31
Principality of Monaco
September 27, 9:00 p.m. CET
Connor drove while Lukas and I sat in the back.
We headed north and east into the hills from Monte Carlo toward the French town of La Turbie. The road wound treacherously on a steep climb overlooking the Mediterranean. For all the beauty of the hills and the jaw-dropping view, the road had a sinister history: somewhere along this route, Princess Grace Kelly had missed a turn, plunged over a cliff, and died.
I ran an internal check—my mind, my gut, my heart. A week ago, this road and Connor’s speed would have alarmed me. But Cass’s death and my decisions about Ocean House and George’s family had shifted everything, rearranging my inner patterns. I watched out the window with steady acceptance. What would come, would come. Car wreck or sea battle, I was ready.
After fifteen minutes, Connor pulled into a scenic overlook and killed the engine. Cars whizzed past, traffic eternally heavy in the twenty-four-hour world of Monaco.
Connor’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Walk with me?”
Outside, wind whipped through a stand of Aleppo pines near the car. Lukas leaned against the hood, arms folded, eyes on me, while Connor and I walked to the overlook. The wind here was fierce, and when I shivered, Connor shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it over my bare shoulders. I shoved my arms through the sleeves and pulled it close, then leaned against the railing. Below us spread the lights of Monte Carlo, Monaco’s largest quarter and a fortress of wealth.
Connor held out a box of smokes. When I nodded, he turned his back to the wind and lit my cigarette, then his.
“I got a call from George Mèng during your speech tonight. He was watching the live broadcast.”
I gripped the railing, then relaxed. What would come, would come.
“Your talk has already zipped around the globe on news outlets and social media. George feels you displayed amazing courage. Then, not long after your talk, news channels began releasing some less-than-flattering information about Paxton Yachts. Something about their finances having links to the Chinese Communist Party. Also, that they might have been involved in sabotaging one of your builds. You know anything about this?”
“I heard there was a whistleblower.”
Connor grunted. “Someone persuasive convinced her to step forward. George called it a coup d’état. I agree. It was a good play. And one that took real spine.”
“It wasn’t a play. It needed to happen. My father always said trust no one. But I won’t run Ocean House that way. People must be able to trust whoever they’re dealing with.”
“You did the moral thing.”
“I was channeling my sister.”
“And that’s what it was? A final blow for Cass?”
I sucked hard on my cigarette, relishing the jolt of nicotine. Was my performance tonight a way of honoring Cass? In part, yes. But it was also about me. By following her path, I’d lost the blindfold I’d unwittingly worn through years of hobnobbing with the ultrarich. There was no going back.
I braced a foot on the railing and tilted my head to look at Connor. “Before Cass’s death, I was content with my life. With my family. With my place in the world. I didn’t know any better.” A hint of incredulity darkened my words. “Cass’s murder and my great-grandfather’s willing embrace of Nazism have upended all of that. What we discovered can’t be forced back into a bottle.” I looked out over Monte Carlo again and watched a yacht make its way through the harbor. “I can’t squeeze my life back into what it was. Nor would I want to.”
Connor placed his foot on the railing next to mine. His polished black loafer next to my ridiculous emerald heels.
“And now what?” I said, more to myself than to Connor.
I felt his gaze on me as he spoke. He said, “I’ve learned the hard way that following the rules and having courage don’t always mix. Wanting to do the moral thing is what got me into this line of work. Doing the moral thing is what made George decide to take his AI and his family and make plans to leave China.” He looked out at the city and sucked hard on the cigarette. When he released his breath, the wind whisked away the smoke.
I huddled deeper into Connor’s jacket. “Did you pass along my message?”
“I did. George would be honored to work with you.”
And here we were. The diverging path I’d been heading toward ever since I picked up the phone to call the archives in Salzburg. I hoped my speech and my search for Arno Klein were the start of my family’s restitution. Helping George was an additional form of restitution for the lives lost in Nazi Germany. But it was also about having the courage to do the right thing in the face of personal risk.
Once again I peered at Connor’s face, the planes of his cheeks and forehead briefly lit by the headlights of a passing car. He appeared to be studying me just as intently. An appraisal.
“Do you think I have the skills to do it?” I asked. “Go to Han and pretend to work with him? Then help the family hide?”
Connor leaned against the fence separating us from a precipitous drop to the road below. We stood elbow to elbow at the cliff’s edge, the ends of our cigarettes glowing in the void.
Finally, he said, “I’ve asked myself that question from the first time we met. Here’s what I think: I suspect you’ve underrated yourself your entire life.”
I let his words hang while I ran through a litany of my fears. Flying. Needles. Heights. Being overwhelmed. Being rushed or pushed. Monsters under the bed and on the streets. All the daily and nightly terrors that Cassandra seemed to relish, even pursue.
Connor toed a pebble over the edge, the sound lost in the wind and the roar of cars. “Cassandra’s death and what you learned in Austria forced you to dig deep.” He turned to face me, his gaze intent. “You have the best kind of bravery, Nadia. The kind that isn’t driven by mere adrenaline or thrill seeking. What you have is the kind of courage that comes from deep in your heart. Your mettle is driven by what you believe in. And if you believe that helping George Mèng and his family escape is the right thing to do, then you know as well as I do—you have the courage to help make it happen. And if you have the courage, then you’ll come up with the skills.”
Heat rose in my face. “I bet you say that to all the spies you recruit.”
He laughed, a generous, genuine sound. But he quickly sobered. “Honestly? Only to you.”
My laugh wasn’t as generous. “It’s your job to manipulate people.”
“That’s true. But only if I believe in them.”
I smiled to myself. The phrase sea change wasn’t a mariner’s term. I’d looked it up after a client asked about it. The idea came from Shakespeare’s The Tempest . Archaically, it meant to suffer. Now it meant to transform, and I felt my own sea change rising.
I turned to face Connor.
“What do you want me to do?”
“You’ll accompany George on the sea trials, just as you would if this were an ordinary build. You’d have no need to interact with his family in their hiding place. Your main job will be to act normally and, by doing so, convince others that the voyage is routine. You will talk to staff, gain their trust, reassure them if needed. You will be the magician’s hand that everyone is looking at.”
“While the trick happens elsewhere.”
“Exactly.”
“No spying for Han?”
“We can try. We should try. But I suspect he’s too smart to use you now. He knows you won’t be as naive as you were when he first approached. It’s your other work that’s more important now. You’re the keystone. Think of the D-day deception. The ruse that convinced the Germans that the Allies were landing elsewhere. The ruse was nearly a year in the making and essential for the invasion’s success. We’ve been running our operation under the same concept. False information fed to Emily. Phil Weber’s carefully leaked information suggesting George might be a smuggler. That George and Cass were lovers. Cass’s delay of the build and her apparent mishandling of it. Do you see?”
I nodded.
“But for all of this to work,” he continued, “information is compartmentalized based on need to know. We’ll need your help creating a distraction when Mèng’s family arrives at the yacht. But for your safety as well as the security of the op, you’ll be working in the dark and only updated as needed—there’s a good chance you’ll be grilled by authorities in Shanghai, and saying ‘I don’t know’ is easier than lying. Your role in maintaining the appearance of normality, the idea that no battle is occurring, is critical. And harder than you think.”
I blamed my sudden shiver on the wind.
My gaze went past the city and once again to the harbor and the boats sheltering there. Among them was Matthew’s Sovereign I , the boat that could carry me to my dream of living on the ocean and designing yachts for the rest of my quiet and contemplative life, if I so chose. And if, after tonight, Ocean House still had a future, I could hire brilliant people to run the business—my skill as a designer was more useful than any potential talent I had as head of the company. A smart CEO doesn’t try to do everything. Instead, she fills the gaps with top-rated talent and becomes comfortable with delegating. Something my family had never been good at.
At the moment, though, none of that mattered. I was committed to Connor and George.
“I need to make a phone call,” I said.
“About this? No.”
“I need to talk to my dad. I won’t reveal anything. You can listen in if you wish. But ... I need to hear his voice.”
He nodded, and I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with a flurry of texts and DMs. Multiple calls from Matthew. I ignored them. It was noon in Seattle; Guy would be working, his fierce will laboring against the cancer. It dawned on me that by offering to become part of the op, I might never see him again.
He answered with my name. “Nadia.” Then: “I heard about tonight.”
“Isabeth or Rob?”
“Both. And from a dozen others. You told us you were flying in early to Monaco. But, instead, you went to Austria.”
“You put me on the path.”
There was a long pause. I imagined Guy leaning against the kitchen table, where he liked to work on weekends, staring out at the trees and the ocean a world away from mine. Or maybe curled up in a chair while the cancer ate his insides.
“Guy,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was afraid that if I told you or Mom, you’d fight me. And I’d give in.”
“No, Naughty, there’s no shame on you. Out of the whole damn family, you were the only one to step up and say what had to be said.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Oh, I’m pissed as an Irishman in a bar fight. I was kind of hoping Ocean House would survive me. But I’ll get over it.”
“This won’t destroy us.” I forced an optimism I didn’t feel.
“Hope isn’t a plan, little lion. But maybe you’re right. Regardless, it was your call. It’s not like I’d planned to run things from beyond the grave.”
Another pause.
“I’m going to Singapore to finish and commission Red Dragon ,” I said. I raised my voice as he geared up to object. “I’ll be careful. And I’ll have protection.” I glanced at Connor, who nodded. “But I’d rather Rob not be part of it anymore. I don’t trust him.”
The silence was longer this time. Then: “Rob is good at what he does. And you know how crazy it gets before sea trials. Why not use him? He’s furious right now, but he won’t stay mad for long. Not with you. Not when he accepts that you did the right thing.”
“Will you believe me if I say this is for his benefit? Things could get messy, and he isn’t as safe as he thinks he is. Call him home, Guy. For his sake and mine.”
A sound like a growl. Then: “If it’s that important, I’ll get someone to haul him back to Seattle by his fancy lapels. Red Dragon is just about done, and you’ll be CEO soon enough. Might as well be now.”
“I got this,” I said, relieved that Rob would be one less moving piece to worry about.
We spoke another minute. Just before we disconnected, Guy said, “I guess I can’t call you little lion anymore. I love you, Nadia.”
He was gone before I could reply.
Connor stubbed out his cigarette on the railing. “He’s ill?”
“You could tell that from one phone call?”
“Your tone and his. A sense of finality.”
“He’s dying.” I looked out at the invisible horizon. “I might never see him again.”
“One month, Nadia. One month and Red Dragon will have spirited away George and Li-Mei and their children. They will be safe, and you can go home with a clear conscience and a good heart and spend your dad’s final days with him.” He straightened. “Are you in? You can still say no.”
“I’m in. But these are my terms.”
“Spoken like the future CEO of Ocean House. I’m listening.”
“You will conceal my involvement with the CIA to the best of your ability. If it does become known that I was involved in George’s defection, then you will help protect Ocean House from blame or liability. Ocean House must survive even if I don’t.”
“Agreed.”
I finished my cigarette and dropped it onto the gravel, grinding it out with my heel. “Cassandra called her case officer Virgil, right?”
“That was between them. Nothing official. But, yes, that’s what she called him.”
“She would have named him after the Roman poet who guided Dante through hell and up to heaven. Clearly, she expected to make it out.”
“But they both remained in hell.” He touched the back of my hand, then retreated. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”
“I appreciate that,” I said dryly. “But to answer your earlier question, whether I’m still up for it, the answer lies in myth. I’m going to call you Orpheus.”
“After the Greek poet who descended into hell to rescue his beloved?”
“Ah, an educated spy.”
“MIT, if you recall from my CV.”
“But Orpheus failed. Eurydice remained in Hades for eternity.” I frowned up at him. “What I’m telling you is, don’t fail.”
“If I remember the myth correctly, Orpheus’s mistake was in turning around to make sure his wife was still behind him.”
“That’s my point. I’ll be behind you. Every step of the way. Trust me. You don’t have to ever check. Just as I will trust you to have my back. Also, I’m bringing Lukas. That is, if he’s willing to come once I share the dangers with him.”
Connor glanced over at the car and Lukas, who—even in the gloom—appeared to be watching us. “That’s risky, Nadia. Lukas is Matthew’s man. How much do you know about him?”
“Matthew or Lukas?”
“Both.”
“I trust Matthew. And he trusts Lukas.”
“Matthew is a commodities trader. It’s not a field known for honesty and straightforwardness. He’s suspected of selling GPU chips to China.”
“He finalized that sale before it was illegal.”
“He’s also rumored to have deep ties with high-ranking party members.”
I held my patience. “Matthew has ties with a lot of movers and shakers. He went to university with China’s foreign minister, yes. And he’s a businessman before he’s almost anything else. But he would never sell out you or me or George Mèng. I know that for certain.”
Connor frowned. “Lukas is a cog I didn’t plan for.”
“Then start planning. The CIA was worthless at protecting Cassandra. I’m bringing my own insurance.”
“Ballsy,” he said. But his lips crooked in a half smile. “We’ll have to vet him. If there’s anything that alarms my hypersensitive gut, if I don’t like the way he scratches his ass or holds his coffee, he’s out.”
“Vet away.”
After a moment he held out his hand.
“Deal,” he said.
We shook.