involved.”
“It would be a huge win for him right out of the gate.”
“I understand,” she replied, with an inflection that told me she was familiar with Rider’s political situation. “Why haven’t I heard of Ivan the Ghost before this?”
“He leaves neither trail nor trace that couldn’t be explained away by bad luck and circumstance. With no evidence, only the tabloid presses run stories on him, and those are next to Bigfoot and alien babies. The only credible people who know anything about him are the powerful victims he’s embarrassed or the law enforcement officers he’s bested, and they’re not talking to the press, for obvious reasons. There are plenty of people in law enforcement who believe he’s no more real than the Loch Ness Monster. They think he’s just a convenient excuse, a coverall explanation for the unexplained. And to their point, there is no evidence of his existence that goes beyond the circumstantial.”
“So how did you end up on his tail?”
“Director Rider discovered that one of the two leading candidates in the London mayoral race made a seven-figure payment to an account previously used by The Ghost. We assume it was a contract payment, and that the contract was to discretely eliminate his chief rival for the office. So we’ve been watching the rival’s pressure points. The girl on the plane is his daughter.”
As I gave Jo more background on Ivan and our mission, the airstair from Emily’s Falcon 5X dropped and Michael descended, followed by a woman in a blue and gold silk dress. “Is that Emily?” Jo asked.
I used the monocular to be sure. “That’s her. Unfortunately, they swapped out the purse I’d tagged with a cricket. They also gave her a new wardrobe and full makeover at 30,000 feet. Her head must be reeling. A few hours ago she was just expecting dinner.”
“Why would they do all that?”
“If I were to speculate, I’d say that it’s part of The Ghost’s plan to leave no traces. Wherever she’s headed, that’s the look that will fit in.”
As Jo brought the Ninja’s engine roaring to life, she asked a question that convinced me she’d been a good recruit. “How’d the director get a lead on Ivan’s bank account? I’d think The Ghost would change those as often as his socks.”
“I don’t know. That’s been bothering me too. But you’re right about Ivan. He would.”
Chapter 9
EMILY BEGAN TO laugh as Michael pulled the Black Mercedes S550 up to the valet stand at the Monaco Yacht Show’s VIP entrance. A flood of nervous tension had spontaneously decided to leave her body without pausing to ask permission.
“Miss?” Michael’s quizzical eyes were focused on the rearview mirror.
Despite her embarrassment, she met his eyes. She liked Michael. “Three hours ago I was standing in The Regent’s Park boating lake, holding onto hope and the remains of my broken phone. Now I’m here.” She gestured with both arms. “It’s almost literally unbelievable. Way too good to be true, as my friend Jen would say, and yet undeniable.”
“I think you’ll find yourself adapting quickly. The good things are like that.”
Emily was sure Michael was right. It was the return to reality that concerned her, but again she promised herself to live for the moment while the moment was hers.
The next couple of minutes filled a mental scrapbook with photos that were the new highlights of her lifetime. Her first step from the limo was onto the blue VIP carpet, complete with a gawking crowd wondering if she was famous, or just rich. Then there was the handsome guard in an immaculate white uniform, studying Michael’s proffered credentials before ceremoniously parting the curtain to wonderland. Next came the sparkling chrome bannisters and glistening white bows of the latest crop of superyachts, each attempting to catch an appraising eye and then capture a burning checkbook.
“Is the show open to the public?” she asked Michael, as he led her
“It would be a huge win for him right out of the gate.”
“I understand,” she replied, with an inflection that told me she was familiar with Rider’s political situation. “Why haven’t I heard of Ivan the Ghost before this?”
“He leaves neither trail nor trace that couldn’t be explained away by bad luck and circumstance. With no evidence, only the tabloid presses run stories on him, and those are next to Bigfoot and alien babies. The only credible people who know anything about him are the powerful victims he’s embarrassed or the law enforcement officers he’s bested, and they’re not talking to the press, for obvious reasons. There are plenty of people in law enforcement who believe he’s no more real than the Loch Ness Monster. They think he’s just a convenient excuse, a coverall explanation for the unexplained. And to their point, there is no evidence of his existence that goes beyond the circumstantial.”
“So how did you end up on his tail?”
“Director Rider discovered that one of the two leading candidates in the London mayoral race made a seven-figure payment to an account previously used by The Ghost. We assume it was a contract payment, and that the contract was to discretely eliminate his chief rival for the office. So we’ve been watching the rival’s pressure points. The girl on the plane is his daughter.”
As I gave Jo more background on Ivan and our mission, the airstair from Emily’s Falcon 5X dropped and Michael descended, followed by a woman in a blue and gold silk dress. “Is that Emily?” Jo asked.
I used the monocular to be sure. “That’s her. Unfortunately, they swapped out the purse I’d tagged with a cricket. They also gave her a new wardrobe and full makeover at 30,000 feet. Her head must be reeling. A few hours ago she was just expecting dinner.”
“Why would they do all that?”
“If I were to speculate, I’d say that it’s part of The Ghost’s plan to leave no traces. Wherever she’s headed, that’s the look that will fit in.”
As Jo brought the Ninja’s engine roaring to life, she asked a question that convinced me she’d been a good recruit. “How’d the director get a lead on Ivan’s bank account? I’d think The Ghost would change those as often as his socks.”
“I don’t know. That’s been bothering me too. But you’re right about Ivan. He would.”
Chapter 9
EMILY BEGAN TO laugh as Michael pulled the Black Mercedes S550 up to the valet stand at the Monaco Yacht Show’s VIP entrance. A flood of nervous tension had spontaneously decided to leave her body without pausing to ask permission.
“Miss?” Michael’s quizzical eyes were focused on the rearview mirror.
Despite her embarrassment, she met his eyes. She liked Michael. “Three hours ago I was standing in The Regent’s Park boating lake, holding onto hope and the remains of my broken phone. Now I’m here.” She gestured with both arms. “It’s almost literally unbelievable. Way too good to be true, as my friend Jen would say, and yet undeniable.”
“I think you’ll find yourself adapting quickly. The good things are like that.”
Emily was sure Michael was right. It was the return to reality that concerned her, but again she promised herself to live for the moment while the moment was hers.
The next couple of minutes filled a mental scrapbook with photos that were the new highlights of her lifetime. Her first step from the limo was onto the blue VIP carpet, complete with a gawking crowd wondering if she was famous, or just rich. Then there was the handsome guard in an immaculate white uniform, studying Michael’s proffered credentials before ceremoniously parting the curtain to wonderland. Next came the sparkling chrome bannisters and glistening white bows of the latest crop of superyachts, each attempting to catch an appraising eye and then capture a burning checkbook.
“Is the show open to the public?” she asked Michael, as he led her
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