Jet could hear the surprised exclamations from the upper deck as she crept carefully up the stairs. Excited voices echoed off the wooden walls of the main salon, interrupted by static from the guards’ radios as they took stock of the situation.
Grigenko’s voice boomed through the area, silencing the speculations and questions.
“My friends, this is just one of the many joys of boat ownership. A breaker must have tripped. Power will be restored shortly. May I suggest that everyone make their way outside onto the rear deck where the marina’s lights will provide illumination while the staff sorts this out? It happens occasionally. There is nothing to be alarmed about.”
The Russian’s voice sounded calm, strong and confident. The guests turned to the open glass doors that separated the stern area from the salon, and everyone moved onto the deck, which could easily accommodate double the number of people without being crowded. A woman’s laugh cut through the night as she stumbled and almost fell into the twelve-person hot tub, her companion catching her just in time. The security detail hovered nervously nearby, wary of the new danger that bringing the party outdoors presented for their host. A sniper could easily be in one of the surrounding buildings, and there was no way of shielding him if he was in the open.
One of the guards approached Grigenko, who was still safe behind the salon’s bulletproof glass windows, and had a terse discussion, cautioning against joining his guests on the rear deck. Another bodyguard moved toward him, holding a penlight to illuminate the way. Grigenko barked a series of curt instructions, his voice in no way resembling the jolly party host of only a few seconds earlier.
“Figure out what the hell happened. I want lights and air-conditioning back on within sixty seconds, do you read me? Get the mechanic to the generators and find out why the batteries aren’t supplying power. They should have kicked on the moment the generators failed.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard agreed, then spoke into his radio.
“I’m going above to the command center. Something about this doesn’t feel right,” Grigenko said, then moved to the stairs, trailed by the man with the flashlight.
The guests milled about on the rear of the yacht, the sense of emergency waning as the jazz trio carried their instruments outside and resumed playing. Soon, the sounds of laughter and merriment drifted into the night, echoing off the water, the Monaco police contingent having moved further away on the wharf to provide a little privacy for the mega-yacht’s celebrants.