Free Killing Chase by Ben Muse Page B

fitful sleep. Listening devices and a Russian woman working with the FBI had me twisting and turning all night. I rolled over in the mostly dark room and glanced at the clock. It read 9:04 so I tossed the covers back, stumbled groggily to the window, and raised the privacy shade to see if we were engaged in battle with the Bahamian Navy. Blinding sunlight assaulted me, and I lowered the shade halfway.
    After I brushed my teeth, I threw on some shorts and a t-shirt and went to investigate. Perhaps Super Agent Viktoria Durov was leading an FBI raid on the Anchor Management . I discounted that immediately. Outside, the booms were louder, and I climbed stairs in search of the source. The staff I passed weren’t panicking, so I assumed there was nothing to worry about.
    I heard laughter as I reached the sun deck. My father, Sergei, and Anna were on the helipad, each holding expensive-looking black shotguns and wearing headphones and black sunglasses. A man in khakis and a blue polo sat behind a squat, stainless- steel trap thrower.
    “Pull!” said my father.
    The man pushed a button on the device and an orange disk flew out, arcing high over the rolling Atlantic. Dad waited a second, raised the gun, and pulled the trigger. The disk was blown into several pieces, and my father lowered the shotgun.
    “Good morning, Chase. Did we wake you?” Anna asked as I sauntered up beside her.
    “Good morning everyone. No, I’ve always been able to sleep through gunfire,” I smiled.
    Dad decided to needle me. “I can’t believe you are just now waking up. It’s,” he paused to look at his watch, “nine fifteen already. Hamptons are early risers.”
    “Perhaps Chase had a late night,” said Sergei, eyeing me suspiciously. Ears everywhere.
    “For the past seven years I’ve slept on a two-inch mattress and been awakened at four thirty-five every morning for breakfast and to have my name checked off a list. Perhaps you can cut me some slack and indulge me this one morning of sleeping in.”
    “Would you like some smoked cheddar or havarti with your whine, Chase?”
    “Okay, dad, it’s too early to match comic wits with you. Does your chef know how to make omelets and French toast?”
    “Oh-god-no. He was just a sandwich maker at Subway before I brought his talents on board,” he said sarcastically.
    “I’ll take that as a yes. Anyone wish to join me?”
    “An omelet sounds wonderful. Destroying clay targets makes a woman hungry,” Anna said.
    We dined outside on the salon deck and were deep into our Denver omelets when I casually mentioned my hot-tub encounter with Viktoria.
    “That sounds exactly like her,” Anna said.
    “I got the impression Mr. Durov thought I was up to something with the ‘late night’ comment,” I said, fishing for a response.
    “He knows Viktoria’s proclivities. I will let him know that nothing happened. Nothing happened, right?” she said tentatively.
    “Of course not. I was flattered, but that’s not how I operate.”
    “Okay, I believe you.”
    “So, he doesn’t trust his wife. Does he have her followed?” It would be good to know if he did. I’d hate to be seen walking into her hotel room tomorrow.
    “I’m not sure. As I said, they have an arrangement to which I’m not privy. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but did you consider having sex with her?”
    “That isn’t exactly a fair question, Anna, but I’ll give it a shot.” I took a moment to decide how to answer. “I’ve basically grown from a teenager into an adult while in prison. I haven’t seen many women in seven loooonnnng years. So was I attracted to her sexually? That’s a big 10-4. Any normal male would be.”
    “So what will you do tonight if you are soaking in the hot tub and she shows up again, wearing nothing but two strategically placed strands of dental floss?”
    I guess I will have the cleanest teeth on the boat, Anna, was the smartass answer I dared not give, though she probably would have