The other tender had shortened the distance between them. Visibility was deteriorating. Rain fell in sheets, the wind a pernicious force, howling like a banshee. Lightning flashed nearby, a bolt running from heaven to sea. For a moment, the bay was illuminated, vessels of all kinds frozen in place by the burst of white light.
Simon saw his path.
Directly ahead, another mega-yacht, the Eclipse—five hundred feet, shark’s snout, a radar globe like a Christmas ornament—Abramovich’s before he sold it to an Emirati prince. A small armada had grouped off its port side, five motor yachts, give or take. He steered toward the immense vessel, speed 40 knots despite the wild bucking. He hugged the giant boat, starboard side, aware of its crew gesturing madly at him…then he was past it, spinning the wheel to port, cutting across its bow, perilously close, a 180-degree turn. He straightened out the tender, coming back along the Eclipse’s port side, darting in and among the smaller vessels. He cut his speed. The only sound, rain pummeling the vessel, as loud as a corps of drummers. They were a shadow bobbing on the waves, black on black.
He caught the other tender’s lights rounding the Eclipse’s bow, turning toward them, slowing, confused, its prey lost.
Suddenly, the rescued guard was on his feet, arms waving. “Pierrot! Over here! Pierrot!”
Simon turned to see Lucy on her feet, driving her shoulder into the man, sending him toppling into the sea. “And this time you can stay there!” she called.
Simon hit the throttle and the tender sped away, the man lost among the whitecaps.
The guard shouted for help. A spotlight from another boat searched the water and found him.
By then, Simon and Lucy were far away, headed in the opposite direction, out to sea.
The second tender picked up their colleague. A moment later, it headed away, returning to the Yasmina.
Simon guided the boat to the dock by the Eden-Roc. A man dressed in a chef’s smock, soaked to the bone, caught the mooring rope.
“I thought you were in trouble,” he said as Simon cut the motor.
“I was. Now I’m not.”
Jojo offered Lucy a hand. She stood unsteadily on the dock, shivering. Simon followed, taking the mooring rope and fastening it to a cleat. They climbed the stairs and walked along a gravel path beneath the pines. Jojo had parked in a lot at the base of the hotel’s driveway. It was the same beat-up Peugeot he’d driven last year.
“Keys are in the ignition,” he said.
Simon opened the door for Lucy. She fell into the passenger seat, wet and exhausted. He closed her door and went around to the driver’s side. “I’ll leave it at the airport,” he said to Jojo. “Keys in the fender.”
“First place anyone will look.”
“Get there early.”
“Tomorrow’s my day off.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to take your chances.”
“Hey,” said Jojo, looking back toward the Eden-Roc. “How much do you think I can get for the tender?”
D’Artagnan Moore called as they left the hotel lot and drove along Boulevard J. F. Kennedy toward Antibes. “Get it?”
Simon handed Lucy the phone. “Tell him—”
He saw the car for a second, maybe less. Far too short a time to react. It was a Citroën panel van, the driver intoxicated, blowing through the red light, striking Simon’s car on the passenger side at a speed of 70 kilometers per hour. Simon’s last thought was for Lucy. She had not put on her safety belt.
He felt the blow, heard the sickening crash of metal colliding with metal, saw the lights of the van inside his car, the world suddenly a terrible blinding white.
Then darkness.
Chapter 2
Ko Phi Phi
Andaman Sea, Thailand
Six thousand miles away, overlooking another fabled beach, this one situated on an island off the southwestern coast of Thailand, Rafael de Bourbon was suffering his third nervous breakdown of the day.
The first had come shortly after he arrived at the hotel, a few minutes past seven, and involved a malfunctioning septic tank. The second was brought on by a faulty air-conditioning unit. The third had as its cause a loose gasket that had cut all water pressure in the kitchen and was the most serious, for this was the first thing the inspectors would check upon their arrival. Hotel inspectors always started in the kitchen. Should he be unable to bring back the pressure, any chance of receiving a permit to operate the Villa Delphine in time for its first guests’ arrival would go out the window.