Free Chasing Ivan by Tim Tigner Page A

Lethal on the temples, and good for debilitating blows to bony areas and sensitive fleshy spots. Best of all, in this environment it looked innocuous.
    I found cold storage and Alex, as advertised. He was mid-sixties if not older — the oldest guy I’d seen working — and also the most relaxed. I guessed he’d been with Voskerchyan since before the Berlin Wall was toppled. “A bottle of Cristal?” I asked, by way of greeting.
    “Semechkin must have arrived,” he said, his voice unexpectedly low. “Coming right up.”
    I had no idea who Semechkin was, but when luck smiles you smile back. I accepted the bottle in an iced silver bucket along with two crystal flutes and the obligatory silver platter.
    Oscar had sent the Anzhelika’s deck plan to my smartphone. As big as the yacht was, I found relatively few places that Ivan and Emily were likely to be. Those included the common areas, the saloons and open decks, and the guest rooms. Since the open areas were crawling with both hostile eyes and thirsty guests, now in desperate need of wait service since they were three waiters short, I decided to try the guest cabins first.
    The guest cabins were all on the forward half of the main deck, now two levels above me. According to the deck plan on my cell phone, the only way up was the grand central staircase, which would dump me into the main lobby. This route would expose me to the bulk of the guests in the adjacent saloon, but there was no alternative.  
    As I took the stairs, praying that I wouldn’t be flagged down by an anxious mob like the lone waitress in an overcrowded diner, I wondered how Jo was fairing. Her moves picking the pockets of the prince’s entourage had impressed me, as much for the quick strategic thinking it represented as for her tactical execution. She must have had quite a time at The Farm, using her quick wits to compensate for a lack of prior Special Forces training. I could relate to that. I looked forward to learning more about her story over a beer, once we’d taken Ivan out.
    I paused on the grand circular stairway as soon as my head cleared the main deck’s floor and studied the saloon through the open lobby doors. Thick carpet, lavish furnishings, and lots of polished cherry wood met my eyes. All of it coordinated and arranged to meld function with beauty. No doubt the designer had earned both a small fortune and a coveted industry award.  
    Speaking of awards, the guests enjoying Voskerchyan’s hospitality looked like the Academy Award’s red carpet lineup. There were enough jewels on display to pay off Greece’s national debt, and a wide enough range of beauty to supply an entire Miss Universe pageant. I would have enjoyed mingling for an hour or two, just to pick up tips on which islands to buy, and where to acquire the most obedient slaves, but I limited my foray to a quick scan of faces. Alas, they did not include Emily’s.
    I completed my ascent when most heads were turned away, and ducked into the hallway that led back to the guest staterooms. Despite the Anzhelika’s size, there were only seven. A literal interpretation of living large. They were arranged with three on each side of the hall, and a VIP suite at the end. I’d lifted an electronic key card from each of the three snoozing locker attendants. I didn’t know if they would work on the guest rooms, but guessed that the owner’s suite was the only place that would have crew restrictions.
    I’d formulated my plan of attack while Alex was placing the Cristal in the bucket. Noting the shape and recalling the weight of the last bottle I’d hefted, I realized he was handing me a club. It would only be good for a surprise blow or two, but surprise was exactly what I intended. Posing as a daft and misdirected waiter, I’d key into promising rooms until I found Ivan. At that point, there would be a bit of quarrelsome dialogue including who ordered what and now that I’m here , followed a few days later by a headline