The Yacht – Imperator
The Black Sea
The small, red, MD-500 helicopter flew through the hot afternoon sky, cruising along a thousand meters above the dark, blue-green sea, easily doing two hundred kilometers an hour. The pilot had yet to push the small, but versatile, craft to its limits. Sitting stone-faced beside the pilot was an attractive woman in her late twenties. Her pale, almost porcelain-white skin and long, black hair gave her the look of a model. The pilot, a blonde-haired, ex-Russian police chopper pilot in his mid-forties, had picked up the woman from a private airstrip just outside of Istanbul. He was under strict orders not to talk to his passenger, and that suited him fine. Most people talked too much for his liking; however, this one looked almost statue-like, sitting there, saying nothing, doing nothing, just staring straight ahead, and ignoring the world flying past beneath her. The silence may have been welcome, but for some indefinable reason, her presence made the pilot quite uncomfortable. The sooner he landed and was rid of his passenger, the better it would be. He knew from his flight briefing that this was going to be a quick visit followed immediately by a return flight straight back to the private airstrip, where a Learjet was waiting on standby. All he had to do was fly the helicopter, keep his mouth shut, forget his passenger was ever in his helicopter, and an easy fifty thousand dollars was his.
A minute later, the luxury yacht Imperator emerged like a welcoming island on the blue horizon. Relief flooded through the pilot; he wanted this task over with as soon as possible. He quickly radioed the ship that he had their guest, and banked to the right so he could align his helicopter with the massive boat’s rear helipad.
At one hundred and twenty meters in length, the Imperator was the fifth largest luxury yacht in the world. Crewed by forty, it could comfortably accommodate twenty guests at a time in the most lavish rooms imaginable. For its rich occupants and visitors, it had all the usual features such as an indoor theatre, two heated pools, and a huge dining room, along with many additional unseen defensive measures such as black-market, Russian-made, ship-to-air missiles, a mini-sub, and the latest in surveillance and mine-detection systems. This vessel did not want to be bothered.
Dmitry Romanov watched silently on the ship’s closed-surveillance system as the helicopter came in and landed on the deck. At fifty-five years of age, he was a man at the height of his game. The heir presumptive to the long-vacant Russian throne, Romanov claimed that he could trace his family lineage as far back as the beginning of the House of Romanov in 1613. His family had lived in Paris ever since the Russian Revolution in 1917. Recently, however, Romanov had decided to move back to the land of his ancestors, and had bought land outside of Moscow, upon which he had built a palatial mansion where his family could live. He had always known affluence and prestige; his father was a wealthy executive who died when Romanov was in his teens. Although young, Romanov quickly took over the reins of his father’s business. Driven by an insatiable desire for wealth and power, he was a multimillionaire by age eighteen, and a billionaire before he turned thirty, with offices and holdings all over the world. Oil and natural gas were the two commodities that Romanov continually sought. If they were out there, hidden deep underground, he seemed to know where to look, and never let anyone or anything get in his way. His shares of companies involved in oil exploration in Russia and West Africa were unmatched; his profits soared by the day. He rarely traveled anywhere except aboard his yacht, safe and secure from his rivals and the prying eyes and ears of many a hostile power.
He had short, black hair, along with a neatly trimmed circle goatee, both always immaculately kept. Romanov was by choice a vegetarian; this, combined with his avid love of swimming, kept him trim and in outstanding shape. Today, he was casually dressed in a pair of white slacks, with a blue-and-white-striped, nautical-looking, short-sleeved shirt. His bright, cognac-brown eyes burned with an intensity that showed his razor-sharp intellect and an unparalleled drive to dominate and control the world around him.
A young woman in her late twenties dressed in a snug teal jumpsuit quietly entered the high-tech office and walked over beside Romanov. She easily stood six feet tall, and anyone admiring her physique would see that she, like her father, was fanatical about her physical condition. Her face was angular, with deep-set, hazel-colored eyes. The young woman’s long, black hair was tied in a ponytail that went halfway down her muscular back. She was unmistakably her father’s daughter.
“Is she really back so soon?” asked the girl, as she peered up at the screen, watching as the helicopter doors were opened by two of Romanov’s well-armed security personnel. She pursed her lips and took in a deep breath as she intently watched her twin sister, equally attired in a jumpsuit—this one tan—as she stepped onto the ship’s deck.
“Yes, my dear Alexandra, your sister Nika is home,” replied Romanov, lovingly patting his daughter’s well-manicured hand.
Alexandra and Nika Romanov were identical twins. They not only looked alike, but they also always dressed alike. Thousands of kilometers could separate them, yet they would always arrive on time, dressed in exactly the same outfit, just in different colors. This was the only way that their parents could tell them apart as children.
“She looks tired,” said Alexandra, as she watched her sister slowly climb down a set of metal stairs leading down from the helipad.
“Don’t worry too much. I am sure that your sister has done her part and has obtained what we are looking for,” said Romanov.
Alexandra watched as her sister walked, under escort, from the helipad, through the main deck of the yacht, toward her father’s office, located in the luxurious aft lower level. “Father, are you sure we are not pushing things too fast?” asked Alexandra, moving behind her father’s tall, antique, eighteenth-century wooden chair.
“Alexandra, my dear, this is not like you. You are starting to make me nervous,” said Romanov, reaching up and lightly squeezing his daughter’s soft, pale-skinned hand. “Your sister is the most resourceful person I know at obtaining, how would you say, the unobtainable. If she is back, then she has the missing pieces of the puzzle with her.”
Alexandra looked down at her father and smiled at him. “Perhaps I am being overly melodramatic, but please remember, Father, we are risking everything we own on this venture, and I for one won’t relax until we have what is rightfully ours.”
“Your mother would be proud of the women you have both become, but, Alexandra, you worry too much, my dear; it’s truly not good for you.” Cancer had killed Tamara Romanov, the girls’ mother, ten years prior. Alexandra, the more pragmatic of the twins, had taken over the role of family matriarch, and looked after her father and his business affairs with cold efficiency.
Seconds later, there was a knock. The door to Romanov’s office slowly opened, and one of his impeccably dressed security guards entered the room. “Sorry to intrude, sir, I have your daughter waiting outside the door,” said the guard.
. “Very good, show her in,” said Romanov.
The guard opened the door and politely waited for Nika to enter the room.
With a slight nod to the guard, Nika strode into the room, locking eyes with her father. Her twin sister was standing behind him, like an eagle waiting to pounce on some poor field mouse. She quickly scanned the room and, with an unconcealed smirk, she noticed that her father had extensively re-decorated since she was last aboard. There were several new Van Goghs and Rembrandts adorning the walls, along with four ancient Chinese vases from what Nika suspected was the Third or Fourth Century. The magnificence of the room was designed deliberately to awe Romanov’s guests, but all it elicited from Nika was a bored, indifferent shrug. Money and material gains no longer interested her. She now only lived for the rush that came with her high-risk lifestyle. Nika always knew that she would die young and yet, somehow, deep down inside her cold heart, she welcomed it.
Romanov saw the uncaring look in his daughter’s unemotional brown eyes and realized with a heavy heart that he was
losing her. Ever since her unfaithful husband’s death from an overdose last year, his beloved Nika had embarked on a self-destructive path. Until now, he had been able to manage it, but seeing the lost look in her eyes, Romanov knew things were getting worse. He smiled warmly and wrapped his arms around her. He gave her a long hug followed by a quick kiss on each cheek.
“Please, my beloved, please come in and take a seat,” said Romanov, as the guard pulled out an ornately carved chair that had once belonged to Louis XIV of France for her.
Nika sat and looked up at her father. “I am sorry to say it, Father, but I cannot stay long,” said Nika, with an accent that, like her sister’s, was a mix of French and Russian.
“Darling, please reconsider,” replied Romanov, perplexed at his daughter’s behavior. “My dear, we haven’t seen you for months, and now you are already planning to leave. Please, say you will stay at least for one night.”
“No, Father, I cannot. In fact, I need to be on my way shortly, if I am going to make my next appointment in the States,” replied Nika. She reached into a pocket, pulled out her silver cigarette case, removed one, and lit it. Nika knew her father had never smoked a day in his life and thoroughly detested the smell of it, but she did not care; she needed a smoke, and that was all there was to it.
Alexandra could see the game her sister was playing, and she shot her sister a look that said, Back off now…or else.
Nika saw the expression on her sister’s face, shrugged, and ignored her.
Romanov saw what was happening. He struggled to smile. “Nika, my dearest, please reconsider and stay,” he said, his voice almost pleading.
Nika removed the smoldering cigarette from her lips and crushed it in an ornate and expensive-looking China cup on the table.
Both Alexandra and her father winced at this latest display of rebellion.
Alexandra’s blood was boiling. How dare her sister act so disrespectfully in front of their father! “If you are not going to bless us with a visit,” said Alexandra, her words dripping with venom, “then please tell us, what is so important that you had to fly here to tell us, only to have to leave right away?”
“Later,” said Nika.
Romanov watched his daughters as they verbally sparred with one another. He never said it aloud, but he had always encouraged his daughters to be competitive, even with each other. It was the only way to survive in the real world. People would use you up and spit you out if you did not learn to use them first.
Nika slowly slid open a zipper on her breast pocket, and pulled out a small, green memory stick, which she carefully laid on the table in front of her.
Alexandra reached over and snatched it up, examining it. She was not surprised to see that it was marked top-secret, and had come from the South African Ministry of Defense.
“So, what did you have to do to obtain this little gem?” asked Alexandra, as she eyed her sister.
“Not too much,” said Nika, as she poured herself a tall glass of ice-cold water. “It was remarkably easy. I appealed to the loneliness of a very young and forlorn corporal far from home, who also happened to work in the computer section located deep inside the South African Ministry of Defense. He was instantly smitten by me and, after a few days of toying with him, I simply had him download the information that I was looking for.”
“What about the corporal?” asked Romanov.
“Oh, he had an unfortunate accident. They fished his bloated body from the Jukskei River yesterday,” said Nika, without a hint of remorse in her voice.
“Most unfortunate for the young man,” said Alexandra dismissively, as if they were talking about the weather.
“Love can be fatal,” said Nika with a cold smile, as she poured herself another glass of water.
A sudden thought occurred to Romanov. Perhaps Nika’s husband was helped along with his suicide; he was not putting anything past his daughter these days. With a forced smile, he asked, “What are the chances his theft of key defense information will be discovered?”
“Nil, absolutely none,” Nika said. “The late corporal uploaded a virus that I provided to him after he had downloaded the information that I needed. It will take their IT experts weeks to debug their system, and by then the files will be horribly corrupted. The theft will go unnoticed for weeks; by then it will, of course, all be too late for anyone to do anything about it.”
Romanov smiled at his daughter’s ingenuity.
“Have you looked at the files?” asked Alexandra, her voice suddenly trembling with anticipation as she spoke.
“Oh, most definitely; everything, and I do mean everything, is on that memory stick. Father, all you have to do is give the go-ahead to Colonel Chang, and what you seek will be yours,” said Nika.
Romanov said nothing. He stared proudly at Nika and turned to face Alexandra. “Take the stick and download all the information onto our secure computers. Make sure you encrypt it before sending it on to Colonel Chang. Let him know that he can back-brief me via video-teleconference on his plan to secure the packages, tomorrow morning at 1000 hours.”
Alexandra nodded, picked up the stick, and placed it in her pocket for safekeeping.
“Nika, you have done wonderfully,” said Romanov. “Since you have taken the time to personally deliver this truly wonderful news to us, why do you have to leave?”
“Father, I have an entirely reliable source in the U.S. that has provided me with information that the American woman your people failed to grab in the Philippines will be back home tomorrow night,” said Nika, as she swirled the ice around in her crystal glass.
Romanov smiled. “Do you think you can get your hands on her?”
Nika locked eyes with her father. “Have I ever failed you?” said Nika.
“No, not once, my dear,” Romanov said, as he patted his daughter’s hand.
Nika stood. “Now, I have wasted too much time already. I must be going.” She wrapped her arms around her father, looked over at her sister, and shot her a smug, almost taunting, self-righteous smile.
Romanov and Alexandra stood there, watching, as Nika exited the room and was escorted to the waiting helicopter. When she arrived on the helipad, Nika turned to the nearest camera and playfully waved goodbye, just before climbing into the passenger door of the helicopter.
Romanov shook his head at his daughter’s increasingly unpredictable behavior, before sitting down in his favorite leather chair. Reaching into his leather briefcase, he pulled out an iPad and opened it to today’s New York Times. The headline read: Another deadly week of unrest sweeps Moscow — Can President Ivankov survive?
He smiled to himself and thought about the revolution he was secretly financing. “These zealots are creating more havoc than I had truly hoped for when we initially agreed to support them and their foolish uprising,” said Romanov to Alexandra. He was genuinely impressed with the chaos and carnage sown by the latest bombing at an army barracks on the outskirts of Moscow.
Alexandra looked over her father’s shoulder at the news headline; a crooked smile crept across her face. “The current Russian government is nothing more than a glorified dictatorship. It will naturally overreact and crack down even harder on the rebels, causing more disenfranchised people to turn to them, thereby creating the opportunity for someone willing to take the chance to lead Russia and her people out of this mess.”
Like a cat, Alexandra slinked over and sat down beside her father. “As I planned, Father, we only need to keep the West’s intelligence agencies focused away from what is really going to occur. The plan is pure genius in its simplicity. I have it from well-placed and highly reliable sources that your name is already being whispered on the lips of some very nervous Chinese, Japanese, and European officials as the possible savior of Russia and their precious supply of oil and natural gas. Your well-cultivated, pro-Western stance and proven track record as a formidable global business leader make you their white knight in shining armor.”
“They are all fools who
have become addicted to the cheap oil and gas I have been selling them.”
“Most assuredly, Father. I expect that by the end of next week, the West will be begging you to step in and become the de facto ruler of Russia. As it should be, the House of Romanov will resume its rightful place as the leader of the nation.”
“This is all truly excellent news. Now, all we need is the right catalyst, and we will be richer and more powerful than any family in the history of the world. Alexandra, do you think Chang and his band of overly well-paid mercenaries can pull this off?” asked Romanov.
“If Nika is right, and the information contained on the memory stick is one-hundred percent accurate, then Colonel Chang is the man to do it. After all, he does not come cheap. People like him care more about their reputations than anything else. He will deliver what we are after.”
Romanov smiled and lovingly patted his daughter’s hand. “You and your sister truly do make me proud.”
Alexandra smiled at her father as she stood, removed the memory stick from her pocket, and rolled it around in her hand for a moment. She wondered to herself what their world would look like in a matter of weeks. Snapping herself back into the here and now, she strode out of her father’s office, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
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