Clark said nothing.
The other man spoke now. “Instead of hiding out over here in this little nothing bay.”
Clark shook his head. “I’m not hiding from anything.”
The South African shrugged, took another sip of his Caribe.
Clark knew he needed to ask them about themselves. He said, “You guys come from shore?”
“Us? No. We’ve got a little cat in the next cove.”
They didn’t have a little cat and they weren’t in the next cove, but Clark just nodded and sipped his beer.
The discomfort of the situation was palpable, and Clark played it up, even wiping his forehead a few times, as if to remove the sheen of sweat there. Finally he said, “Look, guys. Like I said, I was just about to call it a night.”
The men finished their beers in silence.
On the main deck the bald-headed man said, “This bay isn’t really that safe in case of a storm. The marina is much safer.”
Kip added, “This sure is a nice boat. I’d hate for anything to happen to it.”
Clark cocked his head, still playing the role of a nervous senior citizen. “What might happen to it?”
“Some weather’s coming in is what I heard,” Joe said, the malevolence strong in his voice.
Clark nodded. He’d checked the weather, of course. There was nothing but clear skies and moderate winds predicted.
Clark said, “Okay. Maybe first thing in the morning I’ll pull anchor and find another place. Something more suitable.”
Kip winked at Clark. “Sounds like a solid plan, old-timer. You have yourself a good one.” He put the bottle down and headed over the side.
Joe followed Kip back into the dinghy and the pair motored off. They disappeared as soon as they were out of the glow of the Irwin’s mast lights, but Clark heard their motor for another minute as he stood there on the deck.
He then went back to the cockpit and sat down, thinking about the exchange. He felt convinced the men had no real reason to be suspicious of him. Likely they were just assholes given instructions to keep all threats away from their operation, and they were being proactive.
These guys weren’t decision makers in this crime. Just muscle given enough responsibility to fuck it up. Of course, Clark knew, that didn’t mean they weren’t able to do their job when it came to using their guns or their fists, or following their boss’s orders.
Clark waited till midnight to go to shore. The original plan had him taking the dinghy in, of course, but he didn’t know if the two goons from the Spinnaker II would come back and look over the boat while he was gone. If they saw the dinghy ashore in the middle of the night, their suspicion would switch to outright certainty that Clark wasn’t what he appeared to be. So instead he stripped to his shorts, jumped in the water with his bag, and donned his fins. In seconds he was kicking in the black water, heading to the beach.
He was out of breath when he arrived, but he’d made good time, and in just minutes he recovered enough to begin the long hike.
An hour after this Clark climbed the rise, dropped down to his knees, and covered the last few feet in a crouch. When he peered over the top of the hill, he took a moment to orient himself. He looked down at the little cove below him, then pulled his night observation device from his pack.
After scanning back and forth through his NODs, he dropped his shoulders in resignation.
The big catamaran was gone.
54
President Jack Ryan sat back down at the round table in the conference room in Copenhagen, surrounded by twenty-six other national leaders, everyone minus the president of Lithuania, who had returned to her country to deal with the crisis at home.
His biggest ally in all this was gone, he told himself.
Before the discussion began he took stock of his base of support. He felt secure that he had the backing of Poland, Latvia, and Estonia, as well as other NATO member nations in Central Europe. As for the Western Europeans, he was counting on the United Kingdom and Germany, although the latter had not given him any direct indication they were on board with his plan.
Most all of the other nations were question marks, and he knew he was about to find out just where they all stood.
While Ryan hadn’t exactly expected a coronation after his ten-minute speech, he quickly realized he’d also been unprepared for the daggers to come out quite so quickly. As soon as the meeting reconvened, the president of France was recognized by the NATO secretary general. He was a swarthy sixty-year-old with a sparkle in his eye from a quick wit. He was a socialist, of course; five hundred times more liberal than Ryan, yet always respectful in his dealings with the American President. He addressed the room in French, but his words were deftly translated through the FM wireless earpiece in Ryan’s left ear.
“We’ve all read the briefing book you delivered to us, President Ryan, but, quite frankly, so much of what you assert is based upon conjecture. You are alleging the FSB has been involved in nearly every bad thing that has happened in the last few weeks.”
Ryan kept a measured tone. “I’ve cited five events I feel have been influenced or orchestrated by Russia. I am sorry to say it, but much more bad has happened in the world in addition to these five. I haven’t blamed Valeri Volodin for the bomb in the mosque in Tunisia on Tuesday, for example, or the drug cartel crisis in Mexico, just to mention a couple of things in the news.”
The French president waved his hand. “Be that as it may, your accusations feel like a stretch. And even putting aside the inflammatory proposal of moving armor from the alliance into Lithuania, your request for further sanctions troubles me as well. All this talk about the wealthy wrenching power from the masses. You are essentially accusing the Russians of operating a criminal state. A rogue regime.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes, I am.”
The president of France said, “What you are talking about is corruption. Shall we outlaw any nation with corruption in their system?”
“Corruption isn’t in Russia’s system, Mr. President. It is their system.”
“Be that as it may, we are not an enforcement body over the domestic policies of anyone, much less a non-NATO power. We have to leave Russia to fight their own organized crime.”
“Forgive me,” Ryan said, careful to keep his tone lighter than his darkening mood. “But when the state is a criminal organization, the state won’t do a good job combatting criminal organizations.”
The prime minister of the Netherlands spoke up now. He was a good-looking man in his late forties who spoke English as well as Ryan did. “Mr. President, you talked as if Russia had something to show for their invasion of Ukraine. I disagree with this assessment. They have been effectively held in place for a year. They are not winning.”
Ryan nodded. “Compared to their original goal? No, they have not been successful, you are correct. But look at a map of two years ago, and then tell us Russia is not in a better position now. Compared to a two-year-old map, they are winning.”
The Dutch leader said, “A fair point, Mr. President. But you are asking us to risk war with Russia over Lithuania.”
Ryan said, “Mr. Prime Minister, I am merely asking you to live up to the NATO charter, of which your nation is a signatory.”
The young Dutchman shrugged a little, a dismissive gesture. “Over a Russian land bridge through Lithuania to its own province. Look, I’d love to help in this endeavor. Russia’s involvement in the plane crash was horrific, and both their actions and their rhetoric have been deplorable. Further, I recognize NATO will appear weak if we do nothing. But there has been no Article Five violation yet, so we aren’t obligated to do anything.”