“Not yet,” Caspian said. “Has anyone contacted you?”
“Yes. Orders have changed. I was told to expect two passengers, but not anymore.”
“We need to pick up someone,” Caspian said. “A friend of mine.”
“No, we don’t. Hop in—” she started to say but stopped when Caspian brought up his pistol.
The woman sighed, but didn’t look overly worried. It was clear to Caspian this wasn’t the first time someone had pointed a gun at her. She remained composed, contrary to her colleague who looked like he was about to vomit.
“I told him this was going to happen,” Caspian heard the woman murmur. Then louder, she asked, “Can I reach for my phone? It’s in my pocket.”
“Slowly,” Caspian warned her.
The woman dialed a number, then put it on speaker.
“What is it, Frieda? Why aren’t you on your way?”
Caspian recognized the voice instantly. It belonged to Nicklas Drescher.
“I’m afraid Mr. Anderson isn’t cooperating,” Frieda said, her eyes boring into Caspian.
“Let me speak to him,” Drescher said.
“I can hear you, Nicklas,” Caspian said, lowering his gun.
“A team from the consulate is already en route to her last known location,” the German spymaster said. “Please follow Frieda’s instructions. She’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Valencia, Spain
Francisco Morientes thanked the barista with a bright smile and stepped out into the morning sun, a double espresso in hand. The scent of the sea, mixed with the aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearbypanadería, drew another smile from him. He loved this town, and he loved his life. He was living the dream.
As he walked along the curved path that followed the marina’s edge, he passed a row of sailboats, their freshly polished hulls catching the sunlight. He recognized one of the sailboats, a six-year-old, forty-six-foot Beneteau Oceanis. Its previous owner, a lovely lady who had inherited it from her husband, had given him the listing. The boat hadn’t sold, and the lady had ended up gifting it to her son who wasn’t using it more than once or twice per month. In Francisco’s opinion, the boat was being underutilized, which was a shame.
A bit farther on, he spotted a Riva Virtus, a sixty-three-foot Italian beauty he’d never seen before at the marina. The boat had aggressive lines and a low, muscular profile. Boats like these made his heart beat faster.
It’s probably a transit,he thought. But he made a note to come back a bit later and introduce himself to its owner. Who knew, maybe he could convince them to move into an even bigger, newer yacht?
Francisco smiled at a crew hosing down the deck of a Sunseeker, then waved at a harbormaster he’d gotten to know over the last year. Francisco liked people, and they liked him back. He had a quick smile, always made time for a chat, and was good at remembering their names. But under that easygoing charm was a relentless drive. He wasn’t in this game to be liked—though in this business it helped that he was—he was in it to win.
His parents had never understood his love for the yachting industry. His father had sold cars for thirty years and still lived in the same two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Valencia. His mother, a nurse, had always told him to find something stable.
“Get a government job, Francisco,” she’d said. “One with a pension.”
Instead, Francisco had followed an attractive yacht broker on Instagram when he was sixteen. That woman’s feed had changed his life. Every post of hers had fed Francisco’s ambition. It seemed that every week she was on a different superyacht or at a different boat show. And the car she drove, that Maserati convertible she raced along Monaco’s streets ... that’s the life he wanted. And he knew it was up to him to build it. It wasn’t going to be handed to him.
So, he’d studied hard, got good grades in high school, and got accepted at the IE Business School in Madrid. His parents didn’t have the money to support him, so during the summer months, he’d worked fifteen-hour days, six days a week, washing boats to pay for his tuition. And he’d taken his job seriously, always going above and beyond. The owners appreciated his hard work, and he’d befriended many of them. During his last year of college, he had made friends with trust fund kids by starting a yachting club, which had given him the experience he needed—and the connections—to get a job as a junior yacht broker in Valencia. Now, at only twenty-four, he was already closing deals the other junior brokers at the brokerage firm could only dream about. He still lived with his parents, yes, but not for long. Not if he kept closing these lucrative deals.
Francisco arrived at the brokerage’s glass-fronted office and opened the door. He stepped into the cool air-conditioned space and made his way to his desk, waving a hand to Esmeralda, the hardworking receptionist and office manager. Francisco’s desk was located by a large window with a view of the canal that linked the east and west sides of the marina. He tossed the empty espresso cup in the bin, sat down, and woke up his computer. The screen flickered to life, showing the digital dashboard of the brokerage firm’s yacht-management system.
He rubbed his hands together, looking forward to whatever was coming his way that day.
Francisco’s last deal, a two-week charter for the Azimut S8 he managed for the owner, had brought in close to 45,000 euros in commission for the firm. He’d only pocketed 30 percent, but that was still over 13,000 euros in his account.
Tonight, he was taking his girlfriend, Jana, out to celebrate. He’d met her in business school. She was brilliant, funny, and gorgeous, especially with the oversize sunglasses that made her look like a movie star. Francisco could already picture the life they’d build together ... in Monaco. Once he’d gotten his promotion to senior broker, he would pitch his boss the idea to open a branch in the principality. A branch he, Francisco, would manage.
He opened his inbox. No new inquiries for the yachts he had for sale, but there was a new notification. He clicked on it. The app was no longer in contact with theVeloce’s onboard systems. It had also lost the GPS signal over the weekend.
