“Laundering millions through a charity,” I muttered. “How original.”
A
<b>91 </b>
I closed myptop and reached for my phone<b>, </b>quickly typing out an email to my Princeton professors requesting a two–day absence due to a family emergency. They wouldn’t question it–I had built up enough goodwill with perfect attendance and top marks.
Standing up, I walked to my closet and pulled out a ck duffel bag. From it, I removed several small devices that looked like ordinary power banks but were actually sophisticated explosives of my own design.
“Time to prepare for a little boat trip,” I said to myself,ying the devices out on my bed with methodical precision.
Two nightster, I stood at the edge of the Hudson River, watching Mitchell’s massive five–deck yacht with its distinctive blue and white coloring. Men in dark suits boarded discreetly, their movements efficient and purposeful. Anyone else might have seen businessmen or yacht staff, but I recognized the subtle signs of training–the way they scanned their surroundings, how they kept their dominant hands free.
Getting aboard was almost disappointingly easy.
I moved through the vessel’s corridors with practiced ease, my ck backpack containing everything I needed. Security cameras captured nothing but empty hallways as I bypassed their feeds with a small device clipped to my
belt.
I ced small explosive devices at strategic points throughout the lower decks. Each device was norger than a deck of cards, yet contained enough power to blow through a steel door.
After nting thest device near the engine room, I made my way to the top deck. The night air was cool against my skin as I emerged from below. I had exchanged my ck infiltration clothes for an elegant navy cocktail dress I’d stashed in my bag. A stolen ss of champagnepleted my disguise.
I positioned myself by the railing, gazing out at the Manhattan skyline as if admiring the view. The timing was perfect–within seconds, I heard footsteps approaching.
Danny stopped short when he saw me, his security rounds interrupted by my unexpected presence.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice professional but confused. “This area is off–limits to guests.”
–
I turned, my movements deliberately unsteady, eyes widened in feigned surprise. “Oh! I’m so sorry.” I giggled, injecting just the right amount of intoxication into my voice. “I think I got turned around. These boats are so big,
you know?”
“Miss Morgan?” Danny said, stepping closer. “Why would you been here?”
11:13 Wed, Sep <b>24 </b>
91
“I was here yesterday too,” I said with a conspiratorial smile. “For the… preview thing. The drinks were much better then.” I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Between us, I think someone messed with the alcohol tonight. Tastes…
off.”
Danny’s expression shifted from confusion to rm. “What do you mean?”
“Just a feeling,” I shrugged, watching realization dawn on his face.
“I need to tell Mr. Mitchell,” he said urgently, turning to leave.
I moved with the speed that had once made me the most feared assassin in the world. My first strike targeted the nerve cluster at the base of his neck, causing his legs to buckle. The second blow, delivered as he began to fall, rendered his arms temporarily useless. The third hit–a precise jab to a pressure point near his temple–silenced any cry for help and sent him into unconsciousness.
The entire takedown had taken less than two seconds.
I caught Danny before he hit the deck, dragging his limp form to the equipment room housed within the upper deck’s structure. I bound his hands and feet with zip ties from my purse and secured a gag in his mouth.
“Sleep tight. Permanently,” I said, patting his cheek lightly as I closed and locked the door.
Smoothing my dress and checking my appearance in apact mirror, I headed for the stairs that would take me to the fourth deck. Warren Mitchell was waiting, though he didn’t know it yet.
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