Page 101 of No Safe Place

It was the drill sergeant mercenary I’d spoken to. I’d bet money on it. Dude looked like a Green Beret.

I didn’t wave back. In the shadow of the second deck behind him, I could see a young woman sitting at an outdoor table. I looked at her arms pulled back behind her. Probably cuffed, but not to anything that I could see.

I looked at her face. It was Olivia. She seemed freaked out, of course, but healthy, alert, unharmed. She also didn’t look drugged or anything as far as I could tell.

I took a deep breath and checked my watch.

“Good,” I said to myself. “Good.”

As I motored in to around fifty yards, two of the four men on the top deck lifted long guns to their shoulders. The fifth one, a tall muscled bull of a black dude, lifted a bullhorn.

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE! POWER DOWN YOUR ENGINE AND DROP ANCHOR OR BE SHOT!” he yelled.

I nodded with enthusiasm as I immediately dialed back on the throttle.

They’d already brought the yacht in bumper tight by the time my anchor finished dropping. Standing on my main deck, I stared across at a large heartless-looking dude on the other side of his port gunwale.

Balding and pale, the guy had a slight resemblance to the ’80s singer Phil Collins. But he didn’t look like he was in the mood to sing a catchy love song. He was pointing a Benelli twelve-gauge tactical shotgun at my chest.

“Don’t shoot,” I said to the man with a wide smile. “I come in peace.”

Two more pale mercenaries appeared. They helped me over both gunwales, none too gently.

As I was deposited safely on board the beautiful yacht, the gigantic black dude arrived.

“Who else is on your boat?” he said.

His British accent surprised me.

“Nobody. Just me.”

“You better hope so,” he said, shoving me up against the wall.

The wide, smiling, tall Green Beret dude appeared to the left at the end of the starboard beam aisle as I was thoroughly frisked.

I smiled back in the soft gust of the breeze as I was led to the stern deck.

As I came into the sole, I glanced at Olivia in the shadow under the deck overhang. Her face was blank as she glanced back at me.

I quickly scanned the deck. To the left of the banquette that Olivia was sitting on was a set of stairs that led up to the pilothouse deck, and on her right was the closed door to the interior cabin.

“Noon on the button,” Shaw said as I stepped across the teak. “I like punctuality in a man.”

As we sat, I noticed the yacht moving away from my rental. You could barely hear the engines. It motored over about fifty yards to the north and then I heard the faint engines go to idle again.

What a boat, I thought again.

“Would you please give us some privacy?” the Green Beret said to the black Brit mercenary, who was still standing there, staring at me like he wanted to murder me.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Shaw. I won’t go too far,” the big Brit said.

89

“Mr. Shaw, is it? Where do you get your help, Mr. Shaw?” I said as the large man and his two lackeys walked back up the aisle toward the bow. “There isn’t one I’ve met so far that I’ve liked.”

“Beats me,” Shaw said. “I just work here.”

“Where’s Frank?” I said.

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