As Zane pondered his next move, the boat swayed a bit. He looked up just in time to see one of the men stand and toss another cigarette into the Rhone. It looked as though the man might turn around, so Zane pulled his foot back. But rather than turn, the man simply stretched and said something to the other man before sitting back down.
Zane cursed under his breath. That was five wasted minutes. He had been only moments from pulling the knife back with his foot and then picking it up. Once the knife was in hand, it would be child’s play to cut the cuffs and dive into the icy water. Zane had also determined that if once in the water, he could easily swim around the corner of the building without coming up for air.
But he couldn’t afford to go through another five-minute exercise just to get his foot in position. The men at the front of the boat were moving more, which was perhaps an indication that the others would return soon. And if they did, the opportunity to retrieve the knife would be gone.
Zane knew that once the big event was over, he would become an expendable commodity. They would take him to some point along the river, put a bullet through his head, and sink him into the murky depths of the Rhone.
Which led him to one simple conclusion: when the time was right, he would make a bold move, one that would be the difference between life and death.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Skinner slowly released the hold on the pistol in his pocket. The approaching shadows had turned out to be a man walking his well-coiffed bichon frise. The elderly Swiss gent had tried to engage the operative in small talk, but Skinner was able to dismiss him by feigning an inability to understand French. Eventually, the man shrugged and walked away with his dog in tow, muttering something about rude tourists taking over the city.
Skinner checked the time on his phone. Based on Brett’s report, Carmen and Reid had been inside for the better part of thirty-five minutes. In all likelihood, the delay in communication was likely the result of having to sort through the hundreds of people attending. And of course, it was also possible that Mironov had not shown, perhaps due to the events on board the yacht. Anything was possible.
The operative lifted his monocular and took another look across the river. He could still see the crowd of people pressed up against the windows from one end to another. It was highly unlikely he’d be able to spot Mironov, yet the Russian did have physical features that could be discerned from a distance.
After several minutes, Skinner tired of the scanning the attendees and moved his monocular to examine the exterior of the building once again. When he did his body tensed as he caught the hint of movement down low near the water. He didn’t recall a walkway on the river side of the building. And yet, he knew something had moved. The area under the windows was dark, but Skinner moved the monocular around until he finally saw a dark object floating in the river. He turned the focus wheel until the image took shape, and when it did, his heart began to race. There was a boat with at least two figures huddled inside.
Despite turning the wheel back and forth, he was unable to make out any more detail. But the one thing that did become clear was that the boat was out of place. No attendee would have arrived by boat in such cold temperatures. And Skinner doubted that a Christmas party would require any sort of maritime security — for high-ranking politicians, yes, but not for physicists.
Taking a deep breath, the pulled his phone out and dialed.
CHAPTER FORTY
Reid’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket just as he and Carmen arrived at the row of doors at the rear of the hall. Pulling it out, he stared at the screen for a moment before tapping Carmen on the arm to indicate she should stop.
He then answered the phone as if taking a casual call. “Reid here.”
“I think you have company,” said Skinner.
“Who? Where?”
“A boat. It’s sitting in the river behind the building.”
“Anyone in it?”
“At least two, perhaps more. It’s very dark down near the waterline, so that’s the best I can do.”
“Where exactly?” Reid asked softly as two people walked past him.
“Not far from where the building turns. There appears to be a dock, with several doors leading out to that dock. Can you see them?”
“Hold on a sec.”
Reid leaned toward Carmen and relayed what Skinner had seen outside.
“If these doors lead to rooms,” she said, pointing toward the ones near where they were standing, “then I’m sure we can get to the outside through there. Tell him to hold tight and keep watching. And tell him to be ready to follow that boat if necessary.”
Reid nodded, relayed Carmen’s instructions to Skinner, and ended the call.
“He’s right,” said Reid in a low voice. “Something is going down. That’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Oh my.” Carmen grabbed Reid’s arm. “Look.”
“Look where?”
“Over there, by the second door.”
Reid turned his head slightly and saw a bald man standing just outside. “So what? He looks like one of the staff.”
“That is not one of the staff.” Carmen tried to look in another direction. “That’s the bald goon who chased Amanda Higgs and me across Lake Geneva.”
“And you recognize his bald skin how? There are probably dozens of bald men in here.”
“I’m telling you, that’s him. I’d know that face and that head anywhere.”
“Well, if you’re right, it means we’ve probably found Mironov.”
Carmen pulled Reid behind a group of people so they could watch the man without being seen. She didn’t think he’d recognize her in this setting, but she couldn’t be sure.
The man suddenly looked at the floor and touched the side of his head, as if listening to an earpiece. He nodded a couple of times, spoke into his cuff, and then looked around before entering the door behind him.
Carmen looked at Reid. “It’s time. Let’s move.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
It was soon after draining the last of the champagne that Markus VanGelder began to feel light-headed, more than he should have after one drink.
“Well, I must say this is good… very good,” he announced, staring at the empty flute. He chuckled. “I don’t drink much anymore, and it shows.”
After setting the glass on the table, he looked over at Mironov. The Russian had a blank stare on his face, and he was no longer smiling. “I only drink the best.”
“I can tell,” replied VanGelder. He dropped his head and rubbed his temple, confused at the potency of the drink. “I’m embarrassed to say… I’m really feeling this one. I need to be careful…”
“Just relax,” said Mironov.
As the symptoms grew worse, VanGelder raised his head and looked around the room. The table and chairs appeared fuzzy and were running together, almost as though his contact lenses had suddenly been removed. Despite his fading cognition, VanGelder began to realize it wasn’t the effect of the alcohol. Alarmed, he suddenly swiveled his head toward the Russian. “What did you do? What did you put…?”
Mironov leaned forward and calmly crossed his fingers on the table, the blank stare still frozen on his face. “You’re a decent man, Markus. One of the best in your field. But our plans were just too big for you.”
“What plans? What are you talking about?” VanGelder was finding it difficult to speak without slurring his words. “And what did you put in my drink?”