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“Running sounds exhausting, especially in flippers.”
Remi swatted him.
After a furtive scan of the empty lower-deck area near the transom, they mounted the stairs to it. The yacht had four stories above the hull. A soft swirling of jazz music drifted down from the second-story deck.
“Sounds like the party’s up there,” Remi whispered.
Sam nodded. “Question is whether we want to join in.”
“Prudence would dictate caution.”
“So we crash it?”
She gave him a knowing look. “If I said no, would that stop you?”
“Good point. Let’s sneak up and see who we’re dealing with.”
“Sneak? Wearing a wet suit? On a mega-yacht?”
“I didn’t say the plan couldn’t use some fine-tuning,” Sam admitted.
She smirked. “Lead on, O great hunter.”
He hoisted himself onto the second-level deck and found himself facing three extremely tanned young beauties wearing little more than smiles, lying on chaise longues around a hot tub. One of them glanced up and fixed Sam with a frank gaze, then lowered her sunglasses slowly to get a better look.
Four considerably older men sat gathered around a large teak table filled with epicurean fare and champagne, their cigar smoke pungent on the balmy breeze. A fifth, and younger, man stood at the portside railing, watching the Bermudez with binoculars. Sam regarded the seated group, and one of the men rose—an imposing figure, wearing a brightly colored Robert Graham shirt, ivory Armani silk-and-linen pants, and Prada loafers. Sam smiled and locked eyes with him. The man’s face registered shock for a few seconds, but quickly settled into a practiced grin, as genteel as the cream panama hat cocked rakishly on his head.
“Sam and Remi Fargo. What a pleasant surprise. How good of you to drop in,” he said, his upper-crust British accent unmistakable.
Sam sensed Remi behind him. Without turning to her, he approached the table with an equally friendly smile on his face and reached out to lift one of the champagne bottles from the sweating silver buckets. He studied the label for a second and then dropped the bottle back into the ice.
“Well, if it isn’t Janus Benedict. Still drinking Billecart-Salmon 1996, I see,” Sam said.
“I see no reason to change horses, having already backed a winner. If I might ask, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“We were over on that other ship, saw yours, and were wondering if you had any Grey Poupon.”
“Ah, the infamous Fargo humor asserts itself. Well met,” Janus replied, his tone steeped in an elegant civility that perfectly complemented his graying pencil-thin mustache.
The other three seated men eyed the Fargos with guarded amusement, enjoying the interlude—it was obvious to everyone at the table that Janus and the Fargos were old adversaries.
The younger man approached Janus and murmured in his ear, “Janus. What are you doing? Throw them off . . . now. Or better yet—”
Janus silenced him with a curt gesture. He moved him away and spoke into his ear. “Reginald, stop,” he hissed. “Stop right now. One should always keep one’s enemies close, the better to understand their mind.”
“It’s insanity.” Reginald reached toward the rear of his waist, where a pistol was concealed by his loose shirt.
“Reginald, you may be my brother, but you escalate this on my boat and there’ll be hell to pay. Think. Just for a second. Bring a weapon into the equation and we’re out of options. So stop it, now, and go back to studying your navel while the adults play.” Janus pulled away and returned his attention to the new arrivals. “Please. I insist. Some champagne. And, Remi, may I say that you look as ravishing as ever . . .”
Remi had removed her dive hood and unzipped her wet suit. “Ever the silver-tongued devil, aren’t you, Janus?”
“I’d have to be made of stone to be oblivious to your beauty, dear lady,” Janus said, then took his seat and snapped his fingers. A steward in white slacks and a matching short-sleeved shirt with black epaulets materialized from inside the upstairs salon.
“Bring two more chairs for my guests, as well as some proper glasses. And be quick about it,” Janus ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
Like rabbits from a hat, two more stewards appeared bearing chairs and champagne flutes. Remi and Sam took seats at the table. The shorter of the servants poured them both glasses of champagne, which sparkled like effervescent gold in the bright sun.
