Page 33 of Murder Island

Ivanov pulled the pipe stem from his mouth. “Oleg is seventeen. Irina is sixteen.” Savage detected the hint of a thaw in the oligarch’s expression. When he spoke his children’s names, even his voice turned warmer.

Ivanov stared at Savage for a few seconds, resumed his puffing, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his Android phone. He leaned across the table and clicked to a photo of two teenagers, heads together, at some kind of lavish gala.

“Handsome boy,” said Savage. “Pretty girl.”

“They’re in Zermatt,” said Ivanov, putting his phone away. “Ski holiday.”

Savage took a deep breath. He pulled an iPad from his briefcase. His turn for show-and-tell. It was now or never.

“Correction,” he said. “Theywere.” He was careful to use the Russian past tense.

Ivanov took a heavy draw on his pipe and scowled.“No. Theyare,” he said curtly. The warmth was gone from his voice. “They don’t return until the weekend.”

Savage clicked on the iPad’s photo gallery. There were several pictures in the series to choose from. He picked the one he thought would be most effective, then angled the device so that both he and Ivanov could see it.

Ivanov’s pipe dropped onto the table, ashes flying. His face was suddenly flushed. He grabbed for the iPad. “No!” he shouted.

Savage pulled the screen out of the oligarch’s reach, then stroked the photo as if admiring a fine painting.

The image showed Ivanov’s teenage children in a nondescript cellar. The lighting was dim. The kids were bound back-to-back, faces toward camera. Oleg had a bruise on his chin and one eye was blackened. Irina’s right cheek was red and swollen and her pert nose was bloodied. The look in her eyes was a mix of shock and terror. Same for her brother.

“Where are they?”demanded Ivanov, rising out of his seat.

“Wrong question,” said Savage, leaning forward. “They can be back on the slopes by noon.” He clicked the iPad off. “Or not.”

Ivanov’s lips had turned pale and fishy. He was breathing hard. His pupils were dilated to huge black pools.

Savage pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. There was a number on it. One hundred thousand rubles over his last bid.

“My final offer,” he said. “That—and your children’s lives.”

Ivanov was gasping so hard that Savage thought he might be having a heart attack. The oligarch grabbed the paper and crushed it in his huge hand.

“Yes!” he wheezed. “She’s yours!”

Savage stood up and gave Ivanov a twisted little smile. He walked to the window and looked out at the ship.Hisship.

She was yet to be christened. But he already had a name in mind.

CHAPTER 39

I HAD NO idea where I was. I just knew I had to keep going.

I’d run through a full tank of diesel and a can of reserve. Now I was completely out of gas. For the last two days, I’d been rowing the boat like a damn canoe. My muscles ached from fighting the wind and the current. My knees were scraped raw. I hadn’t seen land since I left Vail and the island behind. But I knew I couldn’t go back, only forward.

I was trying to head south. I figured I was out past the Bahamas. I knew Brazil was down there somewhere, but the boat had zero navigation gear. It was built for short hops. There wasn’t even a compass on board. I was stuck with reading the sky. The anchor line wasn’t long enough to reach bottom out here. So when I fell asleep, the boat just drifted aimlessly. I had to recalibrate my position and direction every morning, hoping I’d be sighted by afreighter or a cruise ship. This boat was not meant for the high seas.

I wiped the sweat out of my eyes. The sun was torture. The coral scrapes on my back burned like fire. Probably infected. I felt feverish and delirious. There was no shelter from the elements, and not a scrap of food on board. No fishing tackle, either. I’d checked every hatch and hideaway.

I’d found a few bottles of water, but I’d finished the last of it a day ago. I was probably losing at least a liter every hour in sweat. Not a good equation. If I didn’t get some nutrition and fluids soon, I’d die out here. I started to have wild thoughts—like whether the admin office at the university had reported me missing.

Not that it mattered. Nobody would be looking for me out here.

And I thought about Kira. I was praying she was still alive, somewhere. But I didn’t hold out much hope for that, either. Whoever slaughtered the boys probably killed her, too. For some reason, they only wanted one person left to take the fall.

Me.

I heard a thud from the back of the boat. I jerked my head around.