Behind them was a small johnboat, with what looked like a load of rope and cinder blocks. He dismissed it as some local’s conveyance.

He resolved to hear them out but give them nothing beyond what they had. He’d trade his enormous breakthrough into Europe, throw away five years of work because of a moment of infatuation with a set of tits, but he wouldn’t give them leverage for anything else.

The taller of the two stepped forward and said, “Chris, my name is Jacob. Please step into the boat. We have some things to discuss.”

53

Jacob saw the alarm on Chris’s face and wondered if he shouldn’t just tackle the man, flinging him into the boat. As quickly as the thought entered, he discarded it. They had to navigate up the small waterway to the major hub called the Grand Canal, and would be passing underneath several bridges to do so. They couldn’t accomplish that with a writhing, screaming kidnap victim.

He said, “We only want to talk. Away from the crowds. On the water, where it’s safer for us.”

“Why? I don’t have anyone with me. I promise.”

“We mean you no harm. You agree, and you’ll be on your way shortly.” He held up a thumb drive. “You get this, and your wife will never know.”

Jacob saw he wanted to believe, and knew it would be enough. Chris nodded and gingerly slid into the boat. Jacob untied the bow and Carlos started the motor. They began gliding down the canal, headed to the larger one.

Chris said, “What do you want? Why have you been following me?”

Jacob had known this question was coming, and had thought about his answer. He knew that Chris would have formulated the why already. He had no idea what that would be, but he knew it existed, and had decided to use Chris’s beliefs against him. He said, “You know why.”

Chris sagged back into the metal seat and said, “Okay, okay. Tell your boss he can have it. I’ll leave Europe to him. I’ll go to my meeting tomorrow and bow out, then tell my people it didn’t work in our favor.”

Jacob had no idea what he was talking about, but liked hearing about the meeting tomorrow. One question answered.

When he didn’t speak, Chris said, “Is that not enough? Why are we still going anywhere?”

They passed under a stone bridge, Carlos waving at the tourists on top like a goofy local, then they entered the Grand Canal, an expanse of water seventy meters wide that threaded through the island city-state like a snake. Carlos turned to the north and opened the engine up, drowning out further talk.

They passed by water taxis and other boats, some big, some like theirs. They rode in silence, Jacob keeping his eyes on Chris. Going underneath the Rialto Bridge, one of the few that spanned the Grand Canal, Chris finally shouted something, and Jacob waved his hand, indicating he should wait.

He felt his weapon shift and clamped his other hand on the sleeve to stop its fall. He wasn’t quick enough. The filet knife fell to the hull of the boat, clattering silently in the shadow of the engine.

Jacob looked at Chris and saw fear. The canal curved toward the west, the Rialto Bridge receding behind them. Chris tensed, and Jacob jumped toward the knife, instinctively thinking that was his goal.

Chris dove over the side.

Jacob screamed and Carlos cut the engine, the boat immediately slowing to a crawl. Carlos whipped his head to the rear, scanning the water and shouting, “What happened? Why’d he bail out?”

Jacob snatched the knife and glanced around, seeing no other boats. He heard Chris shout, churning about in the water, and jumped over the side.

He paused, getting a bearing on Chris, seeing him flailing toward the nearest bank, swimming in a modified dog paddle, hampered by his suit and lack of ability. Jacob, a much better swimmer, began stroking toward him.

Jacob came abreast of him and grabbed Chris’s collar, saying, “Stop, stop. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Chris screamed, “Help me! Someone help me!”

The shout seared Jacob with panic. He jammed the blade with an overhand strike, stabbing Chris in the chest. Chris let out a piercing shriek, and one thought exploded through Jacob’s mind: Silence him.

He reached up and grabbed Chris’s hair, pulling his head backward, dragging the man down below the surface, the scream becoming bubbles under the water. Chris began to fight in blind panic, and Jacob swam deeper, kicking his legs and pushing against Chris’s body.

Jacob fended off the ineffectual thrashing of Chris’s arms and felt the pressure in his ears. He knew he’d gone deep enough. He wrapped his legs around Chris’s torso and cinched his hand deeper into the hair. He pulled the head back and jabbed the filet knife into his prey’s neck, the water and darkness causing him to hit high, sinking the blade into Chris’s jaw. He tried again, and found his target.

He missed the carotid artery, but caught the esophagus. He ripped out, feeling an explosion of bubbles. Chris’s fight became feeble, then stopped altogether. Jacob held on until his lungs felt like they were about to burst, then swam upward, dragging the body with him.

He broke the surface with an explosion of air, treading water and cradling Chris’s head as if he were a lifeguard. He scanned around and saw Carlos slowly circling in the boat. He waved, and Carlos increased speed toward him. Jacob looked toward shore, but saw nobody. They were across from the Rialto Market area, and at this hour, it was closed, the market nothing more than empty tables and stands, waiting for tomorrow’s fruits, fish, and vegetables.

Carlos pulled up next to him and said, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jacob looked down for the first time, seeing Chris’s head bobbing in the water, blood leaking out from the massive tear in his neck, his hair floating about like a halo, his eyes open and wet.

Jacob said, “We didn’t get any of our answers.”

Carlos said, “We know he’s having meetings tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but he might be meeting the woman as well.”

Jacob hoisted the torso toward the boat and said, “Hold his arms.”

Carlos did so, awkwardly leaning over and tilting the hull with the weight of the body. Jacob went through the dead man’s pockets, pulling out his wallet, passport, hotel keycard, and cell phone. He threw them into the boat, then began punching the blade into Chris’s chest like he was using a fork on the plastic of a microwave dinner. Venting the body to allow water to enter the lungs.

He tossed the knife into the boat and said, “Tie him to the side. We need to drop him in the ocean, where we planned. We can’t risk him being discovered.”

Carlos dropped the rope into the water and Jacob began lashing, keeping the body below the waterline, Carlos helping where he could. A barge towing a bucket loader appeared around the bend and they stopped working, Jacob crouching below the gunwale.

It passed on without incident.

Carlos put in one final cinch of rope and said, “What are we going to do?”

Jacob pulled himself over the side of the skiff, water running off of his clothes.

“Continue on. What else is there?”

54

Opening his ProtonMail, Rashid was pleased to see a message. It was from someone called UnionJack7883 and the subject was “Timeline.” He assumed it was from al-Britani, and used the word Timeline as his decryption password. It failed.

He tried again, this time in all lowercase, and the email opened, both pleasing and aggravating him. Al-Britani clearly had an issue with attention to detail.

The message was brief, saying the timeline had been pushed back a few days. The hotel had shifted the hours their inside man was working, going from days to nights. As the Gulf Cooperation Council conference ceased work at five, gaining access to the hotel after that hour wasn’t conducive to an attack. Apparently, the inside man’s schedule returned to a daytime shift in three days, and that was when al-Britani intended to attack.