At 8 a.m. the next morning, William woke up with his girlfriend in his arms. He gently kissed the sleeping Ambrosio on the cheek, then got up and headed to the yacht's kitchen. He made a simple breakfast using leftovers from the previous night while listening to Sunday's report on the events that had occurred while he was asleep.
William was both irritated and resigned by Viggo's hesitation, almost swayed by the lure of wealth. He understood, though, that when faced with enormous profits, hesitation was natural—whether it was Viggo or anyone else.
William also realized that as long as he continued taking money from Viggo, conflict between them was inevitable. He just hoped that during their five-year agreement, Viggo wouldn't entertain any other ideas. If he did, well…
Fortunately, John Wick had decisively eliminated Ted and his group, leaving the Tarasov brothers with no choice but to continue on the path they'd started.
This incident made William realize that the matter of taking out Pushkin could no longer be delayed. Who knew what other surprises might occur in the meantime? He instructed Sunday, "Notify McCall that he should act as soon as he's ready. The longer this drags on, the more likely something will go wrong."
"Understood, sir. The order has been issued," Sunday replied, then continued, "While you were resting last night, I finished compiling all the information I could find on Eastern European mafia figures ranked at the small leader level and above. Shall I send these files to Mr. Garris Mallory in London?"
"Of course, send them. I'm not interested in becoming a crime boss, so keeping them won't do me any good," William said.
"Understood. The files have been sent, encrypted with Mr. Mallory's birthday."
"Heh," William chuckled, pulling out his phone to send Garris a text that read simply, "Your birthday."
After making breakfast, William returned to the bedroom to wake Ambrosio. They ate breakfast together and spent the rest of the morning chatting on the yacht's upper deck, enjoying the sunshine.
Around noon, Ambrosio went to prepare lunch, and while William was fishing from the deck, Sunday's voice came through his earpiece.
"Sir, Mr. Garris Mallory has responded. He said they agree to your terms. You can now send someone to inspect that batch of Chinese antiques."
"Heh, looks like these supposedly dignified aristocrats don't have many competent heirs among them. Even those old men who are close to meeting their maker are willing to engage in shady deals."
In this day and age, nobility without money was just as clueless as anyone else. An English noble title meant little more than a name in modern times. Without wealth, there was no difference between a noble and a pauper.
"Notify Abigail that time is tight. She should take a day off and then begin work. I need her to quickly assess the value and authenticity of those antiques. If this collection turns out to be as valuable as I hope, I'll have no choice but to trade the Faraday Group deal to Duke Devon and the others so they can make short-term gains, while I reap the long-term rewards."
"No yacht company, no matter how well-run, can deliver a ten- or hundredfold return. I wonder if their descendants will regret it and curse their fathers for missing out."
"The message has been sent, sir. Based on your predictions, I'd say there's a 100% chance of that."
"Haha, Sunday, I've noticed you're getting cheekier, but I like it."
"Thank you."
After wrapping up these matters and having lunch, William and Ambrosio rested for about an hour. By 2 p.m., they changed into their swimsuits and enjoyed an hour of swimming in the sea. William relished the feeling of exercising in the open ocean.
However, four intense workout sessions in less than 24 hours left Ambrosio completely exhausted. She was both enamored with and afraid of William, finally declaring the evening a "no-go" zone.
They spent three more days at sea, with William fishing, diving, and working out daily. On the fourth morning, just as William woke up, Sunday reported that McCall and Antonov in Moscow were ready to take down Pushkin.
"Has the equipment been delivered?" William asked.
"It was handed over to Mr. Antonov last night."
"And the confidentiality of the equipment?"
"No problems there. The equipment is highly secure. Once activated, if it moves more than one meter away from the operators for 10 seconds, or if I lose the signal, it will self-destruct," Sunday explained.
"Good. Let's hope the operatives can handle this mission successfully," William nodded with satisfaction. "When does the operation start, and are Antonov's family members safely out of Russia?"
"The operation is set to begin in an hour, at 4 p.m. Moscow time, right after Pushkin returns from hunting. That's when the defenses at his estate will be at their weakest. As for Mr. Antonov's family, they were flown out of Moscow two days ago and are now in Belarus. They should arrive in Estonia this afternoon. After switching cars, they'll reach the Polish-German border by 11 p.m. There will be people waiting to take them to the Swiss Iron Cross Mountain resort. They'll be safe there."
"Excellent. Notify me when the operation begins."
"Understood, sir."
After having breakfast with Ambrosio and spending some time enjoying the view, Sunday's voice came through the yacht's speakers, signaling that it was time for the operation to begin. William kissed Ambrosio, made an excuse about work, and retreated to the yacht's office. There, he opened a portal and returned to the underground chamber of his Oxford castle.
Although the yacht's equipment allowed for live feeds, the connection was unreliable and often cut out. To avoid any issues, William returned to his Oxford base, where the equipment was far superior. Sitting in his chair, he said, "Let's begin."
"Yes, sir."
Soon, multiple monitors in front of William flickered to life, showing the operation. Antonov and McCall appeared on the screens.
Antonov smiled and greeted William, "Good morning, boss."
McCall followed suit, "Good morning, Mr. Devonshire."
"It's afternoon for you, so I should be saying good afternoon."
"Haha, yes, sir," Antonov and McCall chuckled, relieved that William seemed to be in a good mood, easing their worries about the delay in the mission.
"Antonov, it looks like you've put in some effort learning English since we last met. Your Oxford accent is quite polished. Have you been planning to work for me for some time? If so, let me be the first to say welcome."
"Thank you, boss," Antonov replied, delighted. After seeing his family's situation in Moscow, he had indeed entertained thoughts of working for a wealthy benefactor, with William being the ideal choice. That was why he had chosen an Oxford-educated English tutor.
"No need to thank me," William said, glancing at his watch. "Time is running short, so I won't keep you. Good luck with the mission."
"Understood, boss."
After closing the video feed with Antonov and McCall, William stood and asked Sunday, "How are the devices I ordered performing?"
"So far, no issues. However, the fully automated production equipment is still too small-scale and can only produce materials with limited strength. The upgraded main server can assist with controlling two Mark suits simultaneously, but for full automation, the server will need further upgrades."
___________________
Read Ahead
P@treon.com/Mutter