I used to watch Mafia guys when I was on the Organized Crime Task Force, and it was sometimes hard to figure out who was selling and who was buying. So the other possibility here was that Georgi Tamorov was not looking to buy something from Colonel Petrov—it was Petrov who was selling something to Tamorov. Like his life. Like, Georgi Tamorov would be a lot safer if Colonel Petrov was watching his back. Or maybe Petrov was sent here by the Kremlin to whack Tamorov, who had somehow pissed them off.

The possibilities of why the billionaire oligarch and the SVR assassin were palling around were endless. But as I said, thinking about this was not in my limited job description.

I looked again at Vasily Petrov in the fading light. He did not look like a man who’d come for the party. And if he’d made his deal with Tamorov, he should be leaving. But he wasn’t. It seemed instead that he was waiting for something, or someone.

My instincts told me that I had made the right move to stick close to this guy.

Petrov caught my eye and held up his glass.

I went to the bar and got him another mineral water and he stared at me as I handed it to him on a tray.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Johnny Depp.”

He kept looking at me, then turned away and said something to Igor in Russian.

Igor nodded and stared at me.

As a former homicide cop, I know a killer when I see one, and I just saw one.

CHAPTER NINE

It was twilight time, and the household staff lit tonga torches and hurricane lamps, illuminating the sprawling deck in flickering light. The sound system crackled, and Bobby Darin started singing, Somewhere beyond the sea… Setting the mood for love and romance.

The ladies’ tops had come off in the hot tub, and a few of the Russian gentlemen had gone au naturel in the swimming pool. Thank God my wife was not here to see this. Or Grant for that matter, who would not approve of his wife passing drinks to naked men in the swimming pool. One oaf, floating on a raft with his periscope up, tried to grab Tess’ arm as she handed him a drink, but she was too nimble for him.

The Latina serving ladies seemed indifferent to the bare butts in the pool and the bobbing boobs in the hot tub; and they went about their business, even as the Russian gentlemen tried to entice the younger of the señoritas into the pool. I mean, there were two dozen Russian ladies who’d been hired for this, but men always want what they can’t buy. On that subject, a few of the men had gone into the house accompanied by a young lady, who presumably had been pre-paid by the host to provide services.

Tess and I were at the bar, getting drink orders, and she whispered to me, “This is getting a little uncomfortable.”

“No job is perfect.” I suggested, “Think of it as a Wall Street Christmas party.”

“I’m going to stay in the kitchen.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable.”

She hesitated, then said, “I’ll stay with you.”

I hadn’t seen any sign of drugs and I smelled no pot, and the girls all seemed to be of age, so I assumed that Georgi Tamorov knew not to compromise his U.N. guests. Thus, even if I was on the vice squad, I’d have to conclude that nothing really illegal was going on here—especially if the ladies were doing it for love.

It would be good, though, if we could compromise Petrov and get him booted out of the country, which would make our unpaid labor worthwhile. Meanwhile, I have to serve drinks to topless ladies.

The speakers were now blaring, Jeremiah was a bullfrog, and I felt like dancing. In fact, a few corpulent gentlemen were gyrating on the deck with a few of the ladies, who seemed intent on drinking these guys handsome. The bad light helped.

Our drink orders were ready, and as Tess and I moved off with our trays, five ladies, led by Tasha, lined up at the edge of the pool, took off their tops, then slid off their bottoms and dived into the pool in unison, which got a round of applause.

Tess said, “This is too much. John? John?”

“Huh? Oh… I can’t watch. I need better light.”

She made a sound of disgust and walked away from me.

Anyway, the music switched to Russian nightclub music, like Pitbull, the drinking and dancing continued, and more people got naked in the pool or the hot tub. Tasha and a few of the other ladies were now sitting on the hairy shoulders of the guys in the pool, playing some sort of game with a beach ball. I couldn’t figure out the rules, but it looked like everyone was a winner.

Tamorov was still knocking down frozen vodka and smoking up a storm, but Petrov and his two companions just sat there, making perfunctory conversation, barely noticing the naked ladies. Clearly they had more important things on their minds. In fact, I noticed that Fradkov seemed almost nervous, though Igor appeared calm and alert, like a pit bull waiting for a command. Petrov glanced at his watch, then checked his cell phone for a text.

Tess came up to me and said, “They’re laying out another buffet, so I’m going to the kitchen.”

“Okay.”

“Are you coming?”

“I’m still on surveillance.”

“Take a break, John. You’ll get eyestrain and go blind.”

“Right. We need more tonga torches.”

Naked Tasha was kneeling on a guy’s shoulders, her arms outstretched, waiting for a beach ball pass. The pass came, wide, she reached for it and fell into the water, and everyone laughed. I wondered how much of this I should put in my surveillance log. That reminded me that I had to call Tasha tomorrow.

“John? Are you coming?”

“You go ahead.”

She turned toward the house, but I said, “Hold on.”

“What?”

I tilted my head toward the ocean and she followed my gaze.

Coming toward us were the running lights of a watercraft, maybe a hundred yards from shore, and as the craft got closer I could hear its motor. I also noticed that one of Tamorov’s security guys was on the beach, holding a flashing green light.

I looked toward Petrov and saw in the flickering lamp light that he was standing, along with Fradkov and Igor. Tamorov, too, was standing, and he was now barking orders in Russian to his security guys. Dmitry, Petrov’s driver, stayed in the pool, as though he’d been pre-instructed to stay put.

Tess asked, “What’s happening?”

“Don’t know. But Petrov does.”

The security guys were quickly rounding up some of the Russian ladies, who were slipping back into their bikinis and cover-ups, grabbing their bags, and assembling near the steps that led down to the beach.

The boat got closer and I could see by the light of the rising half-moon that it was maybe twenty-five feet, with an open deck and a man steering from the covered cockpit, and another man sitting beside him.

Tess observed, “It’s heading right to the shore.”

“Seems so.”

“Who are they?”

“Don’t know.”

I didn’t sense any danger, and it was obvious that the boat was expected. Nevertheless, it was times like this when a boy missed his gun. I said to Tess, “Go back to the kitchen. See if you can get a call off to Matt. We need aviation and harbor units.”

She hesitated, then said, “Let me see what’s going on so I know what to say.”

I didn’t want to argue with her, and in any case I doubted she’d be able to use the phone.

The security guys on the deck began motioning to the dozen or so women, including Tasha, to descend the stairs.

I moved nonchalantly toward the women, collecting empty glasses on my way. Tess followed.

Tasha was about to go down the stairs and I got close to her and asked softly, “Where are you going?”