| Subject: Abandon Hope 3 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 20:00:36 02/01/02 Fri
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Abandon Hope" on 15:37:56 01/28/02 Mon
* * *
Stillman laughed at his reflection in the mirror.
“Not bad---not bad at all.” Ken stroked his goatee and took another look at himself.
“If your highness is ready,” Michael said dryly, holding out a burnoose.
Stillman took it and placed it over his head. His grin got wider. “I look great! Maybe I will pull this off, after all.”
“The object of the mission is to make it clear that you are interested in acquiring several blondes for your harem—whatever the cost. I’ll act as your interpreter.”
“Michael, this isn’t the original profile—what happened to change things?” Ken asked, slightly more seriously.
“Ivanovich didn’t take the bait—his assistant did. We’ve had to change the profile accordingly.”
“So, I’m. . . . ?” Ken paused to allow Michael to review the details of the mission.
“You’re Prince Abdullah bin Saud, thirteenth in line to the throne of Saudi Arabia, and a well known playboy.” Michael handed Ken a folder with several photos and some backup data.
“With the goatee, I’m a ringer,” Ken murmured as he read through the data.
“Close enough,” Michael replied. “The object here is to be seen once or twice, in the lobby, and at the restaurant this evening, giving Nikita a lot of unwanted attention. After that, I will make a point of speaking to Ivanovich, on your behalf, about procuring Nikita—and hopefully, any other women he might have available.”
“So, I’m supposed to make an obnoxious, nuisance of myself, and let it be known I have the hots for blondes?” Ken laughed and wagged his eyebrows, “A role I was born to play!”
* * *
“Your studio is down by the docks?” Nikita asked cautiously, peering out the window of the limo.
Mauvais chuckled. “Yes. We do a lot of photo shoots on my yacht, and I love the seaside setting. I admit, it is an odd place to have a photography studio, but it works, and I’m sure you will love the atmosphere.”
Nikita smiled, “Now I understand the request to bring along a swimsuit.”
“Every model’s portfolio must contain several swimsuit shots. It’s standard procedure. Did you also bring an evening gown?”
“Yes—another standard shot?”
“Of course!” Mauvais took Nikita’s hand and squeezed it. “When I’m finished, I’m sure the next layout I do for Cosmo, will feature your face on the cover!”
Nikita smiled, suddenly thinking how upset Madeline would be, if in fact that scenario were to come about—her face plastered all over a international glamour magazine!
“Perfect!” Mauvais clicked off one last shot, and smiled.
“Are we done?” Nikita asked, stretching her arms above her head and yawning.
“Completely.” Mauvais said, taking note of her yawn, “It is work, isn’t it?”
“It sure is—we’ve been at this for four hours. I never knew it was this much work to sit still and have your picture taken!” She smiled, albeit wearily.
“Go change and we will go back to the hotel for an early supper. You must be starved.”
“I am! Be ready in a few.” Nikita left to change.
“Well?” Ivanovich entered the studio just as Nikita left.
“I’ll have these shots ready to download to Moscow this evening. She’s a beauty and photographs well. We’ll have no trouble finding a buyer. It’s been a very successful venture. Sixteen women, in two months---“ Mauvais’ smile failed to meet his eyes.
“Yes, almost too successful. I think it is time to change our location. The police are now actively searching for some of the women. No need to risk the operation further. Nikita will be the last. Find a pretext for her to leave the hotel and meet you on the boat. I will clean up loose ends.”
* * *
“Nikita.”
Nikita stopped half way up one leg with her panty hose to listen to the voice in her ear.
“Michael?” She whispered in response.
“There has been a change in profile. Stillman and I will meet you in the hotel lobby. Stillman will be undercover. You are to act civil, but not overly interested. You will understand all when we meet. The plan is to have Mauvais sell you to Stillman, along with any other women he may have in his possession.”
“Okay.” Nikita said softly, wishing she was somewhere besides Mauvais’s dressing room so she could ask the multitude of questions that were popping around in her head. There was to be yet another change to the profile? What was Michael doing?
When Nikita and Mauvais entered the hotel lobby, it was aflutter with activity.
As she clung demurely to Mauvais’ arm, Nikita murmured, “I wonder what’s going on?” It was no idle question. She looked around for a glimpse of Michael or Stillman, still unsure of the exact scenario they had planned and what her part might be.
“It looks like a Middle Eastern VIP and his entourage,” Mauvais commented, pointing to a man bedecked in Bedouin costume waving his hands about.
Nikita leaned in to get a closer look and almost gave the game away. Biting her lip to keep from laughing, she watched as Stillman waved a handful of worry-beads about as he spoke to a man in a dark suit. A second later, the man in the dark suit turned to face her. It was Michael. He gave Nikita a cursory once over, then returned his attention to Stillman.
Stillman continued to speak to Michael in a low voice while staring unabashedly at Nikita with mischievous brown eyes.
Mauvais snagged the arm of a passing bellboy. “Pardon, moi—who is the gentlemen in white?”
The bellboy leaned close and whispered, “Some Saudi prince—he’s got everyone all stirred up. Insists he had reservations, but no one knows anything about it. Guess he figures we oughta make him room because he’s a bloody prince!”
Mauvais smiled and planted a small bill into the bellboy’s hand as a thank you for the information.
“Excuse me, mademoiselle.”
Mauvais turned his attention from the retreating bellboy to the man standing in front of Nikita.
Nikita blinked and tried to look embarrassed as Michael bowed low over her hand and spoke in a velvety voice,
“His Royal Highness, Prince Abdullah bin Saud, requests the honor of your company at dinner this evening.”
Swallowing audibly, if only to keep from bursting into laughter, Nikita looked pleadingly at Mauvais for assistance.
Mauvais looked like he had wheels turning just below the surface. There was a long pause before Nikita whispered, “Etienne, what should I tell him?”
He smiled charmingly, “Tell His Royal Highness. . . .that we would be delighted to be his guests for dinner.”
Michael nodded once, bowed again over Nikita’s hand and answered, “He will be most pleased. We will dine at seven. I will come to escort you at a quarter to the hour.”
As they entered the elevator and the doors closed, Nikita acted concerned.
“Why did you accept? We don’t even know the man.”
Mauvais smiled patronizingly at her.
“Ma cherie, think of it as a business meeting. A man of his stature can’t help but have many wives, and wives mean fashion. In this business, we must cultivate clients everywhere. Can you think of a better opportunity?”
“I suppose not, but I haven’t a thing to wear.”
Mauvais shot her an “isn’t that just like a woman” look and was amused.
“Your black dress will suffice. I feel sure the Prince will approve.”
“Maybe—then again, I might just go on a quick shopping trip. Would you mind if I saw you later? I have a million things to do before seven.”
“Of course. Till seven, then.”
* * *
Nikita pounded down the hallway of the hotel to her room, garnering several odd looks from passersby. When she got inside her room, she tossed her purse on the floor and went to pound on the door adjoining hers to Michael’s. There was no answer, so she tried the comlink.
“Michael?”
No answer.
“Come on!” Nikita mumbled beneath her breath as she hopped around on one foot, trying to undress.
She stopped suddenly in mid hop and nearly tripped and fell. Lying on the bed was the most beautiful evening gown she’d ever seen, made of ice blue satin with an overskirt of lace. There were shoes and a handbag to match lying nearby.
“I must be dreaming---“ She saw an envelope on the bed and opened it.
‘For tonight. M.’
“M who? Michael? Or Mauvais?” She muttered aloud staring at the note. It was neatly printed, but didn’t look familiar. She thought a moment longer and decided it had to be Michael; Mauvais wouldn’t have had time to send up a dress.
“Michael! Where are you!” She said aloud again.
“Here.” Came a voice from behind.
Nikita nearly jumped a foot off the floor.
“Michael—what IS going on?” She sat on the bed with the note crumpled in her hand. Michael carefully shut the door between their suites and came to stand near the bed.
“Based on recent intel, it looks like Ivanovich is shutting down his operations here in Sydney. If we are to find Popovich, we have to get them to tip their hand immediately. Hopefully, she’s being held somewhere in Sydney, and if we give Ivanovich a rich enough patron, he might decide to divest himself of his property now, rather than move it elsewhere.”
“These are women we’re talking about, Michael, not property!” Nikita spouted angrily and got to her feet.
Michael took a step closer and gently stroked her cheek with the fingertips of one hand.
“Not whores, either,” he said quietly, reminding her of their conversation the night before. His expression was tender, almost sad. “They’re victims of circumstance, Nikita, just as you were. The difference is you can help them—even if you can’t help yourself.”
Nikita slowly leaned into him, looped her arms loosely around his neck, and laid her head against his shoulder. As always, he had disarmed her with gentleness.
“I’m so sorry for last night. For a moment, I thought my life could change. All I could think about was what my life might have been. You tried to tell me, but I didn’t want to listen. This is all I’ll ever have, isn’t it?” The bitterness had gone, leaving behind the ashes of resignation in her voice.
Michael held her tighter, because he couldn’t answer. He had abandoned hope long ago.
“Well,” Nikita said, trying to smile, as she drew away from him, “tell me what I’m supposed to do with ‘His Royal Highness’ this evening?”
* * *
“Good evening,” Michael said as Mauvais opened his door.
“Good evening,” Mauvais replied politely. He turned to Nikita who was seated in a nearby chair. “Shall we go, my dear?”
Michael was stuck at how stunning she was in the dress he had chosen. It perfectly matched her eyes. For a moment, he forgot himself and allowed his admiration to show. Then his eyes met hers and her expression told him to be careful. The blank stare returned immediately.
Nikita stood like a queen, graceful and resplendent and took Mauvais’ arm. “I think I’m a little nervous,” she whispered in his ear.
Mauvais patted her hand, “Nonsense. You’ll be fine.” With barely a look in her direction, Mauvais turned to Michael. “Shall we go?”
In elevator going down, Michael gave the two instructions on how to act before the prince, as would be expected of an aide-de-camp. Nikita kept biting the edge of her tongue to keep from smiling when Michael explained how low she must bow.
Dinner was served in the hotel’s private dining room. A quartet of musicians played during dinner, which was several courses in duration. Everything was so elaborate, Nikita began to worry over what Operations would say when he saw the expense account.
Conversation was difficult, from Mauvais’ point of view, having to have Michael repeat every thing in Arabic. He pondered how to reach his host with a proposition, without tipping his hand to Nikita. The Prince certainly seemed enchanted with Nikita, as he stared at her the entire evening, hardly speaking a word, and even then, only whispering into his aide’s ear to be translated into English.
Finally the dessert course was finished and coffee was served. The Prince leaned over and spoke something in Michael’s ear. Nikita watched Michael’s face, saw him nod, and knew the real phase of the operation was about to begin.
Michael stood and walked to where Nikita was seated. “His Highness has asked to dance with you.”
Nikita forced herself to look startled. “Well, I . . . .” She looked at Mauvais as if to ask his help.
Mauvais smiled, took her hand and squeezed it.
“Tell his Majesty, she is delighted.” He stood and pulled out her chair so that out of politeness, Nikita had no other choice except to accept.
As Michael led her to Stillman, Nikita couldn’t help thinking, if the situation had been real, what a jerk Mauvais had turned out to be.
Michael whispered in her ear as he placed her hand into Stillman’s, “Don’t forget to curtsy.”
‘Yeah, right.’ She thought almost laughing. Stillman, imp that he was, winked at her before bending to kiss her hand.
Michael returned to the table to keep Mauvais company and thicken the already convoluted plot. He began in French:
“Monsieur Mauvais, my employer wants to know, and this is most difficult to ask,” he paused to take a sip of his coffee before continuing.
“Oui?” Mauvais asked, totally ignoring the two on the dance floor.
“Are your intentions towards Mademoiselle, serious, or are you only friends?”
Mauvais looked startled, then after a moment, he smiled broadly.
“Nikita is my employee. She is one of my models. Why does His Highness want to know?”
“As you can see, Prince Abdullah is totally smitten by her. With only the most honorable of intentions, I assure you.” Michael was quick to add.
“Eh bien,” Mauvais said softly in French. “And?”
“It was necessary to know your feelings in this matter. The Prince’s cousin, the King, has requested he marry and take up his place in the government and I believe his heart is set on mademoiselle Nikita.”
“Well, there is a small matter of concern. Nikita is under a modeling contract.”
“The Prince will compensate you for your loss.”
“I doubt he will want to pay what she’s worth . . .”
“What amount would you need? Name it. I am authorized to negotiate on His Highness’ behalf.”
Mauvais hesitated, “Well, I cannot negotiate on behalf of my employer. He was expecting Nikita to produce several million dollars during her contract.”
“Perhaps you could contact your employer for instructions.” Michael offered. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement that will satisfy all parties. Would you care for some wine?”
* * *
Stillman watched the two at the table and saw Michael wave over the waiter.
Bending low, Stillman whispered in Nikita’s ear, “That’s the cue. Time for the show to start.”
Nikita looked up at him and nodded slightly. He winked back, grinning and slid a hand down over her butt and squeezed.
“Whoa!” Nikita shouted out, pulling away. The band was startled out of sync and the music trailed off miserably. Mauvais looked up in surprise.
“Look, Prince or not, you watch your hands!”
Stillman looked affronted and gestured for Michael’s assistance.
“Excuse me, please.” Michael said grimly, rising from the table. In a few steps he was at Stillman’s side. Words were exchanged then Michael turned to Nikita.
“His Highness is confused and in great distress. Has he done something to offend you?”
“Look, tell his Highness that dinner was great, but Prince or not, nobody manhandles me.”
“I believe there has been a breach in customs. I assure you, Prince Abdullah meant no disrespect.” Michael said apologetically.
“Right.” Nikita retorted, looking completely unimpressed. “Well, thank him for dinner.” She tossed Stillman a tiny curtsy. “No need to cause an international incident, but I really have to say goodnight.” She walked to the table and picked up her purse with Michael following in her wake.
“Etienne?” She looked at him for support.
Mauvais nodded and stood. He allowed Nikita to get ahead by several steps, then turned to Michael in passing and whispered, “Tell his Highness, I will do what I can.”
* * *
“What happened?” Mauvais asked, with a little irritation seeping into his voice.
“What happened? He copped a feel, that’s what happened!” Nikita snapped back as she slapped at the elevator controls.
Mauvais smiled, “Nikita, he’s a Prince, I’m sure you are putting more into this than was intended. Besides, I have it on good authority the Prince is very fond of you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of! Look, no offense, but why are you suddenly taking his side in this?”
“I am not taking sides, I just think you are more upset than is necessary. Nikita, you have to understand that in the modeling business, things like this do occur. The professional way to deal with them is to smile prettily and ignore it. It’s bad for business to do otherwise, and a tad embarrassing.”
“Fine. Next time, I’ll keep that in mind. Sorry, if I embarrassed you.” She added trying to sound contrite, as the door opened onto her floor.
“No matter, my dear. Get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“What time should I be ready?” Nikita asked, stepping out of the elevator.
“I will call for you after breakfast. I’ll say good evening here. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
Nikita nodded, “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mauvais nodded with a sweet smile that completely evaporated as the elevator door closed. He pressed for the lobby, and arriving there, returned to the dining room to seek out the Prince’s aide.
He found Michael sitting quietly at the bar finishing a glass of red wine.
“I thought I might find you here,” Mauvais said as he sat down at the bar next to Michael. “Is His Highness very upset?”
“Yes, very. He seems to be heartbroken one minute and angry the next. It will be very difficult for the next several days. Were you able to calm, mademoiselle?”
“Yes. I believe she will be fine, after a moment to think about it. I have assured her, the Prince meant no disrespect.”
Michael shrugged and huffed out a tired sigh, then turned to Mauvais. “May I speak to you in confidence?”
“Of course. You sound very depressed, mon ami, what’s wrong?”
“His Highness is under an ultimatum from the King. He must marry. His cousin has lost all patience with the Prince’s lifestyle. He feels it is politically dangerous to be so Western in his ways, when Saudi Arabia is encircled by anti-western sentiment.”
“I see. And the Prince?”
“He doesn’t want to be married, but he knows he must—the King has his ways of making him comply. I had hope Mademoiselle Nikita would be the answer I’d been looking for. The Prince wants her, but it seems he couldn’t contain himself. Western women simply do not understand a man’s baser needs, I’m afraid.”
“I happen to agree. Perhaps I can help.” Mauvais said carefully.
“Help? In what way?”
“I employee many young and beautiful women, including Nikita. Perhaps the Prince would not miss his bachelorhood as much, if he had several beautiful wives to enchant him. He can have more than one, can he not?”
“Under Muslim law, he can have four wives. But how can you help?”
“How badly does the Prince want Nikita?”
Michael shook his head, “His Highness has no understanding of what is possible and what is not—he wanted me to arrange a kidnapping! I have tried to explain that this is not Saudi Arabia, but he will not listen.”
Mauvais smiled and stroked his chin. “Sounds like you do have a problem. All because of a lovely, but very silly young woman.”
“Yes. If this was Arabia, there would be no problem.”
“What if. . . .”
Michael looked at Mauvais with curiosity, “If . . .?”
* * *
Nikita opened the door to her room and slipped inside with a sigh of relief. If there was anything to women’s intuition, Mauvais was primed and ready to take a fall.
“Uh, hi Sugar.”
Nikita spun around, startled once again.
“Walter? What are you doing here—no, never mind that, where have you been?”
“Sugar, to tell you the truth—I don’t know what the hell is going on!”
“What do you mean?”
“First we were following the profile, then we weren’t, now it’s something else again.”
Nikita frowned, kicked off her shoes then sat on the bed. Walter joined her.
“Are we clear?” She whispered, pointed at the ceiling—the signal for surveillance equipment.
“Yeah. Do you know what’s going on?”
“We’ve had to improvise. Ivanovich wasn’t attracted to me, but his assistant was. Michael had to alter the profile accordingly.”
“Sugar, it’s more serious than that. Michael has gone rogue. He’s running this mission completely solo—ignoring instructions from Operations.”
“What?” Nikita’s heart froze. “Does Operations know?”
“Not yet, but it won’t be long until he does, and when he does, Michael will be lucky if he’s only sent to abeyance.”
“It’s all my fault!” Nikita whispered in horror.
“What do you mean?” Walter asked, distressed at her expression.
“Michael told me the original profile was to trade me for Popovich’s granddaughter and abandon me in place. There was no exit strategy.”
“No exit? That son of a bitch!” Walter grimaced. “I knew Ops had it in for you, but damn, I never thought he’d pull something like this!”
“Michael told me he would find another way—I just never realized what that might mean.” Nikita got to her feet, “Walter, I have to stop him before Operations finds out!”
“No, Sugar. Whatever Michael is working has to continue. We can’t go back to the other profile now; it’s too late. You’re going to have to trust Michael, Nikita. I’ve seen him work miracles before; he can do it again, especially knowing what’s at stake.
“But what about Operations?”
“I don’t know, Sugar, I really don’t. All we can hope for is a successful closure on this mission. Operations can’t be too unhappy if Michael succeeds, but if he doesn’t, Ops will have no choice but put Michael in abeyance.”
Nikita began to pace with worry. “Or cancel him,” she added softly.
Walter didn’t speak, but his expression was in agreement.
“Then we make sure we have closure. Walter, what has Michael had you doing the last few days?”
“Surveillance mostly.”
“Surveillance of what?”
“Ivanovich, for a while. Now we have a large yacht in the harbor under scrutiny. It’s registered to Ivanovich, but it never docks. It’s been moored in deep water for several months, according to our latest intel. Ivanovich visits it about once a week or so, but is always taken over to it by a dinghy.”
“That would be a perfect place to hold hostages, wouldn’t it?” Nikita mused aloud, as she nibbled nervously on the edge of her thumb.
“Exactly.” Walter said.
“I think I understand what Michael’s trying to do, now.” Nikita returned and seated herself next to Walter.
“Tomorrow, I’m scheduled for a photo shoot. Mauvais has already told me he likes to take his models to the boat to shoot layouts. If we’re lucky, Popovich’s granddaughter is on the yacht.”
“And if she’s not?”
“If she’s not, then it’s hopeless, Walter. We won’t have time to find her before her grandfather has to vote.”
Walter nodded gravely. “Well, Michael wanted me to get you set up with trackers. I recommend subcutaneous insertion if you’re going to be around water. There will be no danger of losing the tracker, or damaging it, if you have to get wet tomorrow.”
Nikita nodded and watched as Walter went to a nearby table and picked up his equipment bag.
“What about weapons?” Nikita rolled up her sleeve in preparation for the insertion of the tracker.
“You might be searched, and a gun is too difficult to conceal, but I have something else for you.” Walter smiled, and reached into the bag to withdraw a small blue box.
“Tampons?” Nikita arched an eyebrow as Walter placed the box in her hand.
“Tranq hypodermics, actually. There are six of them, and as a precaution, the other two in the box are the real thing. The tranqs are in between the real ones.”
“What’s the half-life of the drug?” Nikita slipped the box into her handbag.
“Stick a 250 pound male with one of these and he will be sawing logs for around six hours.” Walter paused a moment to swab Nikita’s skin with alcohol, then injected the tracker beneath the skin under her right armpit.
“Ow!” Nikita winced as she held her right arm above her head to keep it out of the way.
“Sorry, Sugar. All done.”
“Anything else in your magic bag of tricks?”
“Just the standard sunglasses video cam.” He handed her the unit in a simple glasses case. Nikita placed it into her purse as well.
“That’s it. I have to get back. My surveillance shift starts in an hour.”
Nikita walked Walter to the connecting door between her room and Michael’s.
“Be careful, Sugar.” Walter admonished gently, cupping her smooth cheek in his weathered hand.
Nikita kissed his forehead in reply and watched him leave.
* * *
It was late when Michael kissed Nikita awake. Nikita had been dreaming of him, so it took a moment to realize the mouth pressed against hers was real.
“Michael!” Nikita said in a rush as she sat up.
“Shhh, I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s important that you know the plan for tomorrow.” Michael said, cradling her chin in his right hand.
“Michael, Walter told me—what if Operations finds out you aren’t following the profile?”
“I’ll be fine.” He replied softly, rubbing the edge of his thumb across her chin.
“Michael, I can’t tell you how terrified those words make me! I’ve seen you beaten, bloody, and near death, and you always say, “I’ll be fine!” Fear and sarcasm accented her words.
“And I’m still here to say it, am I not?” There was a modicum of amusement hidden in his reply.
“You did this for me—“
Michael covered her mouth with his hand to stop her words. “I have to leave, there’s no time to discuss this now. Mauvais is eager to help Stillman with his love life. He brought up a book full of photos for the Prince to review. Lena’s photo was there. From what he told me last night, she’s an available bride. He’ll make his move tomorrow during the photo shoot. You’ll be going out to his yacht in the morning. Stillman and I are supposed to arrive there tomorrow afternoon.”
Nikita nodded and Michael released her to continue.
“Mauvais has been told to take his boat out into international waters. There he will be met by the Prince’s yacht, where he is to off-load the women the Prince has chosen—to include you.”
“What about the other women? We are going to rescue all of them, aren’t we?”
“No.” Came his soft, yet curt reply.
“Michael--!” Nikita began to protest.
“Nikita, listen! Getting Lena back is only half of the mission. We have to let Ivanovich and Mauvais believe this is for real. If we can get them to believe the Prince has a huge sexual appetite, we can entice them with future sales. It will get us inside the organization, deep enough to learn where all of his people are. Deep enough to clean house in the future. Remember Chandler? He was the head. We killed him, but the organization he built was strong enough to grow another. This time we have to be patient. We have to root out the entire operation. Do you understand?”
Nikita nodded mutely, painfully reminded of her conversation with Operations after Chandler’s death. “I understand.”
Michael took her face in his hands. “Good. Now, go back to sleep.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my room, to sleep.”
“You could do that here.” She said hopefully.
“No. I couldn’t.” Michael replied, before kissing her passionately back onto the pillows.
“Good night, then.” Nikita said huskily, when he pulled away.
“Good night.”
* * *
“When you said yacht, I didn’t realize you meant the Queen Mary! She’s huge!” Nikita exclaimed as the motorboat approached the larger vessel.
Mauvais smiled, his eyes shielded behind his sunglasses. “One of the fringe benefits of our business, my dear. We sell success, therefore we must seem successful.”
Nikita nodded trying to focus on everything that was going on around her. She scanned every inch of the yacht, looking for any clue she could find that might aide her in making the mission a success. Outwardly, however, there was little that seemed usable. Once on board, she prayed that changed.
“Have you heard anymore from the good Prince?” Mauvais asked casually, helping Nikita up the gangplank as they boarded the yacht.
“No, thank goodness!”
Mauvais nodded, but didn’t continue the conversation other than to ask if Nikita would like a drink.
“That would be wonderful. Some iced tea or lemonade, if you have it.”
Mauvais spoke to a steward who nodded and went off on his errand.
“What do we do first? Can I have a tour of the boat?” Nikita asked, leaning over the railing to gaze at the sea and suck in a deep breath of the salt air.
“Of course you can, but first we work. After lunch, I’ll give you that grand tour.”
“Ah, Nikita. . . “ A gravelly voice called from behind.
“Mr. Ivanovich!” Nikita gave him a dazzling smile. “Your yacht is magnificent!”
“Yes, capitalism does have its rewards, does it not?” The older man chuckled and took a long draw on his cigar.
Nikita nodded, thinking how perfectly disgusting the old man was. This man that sold women to men for profit. She hoped he choked on the cigar!
“Nikita—here is your tea.” Mauvais waved her over to a deck table and offered her a seat in the shade.
“Thanks.” Nikita took a sip of her drink, then looked out over the ocean. Suddenly she realized the ship was moving farther from land.
“Are we moving?” She asked carefully.
“Oh, just to make the crew happy. Mr. Ivanovich has kept them couped up in Sydney Harbor for several weeks. He likes to take the yacht out once in a while, just to keep the crew on their toes. We’ll be back well before five this afternoon. I thought you’d like to do a little sight-seeing.” Mauvais said, taking a sip of his drink.
“Oh? I wish you had told me sooner. I would have brought my camera.” Nikita pouted playfully.
“Oh, not to worry. I have several you can borrow, if you like.”
“Great. I’d like that.” Nikita took another drink. “I’ve always . . . “ Her voice trailed off softly.
“You’ve always what?” Mauvais asked, looking at her intently.
“I. . . .” Nikita looked down at the glass in her hand and saw double. Her tongue felt three times too big in her mouth as she tried to speak again. Her last thought damned her stupidity as the chloralhydrate in her tea made itself known.
“Well, that was easy.” Ivanovich looked at the young woman, face down on the table, and blew a cloud of smoke in her direction.
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