Page 5 of The Atlas Maneuver

Women were his weakness.

And she’d dressed for the part.

A black neoprene bodysuit showed off her petite body’s every curve, her blond hair tied back into a cute ponytail.

“Are you having trouble?” Yerevan called out in Russian.

She raised her arms in confusion and kept to his language. “The motors started to smoke, then died. Can you take look?”

He nodded and began to ease the powerboat closer, tossing over mooring lines, which she attached to hull cleats. She made sure to position herself between him and the grenades, which were still spewing out smoke, obscuring the engines from view. Yerevan was an avowed thrill seeker. He owned fast boats, cars, and planes, along with a huge dacha not far away that overlooked the lake. No doubt he was heading there before she’d interrupted the journey. The intel she possessed had informed her that he spent a lot of time in Siberia, as some of his mines were located nearby.

She’d learned that the easiest way to entice someone was to keep things normal. Nothing odd or questionable. Just the expected, which provided her with the advantage of being one step ahead. She was good at her job, which was why her services commanded such a high price. The client that had contracted for these possessed some of the deepest pockets imaginable, so she’d seized the opportunity and altered her fee from a flat rate to a commission.

And not in dollars or euros.

Bitcoin would be her payment.

One percent of the amount she recovered.

And if the intel was right, that would mean around seventeen million euros for this day’s work. There’d been some pushback on her terms, which she’d expected, but she reminded the client that the victim possessed connections not only to the Kremlin but also to the Russian mob. There could well be retaliation, so part of her task was to make sure she left nothing that could lead anyone anywhere. And that added protection the client had been willing to pay for.

Yerevan finished securing his boat and powering down his outboards. He then hopped up on the gunwales and was about to step over onto her boat when she leaped up and joined him. She noticed his nose, broken long ago and never set properly, which added a touch of hardness to his face that some women might find attractive.

She used her index finger to signal for him to come closer.

Which he did.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. He did not seem the least bit surprised or intimidated, and pressed his lips into hers, willing to accept whatever this stranger might offer.

She pivoted and swung them both around, then pushed off with her legs and propelled them over the side and into the freezing water. She was ready, having worn neoprene to insulate her pale skin.

He was not.

Her arms were already wrapped around his neck and, during the plunge over, she swung herself around so that her spine hit the water first, her hands and arms changing to a vise grip on his throat. They submerged and she kicked, keeping them under. He struggled, trying to free himself, but weightlessness evened the score and gave him no leverage.

She tightened her hold.

His hands tried to break her grip, but she clamped even harder.The water temperature was well under twenty degrees Celsius, which would quickly affect Yerevan, who wore only a bathing suit and light jacket over a bare chest. She kicked and popped her head up above the surface and grabbed another breath, not allowing Yerevan the same luxury. Back down they went and she could feel his grip on her arms lessen, his body going limp, and finally no movement at all. To be sure she kept the hold in place a few more seconds, then released and kicked to the surface.

Yerevan was not moving.

She checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

Good. One more thing.

She found the gold chain that she’d seen before the attack, the one Yerevan wore night and day, and yanked it free of his neck, her grip tight on the small steel cylinder that dangled from the loop.

She then swam away from the body, which floated facedown. Back at the two boats she climbed aboard hers. The smoke grenades had played themselves out. A quick glance around in every direction revealed no one else in sight. They were toward the lake’s center, kilometers from the nearest shore, with dusk rapidly approaching.

She’d timed her move well.

She untied Yerevan’s boat and allowed it to drift away. The assumption would be he went for a swim and drowned, the cold water erasing any evidence of strangulation. A tragic accident. For which no one was to blame.

She took a moment and gathered herself.

Only the gurgling of the water beneath the hulls disturbed the silence.