“Electronics in the bin, please, Mr. Davis,” he said, nodding at the rack on the wall with individual slots. Sure enough, Locke’s phone was in one of the slots. I juggled the tray until the man took it from me so I could pull my phone out of my pocket and slide it into another slot. Then I retrieved the tray, and he opened the door.
I’d seen the game room before the guests had arrived. Since then, the plain round table had been replaced by one that was elaborately carved and painted, the decorations mesmerizing. Around the table were matching chairs, all carved similarly in detail that belonged in a damned museum. The intricately carved furniture looked even older than Locke’s chessboard. For a split second, I imagined Lancelot and Gawain sitting around something much like it.
Where the hell had this thing come from?
As soon as I picked out Locke’s position around the table, he waved me over. “Thank you. I’ll take some coffee first.”
I glanced at him before sneaking a look at the game to see all of the exquisite boards and pieces. Sure enough, they were amazing. Five boards sat in a circle, each filled with pieces from at least ten different sets. I wondered how they chose whose boards to play with each round.
The tray joined a few others along the room’s long built-in cabinet while I prepared his coffee.
While I had done domestic chores as part of my cover on ops before, this was the first time I’d done something so menial for another person outside my family or an op.
Just as the resentment began to whisper again, Locke pulled me down to whisper something in my ear. “I need you to check the email on my phone and tell me if there’s a message from Arjen Willems. If so, come tell me what it says.”
He met my eyes and lowered his voice further. “Phone password is the name of the card game you play with your family and the number of times you’ve refused me.”
I stared at him until his nostrils flared, and he said, “Go.”
Within seconds, I was outside the room, reaching for his phone and typing inEgyptianRatscrew0as fast as I could.
Had I told the man no before? Yes. Several times.
I’d refused him when he’d suggested I didn’t need to give him the lap dance. I’d rejected his offer of a ride after we’d met again at the steak house. I’d declined his plan to fly me home from Amsterdam. And most recently, I’d balked at coming to Italy.
But we both knew that wasn’t what he’d meant.
His Maris logo lock screen disappeared and revealed rows of tidy apps, most of them familiar.
Even though I’d cloned his phone three years ago and found nothing, I still wanted desperately to spend time alone with it, snooping like a motherfucker.
When, exactly, had he changed his phone password? And had he only done it for this reason, so I could be his message gopher?
Did it matter?
I quickly found the email app and skimmed the page, sucking in as much information as I could as quickly as possible.
There was an email from Arjen Willems with only one ship name and city name in it.
MV Helvig Star. Nyborg.
I locked Locke’s phone and put it back in the slot before returning to the game room and waiting to be gestured to thetable. Then I leaned down and whispered the names in Locke’s ear.
The fading scent of his bodywash was almost enough to distract me from the look of concern on his face. “Thank you. Step back and wait a minute.”
I stepped back and stood against the wall the way I noticed other people doing the same. One was a beautiful woman I recognized as al-Qadiri’s wife, and another was a middle-aged woman in a suit who seemed to be keeping a close, maternal eye on Selene Mercier.
Locke leaned forward and reached for one of his pieces, nervously tapping it on the board while he considered where to play it.
To me, the answer was obvious. A blue bishop—Selene’s piece, I guessed—was within striking distance. So when he set the piece on the board nearest Vraj Nanda, I was surprised. Why was he leaving himself open to Selene?
But the soft-spoken Indian man pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully, like Locke had executed a masterful move, and I decided maybe Locke had gone easy on me the other night. Clearly, I didn’t understand the game as well as I’d thought.
It made sense. It was just lame.
After a moment, Nanda tapped his chin and leaned forward to reach for one of his own pieces on a nearby board. After tapping his piece on the arm of his chair while he considered his options, he made one simple move and sat back, clasping his hands together over his stomach.
Ted Harlan shook his head and reached for his own piece, a beautiful knight. His move was more like Locke’s, although he moved the knight first before reaching for a second piece and moving it as well.
