Chapter 4
Richards stared in stunned disbelief at the video, then rewound it and watched it again. That woman had been his wife? Had stolen information from him for 10 years? And been *Russian*? Had Bristow been stupid? Or had she just been that good?
Richards' thoughts skittered apprehensively to his new girlfriend, who he'd been dating for several weeks. A coincidence, he wondered, that they'd hooked up as he finished his CIA training? Or not? Could he trust her? Could he – he shifted uneasily in his chair – trust anybody?
"How's it coming, Richards?" The supervisor's voice intruded on Richards' thoughts.
"Fine, sir," he replied evenly.
"Learning anything?"
Richards paused. "Yes, sir," he said slowly. "I think I am."
He watched his supervisor depart, and turned back to his work. Soberly he started up the glasses again.
Jack stalked down the hotel hallway, switching his glasses back on.
"Base to Watchtower."
"Watchtower here."
"We lost transmission for a moment. Anything happen?"
"Negative," he snapped. "Proceeding to the yacht."
Richards hesitated. Bristow had clearly not given an accurate report of the missing timeframe. Attention to detail, he reminded himself. "Bristow met with wife, Irina. Discussed appropriateness of proceeding with mission," he typed. There, that should be suitably non-controversial, he thought to himself.
"Oh, a full moon," breathed the Countess. "How romantic." The Countess gave a small shiver. "Would you mind holding me? I'm a little chilly." Without waiting for a reply, she took Jack's arm and draped it across her back.
They stood on the gently bobbing deck of the yacht after dinner, looking out over the water. The moon, low and shimmering in the night sky, painted a silver trail along the undulating waves. It was, Jack admitted to himself, a very romantic setting. "To be precise, Countess, we're in the waxing gibbous phase. The actual full moon isn't scheduled for another 2 days," he pointed out in a nasal whine.
"Professor, you say the cleverest things," she purred. She adjusted his hand lower and moved closer. "I hope you don't mind. You're so nice and warm."
The evening was on track thought Jack, scowling into the darkness as he clumsily pulled her nearer. A flare of frustration as he imagined himself with someone completely different coursed through him. Not that it mattered, he thought bitterly. It would probably be another two years before he saw Irina again.
"Oh, Professor," trilled the Countess, "don't you think…," Jack missed the last part of her sally as a soft, uncharacteristic splash near the stern caught his attention. His gaze slowly swept the boat.
Richards leaned forward. What was Bristow looking for?
A muted roar shook the deck, lifting the stern out of the water. As it fell back, it began to slowly settle and list sideways.
"Well, I'll be damned," thought Richards to himself. "How'd he know?" He rewound the tape, and heard the splash the second time through.
A moment of stunned silence was swiftly followed by shouting and the pounding of feet. "My God!" said Jack in a tremulous voice, "We're sinking!"
"Don't be ridiculous," snapped the Countess, her manner swiftly changing as she strode away to find the captain, leaving Jack to his own devices.
"Damn. I was on a roll. Do these things work in water?" Jack muttered.
After a brief pause, Vaughn's voice came back. "Marshall says 'No.' Waterproof but can't transmit underwater." He hesitated a moment. "And Weiss wants me to point out that you didn't make it to first base."
Jack bit back a reply as a crewman went running past. It was rapidly becoming apparent that the Professor's assessment had been correct. He watched with grim amusement as the crew struggled to free the small raft lashed to the top of the bridge. Shrugging his shoulders in resignation, Jack edged out of sight and dove off the high side of the boat. With a few strong strokes he approached the stern and treaded water, jaw tightening as he examined the telltale hole in the stern. His eyes swept the shoreline and paused for a moment. He cursed fluently. It wouldn't be two years before he saw Irina again.
Richards gaped at the screen. A figure clad in a full-length wetsuit – no, wait a minute he thought as he rewound – a woman in a full-length wetsuit had just emerged from the water.
"Professor!" Jack heard the captain's peremptory call from the other side of the ship. About time they missed him. Making his way around he saw that the raft had finally been freed and floated aimlessly on the water as the crew watched the yacht sink.
"Help!" yelped Jack frantically in reply, beginning to thrash in the water. "I can't swim!"
**
Jack stripped off his sodden clothing and tossed it into the hotel bathroom floor. One look at the Countess when they reached the shore - mascara running down her face, hair plastered to her cheeks, and quivering with fury – had told him that the mission was off for the night.
"Base to Watchtower."
"What is it?" Jack growled, ignoring protocol.
"What happened?"
"Engine malfunction," said Jack shortly. "Yacht sank."
Engine malfunction?
"Copy that. Bad luck."
"Yes. Watchtower out." He pulled off the glasses and tossed them onto the sink, then climbed into the shower, turning the water to hot.
And now he'd have to do it all over again, he thought seething, scrubbing himself with the soap. He grimaced at the memory of the Countess' contrived adoration. She'd been completely undeterred by anything he'd said or done. As Irina had been undeterred by the callow youth who'd been her target? The thought, unbidden and unwelcome, intruded on his thoughts. He closed his eyes and scrubbed harder.