Chapter 16
Marielle woke from a fitful nap. Beside her, Omar still slept.
The alarm wasn’t set to go off for another fifteen minutes.
Omar. She eased herself out from his embrace slowly, quietly, trying not to disturb him, trying to allow him those final moments of slumber.
He rolled over and sighed in his sleep. She tiptoed out of the room to go in search of Hanna.
She needed to get her alone and tell her the plan.
On the pool deck, Brad, Poppy, and Idris sat in a trio of chairs, watching the French coastline grow bigger by the moment.
The tension between the men was palpable.
Brad was jittery, Idris was cold, and the Secret Service agents were practically vibrating with readiness.
Marielle felt it in her bones: something was about to break.
“Where’s Hanna?” she asked.
“Too hungover,” Idris said dismissively.
Poppy piped up, “Yeah, I definitely heard her puking earlier. Poor thing.”
Marielle frowned. Hanna had barely touched her wine—or her food—at lunch.
She excused herself from the group and hurried down one level to the first aid station, where she grabbed a packet of anti-nausea medication and a tumbler of water and headed for Hanna and Idris’s stateroom.
Hanna opened the door, looking pale and sweaty.
“I think he drugged me,” she whispered. “I think he knows.”
“Or he doesn’t want you to talk to anyone when Customs boards the yacht.”
“Maybe.” Her voice quavered.
“Here. Take this.” Marielle pressed the pill into Hanna’s palm and passed her the water. “Your queasiness should go away quickly.”
Hanna swallowed the pill and washed it down with a sip of water. “Thanks.”
“Are you having second thoughts?” Marielle asked gently.
Hanna shook her head. “No.”
Marielle tossed her a waterproof bag. “Bring only what you need. And wear a swimsuit under your clothes.”
Hanna’s eyes were full of questions, but she asked none of them. “Okay.”
“Meet me in the library in fifteen minutes.” She turned to leave.
“Margaux?”
She turned back. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She nodded and hurried out of the room. The clock was ticking now.
“Stefan,” Omar spoke to the empty stateroom.
The first mate appeared at the door in under three minutes. “What can I do for you, Mr. Irfan?”
Omar gestured toward the two expensive roller cases sitting alongside the dresser. “Margaux and I have finished packing. Would you handle getting our bags downstairs? I’m going to say my goodbyes to the others.”
“Of course. Leave it to me. I’ll take very good care of them.”
“Thank you.” Omar reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of U.S. currency. He pressed it into Stefan’s hand.
“I’ll make sure the bags are at the very front of the line when the Customs agents board,” Stefan promised.
Omar smiled broadly, as if he cared what happened to two bags they would never see again. “Great. And when will that be?”
Stefan checked the time. “Maybe another hour.”
Omar patted him on the back and walked out of the room. T minus fifteen and counting.
He strolled casually to the end of the hall and then sprinted down the stairs to the tender platform. As he burst out of the stairwell, he nearly collided with one of Idris’s guards.
It was Bashir, who’d caught him in the weapons room.
The man stepped directly into Omar’s path, forcing him to stop.
“You are leaving today,” Bashir said. It wasn’t a question.
“That’s the plan.”
“Good.” The guard’s hand rested casually on his sidearm. “Mr. Mahmoud has been very generous with his hospitality. It would be unfortunate if there were any … complications.”
“No complications,” Omar assured him.
He eyed Omar for another moment before moving aside and letting him pass.
Omar walked to the rail and looked out at the water until Bashir got bored and left. He waited another three minutes to make sure the guard didn’t return, ran down to the jet skis, and grabbed all four sets of keys from the pegboard. Then he sprinted.
He reached the ship’s library two minutes ahead of schedule. It was a cozy room complete with a stone fireplace. Three walls were lined with leather-bound books and scattered club chairs faced the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Marielle was nowhere to be seen, but Hanna was curled up in one of the chairs, staring out at the sea and the land beyond it.
She looked up with surprise when he walked into the room.
“Where’s Margaux?” she asked.
“She’s on her way.” He handed her the keys labeled “1” and “2” and returned the other two to his pocket. “Keep one and give her the other. I’ll meet you at the jet skis.”
She stared down at the digital keys in her palm. “The numbers don’t matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Idris had the keys all coded to pair with all four jet skis. They’re only numbered to keep track of them.”
Thank you, Allah. He’d been worried they’d waste time trying to find the right jet skis. This small bit of luck felt like a good omen.
“Make sure you tell Margaux that.”
“Tell Margaux what?” Marielle said from the doorway.
He kissed her, briefly but thoroughly. She pressed her palm against his cheek and studied his face for a moment as if she were memorizing his features. When she dropped her hand, he hurried past her and out onto the deck as Hanna started to explain the digital keys to her.