon,” Nick said to Kate.

“G-g-good,” Kate said.

Violante glanced over his shoulder as he walked up the gangway. The Mercedes was driving off with Reyna and Kate Hartley in the backseat. The Range Rover, and his security team, remained on the wharf and would stay there until the ship left port.

He’d underestimated the Hartleys, Violante thought. He should have known that if they had the technology to find the
Santa Isabel
treasure, they would have the tools to thoroughly screen him for tracking devices. He’d made a strategic mistake and would learn from it. He’d assume that when the time came to kill the Hartleys, they would be prepared for it, not that it would save them.

His attention turned from the cars on the wharf to the ship’s captain waiting to greet him on deck. The man had an
eye patch, a beard, and a crisp, white uniform. Not what he’d expected to be chauffeuring this research scow. He’d expected someone more casually dressed with skin like cracked leather. This guy looked like a refugee from
The Love Boat.

“Welcome aboard the
Seaquest,
Mr. Violante. I am Captain Bridger. Although I work for the Hartleys, I am in command of this vessel, and I will do everything in my power to make this trip a safe and enjoyable one for you.”

“I appreciate that, Captain.”

“I hope you will join me for dinner tonight.”

“I don’t have any other plans,” Violante said.

“We’ll be casting off now,” the captain said. “Enjoy the sunshine while you can. In a few minutes, you’ll be taken to your room and locked inside until dinner.”

Violante had never been locked up before by anyone, and he hated the idea of it happening now. One more reason the entire crew would have to die. Nobody could know Violante had allowed himself to be held prisoner.

“I’m sure you’re not happy about this, but I can sweeten the deal,” Nick said to Violante. “Let me show you our pride and joy.”

They walked to the bow where a robotic submarine as sleek and sexy as Violante’s own Lamborghini Aventador, and about the same size, was strapped to the deck under the arm of the crane. The unmanned submarine was bright yellow with two chrome nacelles in the back and two long mechanical arms with
pincers in the front. There was an array of lights along the body, spotlights on the top, and a camera housed in a sleek transparent casing on the pointed nose.

“This is our ROV,” Nick said. “We lower it to the bottom of the ocean with this crane. The ROV remains attached to the ship via an armored umbilical cable that powers the vehicle and relays data back to our command center, so there’s no limit to how long this baby can stay submerged. It’s got a high-definition camera array as well as sonar equipment for mapping, tools that analyze the mineral content of the mud, and devices that measure water temperature and density, among other things. It’s like our own version of the Mars rover.”

Violante didn’t need the song and dance. As soon as he saw the shiny ROV, he knew he didn’t have to worry that he was the victim of an elaborate kidnapping scheme. This ROV was the real deal, and it made his heart race, because it meant the treasure was likely to be real, too.

“What does something like that ROV cost?” he asked.

“We built this ourselves to suit our needs, so it’s a proprietary design,” Nick said. “But ballpark is about a half a million dollars, not including the three thousand feet of tether and umbilical cable. You’ll need a different sort of ROV, designed primarily for salvage, to bring the larger items up from the seabed. There are some off-the-shelf models you could buy, but it could attract attention you don’t want.”

Violante was beginning to realize just how complex the
salvage could be, but the challenges didn’t dampen his excitement. If anything, they only increased it. “How long until we get to the shipwreck?”

Nick grinned and wagged a finger at him. “That would be telling. We might get to the shipwreck long before we inform you that we’re actually there, or we might let you know right when we arrive. The bottom line is that we’re not going to give you any information that could possibly help you narrow down a rough location on your own.”

“I’m not that clever.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure you could hire people who are. They could make some educated guesses about where the
Santa Isabel
might be based on how long it took us to get there, the speed of our boat, the depth of the wreck, and, if we let you look out at the night sky, the positions of the stars.”

“I couldn’t tell one star from another.”

“We won’t be taking that chance,” Nick said. “Speaking of which, it’s time to get started.”

He led Violante to the deckhouse on the stern, up a flight of stairs, and down a hall to a large cabin. There was a bunk bed, a bathroom, and a basket of chocolate bars on the writing desk. The porthole had been blacked out with paint.

“I’m sorry it’s not as sumptuous as your home, but it’s the best we’ve got,” Nick said. “If you need anything, just press the call button and we’ll be right down.”

Violante stepped inside and immediately felt claustrophobic. “How long will I be stuck in here?”

“It’s hard to say.”

Nick closed the door and locked it.

Violante sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the chocolate bars in the basket. Kinder Buenos, Snickers, Milka Huesitos, M&M’s, Milka Oreos, and Cadbury Tokkes. It might as well have been a basket of excrement for a man with his refined palate for chocolate.

The list of good reasons for killing the Hartleys was getting longer. He almost wished he’d given Reyna his blessing to torture the woman.

Reyna led Kate to a guesthouse on the east end of the property. The 1,400-square-foot one-bedroom bungalow was done in the same style as the main house and had a small kitchen and living room that opened out to the pool. The rear of the guesthouse overlooked a low wall and a sheer drop to the gorge below.

The front door opened into a living room with a massive flat-screen TV above the stone fireplace and an open gourmet kitchen decorated with painted tiles. Beyond that, through the open door to the master suite, Kate could see a king-size four-poster bed.

“This is very nice,” Kate said, setting her gym bag on the floor by the bedroom door.

“The kitchen is fully stocked with food and wine. There are toiletries for you in the master bath and, for your entertainment, we have satellite television,” Reyna said. “You also have the run of the property, of course.”

“As long as I don’t try to leave.”

“Correct. There are cliffs on the east, west, and south sides of the estate and a high gate topped with razor wire. I’ve already searched your bag, and now I’m going to have to pat you down. I’m sure you understand. We don’t have the sophisticated equipment here that you have on your boat.”

Kate held out her arms, and Reyna slowly and carefully ran her hands along Kate’s body. It was less a pat down than it was groping. The last time someone had groped Kate without an invitation, she’d broken the guy’s wrist and got an honorable discharge from the Navy. Breaking Reyna’s wrist wasn’t an option today since Kate was playing the role of geeky, greedy archaeologist.

“All this really isn’t necessary,” Kate said. “I’m an archaeologist. Not Rambo.”

“Of course,” Reyna said, “but I would be remiss in my job if I didn’t make sure you weren’t hiding weapons. After you settle in you’re welcome to join me for a swim. The water is relaxing.”

“I think I’ll jog around the property a few times to loosen up instead.”

“Feel free,” Reyna said.

Kate changed into a tank top, shorts, and running shoes and set off on her run around the grounds. It wasn’t exercise she was after. She wanted to learn the layout of the property, determine the number of guards on patrol, and see where all the security cameras were positioned.

She circled the property four times and identified several camera blind spots, which were the result of a system that was designed to watch for attack from outside, not from within.

As she came around to the backyard for the final circuit, she saw Reyna, nude, doing laps in the pool. There were two towels out, draped over the backs of two patio chairs. One of the chairs had Reyna’s AK-47 propped against it as if it were an umbrella or walking stick. Kate walked over and stood beside the rifle to catch her breath.

Reyna swam to the edge of the pool. “How was your run?” she asked Kate.

“Energizing.”

“You should cool off with a swim.”

“I didn’t bring a suit.”

“You don’t need one.”

“I’m bashful.”

“You’re afraid,” Reyna said. “I don’t bite. Unless asked.”

Kate ignored the innuendo and casually picked up the AK-47. “Your boss isn’t here, so why are you carrying this around? There’s nobody to protect.”

“There’s you,” she said.

“There’s no one after me.”

“Someone could try to take you away,” Reyna said.

“You still think this is a plot to kidnap your boss?”

“I think you’re the only leverage we have in this situation.”

“So is it wise to let yourself be caught naked with your rifle
out of reach?” Kate lifted the rifle and swung the barrel in Reyna’s general direction.

Two red pinpoint laser dots instantly appeared dead center on Kate’s chest. She looked up to see a guard on the eastern edge of the roof targeting her in the laser-guided crosshairs of his sniper rifle. She turned and saw another guard standing at the edge of the house, aiming at her with a handgun with an integrated laser sight.

“The guards like to watch me while I’m swimming,” Reyna said.

“Boys will be boys.” Kate carefully set the AK-47 back down against the chair.

“See you for dinner. Sevenish?” Reyna asked.

“Black tie?”

“Come as you are. We aren’t formal here.”

“No kidding.” Kate turned and walked back toward the guesthouse. The red targeting dots stayed on her until she was well out of reach of the rifle.

Reyna remained in the pool and watched her go. She was certain Kate Hartley was dangerous. It wasn’t the playacting with the gun that was the tip-off, though that had been fun. When she’d patted Kate down, she’d felt not only how toned her body was, but how her muscles tensed up in a defensive response. She knew Kate wanted to strike and was fighting the urge. Reyna found that incredibly arousing, which made the desire to torture her, with pleasure and with pain, even stronger.

She’d make another try at pleasure first, but if that failed, she didn’t mind going straight to pain. One way or another, tonight Kate Hartley would be crying for mercy.

“The pirates took our ship and left me, and seventeen members of my crew, in the motorless dinghy in middle of the South China Sea,” Captain Bridger said. “We’d only been adrift for an hour or so when the storm hit and the boat was capsized by an enormous wave. Two of my men drowned. They were the lucky ones.”

Violante knew it was nightfall even though he hadn’t been on deck. After all, he had a watch. He’d been escorted from his room and taken up a flight of stairs to the mess hall, where Captain Hollywood was waiting at a table for him. They shared a bottle of bad wine and a meal of fried chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes. Prison food must be like this, Violante thought. Something which he’d fortunately been able to avoid.

The captain stared gravely at him with his single eye. “The sharks came after that.”

“Did a shark eat your eye?” Violante asked.

“A shark isn’t that dainty or selective. If one of those soulless black-eyed beasts goes for your head, he’ll take it clean off,” the captain said. “Like one of ’em did with poor Gilligan, a bosun’s mate, who was floating right next to me. We watched Gilligan’s headless body bob in his life jacket in the crimson water for hours, taunting us while the sharks circled and feasted on my
crew. Seventeen men went into the water, only three came out.”

Violante had lost his appetite when the repulsive plate of food had been set in front of him, but now all of Captain Cretin’s talk of blood and death had restored his hunger, and he found himself digging into one of the chicken legs.

“So how did you lose your eye, Bridger?” He didn’t much care, but figured a gruesome story would carry him through his side dishes.

“I’m afraid that’s too painful and horrific for me to talk about.”

“It must be, if it’s worse than headless Gilligan and your crew getting eaten by sharks.”

“You don’t want to know,” Nick Hartley said, sliding onto the bench beside the captain and setting down his own tray of food. “You’ll have to forgive the captain. He gets morose at night after a few glasses of wine.”

“Because the darkness is as pitiless as a shark’s dead eyes,” the captain said. “And the wine as red as man’s blood on the water.”