Read Doc Ford 19 - Chasing Midnight for Free Online

to crab-crawl backward from beneath his legs and escape behind him. Out the back door—more wrestling jargon.
    That quick, our positions were reversed—me on top, him on his belly in the water. Twice, he tried to slam the back of his head into my face, but I was pressed too close for him to connect. The positioning allowed me enough control to free one hand, pry off my second fin and lob it close to where the other fin had landed.
    When I did, he attempted to elbow me. I caught his left wrist and levered it up between his shoulder blades. At the same time, I grabbed his throat with my right hand, lifted his face out of the water and leaned close enough to his ear to whisper, “Why are you doing this? I didn’t shoot Kazlov, damn it!”
    Struggling to breathe, Vladimir made a guttural sound of pain but didn’t answer.
    I jammed the man’s face into the water, pushed it to the bottom and held him there while I refueled with ten deep breaths. As I did, my eyes scanned the docks, then moved to the island. The bodyguard had been in contact with someone before he’d had radio problems. Soon, they would come looking for him.
    I leaned and squinted, trying to discern details. Was there someone in the shadows, moving toward us? My glasses were still on the fishing line around my neck, so I couldn’t be sure.
    I watched for a couple of more seconds, then returned my attention to Vladimir. After levering the man’s head up, I waited until he was done coughing water before I tried again.
    “Tell me what the hell’s going on and I’ll let you go.”
    When he refused, I pushed his face to the bottom for another ten count, as my head swiveled toward the island. Yes, there had been someone standing near a tree—possibly the shooter’s ally. I knew for certain only because the blurry shape I’d seen was now gone.
    Where?
    I couldn’t risk remaining in the open, an easy target. Not with so many trigger-happy people around. So I grabbed the bodyguard’s belt and dragged him closer to the dock in case I needed cover… or a safe exit.
    Then I waited as Vladimir tried to stand. He was so winded and disoriented that he staggered and fell before finally making it to his feet. For several seconds, he stood at leaning rest, hands on his knees, fighting to get his breath.
    There didn’t appear to be much fight left in the guy, but he had fooled me before. By the time he’d recovered enough to stand erect, and look at me, I was holding my dive knife, palm up, because I wanted him to see it.
    “You didn’t try to kill me because of explosives,” I said in a low voice, straightening my glasses. “Or because Kazlov was shot. This has something to do with his boat being robbed, doesn’t it?
Doesn’t it?
”
    The man snorted as if I was too stupid to understand, his eyes moving from me to the Russian’s yacht moored at the T-dock, seventy-some yards in the distance. His contempt caused me to think of another explanation for why the night had suddenly turned violent.
    No… there were several possibilities, in fact—explanations that were as varied as the three powerful men who had come to Vanderbilt Island as Viktor Kazlov’s guests.
    E arlier in the day, Kazlov had told me he was disappointed in the turnout for his caviar party. I doubted that, considering the difficult time I’d had finessing invitations, but hadn’t challenged the point. The Russian claimed he had invited experts from around the world, but the only notables who’d showed were his three most powerful rivals, an Iranian, a Turkmenian and the millionaire from China.
    Later, I had made it my business to meet them all—introductions filled with meaningless niceties to deflect conversation. It is a device that powerful people use to keep their inferiors at a respectable distance.
    Lien Hai Bohai was Chinese, but he had been educated in Hong Kong, so his English was as polished as his manners. He owned a fleet of fishing boats that were actually floating fish