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Dusty looked over at Stan and Grady and nodded, then the three of them quietly slipped into the sea.
Dusty glided through the dark water, slowly kicking his fins, his gear strapped to his chest: a dive knife with a six-inch sawback blade, a tranquilizer dart gun, and his waterproof M4 carbine.
The darkness enveloped him, but he’d learned well in SEAL training how to overcome the creeping panic of being in water entirely pitch black below, and only slightly less dark above by focusing on the mission.
The three of them operated as a team, with Grady in charge of keeping them on the correct course headings. Dusty and Stan would be the eyes forward, and the keeper of time and number of kicks. This count allowed them to know when to surface.
They didn’t have far to go, perhaps a kilometer, or click in naval terms.
As they swam, they retreated fully into the zone—an almost meditative state, where focus on the task at hand, the elapsed time, and the number of kicks became like a mantra.
It took about fifteen minutes to make the swim.
They came to the surface to check their proximity. The yacht was about fifty meters away. All seemed quiet aboard. Grady motioned with a two-finger wave, and the three men continued on and came up at the aft diving platform. They listened for any sounds but heard nothing.
Dusty slipped his fins off and set them on the platform, then crept up the ladder, removing his breathing apparatus. He unstrapped his dart gun and waited until Grady and Stan were ready, then the three of them moved forward in quiet formation.
Grady took the port gangway and up the stairs to the upper helm where he darted a first mate dozing in the captain’s chair. Stan took the starboard side, clearing the forward area, while Dusty descended the stairs toward the lower salon.
***
Asia tossed and turned in her bed but couldn’t find a comfortable position. It wasn’t the expensive mattress’s fault; she couldn’t get her mind to rest. Something didn’t feel right. Ever since they’d left the penthouse, she’d had more questions swirling in her head.
Finally, she tossed the covers off and got up. She hobbled across the stateroom, thinking that perhaps some fresh air on deck would do her good. She paused as she passed another door. Kristina had told her there were four staterooms on the yacht, and she knew that sometime after she’d retired, Rocco had come aboard.
She leaned closer and listened.
“How did it go, sir? Five million? That’s quite a night, especially for such short notice, but then your events are so exclusive they really are a sought-after invitation.”
There was a short pause and a chuckle.
“Yes, there never seems to be a shortage of demand for that sort of thing, is there, sir? Was the sheik satisfied this time? It’s unfortunate what happened after his last visit. You just never know with these girls, do you? Of course, it’s not your fault what happens after they leave, is it? It was good of you to arrange this evening just for him. Will you be taking off soon, then?”
“Very good, sir. Yes, she’s sleeping soundly, but I have to tell you she’s asking a lot of damn questions. No, nothing more about Mia, thank God. You’re really going to have to make a decision about her soon.”
Suddenly he flung his door open, and Asia and he were face to face.
Her eyes widened.Oh, shit.
“Fine, sir. I’ll see you soon.” Rocco shoved his phone in his pocket and stared at her. “What are you doing outside my door? Listening to my phone call?”
“I was just—”
He grabbed her by her upper arm and hauled her toward him, when suddenly there was a bumping sound overhead. They both stared at the ceiling.
“What was that?” Asia murmured.
Before Rocco could answer, a dark figure came down the passageway, the gun in his hands straight at Rocco.
“Step away from the girl,” the deep-voiced ordered.
The man looked like military. Soon another man joined him, also with a gun pointed toward them.
Rocco let her go, and she backed up until she came up against the wall. Terror seized her body as her stomach dropped, and all the blood seemed to drain to her feet.
Without another word, the first man fired, and a dart imbedded itself in Rocco’s thigh. He barely had time to react before he slid to the floor in a heap.
Asia screamed and turned to run. The man was on her in a second, grabbing her as she tried to slam her stateroom door shut between them. He shoved it open easily and followed her in.
