Page 87 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

“And Jon?”

“Didn’t meet him until last year. They went to college; I went into the US Navy.”

The way he said it, he meant for me to be impressed, so I figured I’d play along.

“Cool. So were you, like, on a boat? Did you go to many places? I remember a guy came to my school to talk about careers, and he said it was a great way to see the world.”

“Yeah, I travelled all over. Guam, Hawaii, Japan, Russia, Korea.”

Wait, Cole told me that Witt was in the Navy for three years. Where had he heard that? Five deployments was unusual in such a short time period.

“That’s amazing. Was it dangerous?”

“Yeah, sometimes. One time, we had to rescue this hostage from North Korea and—” He paused and glanced behind him. “Forget I said that. It was real hush-hush.”

And real bullshit.

There had only been two hostage situations in DPRK in the past several years. I knew that because Priest had been called to consult, and in the end, they’d both been resolved by diplomatic means. Plus there was no way a regular enlisted would be involved in an op as complex as a hostage rescue in hostile territory. That was the SEALs’ domain, and this kid was no SEAL.

Oh, but wait…

“After that, they wanted me for the SEALs, but I turned them down.”

Nah, dude, that wasn’t how the SEALs worked. They didn’t headhunt you. Okay, so I was special ops and I’d been recruited in a slightly unorthodox manner, but that was different. There was no standard path to the point teams the way there was to the SEALs. Next, he was gonna tell me he’d been offered a place in DEVGRU.

“Why would you turn them down?” I asked. “Aren’t the SEALs, like, the best of the best?”

“Yeah, but they don’t get paid shit.”

This guy was a real dick. Didn’t he understand there were more important things in life than money? Yes, I had a healthy bank account and enough disposable income to payfor luxuries like Marcel and my money pit of a Porsche, but I could earn ten times more if I went freelance.

“I suppose that’s a reason. So, what do you do now?”

“I invest.”

“Invest? In what?”

“Projects that have potential.” He gave a smarmy little smile. This idiot was insufferable. “I’ve been trading crypto for a while.”

Come back, Delroy, all is forgiven.

“And it’s going well?”

“Yeah, I’m making plenty.”

More bullshit. If he were making more than a Navy SEAL, he’d be relaxing in an overwater bungalow in Bora Bora, not tagging along with Dr. Blaylock. And he wouldn’t be living in a pool house either. Sure, some money-conscious folks might do that to save cash, but a man like Witt with his braggadocio and his knockoff Tommy Hilfiger shorts—and I knew they were knockoff because the Hilfiger part was spelled with two Gs—was unlikely to be frugal.

“Good for you.”

I squeezed past him out of the saloon and headed for the cabin I shared with Cole. It was the smallest double on the boat—Dr. Blaylock was in the master stateroom at the bow, Clint had the cabin beside it, while Jon and Witt each had two bunk beds in their rooms. Delroy’s single berth was empty, awaiting his arrival in five days’ time.

In our cabin, Cole had left a folder with the paperwork, including the manifest and photocopies of everyone’s passports. I snapped a picture of Witt Andrew Haviland’s, then added Clint Vermont Baker’s and Jon Robert Marston’s documents too. I sent the whole lot to Ari with a note.

If you won’t update me on the Ace investigation, could you atleast run background checks on these three? I’m stuck on the boat with them, and I’m curious.

J

Then I flopped onto the bed, closed my eyes, and counted imaginary bullet holes until I fell asleep.

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