The engine of the motorcycle howled into the redline as Jet sped east on a secondary road that paralleled the main highway. She’d located the perfect candidate outside the university, where hundreds of mopeds and small motorcycles were parked. The lock was a joke, the motor small enough so it wouldn’t consume much fuel, and the registration was good through the end of the year, so she wouldn’t run any risk of being stopped over a tag.
She’d filled the tank on the way out of the city and was averaging sixty kilometers per hour. At that rate it would take her until late into the night to arrive in Novorossiysk, leaving her precious little time to get some rest and then case the yacht club and devise a plan. But she didn’t want to risk the highway and any possible random checks, and would pay the price for traveling the entire distance on back roads with a sore bottom and stiff spine.
Jet adjusted the helmet on her head and looked up at the sky. Her one fear was a storm – a fair possibility considering the distance she would be traveling. Trying to slog through the rain on a small motorcycle would be beyond miserable and would slow her to a crawl. For now, though, the high clouds looked benign, and she couldn’t worry about what might happen later in the day.
Her main concern at the moment was walking into an unfamiliar town, with no intelligence other than an hour on the web, intent on terminating a man who would have serious security. She’d already run through dozens of scenarios, but they were all speculative until she arrived at the port and saw the ceremony preparations with her own eyes. The Russian was celebrating the opening of a children’s hospital, as one of a dozen board members for a philanthropic organization that had paid for the facility, and her hope was that there would be numerous opportunities to end his life between the ceremony and the cocktail party afterward.
If she could have a nice sniper’s rifle and a few days to find a suitable location from which to pick him off, that would have been her preference; but she’d make do with what she had to work with. If she could get close, virtually anything would serve as a lethal weapon in her hands. The trick wouldn’t be killing the attorney; rather, it would be doing so in a manner that enabled her to get away clean afterward.
That was usually the hard part. Executing someone if you were willing to sacrifice your own life was relatively straightforward. Slipping away undetected after a high-profile sanction – that was orders of magnitude more difficult.
If she was lucky, she might discover he was staying at a hotel in town and be able to do the deed there. Hotels were always easier than crowded venues – a knock at the door, confused room service, or slipping down the outside of the building to enter through a window…
Unfortunately, one of the articles she’d read had mentioned his private jet, and if he was like most über-wealthy, the last thing he’d want to do was spend a night in a place like Novorossiysk. More likely was that he’d fly in, shake hands and have a few drinks, wave, and be back in Moscow the same evening.
Which wouldn’t work for her.
And she didn’t want to invest the time, possibly weeks, staking out his office and home to discover any weaknesses she could exploit. If the man had the clout to get her extradited, he would also have competent bodyguards – and would, in fact, be wary of an attempt now that she’d escaped. He couldn’t be sure that she knew he was behind it, but it must have arisen in discussions with his team, and they’d be on alert, making it even harder to reach him.
No, one way or another, she’d end his life tomorrow.
Because it was either Leo or Jet – and she had too much to live for to give him a second chance at her.
Chapter 49
Novorossiysk, Russia
Jet shook out her wet hair, newly trimmed with straight bangs and lightened two shades to better match the photo of the Bulgarian woman in her passport. The shower had done wonders to revive her after a late-night arrival in the port town and a few hours of restless sleep in a dive waterfront hotel. Music had thumped from seedy bars beneath the rooms until dawn, shouted arguments and drunken singing the constant counterpoint.