“I think you'd better not go that way,” he said. Austin followed Petrov's gaze. A guard was working his way through the crowd. He looked straight at Austin and spoke to a microphone in the lapel of his suit. Austin let Petrov guide him into one door of the salon, around the dance floor, then through the other door and out onto the deck. They headed toward a stairway, but this too had a tall guard stationed at it. The man had a hand cupped next to his ear, listening to his radio.

Wearing a broad smile, Petrov went up to him and said something in Russian. The guard responded with a suspicious glare and reached for the gun inside his jacket. Petrov drove his fist into the man's midsection. The guard doubled over, gasping for breath, and when he came up for air, Austin was waiting with a right cross. The big man tumbled like a big tree felled by a lumberjack.

Stepping over the fallen guard, they raced down the stairs to the deck below. Austin saw a door like the one used on the other side of the ship for the guest shuttles. Petrov worked the latch and pushed the door open. Austin wondered if they were going to have to swim for it when a shaft of light fell on a powerboat. The motor was idling, and the man at the wheel grinned and waved when he saw Petrov.

“I took the liberty of arranging alternative transportation,” Petrov said.

“I thought you came alone.”

“Never trust a former KGB man.”

Austin scolded himself. Unlike Petrov, he had underestimated the determination of his foe. He had been so eager to confront Razov that he had neglected his own escape plans. He vowed to praise Ivan later for his meticulous attention to detail. He stepped from the ship onto the deck of the powerboat, Petrov followed and Petrov's man ratcheted up the throttle several notches. The boat surged forward, almost pitching Austin and Petrov into the water, as the snarling outboard motor pushed it up on plane.

Austin looked back at the brightly lit ship and chuckled as he imagined the reaction of Razov and his thugs to their escape. His triumph lasted only a second, however. Silent gunfire raked the boat, coming not from the ship but from the harbor itself. Though there was no sound, the muzzle flashes were clearly visible in the darkness, and the hail of bullets stitched their way across the body of the helmsman. He let out a soggy yell before he crumpled over the wheel, and the boat careened off at a wild angle.

Petrov pulled the man away from the wheel and Austin grabbed the helm. Spotlight beams converged on the powerboat. Razov was no fool. He'd stationed a picket line of his gunmen in boats around the yacht.