Sea of Greed

But before she could go looking for cash, she had a more pressing problem to deal with.

“What do you mean they escaped?” she said, glaring at Woods from behind her desk.

“They got away from the men I hired,” Woods said.

“It was a simple task,” she said. “Find out what they knew and eliminate them. You said they were heading out into the middle of nowhere. That it would be an easy job.”

Standing behind Woods, Volke grinned, obviously glad he hadn’t had any part in this particular operation.

“You gave me an hour to find someone who could take them down,” Woods stammered. “I went to the only people we could reach that quickly.”

“They were obviously incompetent.”

“It was the best we could do on short notice.”

That much was probably true. “Did they get our equipment back?”

“They retrieved the power pack and the other items the NUMA agents were carrying,” Woods said. “All traces of it have been destroyed.”

“I suppose that’s something,” she said. “All right, we have work to do. The freighter is going to be here tonight. Millard and his people keep complaining about the danger they’re in. You two go talk to him and make sure he understands that now is not the time to panic.”

Volke nodded. Woods did the same and the two men walked out. Tessa checked the time. The opening ceremonies for R3 were already beginning. It was time to switch from growling at people to charming them.

21

BERMUDA

THE Lucid Dream was a fifty-meter steel-hulled yacht with three decks and a gleaming white and blue paint job. Classic luxury materials filled the interior spaces, while modern touches gave the vessel an edgy look.

A sound system that could shake up an entire harbor and a pool that could be covered over by glass and turned into a dance floor made it a great party boat for those who were young, rich and nocturnal.

A small hangar on the upper deck held three drones that could be used for fun and entertainment or for surveillance. Personal watercraft and a high-speed boat for towing water-skiers and wakeboarders were stored in an enclosed compartment just in front of the engine room.

As impressive as it was, the Lucid Dream was just one of many yachts to arrive in time for the R3 Conference.

There were at least fifty vessels of equal or larger size visiting the island at the same time. Not to mention hundreds of smaller craft and two of the five largest yachts in the world. Tech money tended to get spent on toys and many of the dot-com billionaires had taken turns outdoing each other on the water.

In that environment, the Lucid Dream drew only passing glances — and a parking spot out in the sound a half mile from dry land. All of which suited Kurt Austin just fine.

He stood at the stern of the yacht. He watched a small boat motoring toward them, while enjoying the sunset, the eighty-degree weather and the soft, humid breeze.

He was dressed to impress, wearing expensive slacks and an Armani jacket with the sleeves rolled to display the cuffs of his limited-edition Robert Graham shirt. Handmade Italian sunglasses covered his eyes and his hair had been professionally dyed from its silver color to a dark blend of black and gray.

Standing on the deck, Kurt looked like a movie star, which seemed logical since he was essentially playing a role.

Thanks to some friends of Hiram Yaeger — NUMA’s resident computer genius — Kurt was arriving in Bermuda billed as a reclusive venture capitalist who’d helped fund a dozen start-ups. The expensive wardrobe was required to look the part and Kurt certainly wore it well. The only thing he found odd were the bespoke, nineteen-hundred-dollar high-top sneakers he’d been told he had to wear.

The footwear made no sense to Kurt, but Yaeger assured him that many of the VCs in the tech world chose to dress in unique and counterculture styles. Being unique was almost as important as being rich. Some wore berets or fedoras as a calling card. Others never wore anything but white T-shirts, jeans and boat shoes. Steve Jobs had been famous for his black turtlenecks. Zuckerberg for his hoodies.

The man Kurt was pretending to be had a sneaker obsession and wearing wingtips or boots or even expensive Italian loafers would have been a sure giveaway. If nothing else, the sneakers were comfortable.

“Water taxi approaching,” he called out to Joe. “It’s showtime.”

Joe came out onto the aft deck dressed in more traditional tech guru clothing. He had his hair slicked back, his shirt buttoned to the neck and a pocket protector firmly in place and filled with a half dozen pens. His khakis were rolled at the ankles and he also wore sneakers, though his were a checkerboard pair of low-sided Vans. He carried two computer satchels, one for himself and one for Kurt.

“So glad to have an assistant with me on this trip,” Kurt said.

“Don’t even think I’m hauling our luggage around all weekend,” Joe warned.

“First rule of undercover work,” Kurt said. “Never break character.”