“Wait until he is out of the boat. We don’t want him to spot us and run away.”
Beka nodded. They had a boat of their own, procured by the Riders, tied up nearby. But it would be better if they didn’t have to chase him. On the other hand, they’d already discussed the possibility of following their quarry, if it looked as though he wasn’t the man they sought, so she’d prepared the boat with a “silence and invisibility” spell, just in case.
She held her breath, but the man just sat there, unmoving. His boat rocked gently, its polished ebony rubbing against the faded wood of the dock, making tiny creaking noises in the almost silent night. The nearly full moon didn’t cast enough light for them to be able to make out his face, since the boat itself sat in the shadow of the old, falling-down warehouse.
Get out of the damned boat, Beka thought to the figure below. Get out and let us see you.
*
CHARLIE KELLY SHIFTED restlessly from one foot to the other as he waited for the diver to disembark from his black speedboat. But the guy just sat there, his craft butted up against the dock, his dark eyes seeming to reflect the night’s eerie stillness.
What the hell was this? Was this ass playing games with him? Charlie had gotten a message, tucked under his windshield wiper in the supposedly well-guarded parking lot of the power plant, telling him to come tonight to meet his contact. Not asking him, mind, but telling.
Meet me at the usual spot. Midnight. Alone. For our mutual best interests.
That was all the note had said. Terse and unforthcoming, just like the man who had written it. Charlie had been so pissed, he’d seriously considered not going. After all, he was the boss in this relationship. Not some flunky to jump just because a hired hand told him to.
But in the end, it was less the contents of the note than where he’d found it that had convinced him. Not just under the wiper of his car—bad enough the guy knew which car was his—but in the lot at the Diablo Canyon Nuclear Plant, behind barbed wire walls and electronic gates and armed guards. That could have meant it was an inside job. But Charlie ran the place. He knew every face of every employee who had ever walked through those gates, and the man at the end of the dock wasn’t one of his.
Which meant instead that either the guy had some connection inside that Charlie didn’t know about, or that he could somehow magically walk through walls. Charlie had the uneasy feeling he’d been played. Still, he’d had to show up to find out what the diver wanted, since the man clearly knew a lot more about Charlie than Charlie knew about him.
Finally tired of waiting, Charlie hunched his shoulders against the cool ocean breeze, got out of his car, and walked down to the dock. Two more canisters—all he could easily move by himself—already sat down there. It was too late for this nonsense. His wife thought he was out playing poker with some buddies, but he’d have to be home soon or she’d start suspecting him of sleeping around or something. The last thing he needed right now was anyone asking him suspicious questions, even his wife. Hell, especially his wife. The woman could be like a bulldog once she got her teeth into something.
“I hope you’re not planning to ask me for more money,” Charlie said, not bothering with polite hellos. People who stuck cryptic notes under windshield wipers didn’t get polite. “I’m already paying you more than I should be.”
One elegant eyebrow rose lazily. “Really?” the diver said, his Irish accent even heavier than usual. Probably because he’d figured out it annoyed the shit out of Charlie. “You t’ink that you are overpaying me to carry your poison down into the sea? Perhaps you would like to procure the services of another to do so for you.” The arrogant smirk lurking around the corners of his lips said he knew just how difficult that would be.
Bite me. Charlie didn’t say it out loud, though, as much as he wanted to. Finding another diver who was capable of going down to the depths of the hidden trench to dispose of the canisters where they wouldn’t be found—and who was willing to handle nuclear waste, no matter how safely it was packaged—would be a tall order indeed. Still, that didn’t mean he was going to let the guy rip him off. After all, if he turned Charlie in to the authorities, he’d be in trouble too.
“What do you want?” Charlie asked, feeling weary. Just another five years, and he could take his bonuses and retire to the Caribbean, where most of the money was already socked away. Then the plant, all those people’s jobs, and the damned government regulations could be somebody else’s problem. “Your note said something about our mutual best interests?”