Sabotage (30 page)

“What is that awful stench?” she blurted.

“Only the award-winning Eau d'Égout, from the Scintillant collection by Yves Duval,” Austin countered. “It's all the rage in Paris, but no doubt an acquired taste.”

“Please leave.”

“I am sure you will come to enjoy the latest addition to Monsieur Duval's fragrance collection. Particularly as we become more familiar.” Fifteen seconds, Austin estimated. “Might I ask to which hotel we are headed?”

The husband tightened his hold on his lady. “Get to the point! What do you want from us?”

“Of greater relevance is what you want from me. But as we have yet to establish which of you called for my services, it seems we're far from arriving there. You have ten seconds to start explaining before I double my price. Time is money in my line of business. Ten … nine…”

“Neither of us—at least … well, I didn't…” said the man with a disbelieving, though questioning, look at his spouse.

“Absolutely not!” she shot back.

“Really, there's nothing to be ashamed of,” Austin cut in. The woman pressed her head into her husband's chest, which had swollen noticeably since Austin's intrusion. “You eat when you're hungry, don't you? You drink when you're thirsty, don't you? I'm a professional offering a gourmet assortment. And what better way to seal the bonds of marriage?”

“Get out!”

“But I—” Austin paused. “You are Mr. and Mrs. Vanderhort, whom I was to meet in the middle of the square, are you not?”

“No!”

“Forgive me,” said Austin. “Do remember, though, that variety is the spice of life.”

Having cleared the market square, he leapt from the carriage and ran into a nearby lane. Two turns later, he spotted the Navarra and raced up the stairs, knowing he had little time before Vasya would look for him there.

*   *   *

The lights were on when Austin opened the door to the hotel room.

“Finally! Where have you been, and what have you been doing?” The reproach caught him by surprise, but he couldn't have been happier to hear it. “That's a hell of a long time to be swimming, and by the looks of it, you could still afford a shower with a dozen lathers.”

“Victoria!” He rushed forward. “You're here.”

She looked radiant under the light, glowing as if she'd just emerged from soapy bathwater. His eyes traced the line of her collarbone and stopped at the confluence of her chest and neck. He became suddenly aware of the warmth and shape of his own lips.

“Where else would I be?” Smiling, she crossed her arms and read the depth of his concern. “Where on earth have you been? You look terrible. Why didn't you tell me you'd left the pool? I was worried.”

“
You
were worried. I've been playing hide-and-seek with Mr. Kaslov and the police for the past hour. The malicious bastard told me he'd hurt you.”

Her smile vanished. “It's a good thing I walked out when I did. I'd be dead.”

“Where did you go?”

“I made a brief visit to the steam room, then went to an Internet café to check my email. You'll never guess what I found there.”

“Tell me later. Vasya's on his way.”

She spotted his shoulder.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“You're bleeding. It looks terrible.”

“Doesn't hurt too much,” he said. “Not like my feet, anyway.”

“It looks
really
bad. You're still gushing.”

“I'll deal with it later. We better move.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Boterhuis.”

“Are you crazy? That's where he's staying!”

“I know.”

“What's your logic?”

“Haven't you read
The Godfather
?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. He won't suspect us there.”

*   *   *

The need to speak in whispers and check in under a false name made their small room at the Boterhuis Hotel, directly below Vasya's, feel more incarcerating than hospitable. As the owner had wished to preserve the historical integrity of the hotel, it had no elevator, but rather a winding staircase with steep, creaking steps that would give Vasya away when he moved.

“You said you learned something interesting at the Internet café,” Austin called from the bathroom. He was putting a complimentary sewing kit to use, stitching the gash on his shoulder.

“If you call pillaging, plundering, and pirating interesting, then yes,” she replied, moseying into the bathroom. “Playing surgeon, huh? That looks painful. Let me help you.”

“I can do it.”

“Don't be a hero.”

The needle plunged. He squeezed his teeth together, otherwise concealing the pain.

“Sew it poorly, and the scar will end up worse,” she said.

“Am I that bad?”

“Not bad, but not good.” She took the needle and held it under a match to sterilize it, then rubbed it in soap and ran it under the faucet. “Hold still. Hopefully this will ward off infection until you can see a real doctor.”

“You win, Nurse Victoria.”

Her fingers felt smooth on his skin. He no longer winced when the needle pierced the edges of his wound. Her touch had a warming effect on more than his shoulder. Despite his pain, the sensation spread down his arm and into his chest, relaxing him like a poultice, and made its way down his abdomen and thighs. Aware of the need for an unclouded mind, he tried to resist.

“Better?” she said.

“Without a doubt. Thanks.”

“Two hands are better than one.” She grinned in amusement. “So, hot jock streaking through Bruges in a Speedo, huh? You didn't strike me as an exhibitionist.”

“I was underground or underwater half the time.”

“A timid exhibitionist, then. Cute.”

“You should have seen my Lothario act,” he said. “Now what was it about the three
P
's?”

First she filled him in on what she'd learned of Vasya Kaslov. Then she handed him a rolled paper from her pocket and resumed suturing. “This new email was sitting in my inbox, received this afternoon. I printed it out.”

Austin's brain switched on when he began reading. “Dear Victoria…”

“Read the whole thing aloud,” she said. “I want to hear it again.”

He did.

“Message comes from
Pearl Enchantress
luxury cruise liner. Ship lost power from detonated EMP device called Baldr. Defenseless and hijacked by foreign vessels, total five corsairs. Scandinavian crew who appear and speak Norwegian have threatened to sink ship. Carry AK-47 assault rifles, Uzi submachine guns, few other weapons I don't recognize. All wear tattoos on arms of horned helmet with double-edged ax. Principle hijacker and leader named Ragnar Stahl: big man, red hair. Mastermind uses alias Viking. Recent acquisition of Pearl Voyages by competing cruise corporation, Sapphire Pacific. Don't know current coordinates exactly. Will send soon. Approximation: North Atlantic, near Iceland. Please investigate information. Reply soon. You can trust me. Your father sends his love. He says this is no carnival. Jake.”

Austin looked at a reinvigorated Victoria and said, “Your dad's alive!”

“Yes, he is. And soon we'll know where.”

“Must be friendly captors if they took him to a cruise ship,” Austin said. “That's not kidnapping. That's a holiday.”

“I doubt he's eating cake.”

“Doesn't sound like any of the passengers are, either. It's coming together, Victoria. The demonstration Deeb and Vasya were talking about? This must be it. They used Baldr to take out a cruise ship's power. And the man he describes, this Ragnar Stahl, sounds like the intruder I saw in your dad's office.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“But who's this Jake, and can we trust him? They could be baiting you.”

“The message is real.”

“How do you know?”

“The last line.
He says this is no carnival.
It's a code my dad and I use. As I was growing up, Dad warned me of the dangers that went along with his business. We both knew what he was worth dead to terrorists and what I was worth in ransom.”

“What a warm, fuzzy talk that must have been with you as a ten-year-old.”

“He said if either of us were ever being forced to speak under duress, we'd use the word ‘festival.' Otherwise, we'd say ‘carnival.' We can trust the message.”

“Clever.”

Austin reached into her pocket and removed her phone.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Your cell is international. We need facts. I'm calling Ichiro. He'll do a little research for us.”

Before she could object, his roommate picked up.

“Yamada's palace.”

“Have you been renovating?” Austin asked.

Ichiro's resentment was palpable through the line. “Where the hell have
you
been?”

“I told you to take comfort in the fact it was a romantic escapade.”

“Do I sound like an idiot? I can only believe absurdities for so long. You don't return my calls, I don't have a clue where you are, you vanish off the face of the earth, leave me in the dark.… Rachel and I have nearly lost our minds. And have you totally forgotten your schoolwork? It's not like you're taking basket weaving courses, you big slacker. What the hell are you doing?”

“You're making me feel guilty. If anything, I'm the one who should be worrying about your debauchery in my absence.”

Ichiro paused a moment. “Come to think of it, you're right. It has gotten a bit lonely these nights … in this new single bedroom … all to myself. Hope you don't mind if I've invited a few … guests. Nighttime guests.”

“Thanks for the visual,” Austin said. “Just don't lose your wallet on escort services.”

A groan came through the line. “You have an uncanny way of turning punches into punch lines.”

Austin scrapped the banter. “Itchy, remember the radio transmission I asked you to look at?”

“Hard to forget.”

“Have you learned anything?”

“Let's see. I've checked just about every database I could find searching for historic maritime communications. I've looked at treaties. Broken down the language into numbers and then into binary. Searched for patterns. Run algorithms. Tried hexadecimal. Calculated frequency of each character and compared results with expected values from the English language. Read three chapters in a cryptology textbook, which—”

“But did you determine anything?”

He sighed. “Frankly, that project's been on hiatus for a while. I have a life, you know.”

“As in, problem sets and midterms.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Ichiro, this is critical. Can you please make it top priority?”

“Doesn't that strike you as a tad unfair? You haven't told me why I'm doing the research. You haven't told me where you are. You've vanished.”

“I'll fill you in soon enough, but for now, you'll have to trust me on this. Are you in front of a computer?”

“Yes.”

“Would you mind running a few searches? Computer access is difficult at the moment.”

“I've worked under a veil of obscurity this long. Why break precedent?”

“Start with this one. Look up the
Pearl Enchantress
and Pearl Voyages.”

“Let's see. Give it a moment … and, there we go. I'm on their website. The
Pearl Enchantress
is the jewel of the Pearl Fleet, a magnificent luxury liner renowned for its lavish amenities. Enjoy sinful spas, spacious decks, gourmet cuisine, colorful casinos, spectacular nightly entertainment, full-service fitness centers, grand lounges, yadda yadda yadda. Looking for a private veranda? More than half the staterooms offer a view of the ocean from your own balcony. Getting into the lush life, are we?”

Austin ignored him. “Nothing useful will appear on their website. Do me a favor. Check any financial database for recent mergers or acquisitions.”

“Here we go. Wow. I had no idea. Apparently, Sapphire Pacific bought them out in a transaction valued at four billion.”

“When did this happen?”

“Four years ago.”

“Run another search for me. Type in keywords ‘Norwegian,' ‘pirate,' ‘insignia,' ‘helmet,' ‘attack.'”

“That's random. Whatever you say. Okay, I Googled it. Someone's MySpace comes up. Several encyclopedia entries on Vikings and Norsemen come up. A video game site…”

“Try substituting ‘Ragnar Stahl' for ‘attack.'”

“You'll have to spell that one for me.” Austin did. “Okay, now we're talkin'. A Wikipedia article comes up entitled
Black Marauders.
”

“Click and read.”

“Oops, apparently the article was recently modified, and not very well. Article lacks citations, links to other sources, and specificity. It's awfully vague, just one line about pirating in general with a mention of that guy's name. No worthwhile links, although I could try this one. Hmmm. Still nothing. Okay, I'll try Googling ‘Black Marauders.'” Austin could hear Ichiro's fingers through the line. “Jackpot.”

“You found something?”

“Several somethings…” There was a short interval while Ichiro digested what he'd found. He grunted. “Lots of news articles here. Whoa, these guys are hard-core.”

“I'm putting you on speaker. Victoria will want to hear this, too. What did you find?”

“Why, hello, Ms. Clare. Pleased to officially meet you. I've seen you in differential geometry class.”

“You, too,” Victoria said. “Thanks for your help with this, Ichiro.”

“I do my best. About the article … apparently the Black Marauders—
Svarte Sjørøverne,
in Norwegian—were a seafaring criminal legion based in Norway during the nineties. Pirates, smugglers. With their small flotilla of fast, maneuverable corsairs, they would routinely—and quite savagely—scourge the North Atlantic attacking defenseless merchant ships. Stolen cargo made its way into a black market. The Marauders had ties to the Middle East and often put themselves up for hire, transporting weapons from the Gulf of Aden to Central America, facilitating and brokering deals between a number of insurgent groups and Honduran drug cartels. They hold an almost mythical status among Somali pirate rings operating in the Red Sea.”