He spun Juna around and pushed her back up to the deck and inside, slid the glass door shut and cut through the bungalow. He’d left the front door unlocked when he let her in. Yanked it open, looked outside, stepped back in and shut the door. 

“What?” Juna said. 

“More company.” 

Weecho peered through the peephole, saw the lights blink off on a couple of vehicles pulled up on the embankment. Men were getting out and coming this way, starting across the plank walkway. 

“Bedroom,” he said, and they ran for it. 

In the tight little room Juna started for the closet, but Weecho pulled her back. Under the bed was a better place if they wanted to see who and what. 

They both wriggled under, facing out, and Weecho tugged down the bedspread. There was just enough space between the hem of the spread and the rug on the floor to see down the hall to the front door and part of the living room. 

The door opened and a man came in, big dark outline filling the entrance. He flicked on the hall light and Weecho could see it was the big Asian guy he’d ducked at the harem. Yoon’s goon. The guy went into the living room, made sounds like he was checking around. Back at the door, two suits came in, young guys, stocky builds, buzz-cuts like you see on security details. Which figured because next came Senator Gatchel and then some older guy, and then the five-foot-zero figure of Yoon himself. After them another Asian guy came in and shut the door. 

One of the suits checking out the hallway snapped his eyes toward the bedroom and came straight for it. Weecho pulled Juna back under the bed as far as they could get. The light went on and they heard the closet door slide open. Then slide closed. They’d lucked on not being in there, but knew what was next. 

The suit flipped up a corner of the spread and peered under the bed. No harem legs swinging to distract him. Weecho closed his eyes so the whites wouldn’t show, hoped Juna was doing the same. And maybe that was enough. Maybe the two of them blended with the dark. Or maybe the guy wasn’t bent down far enough. Whatever, he dropped the spread and shut off the light and went back out. 

They waited until they were sure he’d rejoined the others, eased themselves back to where they had a view. The second Asian guy turned off the hall light and Weecho could see from the flickering in the living room that the first guy had lit candles, keeping the light low so as not to draw attention from outside. 

From under the bed they heard the glass door to the deck slide open, saw somebody’s shadow step inside. 

“Ah,” Yoon said, “here is Mr. Lynch now.” 

It was Lynch’s Donzi they’d seen pulling in. 

“Senator Gatchel,” Lynch said, “a pleasure to see you again.” 

“A pleasure to see you, too,” Gatchel said, sounding almost like he meant it. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Bigsby.” 

Weecho nudged up the hem of the bedspread so they could see Lynch shaking hands with the older man. 

“Welcome to our safe house,” Lynch said. “Modest but secure.” 

Playing it up for this Bigsby.   

Weecho wondering who the man was when, Christ, his cellphone rang. 

Had it on low in his shirt pocket, fumbled it out before everybody in the house could hear the thing. “What,” he whispered. 

“It’s Dara. Where are you?” 

“I can’t talk.” 

“Okay, listen. They found the bug in Yoon’s library.” 

“How?” 

“It looks like they do a regular sweep. We could see it on the replay.” 

Or Lynch had them do it when he woke up to who Weecho was and what he’d been doing roaming around Yoon’s yacht. That’s why these guys were meeting in the bungalow instead of on board. Or instead of moving it to Lynch’s Petoria, him not wanting them poking around in his business – his business where Weecho realized Juna couldn’t go back anymore.   

“I’ll call you later,” Weecho told Dara, and clicked off. 

“Who was that?” Juna whispered. 

Weecho shook his head for her to keep quiet. 

In the cramped living room, the security guys had been sent out to the deck, so there were just Lynch, Yoon, Gatchel and his friend Bigsby left. They were talking too low for Weecho and Juna to hear everything they were saying. The one thing that came through clear, though, was how Gatchel’s attitude had changed toward Lynch. Whatever the Senator had seen when he walked into his stateroom after that meeting in Yoon’s library, it put him in Lynch’s pocket.  

There was more back and forth between them, and then Yoon spoke separately to Bigsby. 

“The secret service of one of our European allies,” Yoon said, “has been utilizing a similar system, with much success. The poppies are cultivated at the usual source, sometimes by our ally’s own enemy, and then refined into product. The product finances operations that that service’s political overseers might not wish to use public funds for. And of course it pays for weapons.” 

“What about product distribution?” Bigsby asked, with Weecho wondering how many times the product would be cut before it hit the street. 

Lynch spoke up. “We arrange that, you wouldn’t be involved. And weapons procurement as well.” 

“One stop shopping,” Gatchel said, in case anyone didn’t get it. 

“There’s product coming in tonight,” Lynch said, “if you’d like a random sample.” 

“I think I’ll pass on that,” Bigsby said, “but I’d like to take this project further.” 

Yoon said, “We would be pleased to proceed whenever you are ready.” 

A few more words and then everyone stood up. Lynch called the security men in from the deck. 

“I’ll say my goodbyes here,” Lynch said, shaking hands with Bigsby and Gatchel. “My boat’s downstairs and I’m off to work.” 

He stepped outside and slid the glass door shut behind him. Yoon and the others left the way they came. The front door closed and the little bungalow was suddenly quiet.

Weecho turned to Juna. Could see she’d been more uptight than he’d thought. Reached across her back and brought her closer, them still on their stomachs. She shut her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder. The close calls, the anxiety build-up, had the adrenaline going. At least for Weecho it did – was starting to rechannel itself. Maybe for Juna, too. 

She opened her eyes and looked at him, their faces a couple of inches apart. They kissed, pulled back, saw they each wanted more, kissed again. Harder. Making sounds like they couldn’t get enough. Juna wasn’t wearing perfume now, smelled good to Weecho without it. He slid his hand up under the back of her hoodie, no clothes there, just smooth warm skin. They tried to turn on their sides, be front to front, but it was too tight under the bed. 

Weecho about to say they should get up and get between the sheets when outside the engines of Lynch’s Donzi roared to life. 

Shit. 

“I have to follow him,” Weecho said. 

“What?” 

“I’m sorry. It’s my one shot.” 

He’d been running it through his head since he heard Lynch say there was product coming in. 

“He’s in a boat,” Juna said. “How are you going to follow him?” 

“Nina’s Jet Ski.” 

He was already wriggling from under the bed, on his way to the sliding glass door. 

Juna was right behind him. “I’m coming with you.” 

Weecho didn’t answer, slid back the glass door, stood there and listened. Could hear the Donzi’s twin engines rumbling as the boat pulled out into the channel.   

He ran low across the deck, over to the hatch, looked down the ramp to make sure nobody was on the floating dock. Clambered down to the Jet Ski. He’d ridden one on a shoot last summer out on Long Island Sound, had pretty much gotten the basics. Undid the lines and swung his leg over the saddle. Felt for the key. Which of course wasn’t there.                                 

Juna was about to climb on, saw the problem. 

“Stay there,” she said, and ran back up the ramp. 

Weecho had no idea what she had in mind but knew by now to let her do it. He reached with his foot to hold the Jet Ski against the dock. Across the black water he could see the running lights of the Donzi heading for the bay, going slow, keeping to the channel speed limit. 

 “For your information,” a woman’s voice said, “I never used it to bring my own stuff in.” 

Weecho turned around, not surprised to see her, had been expecting that aura to somehow appear, it being her house. 

“I felt bad the second I said it.” 

Nina Galleon’s one eye, the one that hadn’t been melted in the fire, looked hard at him, and then went to the Jet Ski. “You know how to ride that?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Pretty much might not cut it you get out where he’s going.” 

“I’ll be fine. I hope you don’t mind I borrow it.” 

“Like I’m going to be using it, right?” 

“Anyway, I’ll bring it back.” 

“Whatever.” 

“I wish, you know…” 

“Save it, here comes your friend.” 

“Here,” Juna said, coming back down the ramp, holding out a key. It had Ski handwritten on the little ducky float attached to the keychain. 

“Where’d you find it?” 

“Kitchen cabinet. I saw a bowl of keys when we were looking around.” 

Like he said, let her do it. 

But she wasn’t coming with him. 

Too much weight. He’d need all the speed he could get to keep up with the Donzi. 

He keyed the ignition, started the engine, pushed off before Juna could get on. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” 

“I’m a terrible driver, I don’t want you hurt.” 

“You bastard! Get back here!” 

But he was already halfway out to the channel. Left her cursing back on the dock. Gave the Jet Ski a little throttle and picked up the Donzi’s wake. 

Luckily it was a clear night so he could follow the fastboat’s lights. But that meant they could see him if he got too close, so he had to hang back. He trailed them out through the Rockaway Inlet, started rolling in the ocean swells, Coney Island lights off to the right. He didn’t know how far they’d be going out, hoped the Jet Ski had enough gas. A heavier jacket would’ve been good since it looked like it was going to be a long night.