GENERAL HOSPITAL #50

It had been 8 hours since Spencer had escaped his room by standing two dinner chairs upon his cabin's dining table and, after prying open the vent's grate, scurried into the maze of the venting shafts.

But because the yacht was nearly twenty miles at sea, Petrev, who was in the command center of the ship monitoring the efforts to find the boy, knew that Spencer was still a prisoner on the vessel.

"Don't worry sir," the captain of the Yacht, his name was Gordon King, said to Petrev. "We will find the kid."

Petrev nodded his head, and had faith in the captain's crew. He knew they would eventually find the boy. In fact, Petrev had to give it to the little brat; he showed guile... something he wished his own son, Gaius, had shown at Spencer's age.

Petrev made his way out of the command center of the yacht, and down two levels and eventually to Laura's quarters and entered.

Laura was sitting at the desk in her cabin studying the page in Frank Smith's black book on which Petrev's entire plan rested upon.

"You've had a day," Petrev said to Laura as he walked over to where she sat. "Tell me you have progress to report."

One of Petrev's guards stood vigil by her door, on the inside of the cabin near the vent shaft, on the off chance that Spencer my try to spree his grandmother. Laura had been kept in the dark about Spencer's escape.

"Here is what I have so far," Laura said as she handed Petrev her notes.

Petrev took the sheets of paper and found a series of numbers and two words; Brock Anderson. Petrev deduced they were names; but names of what?

"I don't know the significance of those names and numbers," Laura told Petrev.

The Russian crime lord studied the numbers first. He shook his head, knowing the numbers could mean anything.

"This isn't good enough," Petrev said to his prisoner. "Need I remind you that your life, and the life of your grandson, depends on you decoding these numbers and words?"

Laura slammed her hands down on the table.

"Listen to me," Laura said with anger in her voice. "It's been decades since I broke Frank Smith's code so how in the world am I supposed to just do it in a blink of an eye now?"

Petrev looked over at Laura. If and when she decoded the page, Petrev would kill her. But he knew his threat of killing Spencer would keep her inline until then. But then her words, the ones Laura had just said, made him think.

"How in the world," Petrev said, under his breath.

Laura shook her head.

"Yes," Laura replied, "how in the world do you expect me to…"

Petrev cut her off.

"These numbers," Petrev said to Laura, as he pointed at the nearly ten lines of numbers she had written on the piece of paper. "I think, if you separate them like this," he began to re-write the numbers but in different groupings, "they are actually coordinates one would find on a map."

Laura already knew this to be true. The little black book included instructions explaining how the coordinates could be decoded and grouped. She kept that info to herself; for now.

"Huh…map coordinates," Laura said back to Petrev, feigning ignorance. "I guess it's possible, so what does that mean; will you kill Spencer and me now, and Hutch's family too?"

Petrev shook his head.

"No," Petrev replied, "at least not now. First I will see where these coordinates lead us to."

Laura shook her head.

Laura forced a laugh.

"I'm not stupid," Laura told Petrev. "There is no way either Spencer or I will walk off this boat of yours alive."

Petrev nodded his head.

"Well, you're partly correct, Laura." Petrev told her. "You will never leave this ship alive, but as for your grandson, Spencer, he serves a bigger purpose which means his life will continue until he turns the age of twelve. At that point; he will die."

Laura had no idea what Petrev meant.

"I must leave you now," Petrev told Laura, as he held up her note of numbers. "I pray for Spencer's sake that these numbers mean something."

And with that, Petrev left Laura's cabin.


Sam rang the doorbell and knocked on the door of Spinelli's apartment. She had almost given up when suddenly he answered the door.

"Sorry for the delay in answering the door," Spinelli said, who wore just a robe. "I was just taking a shower."

Sam nodded her head as Spinelli let her in.

"I need your help with something," Sam said as she watched Spinelli go back into his bathroom to no doubt put on his clothes.

"Sure," Spinelli replied from the bathroom, "you know I'm always here to help. Just hold on a second and I'll be right out. What does the help you need pertain to?"

Sam could hear the low hum of an electric razor coming from the bathroom.

"Nothing major," Sam said as she sat on the couch in the living room. "I just need to see if you can access the street cams downtown and get a license plate off of a car."

Sam could hear the unmistaken sound of someone gargling mouthwash and then a spitting sound as well.

"The street cams?" Spinelli called back. "Kind of sounds like my last gig." Spinelli continued. "Anyway," he continued from inside the bathroom. "You do realize that there are literally thousands of cars driving the streets in the city, right?"

Sam nodded her head, having thought about it herself earlier.

"Yes, I know," Sam replied after a moment. "But I don't think there are too many burgundy Tesla's running around Port Charles."

Suddenly the hum of the razor blade went away and she turned and saw a shirtless Spinelli, though with a towel wrapped around his shoulders, coming out of the bathroom.

"Did you say a burgundy Tesla?" Spinelli asked.

Sam stood up and nodded her head.

"Yes," Sam said back to Spinelli, "a burgundy Tesla. Why? Do you know someone who drives a car like that?"

Spinelli nodded his head very slowly.

"Who?" Sam asked, wanting to know the name immediately.

"Ummm," Spinelli said, fumbling his words, "the legendary WSB agent; Robert Scorpio."

Continued…