Page 48 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

We follow the sound into the engine compartment and spot two rectangular explosive charges. One is attached beside the fuel manifold and propulsion-control lines. The other sits against the inner hull near the bilge. A red display on the nearest charge counts down from eleven minutes and forty-three seconds.

Ledger stares at it. “Anton really doesn’t handle rejection well.”

I crouch beside the first device without touching it. The placement tells me what he wants. “Diversion.”

Ledger looks at me.

“He gets off the yacht with Celeste, kills power and propulsion behind him, and leaves everyone else dealing with an explosion and a possible hull breach instead of following.”

“Including us.”

“I doubt that bothers him.”

The second charge has no visible timer. Wires run from both devices into the yacht’s control system.

Neither is positioned for maximum casualties.

That doesn’t make them safe.

One fire in this compartment could turn ugly fast, and a breach below the waterline on a yacht this size could become everyone’s problem in a hurry.

Eleven minutes isn’t enough time to fully disarm a system we haven’t seen before, but we can hopefully keep it from turning the Aurelia into a floating disaster.

The door opens behind us, and a young man in a crew uniform steps inside, gun raised with both hands. He can’t be older than twenty-two. His grip is wrong, his breathing is fast, and there’s a fresh smear of blood near his hairline. He looks scared. Not committed.

I lower my stolen gun slightly. Ledger looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“You don’t want to fire that in here,” I tell the man.

He shakes his head. “Drop your weapon.”

Ledger says, “If you shoot, there’s a good chance you hit something pressurized or flammable.”

“I’m betting they told you we were trapped,” I say. “Did they tell you about the explosives?”

“What explosives?”

His gaze follows mine. He sees the nearest charge, and his face drains of color.

Ledger eases sideways, placing himself closer to the emergency fire-suppression controls.

“They paid you to help take over the yacht,” I say.

The young man says nothing.

“They promised you’d get off with them afterward.”

His eyes flick toward me. “They said everyone who cooperated would be fine.”

I nod toward the bomb. “Does that look like everyone is going to be fine?”

His gun lowers by half an inch. I’ve become someone he might trust.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

He hesitates, then says, “Jonah.”

“Jonah, we need the bridge access code, and we need to know what Anton’s people have control of.”