Radiant Angel (12 page)

Petrov replied, “Yes, and an appropriate name.”

“Also, it is the name of my wife.”

Gorsky asked, “Which one?”

The prince looked at him, then replied, “My first wife, of course.” He joked, “Now my other wives want yachts named after them.”

Gorsky did not smile, and the prince turned away from him and asked Petrov, “And how was your party at Mr. Tamorov’s house?”

“Very enjoyable. He sends his regards and looks forward to seeing you at his home in the city on Wednesday.”

“I, too, look forward to seeing him again.”

Actually, Petrov thought, Georgi Tamorov knew nothing about a meeting with the prince, nor did Tamorov even know that he, Petrov, was on the prince’s yacht. The less Tamorov knew, the better. And if Tamorov suspected that there was a connection between Vasily Petrov and the nuclear explosion in New York Harbor, he would keep that thought to himself. Russia had changed, but the KGB had changed only its name, not its DNA, and even rich oligarchs understood that.

Petrov glanced at his watch, and knowing that dinner would be served shortly, he needed to get to the real business at hand, which was planning how to kill everyone aboard
The Hana
. He asked his host, “And who will be joining us for dinner?”

The prince replied, “I have six other guests onboard, four of whom are my countrymen who I will introduce at dinner. Two are businessmen from China.” He added, “Unfortunately, their English is not good.”

Petrov joked, “Seat them with Mr. Fradkov,” and everyone laughed, except Arkady Urmanov.

The prince assured his Russian guests, “As Colonel Petrov requested, I have not mentioned any of you by name, and I will introduce you all by first name only, and as Russian petroleum executives who are my overnight guests until we dock in New York.”

Petrov nodded, thinking that His Highness was enjoying this game of secret diplomacy. He inquired, “Will Captain Wells or the other officers be dining with us?”

“No. They will dine elsewhere.”

“And the ladies?”

“I have arranged a buffet for them here in the salon.” He added, “After dinner perhaps we can all gather here for some… relaxation.”

Petrov nodded as his eyes scanned the long salon, trying to work out the details of shooting the prostitutes in the large room. Perhaps he would leave that to Gorsky, who he noticed was also interested in the room.

He and Gorsky had studied the deck plans of
The Hana
and he was certain they both knew the layout of the large ship well enough to finish their business before anyone could sound the alarm or try to abandon ship or offer armed resistance.

On that subject, Petrov’s next question had to be asked in a way that did not seem too inquisitive or unusual. He looked at the prince and said, “I am assuming you have security onboard.”

The prince made eye contact with Petrov, then replied, “Captain Wells has a rifle and a handgun, though he keeps them locked and hidden.” He added, “We are better armed when we sail in pirate-infested waters, but guns are a problem with American Customs if they come aboard.”

Petrov commented, “There are three hundred million guns in America, so I never understood why an honest man could not bring a few more into the country for protection.”

The prince had no reply to that, but offered, “One of my stewards, Karim—the one in traditional dress—is my personal bodyguard.” He added, “For when we are ashore.” He smiled. “I hope I don’t need a bodyguard here.”

Petrov returned the smile and considered his next inquiry, then said, “I hope my large group did not put an undue burden on your staff and crew.”

The prince assured him, “I have seven hardworking Somali stewards, and my French chef, André, has four good kitchen staff who are all Eastern European and they are used to long hours and hard work.” He smiled. “The Saudis, I am afraid, have gotten soft and lazy.”

As has His Highness, Petrov thought. He observed, “You have a veritable United Nations onboard.” He pointed out, “A British captain, a…”

“An Irish first mate, and two Italian officers—the engineer and the navigator.” The prince added, “And seven deckhands from all over the world.”

Those numbers agreed with the information that Petrov had been given, and he commented, “A Tower of Babel.”

The prince assured his guests, “The common language—the language of the sea—is English. So you will have no difficulties in communicating with anyone.” He added, “All crew and staff are sworn to secrecy.” He joked, “What happens aboard The Hana, stays aboard The Hana.”

“Indeed,” said Petrov as he tallied the number of guests, staff, and crew whom he and Gorsky needed to locate and eliminate.

Petrov and the prince made small talk for a few minutes, while Gorsky and Urmanov stayed silent and sipped their water.

The prince cleared his throat and said, “As for the ladies…”

Petrov assured him, “They are compliant, professional, and discreet.” He suggested, “Your Highness should choose his companion first. Or perhaps two companions. Then we should let nature take its course.”

The prince nodded, and his eyes moved toward the three overnight bags.

Petrov further assured him, “We have brought something for every taste.”

Again, the prince nodded, then informed his guests, “We will soon stop the ship and spend the night at anchor, then in the morning perhaps you three gentlemen will join me in my stateroom for breakfast and conversation as we set sail for New York.” He inquired, “Will that suit you?”

“That is a good plan,” Petrov replied, though he had a better one. He asked, “Will we have any difficulties or delays getting into New York Harbor?” He explained, “I have a lunch engagement in the city.”

The prince assured him, “We were cleared at Ambrose Buoy when we first arrived on Saturday, and when Captain Wells requested permission for an overnight cruise this morning, he stated that we were not leaving American waters, so there will be no further security
check at Ambrose when we return. Captain Wells also assures me he can navigate to Pier 11 without waiting for a harbor pilot. So it will go quickly.” He added, “And most likely there will not be another Customs boarding when we re-dock at Pier 11.”

“Good,” said Petrov, though it would not be Captain Wells who would be steering
The Hana
. And
The Hana
would not be docking at Pier 11.

The important thing, Petrov knew, was that
The Hana
had been previously cleared at Ambrose Buoy to enter the harbor and would not be subject to another security check. Also,
The Hana
was logged into the Coast Guard’s Automatic Identification System and would not be challenged to identify itself. This practice of extending some courtesies of the sea to private pleasure craft, especially those from friendly countries, was an American security lapse and also an opportunity that the SVR had discovered and exploited.

So this was all going as planned, Petrov thought, though the prince didn’t know that he had aided the plan by taking Petrov’s suggestion that they rendezvous in Southampton, away from New York City and the embassy watchers. Now getting back into New York Harbor would not present any problems for
The Hana
—only for the City of New York.

The prince said to Petrov, “I assume everyone’s papers are in order so that you and your female companions can disembark and pass through Immigration and Customs.”

Petrov replied, “Of course.” He joked, “The ladies, too, have diplomatic passports.”

The prince smiled, but Petrov saw that his highness seemed concerned about twelve scantily clad prostitutes leaving his yacht at Pier 11. Plus, of course, neither the ladies nor the three Russian men had been on
The Hana
’s original manifest. And in truth, this could be a problem, except that
The Hana
would turn into a nuclear fireball as it lay at anchor in the harbor, which eliminated the prince’s problem.

The prince was looking at Petrov, and Petrov assured him, “We will be met at the pier by a high-ranking consulate officer of the Russian Federation.” He added, “There will be no difficulties.”

The prince nodded, then suggested, “Perhaps you would like to
freshen up.” He stood and his guests did as well. The prince said, “The steward will show you to your staterooms.” He glanced at his watch, which Petrov noticed was a diamond-encrusted Rolex, and informed his guests, “We will have cocktails in the dining room in half an hour.” He further advised his guests, “Dress is casual. Come as you are.”

As the prince turned to leave, Petrov made a half bow, as did Urmanov, but Gorsky did not, and he watched the prince leave, then said, to no one in particular, “The world will be a better place without him.”

Petrov admonished, “Be a good guest, Viktor. It is no fault of his that he was born royal, rich, and Muslim.”

Gorsky smiled. “At least our oligarchs work hard to steal their money.”

Petrov smiled, too, then looked at Dr. Urmanov, who was not smiling, and wondered if he knew he was a dead man.

Moscow’s plan had been to deliver Dr. Urmanov to
The Hana
via the Russian fishing trawler along with Captain Gleb and the nuclear device. But Petrov had insisted that Urmanov be under his control in New York, so that he, Petrov, could evaluate the man and reject him if there seemed to be a question of his willingness to arm the device. Well, Petrov thought, Dr. Urmanov was willing, or he wouldn’t have come this far. Also, the promised two million Swiss francs was a good incentive. Siberian exile was an even better incentive.

Petrov recalled that Moscow had been concerned about slipping Urmanov into America under an alias as a U.N. diplomat. But it had been done before, always successfully, and the SVR assured the Kremlin that no one in the American State Department Intelligence office would discover the true identity of this obscure retired physicist during the diplomatic vetting process.

And so, he, Petrov, had gotten his way, and he and Gorsky had taken the opportunity in New York to question Urmanov about the nuclear device and about all the steps necessary to correct any problems that might arise during the arming sequence. In any case, Petrov and Gorsky each had the device’s access code and Petrov would actually arm the device himself and set the timer. Dr. Urmanov was
necessary only if there was a technical problem. And if the timer clock didn’t function, the device had been fitted with a radio signal detonator—a suicide trigger—which Petrov was prepared to use.

One way or the other, Petrov thought, New York would have the dubious distinction of being only the third city in the world destroyed by a nuclear weapon. The Manhattan Project was coming home.

V
iktor Gorsky went to Colonel Petrov’s stateroom with his overnight bag, which he opened, spreading out the deck plans of
The Hana
on the bed. They had not overplanned this part of the operation, agreeing to wait and see what they found aboard the yacht. Overplanning, as they both knew, left little room for initiative and instinct. But now that they were here, Petrov and Gorsky discussed the most effective method of killing the crew of more than twenty men, as well as the six guests and their host, and also the twelve prostitutes.

They agreed that Gorsky would start on the bridge to be certain no radio message would be sent as the killings proceeded. Petrov said, “Be careful not to damage any instruments or controls.”

“Of course.”

Petrov continued, “Then you will go to the salon and take care of the ladies.”

Gorsky nodded without comment.

Petrov looked at him and said, “This is difficult, I know. But they have served their purpose, and they will die for a good cause.”

“We both understand this, Vasily,” Gorsky replied, using his colonel’s given name, which was permitted in situations such as this.

Petrov said, “I will start in the dining room. That should go quickly. Then I will go to the galley, then to the crew’s quarters”—he pointed to
the tank deck, which was partly below the waterline—“where I hope to find all of them at the dinner hour.”

They studied the plans of the five-deck yacht: the tank deck where the crew lived, and where the engines, fuel, and water were located; the lower deck, which held the guest staterooms and officers’ quarters as well as the tender garage and the swimming platform; and the main deck, which held the dining room and bar, the galley, and the prince’s suite. Next was the salon deck, which had an al fresco lounge, and finally the smaller top deck where the bridge was located, along with the captain’s quarters and the ship’s office. Petrov and Gorsky tried to determine where everyone would be during dinner—or where they might be hiding if they became aware of what was happening.

Gorsky reminded his boss, “The crew carries handheld radios for shipboard communication.”

Petrov replied, “We will be sure they have no time to communicate.” He added, “As always, this business depends on speed, silence, and surprise.” He lifted the gift-wrapped object from his bag and opened a taped end of the blue wrapping paper, revealing the barrel of the MP5 submachine gun. “We can silence this”—he tapped the silencer at the end of the muzzle—“but men scream when they are being shot. Women scream louder. So be quick and accurate.”

Gorsky nodded.

Petrov further advised, “Try to avoid ricochets and remember that bullets pass through people and we do not want shattered windows for passing ships to see. So fire low for the takedown.” He smiled. “We should use our trick of a group photograph whenever necessary.”

Gorsky didn’t need advice from Colonel Petrov, but he nodded and said, “It will go well. It always does.”

Petrov looked at the wrapped submachine gun in his hands. The German-made MP5 was a good choice for this job. This model, with the telescoping stock retracted, was only twenty-two inches long and weighed less than six pounds. It could be held in one hand by its grip and fired as a machine pistol, which was actually what the Germans called it—a Maschinenpistole, Model 5. MP5.

The magazine held thirty 9mm rounds, and though it wasn’t an accurate weapon, the cyclic rate of fire of 750 rounds a minute made it a very deadly weapon in close-in situations, which was what one would find on a ship.

Most importantly, it never jammed, and with the silencer it was as quiet as it was lethal. It was a favorite weapon of the American counterterrorist forces as well as over a hundred other countries that used the MP5 for their police and paramilitary forces. Even the Russians bought them, and Petrov had requested two, gift-wrapped.

Petrov looked up from the weapon and said to Gorsky, “Tell Urmanov to remain in his room with his door locked until we come for him.”

Gorsky nodded.

The slight vibration in the ship’s superstructure ceased, indicating that the engines had been set at idle, and Petrov felt the forward motion of the ship decrease, which he confirmed by looking out the porthole. Soon the anchors would be lowered. He had been assured at his briefing in Moscow that it was standard procedure for a ship that was intending to make a nearby port at dawn to drop anchor for the night at the dinner hour, allowing the deckhands and officers time to eat and rest while the stewards and cooks attended to the guests. And this worked well for Petrov and Gorsky, who would not have to put a gun to Captain Wells’ head to make him stop the ship so they could rendezvous with the Russian fishing trawler and take Captain Gleb and his cargo aboard. In fact, when Captain Wells dropped anchor, his and his crew’s usefulness was over, as were their lives.

Petrov and Gorsky checked their watches and agreed to meet in the hallway in ten minutes.

But before Gorsky left, he said, “That caterer troubles me.”

Petrov assured him, “It is of no consequence now.”

“We should have taken him—and that lady who appeared to know him—inside to question them.”

“Then you create a problem where none existed.”

“Or you solve a problem.”

“Tamorov would wonder why we were questioning two of his caterers.”

“Let him wonder.” Gorsky continued, “We should at least have told Tamorov to tell those two to leave.”

“And if they were embassy watchers, they would have gone directly to their vehicle and called the FBI, who would have sent aircraft and boats to watch Tamorov’s house. And we would not be here now.”

Gorsky thought about that. Yes, it was a difficult situation with difficult choices, and Colonel Petrov had made the choice to do nothing. And that may have been the best choice. Still… He said to Petrov, “We should have taken them inside and killed them.”

Petrov smiled. “There are times, Viktor, when killing solves problems and times when it creates problems.”

“The more people you kill, the fewer problems you have.” He explained, “People cause problems.”

Petrov again smiled. “You are a simple man, Viktor. I like that.”

Gorsky did not reply.

Petrov thought about all of this. It was possible, he conceded, that those two could have been the embassy watchers who had followed them from New York. And if that were true, then they had seen him and his two companions and the prostitutes board the amphibious craft and sail out to sea. But that was all they saw, and all they knew. They could not know where he was going, though it would seem obvious because of the ladies that they were going to another party. And as Petrov also knew, the embassy watchers only watched, then reported to the FBI, who, as in the past, would be slow to react to the missing Russian diplomats.

Or more likely this man Depp was simply a day worker hired off the street and not very good at his job. The woman, however, seemed more intelligent, though equally inept. In any case, the mission had begun. They were aboard
The Hana
, and there was no turning back. Especially after they began shooting everyone.

Petrov said, “We have more immediate things to think about, Viktor. Do not let your mind become distracted.”

“Yes, Colonel.” Gorsky turned and left the stateroom.

Petrov resealed the blue wrapping paper around the MP5 and looked at his watch. Within fifteen minutes, the decks of this royal yacht would be running with blood. But that was nothing compared to what was going to happen when
The Hana
sailed into New York Harbor in the morning.