I looked toward the spiral staircase that led to the upper deck of the yacht.

“Stay here,” I told Rachel. “Keep the children under the bar. If anyone comes, use this.”

I handed her the guard’s hand radio and a spare pistol from my belt.

She took the gun, her hands shaking, but she nodded.

“I’ll be back,” I said.

I moved toward the spiral staircase, my boots silent on the carpeted steps.

The air grew warmer as I ascended, the smell of expensive cologne and cigar smoke replacing the cold scent of diesel.

The upper deck was quiet, the only sound the wind rattling the heavy window panes.

I reached the top of the stairs and found myself in a wide lobby with leather chairs and a polished wood bar.

At the end of the lobby was a double door made of dark mahogany.

A light was shining from beneath the door.

I approached it slowly, my gun raised to my shoulder.

I could hear voices inside.

One was a woman’s voice, quiet and defiant.

The other was a man’s voice, smooth and calm.