Page 51 of Every Last Breath

His son sliced the security guard’s throat.

The guard dropped before anyone could blink. Reinhart’s champagne flute crashed to the dining table. Blood flowed from the German’s throat, saturating his white shirt, and he collapsed, his head striking the table on the way down. The resounding thud echoed in Aleksander’s stomach. The air was fragrant with the scent of death mixed with gunpowder wafting from the lower level.

Mouth agape, Van Helden clutched a fist to his chest. He scurried back as if retreat were possible. “She was right about you. You’re not Kassar.”

Aleksander stalked the white rabbit, cornering him against the piano. “Yes, she was. But I was also right about her. So let’s conclude our business quickly. I need to be on my way.” He clutched Van Helden’s brachial plexus—the tender group of nerves between the neck and shoulder running from the spinal cord—and pressed the tip of the bloody scalpel to his eye socket, beneath the frame of the glasses. “Where is it?”

Shaking his head, Van Helden’s eyes went wide with terror. His jaw went slack.

A simple squeeze, the right amount of pressure, and the white rabbit gave a shrill shriek. His fear-stricken gaze swung to a pair of cabinet doors below the computer console.

Aleksander shoved him toward it. Trembling, Van Helden scampered to the cabinet, throwing panicked glances over his shoulder. He flung the doors open, scuttling aside.

“Go set the explosives on the helm, remote detonation, and meet me at the helipad,” Aleksander said to Val, who nodded.

Aleksander strode to the cabinet and peered inside. A safe. A McClain cipher lock safe.

He had enough C-4 explosives in the heels of his own shoes to blow it, but given the nature of the contents, he couldn’t take the risk.

Van Helden inched toward the second set of glass doors. Aleksander swooped down with such speed, the poor man cowered.

“Open it.” Aleksander grabbed and squeezed the brachial plexus again, digging his thumb in.

Van Helden’s face contorted in agony, and a high-pitched yelp squeezed from his lips. “I can’t. If I do, this will ruin me. My reputation is invaluable.” With more pressure, he screamed again. “I’ll only open the safe once payment hits the offshore account of the seller.”

This persistence was quite vexing. “Open it. Now. Or I’ll take away more than your reputation. Things you’ll miss. A finger. An ear. Your tongue.”

The stiff puff of hair didn’t move as Van Helden shook his head, eyes bulging, cheeks flaming red on his otherwise pallid face. “I haven’t stayed in business this long by caving under intimidation. You will transfer $5 million to the offshore account of the seller and a $1 million penalty to my personal account for bringing a weapon. Or my men won’t let you off this boat alive.”

Aleksander wanted to applaud the guy. He had more nerve than expected but failed to calculate the complication of the two agents below distracting his men.

Something excruciating was needed to quickly shift the rabbit’s perspective.

Aleksander knocked the man’s head against the safe and held his skull there. He inserted the scalpel inside Van Helden’s ear. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pressed until the blade pushed through the spongy membrane of the eardrum.

Van Helden’s gut-wrenching cry lifted the hairs on Aleksander’s arms. The anguished scream stretched into a blubbering howl. When blood flowed and his wails deflated to wretched sobs, Aleksander smiled.

“Please, please. I’ll open it.”

Aleksander withdrew the blade.

Van Helden scrambled to enter the code, and the safe door unlocked.

A black metal case sat inside. Aleksander snatched the case and took it to the table. He lifted the lid. A foot-long silver canister was cradled in the center of the case.

Clutching his bloody ear, Van Helden said, “Transfer $5 million to the seller’s account and $1 million to mine. Or I won’t call the helicopter pilot back. It’s your only way off the yacht.”

Fascinating. “Or I could shove this”—Aleksander lifted the bloody scalpel—“into your other ear.”

“You could, and I’d make the call, but you’d never know if I gave my pilot the correct code word. I have many fail-safes in place for such circumstances.” The man shuddered from fear or pain, but fierce determination blazed in his bloodshot eyes. “And I leave with you. I suggest we hurry with the transfer.”

Time was of the essence, and Van Helden was turning out to be an obstinate nuisance.

Aleksander had already paid $1 million for the information about the auction and dossiers on the arms dealers, $250,000 for the tip on the Gray Box agent, $100,000 for supplies, and $50,000 in transportation.

But bringing a global giant to its knees was priceless.

Aleksander only needed to keep his total expenditures below $10 million. In the grand scheme of things, $6 million on top of what he’d already spent was a win. “You have a deal.”