Targets of Revenge (15 page)

“Well,” Sandor said as he hoisted his own glass, “nice to meet you Lilli.” Then he watched her drink. Sandor always figured he could tell a lot about a person, especially a woman, by the way they take the first sip of a cocktail. Lilli was not shy about draining a serious portion of the vodka before replacing the glass on the bar, and that told him plenty. “So, now that we’ve dealt with your thirst, what else can I do for you?”

She appeared surprised by the question.

“Come on, Lilli, you didn’t just happen to pick me out of this crowd by chance.”

The girl’s expression went as blank as a sheet of copy paper.

Sandor had another pull at his drink. “That’s very good, you must work on that look.” When Lilli did not respond, he said, “Can’t let these get warm, can we?”

She picked up the cocktail, her long, slender fingers wrapped elegantly around the glass, and had another taste. “Vodka is lousy when it’s warm,” she agreed, not putting the drink down just yet.

He nodded. “So, how about you tell me who you are and who asked you to chat me up and where we’re supposed to go from here?”

She took a moment before she said, “You’re really all business, aren’t you?”

“Me? That may be the first time a beautiful woman has ever accused me of that.” He was staring into her aquamarine eyes again. “My guess, however, is that you’re the one who’s all business. At least as far as this discussion is concerned.”

“Ooh, that’s cold.”

“Some people think my honesty is charming.”

She gave her head a slow, purposeful shake, long auburn hair dancing across her shoulders. “There’s a difference between blunt and honest, Mr. Sandor.”

He responded with a knowing grin. “I see you have the advantage there.”

“How’s that?”

“You know my last name and I only know you as Lilli.”

“You just told me. Jordan Sandor, right?”

“Right name, wrong play. I never gave my last name. So let’s get back to why you’re here.”

For the first time he thought he saw something in her face that appeared authentic. She put the glass on the bar, then turned back to him and said, “I screwed that one up, didn’t I?”

“New at this?”

“Totally.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

She responded with an embarrassed nod.

“So, who sent you?”

“I suppose there’s no way around answering you.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

Another nod. Then, “There’s a group of Russians partying on a huge yacht down near South Harbor. I was on board with a few girlfriends. The man who owns it asked me to find you.”

“Asked you, ordered you, or paid you?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“He paid me.”

“And you just happened to stroll in here and find me at the bar?”

She turned back to her drink and lifted the glass. This time she only took a small sip. “This is the third place I tried. Just came from the Fifties Bar.”

“That was my next stop.”

“That’s funny, huh?”

“Hilarious. We almost became ships passing in the night.”

“Except I found you.”

“So you got that part right. Now what?”

“I’m supposed to get you to come to the party.”

“That’s it?”

“As far as I know.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to have to give the money back.” Sandor drained off what was left in his glass. “We in any rush to get there?”

Now it was her turn to give him a once-over. After a long look and a brief smile, she said, “Not that I know of.”

“Good,” he replied. “Let’s have another one of these. Can’t fly on one wing.”

S
ANDOR DECIDED IT
would be best to take his time before arriving at the party at South Harbor. There was no point in appearing too eager in accepting the invitation. For now he would focus on the comings and goings in Little Buddha, just in case Lilli had a trailer, or an unfriendly face appeared in the crowd.

Even as he kept an eye on things it was difficult not to keep returning his attention to Lilli. Her well-shaped legs were worthy of her height and the tight blouse she was wearing displayed enough of her smooth, full breasts to draw his gaze more than once. Putting all that together with her lovely face, it was easy to be distracted.

As Sandor knew only too well, however, decoys come in different shapes and sizes. It was not impossible that the girl was there to encourage him to become careless, or perhaps to draw him outside, where the festivities planned for him would be short-lived and violent.

They were well into their second drink when he asked, “So Lilli, what exactly did they suggest you do to convince me to show up for their little shindig?”

The girl shrugged. “I’m not enough?”

Sandor grinned. “That, as they say, remains to be seen.”

“There are a lot of other pretty girls there. Does that help?”

“It might. Are they all as gorgeous as you?”

“I would say yes.”

“ ‘Yes’ works for me.” He had another look around. It did not appear
they were being watched, but he was still not convinced. “You know, I have a terrific room at the Ritz, haven’t spent any real time in it yet, but it has a great view. I think we should go have a look. Bet we can get drinks there, too.”

“Jordan Sandor, are you propositioning me?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

She treated him to another smile. “I wondered what was taking you so long.”

————

He paid the check and they left the club, but not before Sandor tipped the girl at the front and had her get a cab to pull right up to the front door. When she confirmed the car was there he made a quick exit, his left hand on Lilli’s arm, his right on the Rohrbaugh in his pocket.

If someone meant to take him out right here he saw no evidence of that, and the girl was not a good enough actress to fake the relaxed attitude she carried from the bar into the taxi. Still, whatever they did or did not have in store for him, he figured it would make sense to remove himself from public view for a while.

The cab dropped them at the Ritz-Carlton and they went straight to his room. He opened the courtesy bar, fixed them each a vodka rocks, then stood beside her at the large window, sharing a look at the glittering panorama of Sharm el-Sheikh at night.

“Beautiful,” said Lilli.

“The view is better in here,” he said.

She turned to him, an expectant look in her lovely eyes. He took the glass from her hand and placed it on the table. Then he put his arms around her and drew her toward him.

“You need to know something,” she said after he kissed her gently on the lips.

“What’s that?”

“This part was not paid for.”

He drew back slightly and had another good look at her. “I didn’t think it was.”

“Good,” she whispered. “I just wanted to tell you.”

When they kissed again it was deep and long and passionate and, for what it was worth, he believed her. Then he told her so.

————

They spent the next part of the next two hours exploring some of each other’s secrets—such as the sexy little flower tattoo just above the center of Lilli’s firm ass, a couple of scars on Jordan’s chest he promised to explain later, and a mutual affinity for long kisses, slow erotic movements, and each other. They finished creating a damp, tangled jigsaw puzzle of the sheets, which the maids would have to sort out later, then they showered and got themselves ready to leave. As Lilli was putting herself back together in the marble bathroom, Sandor had a quick look inside her purse.

Her credit cards and driver’s license said she really was a Lillian, last name Mindlovitch, living on the Upper East Side of Manhattan—just across town from Sandor. There was nothing of help beyond that. He put the cards back in place, concluding that she was what she claimed to be—a party girl who had been sent to find him and bring him to the yacht in South Harbor.

During the taxi ride to the dock he asked where she was born.

“Moscow. But I’ve lived in New York for years.”

“Sharm el-Sheikh is pretty far from New York.”

“Got here this week. Some old friends asked me to come over.”

“You’re too young to have old friends.”

She laughed.

“You enjoying this place?”

“It can be fun.”

“So you’ve demonstrated.”

She smiled. Then she took his hand and squeezed it.

“How is it your English is so perfect?”

“My mother brought me to the States when I was six.”

“Your father?”

“Disappeared years ago. That’s when we left Moscow.”

“Your mother still in New York?”

“She died two years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry. She must have been young.”

“Very.”

“Sisters, brothers?”

She turned to him and, even in the darkness, he could see the answer in her eyes. “Only me,” she said.

Sandor had a world of advice he wanted to share with her, but he said nothing. For now he had a job to do.

————

It was not far from the hotel to South Harbor. They got out of the cab and she led him to the private dock entrance, punched in a code that opened the entry gate, then led him to a launch at the end of the pier.

There were two men waiting, one sitting on a wooden bench enjoying a smoke, the other standing in the cockpit of the motorboat. As Sandor and the girl approached, the man with the cigarette stood and, without a word, tossed the butt into the water and set about removing the docking line. The pilot started the engines.

There was no greeting, not to the girl or to him. They watched as Lilli slipped off her stiletto heels and let Sandor help her on board. Then they cast off and were on their way.

T
HERE WERE TIMES
when Sandor’s friend, Bill Sternlich, could not resist the reporter’s impulse to ask about the
why
of the things Sandor did. He understood that Sandor would never share the specifics of
what
he did, but Sternlich remained fascinated that a man he knew so well could repeatedly put himself in harm’s way with no apparent regard for the risks, seeming only to be concerned about the results.

As Sandor sat beside Lilli, saying nothing as the launch approached the enormous yacht looming ahead of them, he was thinking about Sternlich and how he had tried to answer his friend’s questions. It was not that Sandor did not experience fear—only a fool would fail to recognize the dangers he faced. It was about putting those worries aside because there was something that needed to be done and he had the skills to do it.

Tonight he was going to confront men he believed to be involved in a scheme to import anthrax into the United States. It was up to him to do whatever was necessary to stop them.

As he would say to Sternlich, someone had to do it and he was that someone. It was as simple as that.

————

Sandor had been on any number of yachts, but the
Odessa
was certainly among the most beautiful he had ever seen. Even from a distance, in the moonless night, he could make out the elegant lines.

As they drew closer he looked up at the tall conning tower, which
was set just ahead of a launching pad where a small helicopter sat at rest. The bow jutted gracefully forward and the transom had temporarily become the mooring point for several Jet-Skis and a Zodiac, all of which would be stored below when the ship was under way. The launch pulled alongside that aft platform, where they climbed out and made their way up a short flight of steps.

Sandor followed Lilli onto the rear deck, where they were met by a number of young women who had been watching the motorboat approach and now wanted to know what took her so long and where she had been. Sandor stood by in polite silence as they completed their feminine rite of greeting. Then Lilli introduced him around.

He accepted a glass of champagne, poured from a bottle of Cristal that was sitting in a silver bucket on the oval dining table positioned beneath a cantilevered overhang that covered half of the large outdoor area. The girls surrounded him, as if he were a curiosity, this new addition to the proceedings.

He noted that Lilli had been accurate in her assessment—each of the other women was indeed attractive—but at the moment he wanted to excuse himself from this circle of beauties and attend to the reason he had come.

As if reading his mind, a voice from behind him said, “A friend of Lilli’s?”

Sandor turned to face a short, muscular man of about fifty with closely cropped hair, clear complexion, handsome features, and pale blue eyes that seemed capable of seeing through lead. Just as Farrar had predicted there would be Cristal on board, the Russian was indeed wearing a gold chain around his neck that was thick enough for use as a drapery pull.

“A very recent acquaintance, actually.”

“Good enough for me. I’m Ronny.”

Sandor took the hand Ronny offered, his grip so tight that shaking it felt like something of a contest. “Jordan Sandor.”

“So glad you could join us,” he replied. Sandor had been to Moscow often enough to place the source of his host’s accent. “Come along, ladies, we are all in the main salon.” Ronny took Sandor by the arm and led the group through glass doors into a richly furnished
area that was roughly the size of a baseball diamond. The “we” he had referred to was a group of men seated on couches and chairs. In the center of the room was a glass-topped table that bore the unmistakable traces of cocaine that someone had made an unsuccessful effort to hide before he entered. None of the men rose.

“This is Mr. Sandor,” Ronny announced to no discernible reaction. “Come,” he said to his new guest without providing names for any of the members of his entourage. “Sit with me.”

The salon was paneled in dark cherrywood, the floor covered with a plush beige broadloom, and the chandeliers were hung with enough crystal ornaments to make the designers at Baccarat blush. The fabric used for the upholstered furniture pieces was a coordinated mélange of silk, tapestries, and satins in a variety of earth tones. The accessories were dominated by glass and polished brass that glittered even in the muted lighting.