Caspian had to make an effort to keep a straight face. The receptionist had just given him what he’d come looking for. He could leave now, but what if he could get more intel out of the helpful receptionist? It was worth a shot.
“Also correct,” he replied.
“I’ll call Francisco,” she said, reaching for the desk phone next to her. “He’ll help you out.”
Caspian’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what he’d say to the broker. From where he stood, he could hear the phone ringing. It rang five times before Francisco’s voicemail picked up. The receptionist hung up with a frown.
“He’s not picking up,” she said, clearly annoyed. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I believe he’s out with a client.”
“I can’t come back later,” Caspian said, letting a touch of irritation bleed into his voice. “My client’s furious, and he’s threatening to pull any future bookings. I’m not leaving without something I can show him.”
Again, the receptionist hesitated, caught between protocol and practicality. An instant later, she gave in with a sigh.
“That’s just the thing,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything to show you. I didn’t see any damage listed in the file. There’s no incident report, and no invoice logged in our system. I really don’t understand how your client could have been billed.”
Caspian didn’t say anything. He let the silence sit just long enough to make her uncomfortable. After a few seconds, she offered a strained smile.
“Let me print the charter agreement for you,” she said. “I’m not supposed to, only the broker of record is, but this is silly. Normally, any damages would be reviewed after the charter ends.”
Caspian felt it was now the time to give the woman some slack.
“Maybe my client jumped the gun,” Caspian said. “He can be overly dramatic.”
She gave a half laugh and tapped a key. The printer behind her desk came to life, spitting out a three-page agreement.
“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “This should clear things up. If you want, I can have Francisco call you as soon as he’s back.”
He looked at the agreement, skimming over it. There it was.
Blackstone Security—Client
Justin Burton—Registered Skipper
Francisco Morientes—Broker of Record
He folded the sheets in half and looked at the receptionist.
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks for your help. You’ve been very professional.”
“Can I take your number in case Francisco needs to reach you?”
Caspian rattled off a bogus number, two digits off a real diplomatic number he’d once used in Geneva. She wrote it down without question.
“Thanks again,” he said, then turned and walked out of the office, the cool air giving way once again to the heat.
He unfolded the printout and stared at the names.
Justin Burton.He’d never heard the name.
Blackstone Security.That didn’t ring a bell, either, but he knew Samantha Ranger would find something. He’d call her once he was back in the Audi, with the air-conditioning at full blast. He folded the agreement again and slid it into a side pocket of his pack.
Chapter Forty-Two
Valencia, Spain
Verena waited twenty seconds after the man exited the brokerage office before following. Tailing someone solo wasn’t easy, but she’d done it before. She was experienced at this kind of thing. Still, the man she was following had dismantled her team with chilling efficiency, so she wasn’t going to underestimate him.
But right now, she had the upper hand. She had studied him, not the other way around. He didn’t know she was behind him; she was sure of it. She could tell by the way he walked. The crowd helped, because despite the heat, the promenade was packed. It was filled with locals out for their lunch break and with families returning from the beach. Somewhere behind her, jazz music drifted from one of the beachside cafés.
