He knew that such an indulgence was forbidden while on duty, but he didn’t really care. He had been in a foul mood for most of the day and wasn’t going to be denied a small moment of pleasure.
His foul mood had begun shortly after another boat had arrived that afternoon. The smaller craft was filled with Russian and Ukrainian beauties, leggy blondes and brunettes that one could easily imagine walking down a runway in Paris or New York. Flown in from Moscow on a chartered flight, they were said to be a gift from Mironov himself. The big event, the one nobody dared to discuss, was about to take place, and to celebrate, the Russian billionaire wanted to give his men a night of pleasure before the final preparations began.
All that seemed fine until Pavel received some startling news from Dmitry Navalny, otherwise known as the Serpent because of the tattoo on his neck. The Serpent told him that he and two other members of the team would not be indulging their fantasies below deck after all. Due to their short time with the organization, they’d been chosen to keep watch over the ship. Mironov never allowed the boat to just sit in the water without at least three security personnel keeping watch. The Serpent went on to explain that there might be another opportunity with the women after the big event took place, but until then he would take one for the team. And while it made sense, Pavel still burned with anger over the decision. In fact, the anger was magnified as he thought about what might be going on below deck.
He did respect the fact that the Serpent wasn’t taking part himself. Earlier in the evening, just after dark, the Serpent and several other members of the security team departed with Mironov and Marrese to parts unknown. They left in the former priest’s smaller craft, and there were whispers that they were on their way to Montreux or Geneva.
As Pavel took another draw on his cigarette, a door opened behind him. The back of the boat was bathed in light, and the sound of trance music burst forth. Pavel hid his cigarette and swiveled around to see who it was. Standing in the lit doorway was one of his comrades, a drink in one hand and a brunette in the other. The brunette seemed to be nibbling on his neck while he looked around for a place for them to enjoy their privacy, but as soon as his eyes fell upon Pavel, he pulled the girl back inside. As the door closed, Pavel could have sworn he saw the woman look over at him and wink.
He clenched his jaw at the thought of what he was missing, which caused him to angrily toss the remainder of the cigarette into the lake. He watched the flying butt soar out over the water like a miniature missile. And then, just as the cigarette was about to hit the surface, he saw it — something that hadn’t been there seconds before was floating on the water.
A frown crossed his face. Had it been there before? He was certain it hadn’t. And what was it? From that distance, it looked like a mound of vegetation, which was confusing because he hadn’t seen that on the lake before.
Gripped with curiosity, the Russian stood and squinted at the unidentified floating object. To his surprise, the mass moved in his direction, sliding across the surface of the lake as though propelled by an unseen force. It reminded Pavel of a crocodile drifting toward its prey in one of those animal programs he had seen on television.
His heart beating faster, the Russian reached down and grabbed his rifle. He stood up and walked over to the gunwale for a closer look. When he arrived at the side of the boat, he could see that it was indeed a mound of vegetation. Not only was it moving toward the boat, but it spun.
Seconds later, the mound actually seemed to rise a bit. Something was moving beneath the surface, and the Russian instinctively knew that it was trouble. His hands shaking, he lifted the rifle into position and slid a finger over the trigger. As he took aim, something rose out of the vegetation, and his heart froze with fear. Two seconds later there was a popping sound, and a projectile flew out of the mass and affixed to his chest. The Russian grunted in pain as the electroshock from a Taser seized his body. His muscles completely paralyzed, he fell over the gunwale and into the cold water of Lake Geneva.
At the precise moment Pavel's body hit the surface, a head and chest rose out of the water a few feet away. The figure swam over to the Russian, wrapped an arm around his chest, and pulled him to a ladder on the side of the yacht. The figure then turned, lifted a laser pointer into the air, and made two quick signals toward a point out on the lake.
Approximately thirty seconds later, an inflatable boat appeared out of the darkness. Two men in neoprene black suits were crouched inside, rowing in relative silence. When they were within about ten feet of the yacht, they stopped rowing and allowed the boat to glide the remaining distance. The smaller craft arrived, and the figure in the water guided it over to the ladder and tied it down. All three boarded the yacht, pulling the limp Russian with them.
The three crouched in a defensive posture, their pistols raised, as they surveyed the area. Satisfied that all was clear, they bound the Russian with flex-cuffs and stuffed him into a storage compartment near the stern.
Having eliminated their first obstacle, the figures moved toward the nearest door.
Anatoli Lobov stopped in mid-sentence and looked at his partner, Fedor Litvin. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
The two men stood on the port bow of the Grey Goose. Despite being on duty, they had just been discussing how they might figure out a way to meet some of the beauties that were partying below deck. The more conservative Anatoli had recommended they wait until the next morning and approach them at breakfast, while Fedor suggested they each go down now, one at a time, on the pretense of using the bathroom. He figured that if they were lucky enough, they might be able to run into one of girls and strike up a conversation.
“It sounded like a splash,” Anatoli said.
“I heard nothing. You wish it was you splashing around with one of the ladies.” Fedor slapped Anatoli on the back and opened a nearby door. Trance music thumped loudly for a moment before the door closed shut. Anatoli frowned. He knew the splash was too loud to have simply been Pavel tossing a piece of trash into the lake. Concerned, he reached inside his down jacket and pulled out his radio. He used his thumb to press a button on the side and spoke into the device, “Pavel, are you there? Over.”
The Russian released his thumb, and there was only crackling. No response. He pressed the button again. “Pavel, come in.”
Once again, there was only static. Something wasn’t right, and he knew it.
Anatoli was an organization man, always looking for ways to move up. He hoped to have Koehler’s job one day, and would do everything necessary to get there, which meant that if there was a problem at the rear of the boat, he wanted to be the one to take care of it.
Sliding the radio back into his pocket, he walked to the starboard side of the bow. There was a walkway on that side that ran all the way to the rear of the yacht. It was time to go back there and figure out what was going on.
As he began to walk, the Russian wondered why Pavel hadn’t answered his radio. Was he inside taking a leak? Was he playing some kind of prank? He doubted either was true. All he knew was that the whole thing didn’t feel right.
A slight thumping sound drew Anatoli out of his thoughts. What was that? It had sounded like footsteps, and yet it was hard to be sure. Noises had a way of morphing and echoing in strange ways out on the water.