But what about the fourth?
Her own life had taken a difficult path. She had no real identity except what others had imposed. She’d been alive, but not really a person. More a piece of property, used by others for their needs, never her own.
And of late, that fact had begun to bother her.
She studied the corridor.
Given the hour few people were around, only a handful coming and going from the staterooms that lined the outer side.
She’d noticed the American, Malone, early during the cruise. He’d stuck close to Larks, but had made no attempt to locate her father. Which made her wonder. Did Malone know about him? Or about her? She’d concluded that he did not. Which made his presence even more puzzling. A few minutes ago her father had told her exactly what he wanted done, and she would do it. Following his orders, at least for a little while longer, seemed the prudent course.
She approached Larks’ suite and used the keycard for entrance.
The door opened and she quickly stepped into the darkened space.
Hopefully, Harold Earl “Cotton” Malone would be along shortly.
TEN
Malone hopped from the boat. Luke Daniels worked the throttle and kept the hull close to the concrete dock.
“I’ll need you back here by 7:00 A.M.,” he said.
Luke threw him a salute. “I’ve missed taking orders from you, Pappy.”
He smiled. “Like you ever did.”
He’d never cared for the nickname, one Luke had used from the first day they met. Of course, he called the younger agent Frat Boy, a label Luke had not particularly liked either. And while Malone was on contract, here for a limited engagement, Luke worked for Stephanie Nelle and the Magellan Billet full-time. He was a Southerner, ex-military, the nephew of President Danny Daniels, which seemed not to mean much of anything to either Daniels. He and Luke had first met in Denmark a month ago and finished up their mission in Utah. When they parted ways in Salt Lake he’d told Luke that he looked forward to their next encounter. He just hadn’t known then that it would be so soon.
On the boat ride to the cruise terminal Luke had explained more of what was happening. The $20 million had been slated for a charter jet out of Venice’s airport straight to North Korea. The United States and Europol had finally decided to build a case on insurance fraud, and some eyewitness testimony could be vital. Of course, no one had anticipated a theft.
“How was it that cash transfer just happened to be here in Venice?” he’d asked Luke.
“That I really don’t know. I was in Rome and Stephanie told me to get my butt over here. That’s when I called you. My orders were to help the old guy out, if he got into trouble.”
“Is that how Stephanie put it?”
“Close enough.”
He bid Luke goodbye, found the gangway, and passed through a security point that included a metal detector. His gun had been left with Luke for tomorrow, no way to keep it without drawing unwanted attention. The staff tossed him a few odd looks, considering that his hair was damp and askew, his clothes mud-splattered and smelly from the splash in the lagoon.
“Crazy water taxi,” he said, adding a smile.
It was just after midnight, but plenty of folks were still coming and going, enjoying their last few hours aboard. He hadn’t experienced much of the ship’s nightlife, as both he and Larks had been early to bed. His room was on the same deck as Larks’, albeit at the other end.
Once on board he grabbed an elevator to the ninth floor and exited to an empty hallway. He’d kept a careful watch the entire cruise, but doubted Larks had noticed. The older man had seemed oblivious to anything and everything, staying to himself, most times toting a black leather Tumi bag. He’d also memorized the facial image of Anan Wayne Howell that Stephanie had provided, but had caught no sight of the fugitive. There’d been a lot of distractions, though. The cruise ship held three thousand passengers, and every port had been a madhouse. He’d thought that day in Split he was about to strike pay dirt, but Larks had left the Croatian café alone, after waiting two hours, connecting with no one. What was so important about Howell? He’d been told only that the man was a federal fugitive who’d ticked off a local U.S. attorney, fleeing after the start of his trial. But Malone knew the deal. Contract help was told only what they needed to know. And frankly, he was not interested in delving real deep here. For him, this was a mental diversion. The chance to make some quick, easy money. Nothing more.
But things had definitely escalated.
Nine men had already died.
He decided to make a final check on Larks’ room. He’d left the ship right before the early-sitting dinner, heading for the mainland hours before the scheduled deal, reconnoitering the building and gaining access while its doors were still open for the day. Then he’d waited patiently until it was time to head for the eighth floor. He should call Stephanie and report what had happened, but Luke had assured him that he’d handle that. Next, he ought to head back to Copenhagen and his bookshop.
But that came with a problem.