Chapter 30

Winnie and I briefed the Judge on our conversation with Hussein. He seemed preoccupied, and suggested that, in the next twenty-four hours, we look for a messenger with a special package that we might like. Winnie said that could be guns for us, so we needed to find time and privacy to get some practice shooting. She was still under the impression that I was a lamb in the woods, but that wasn't entirely bad. Even if I completed my specialized training, she was the expert, and I was the neophyte.

We made our daily trek to the casino and hobnobbed with the cream of the Euro trash crop, high priced hookers, and people trailing in the wake of the mega rich, hoping for crumbs from their table.

Late that night I hit an amazing lucky streak of luck at blackjack and wound up winning four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, before I was too tired to continue. The Hussein and Massoud stayed nearby but didn't hover, cling, or try to make more of our budding business relationship than was normal.

Winnie seemed very alert whenever she walked to the rest rooms. I suppose that she was afraid that Massoud would follow her in and try to have his way with her. I'd hate to be him if he got too fresh, and Winnie felt she had to protect herself. Limping would be Massoud's smallest problem when she got done with him.

We were back on the ATLANTIC MOON, asleep by four, and awakened by the beside-phone at seven-thirty. "Excuse me sir," said our chief steward, James, "I am terribly sorry to disturb you, but a man is at the dock with a package for you but refuses to allow me to retrieve it. He says he must give it to you personally."

"Thank you Mr. James," I responded, throwing him off balance. It seemed like he was never going to get used to my referring to him as, 'Mr. James.' "I will be out shortly and please remain nearby to keep an eye on me while I pick up the package."

"Of course, sir," he replied instantly. "I will alert the chief of security to be present with an assistant when you come forward. Thank you, very much, sir." He was a bit too obsequious for me, but a hell of a good butler.

Our Chief of Security, Edward Olson, met me coming out of our stateroom, armed and very deadly looking. "Stand down, Mr. Olson. I was only being cautious. There is no expectation of a problem, but I deeply appreciate your level of concern and quick response." He took my words in stride, never giving an inch. I hoped whoever was out there had no bad intentions, because Ed might take his head off.

We walked forward, and I was aware of four more of our crew placed strategically near the gangway. Whoever the Judge sent was probably laughing his butt off right then. But ... Better safe than sorry, especially when playing for these stakes.

At the foot of our dock stood a nondescript man, wearing clothing designed to keep anyone from noticing that he existed. His face was a mask. The man gave nothing away, as he waited to surrender the package sent by the Judge. "Here's your mail, buddy," he quipped, tossing the box to me.

I nearly buckled under the weight and would have certainly been completely defenseless when he brought up his pistol, except that Edward and company put him down with four simultaneous shots fired from the rail, the gangway, and the second deck. He'd tossed the box to get me off guard and tie up my hands so he could finish me off, but my team was better than he thought or expected.

Ed was beside me screaming orders, kicking the pistol away, shoving me up the gangway, and looking in every direction for more shooters. Winnie came flying out of the salon doors, gun-in-hand, and rushed to my side, pulling me up and out of danger. On the main dock, people were trying to figure out what just happened, and Ed used the momentary distraction to push the shooter's body off the dock, into the murky water. Another crewman instantly got out a high-pressure hose and washed the dock clean of any evidence that something had happened, and it all occurred in less time than people walking nearby needed to register the shooting.

By the time anyone was alert enough to look for the source of gunfire, everything looked normal on our dock, and their eyes moved along, searching for the noise. Just then an old motorcycle backfired, and the few curious people attributed the noise to it.

Inside Winnie was on her special phone, talking a mile a minute. I could catch a bit of what was said, but not enough to add anything. We apparently had a local agent assigned to help us out, and our crew was mostly made up of contractors hired by the Judge. When Mr. Delivery Man tried to kill me, they knew what to expect, what to do, and what to do next.

The box turned out to contain four bricks, wrapped in bubble wrap to make it too heavy to manage without tying up two hands. Our shooter clearly planned to take me out before I, or anyone else could respond, and walk away unnoticed. Instead, Edward and his team put him out of the game for good.

The next four hours went by at light speed. Our crew was magically transformed into professional secret agents, who retrieved the body, and packaged it for examination to determine where he came from, and hopefully, who sent him. They cleaned the dock until it shined, used a black light to make sure no biological matter was left behind, and guarded me like I was the King of England. The electronics experts swept the yacht clean of all surveillance equipment, and installed blocking devices to make it impossible, at least in theory, for us to be electronically monitored while anywhere aboard. The exceptions were our own devices registered to our intelligence receiving station ahead of time.

At the five-hour mark, the Judge walked in with Mr. No Name. They led me to the safe room and debriefed me for almost two hours, while checking to see if the forensic people had anything to tell us. The debrief was exhausting, and when they realized I knew absolutely nothing of use, they gave up and began to examine our security set up with an eye toward beefing it up.

"We can't have what happened this morning ever happen again. You survived because of a lucky break, not because of our vigilance," the Judge said, seriously. We need to find out who sent the shooter, why, and how they knew I was expecting a package. Once we know, we'll know who to disappear." I felt a chill when he pronounced sentence on the people who caused this.

Mr. No Name took over and briefed me on the next phase of our operation. "Hussein has decided you are his next best chance for whatever it is he has in mind. What we don't know is what he has in mind. You are our only conduit, but if this is going to turn into a bloodbath, I'll have our wet-work men put all three of them in the ground. Then we end their run of bad news for American businesses, and just forget about what they can tell us, where they can lead us, and what we might learn by letting this run out."