I started posted this story years ago as a two-parter, The Curse of the Romanov Rose. Something made me think of it today, and I looked to see if I still had it. I do, and I had finished it, and it still made me smile, so I decided to post the rest. Read Part I, Lethal Measures, first, or it doesn;t make much sense.

Chapter V

"Maybe," Joe agreed. "I'm almost willing to swear it's the guy that mugged you. Think he's come back for us?"

"Well, if he's here for the tour, he's a little early. He must be heading for Cell Block D."

"Yeah, and we thoughtfully left the door propped for him. Well, this time, I've got a plan." Frank raised his brows at him. "Well, heck, Frank, it's like an invitation. We give him some time to make it to Cell Block D, then we run like crazy, jump in his boat, and let him take the tour boat back to San Francisco."

Frank hesitated. "It may be our only chance to get a look at him."

Joe gave a snort of disgust. "Look, Frank, Gabby and Jerry may be a couple of clumsy amateurs, but this guy is anything but. He's slick. He's also probably armed, and we are currently in no condition to take anybody on."

Frank looked at Joe's drawn, shadowed face and bloodshot eyes and realized that he was probably right. He rubbed at his own eyes with the heels of his hands.

"You've got a point. Do I look as bad as you?"

"Worse. I, of course, have my natural beauty, which shines through in even the worst circumstances. He must be inside by now. Let's count thirty, then start down."

The trip down the stairs to the pier was one of the tensest Frank could remember. The fog would thicken, making them stumble and grope on the stairs, then dissolve just as suddenly, threatening them with disclosure, while the steps twisted and turned endlessly downward. It was like a nightmare: trapped on an island, clawing through the fog, with a silent murderer in pursuit. He kept his focus firmly on his feet and started violently when Joe reached out a hand to stop his progress.

The sound of the surf was louder now, punctuated with the sounds of the gulls and an occasional foghorn.

"We're almost at the pier." Joe whispered. "Stick with me."

He led them down to the end of the pier where a small skiff bounced against the dock.

"I love a boat you don't need a key to start." Joe breathed. "I'll drive and you cast off. Be ready to jump aboard. I'm hoping for a speedy takeoff." Joe cranked the motor. It roared, then sputtered to a stop. He cranked again. This time it almost turned over, then died.

Frank was standing ready to cast off, certain that at any moment the noise would alert Cobra and bring him to the pier to finish them off. Joe tugged at the starter cord again and it cranked loudly before sputtering out.

"Come on, Joe!" cried Frank, in an agony of anxiety.

"I'm trying!" Joe hissed back, giving the cord a tremendous yank. The small engine groaned, then sputtered to life. "All right! Quick, hop in!" Frank didn't need any coaxing. He quickly cast off and jumped in, causing the small craft to rock wildly. Joe made an abrupt turn away from the island that sent Frank tumbling to the bottom of the skiff. By the time he had dragged himself onto one of the seats, Joe had them firmly pointed toward the marina.

The water was rough, and they bounced high in the air with every wave. Frank decided it was a good idea to hang on with both hands. The marina disappeared and reappeared in the fog, and despite the wild motion of the boat, Frank found that the foggy air and the sounds of the sea sent his mind drifting. He listened drowsily to the moan of the foghorns calling to one another. He liked the sound. Hm. That last one sounded really close. Sound carried over water, of course, but - he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold and looked up. And up.

An enormous yacht was bearing down on them. They were directly in its path.

TBC