Soul of Piety

I should have specified—our stuff’s going to be loaded onto a boat. I have a 101-meter motor yacht, a Roberto Curtó that was made in a joint venture with RC Design and Mario Grasso of Navirex. Sixteen-meter beam, draft five meters, and empty is fifty-three hundred gross tons. Round bilged hull displacement. She can cruise at fourteen knots—officially, but I had some guys tinker with it and we can get up to twenty in a pinch. Staterooms for twenty-two people and—”

“I am not shopping to buy it,” interrupted Santoro. He snatched up a towel and began drying off. “How conspicuous is this boat?”

“Very,” said Kuga. “Big garish thing. But it’s registered to someone else. A Canadian billionaire I know. He was born to money and has no politics at all. I, on the other hand, have lots of footage of him with kids, so I own him. Besides, he’s Canadian and who the fuck ever looks twice at a silly, rich Canuck?”

Santoro scowled but said nothing, which made Kuga grin.

“You’ll love the name, too. 'The Soul of Piety.' The owner thinks that’s funny as balls. He’s a total hedonist scumbag. So, I guess it is. The boat has great range, but we can stop at the usual places to refuel. Make it look casual. There’s such an amazing control center aboard that we can run our operations at sea, and I have a gal working for me who knows how to spook her way into telecom satellites without tripping any alarms."

-Rage pg. 261-262, Kindle Edition.