Nikki O'Laighin looked down the barrel of the gun. Her breathing quickened slightly, and her heart beat a little faster than before. She was almost ashamed of it, but these elementary bodily reactions to a threat to her life could not be suppressed by the fact that it was truly not the first time she had looked down the barrel of a gun.

Among her colleagues in the BPD, Nikki was considered fearless. One who acted and only then thought about the risks.

She was smart, athletic and efficient. But also often impetuous and impulsive.

What a clever dog he was. Nikki turned her gaze away from the gun and looked with raised eyebrows at Fyodor Sokolov, pacing the steamer's deck with his arms folded behind his back as if he were a gentleman leader who had just started the decisive battle.

Sokolov had ordered Nikki and Mike to the steamer's dock at the last minute. Contrary to every agreement. By the time Nikki and Mike had arrived, Sokolov had called again.

An apparently unsuspecting cab driver had been waiting for them there. Even though you could never know who one of Sokolov's people was and who was just an interchangeable pawn. The driver had driven from the market square to three different stations.

It had taken at least an hour to drive around. Board the steamer, Sokolov had instructed over the phone. Only two seats are left, and we will leave in a minute. They'll let you on board, but no one else but you.

Nikki had to admit that Sokolov knew his trade. How else could he have become one of the most influential bosses in a business like his? It was in a fabric where only one mistake could be the last one you ever make. In a business where traitors had to be suspected to survive. Where mistrust was mandatory, and failure was often fatal. Yes, he had really thought it all through. This steamer was probably the only place Sokolov could be sure no one had followed his two new business partners. Even after the odyssey through Boston, GPS systems would still not have made it possible for Mike to be followed by hidden BPD investigators.

But how were they supposed to do this on a steamer that was already full before Sokolov had even revealed that this would be the rendezvous point? Sure, in the middle of the river, Sokolov's escape options were limited, but Nikki couldn't see a flaw in his plan. After all, who was he supposed to escape from?

Following the steamer with boats or even a helicopter was impossible without Sokolov noticing. Besides, Boris had searched her and Mike thoroughly before boarding the steamer. This clean-shaven man, tattooed up to his ears, in his blue-grey suit, which had obviously been tailor-made and extremely expensive. Which made him look as if he had been dressed by the team of an overambitious fashion designer as part of a makeover show for his mother's wedding.

Of course, Nikki and Mike had come to the meeting unarmed and without GPS or listening devices. Anything else would have bordered on suicide.

"What are you doing?" Mike didn't raise his voice.

Sokolov stopped and turned around slowly. "I'm aware that your organization has ties to the police. That's okay. I maintain links with the police. It's beneficial; it makes work easier and increases security. Boris spoke out very carefully and ultimately advised me to negotiate with you. However, I still need some security. You can't trust anyone these days." Sokolov's beefy assistant still had his gun pointed at Nikki's head.

"What kind of security?"

"Your organization seems to be trustworthy. But trust is a tricky thing. If you get it wrong just once, you'll be in big trouble very quickly. That's why you'll remove any doubt that our social gathering on this fine old steamer is a sting operation by the Boston Police Department."

"Why would it be?"

"You brought this woman, and we don't know her. That's not usual, so we must ensure you're not planning anything stupid. Boris, please tell Mr. Fisher what's going to happen now. I'm enjoying the view in the meantime." With that, Sokolov turned around and walked to the front of the deck, where he leaned against the railing and averted his eyes from the three others.

"Can we be absolutely certain that there is no traitor in your organization?" Boris looked at Mike but did not lower his weapon.

"Of course you can. Who do you think you're talking to?"

"I don't think so, I know! We're not meeting anyone we haven't checked out thoroughly first." Boris cocked the hammer of his gun and turned his gaze back to Nikki, "That's why you had to take a long round trip through your own city before we could let you on board. The chauffeur you took through Boston is one of ours. He sent us pictures of the woman, and our security guards checked her out. That's Veronica O'Laighin, who works for the Boston Police Department!"

Nikki didn't move. She had hardly changed her posture since the conversation began, and even now, she hadn't tensed a muscle that hadn't already been tense before this guy with the coarse Russian accent had pointed his gun at her.

"So what?" Mike seemed unconcerned; there was no sign of nervousness in him. "You know that we can only offer our services because we have our people in customs, politics, and the police."

"Yes, that may be the case. But you have to realize that we can't take any risks. Ms. O'Laighin is from the homicide squad." Boris clutched the handle of his gun tighter. "That's funny!"

"Why is it funny?" Mike got a little louder, though not much.

Boris laughed out loud. Loud, dirty. Saliva flew out of his mouth, and he almost choked. Then he regained his composure and said clearly. "A homicide detective will now prove that she's on our side by committing murder herself. Sheer irony!" Boris turned around and shouted toward the lower deck: "Bring the guy up; here we go! Don't worry, it's nobody important."

Immediately after Boris called out, something started happening on one deck below. Doors had been opened and closed; something heavy was obviously being moved around with great effort by several men.

Something? Or someone? Nikki was just as transfixed as Mike as she looked at the small staircase that led out onto the deck from below. Eventually, she noticed the two men, dressed in black overalls and looking like bad-tempered lumberjacks who, had strayed onto the water. And she also saw what the men were carrying.

"What are you doing?" It was the first time Nikki had said anything.

The two burly men were dragging a human body onto the deck, completely wrapped in large plastic bin bags that they had secured with numerous lengths of tape. The victim groaned and stretched, but they were no match for the two lumberjacks.

"This man did us a small favor today." Boris lowered his weapon. "But now we don't need him anymore. And he knows too much; that's not good."

The two hulking hulks had dragged the bound man to the railing of the steamer and pushed him roughly to the ground. The man in the sack was writhing, and his gasping could be heard.

"What's this nonsense? We're businessmen, not barbarians." Mike still hadn't gotten up from his chair.

"This is our business. There's only one way we can trust you. Please don't get us wrong. You arrive here with a cop and want to know from us when and on which ships we send our goods. Fine by me. But first, you must prove this isn't a disguised operation." Boris grinned before turning to Nikki: "Kill the man in the sack, and your loyalty to us will be beyond doubt."

"Who's that?" Nikki sounded as rational as buying ice cream at the farmer's market.

"Anyone, it doesn't matter. A tiny cog in the wheel. Mr. Fisher, if you hadn't suddenly shown up with Ms. O'Laighin, we would have asked you to take this test. But this is even better! No cop could kill a human being just to maintain their cover, especially not in the USA. This is a very, very safe test. So go on, Detective O'Laighin, push the man overboard!"

The brawny henchmen lifted the guy lying on the ground in his tied-up garbage bags. One punched him hard in the stomach twice, then leaned him against the railing.

"We don't kill anyone we don't know." Mike stood up and took a step towards Boris.

He turned to Sokolov, who still hadn't seen the morbid spectacle. He shouted something in Russian, to which Sokolov replied without turning around. Then Boris looked repeatedly at Mike.

"Either the guy in the sack goes overboard - or you both do! And I can't give you a long time to think about it. Ten!"

At the Russian's nod, the two henchmen also pulled out their weapons. Nikki looked out over the railing to the shore.

"We're not on the Atlantic here. There are people everywhere, and this steamer is somewhat inconspicuous. Someone would see if we dumped someone in the water here."

The man in the bin bags gasped and pleaded, but he couldn't make out a word; he was obviously gagging.

"Your time is running out! Nine, eight, seven, six!" Boris raised his gun again, but he pointed it at Mike this time. "I'll finish you first, then the woman. Five!"

"The bridge!" Nikki shouted with wide eyes.

"What bridge?

She turned in the direction of travel and pointed a few hundred feet into the distance. "We're about to drive under a bridge. We've got a good visual cover there. I suspect one of your men is piloting this damn steamer."

"Of course."

"Tell him to come to a stop under the bridge. Then I'll push this guy overboard to finally get to business here." Nikki still showed no signs of emotion.

Boris interrupted his countdown. "Fine by me." He said something to his two helpers in Russian, whereupon one of them apparently made his way to the skipper. Nikki soon noticed that the steamer's speed was slowing down.

"Your boss's little magic trick must have attracted some attention on the shore," Mike spoke rather calmly, no nervousness resonating in his voice. "There are plenty of witnesses to our meeting."

"But none for the presence of this man in the sack. Detective O'Laighin is a homicide detective. She'll be able to pin it on someone. Right?"

Nikki signaled her agreement. "We'll find someone!"

The steamer covered a short distance at decreasing speed until it finally stopped at its destination. The front and rear of the steamer still protruded under the narrow bridge, but in the middle section of the deck, they would be unobserved from land.

"Now then!" Boris raised his gun again. "Four! Three!"

The man in the sacks seemed to sense what would happen to him. His pleas and screams intensified, but he had no chance against the forces of the two lumberjacks. They pressed him against the railing again.

"Come on now! Two!"

"Veronica, do it now!" Mike's voice rose as he looked down the barrel of a gun that one of the henchmen was pointing at him. "Get rid of this guy already; this is getting too stupid for me. We want to do business, not play around!"

Nikki looked around again. Sokolov remained in his position, his back turned to them at the other end of the deck. Boris aimed at her head, and one of the thugs pointed his gun at Mike. The second henchman held the man pressed into the garbage bag against the railing.

"One!" Boris closed his left eye and aimed directly at Nikki's forehead.

"It's all right!" She turned to the man in the bag, stepped briskly towards him, grabbed the bin bag where his face was, ripped it open, and took note with an impassive expression of who was standing before her, panting with panic in his eyes.

"Who's that?" asked Mike, whose view was obscured by Nikki's back.

"The driver who chauffeured us through Boston." She turned to Boris. "Why don't you say so?"

Then she grabbed the man by the collar, heaved him over the railing, and dropped him into the water like a sack of garbage.

She watched the body sink for a few more seconds until there was nothing left to see. Bubbles rose briefly, then the surface of the water became still again. Nikki smoothed out her clothes and adjusted her collar. Then she turned to Boris and asked as if she were taking out a newspaper subscription: "Do you trust us now?"