Gardner pointed at the conference table. “Use the speakerphone,” he said.
“Hello, Tom,” Ward said as Dugan answered, “Larry Gardner is with me on speaker.”
Dugan paused. “Hello, Jesse. Hello, Larry. I have—”
“Cut to the chase, Dugan,” Gardner said. “I’m running late.”
Dugan hadn’t expected Gardner. He led with China Star again, stalling.
“We have suspicious activity on a ship named China Star, now loading at Kharg—”
“Where?” Gardner asked.
“Kharg Island, Iran,” Ward said. “Go ahead, Tom.”
“If there’s anything to it,” Dugan continued, “the mostly likely target would be the Malacca Strait near Singapore.”
“When does she sail?” Ward asked, scribbling.
“Unknown,” Dugan said. “I’ll keep on it, but you might initiate satellite surveillance—”
“Just worry about your end, Dugan,” Gardner said. “What else? Or did you call just to alert us to a ship which ‘might’ be suspect and may be days away from leaving port?”
There was a long pause, then Dugan spoke in a rush, as if eager to finish his recitation of the events of the last few hours before he was interrupted. He needn’t have worried; both Ward and Gardner were shocked speechless. Gardner recovered first.
“YOU FUCKING DID WHAT?” Gardner screamed, launching an abusive tirade punctuated with a list of Dugan’s violations of the Patriot Act. Then he turned on Ward.
“God damn you, Ward, where the hell is that limey cunt you had sitting on this idiot?”
Dugan interrupted before Ward could respond.
“Look, Larry, calm down,” Dugan said. “I’ve explained that Alex Kairouz is not—”
“That’s not your call, asshole. Leave that to the intelligence professionals.”
Dugan lost it. “’Intelligence professional’? And that would be you? You couldn’t track a fucking elephant through ten feet of snow.”
The Brits regarded their shoes in the sudden silence.
“You’re done, asshole,” Gardner’s voice whispered through the speaker. “You’ve killed the operation. I’ll have the Brits arrest you. You and Kairouz can be cell mates in Gitmo.”
“Actually, Mr. Gardner,” Anna said, “the operation is far from compromised.”
“Who’s that?” Gardner demanded. “Damn it, Ward, this line was supposed to be secure.”
“We’re perfectly secure,” Anna said. “I’m Agent Anna Walsh, AKA the ‘limey cunt.’”
Oh shit, can this get any worse, Ward thought as Gardner gaped at the phone.
“I do not intend to end this operation,” Anna continued, “and expect your continued support. Of course, we’re recording now as standard procedure, as, I’m sure, are you. Should you proceed with action against Mr. Dugan, I will ask for an official review, including this conversation. Dugan’s remarks were intemperate, but he was provoked, and your language was equally foul. On that subject, while I admire your ability to malign my nationality, gender, and character in the space of two words, your terminology was most objectionable. I believe our superiors will agree, should it come to that. So let’s just move on, shall we?”
“Yes, of course,” Gardner said. “Uh… what do you propose?”
“We’ll work out a way to communicate with Kairouz, and I’ll detail assets to shadow the girl and her nanny and to intercede if necessary,” Anna said.
“Why? You might tip off Braun.”
“Risks are minimal. It will reassure Kairouz, and it’s the right thing to do,” she said.
“Still, it seems a waste of assets,” Gardner said.
“British assets, protecting British subjects, at the discretion of Her Majesty’s representative. That would be me,” Anna said.
“Uh, OK, your call. Anything else?”
“No,” Anna replied, “unless you or Agent Ward have anything.”
“No,” Gardner said, disconnecting without looking at Ward, who had a great deal to add but nothing he wanted to say in front of Gardner.
“That was amazing, Anna. Thank you,” Dugan said.
“Yes, well, everything’s relative,” she said. “This Gardner twit infuriated me even more than you, something I scarcely thought possible twenty minutes ago.”
Harry grinned. “I dunno, I think the Yank redeemed himself. I rather enjoyed the ‘ten feet of snow’ bit. I woulda loved to have seen the wanker’s face.”
The men laughed as Anna struggled to suppress a smile.
“How in hell did you let this get so out of control, Ward? Dugan just blew the whole operation, just to protect his raghead buddy. He’s dirty. Get the finance guys on this: bank accounts, e-mails, phone records, foreign-held companies, the lot.”
“We’ve had Dugan’s complete financials for years,” Ward said. “He doesn’t need money. I share your concern about his actions, but if Walsh and her team are comfortable, we have to respect that. Besides, if Dugan wanted to scuttle us, he’d do it quietly.”
“Just because he’s fooled the crumpet munchers doesn’t mean he’s not a traitor.”
“OK, OK, I know you’re upset, but try to calm down. Go enjoy your evening.”
The reminder of the social engagement worked as intended. Nothing was more important to Gardner than a chance to rub shoulders with the power elite.
Gardner nodded and rose. As they walked out and Gardner locked his door, Ward got in a subtle dig.
“Enjoy the ballet with Congressman Gaynor,” he said.
“It’s the symphony with Senator Gunther,” Gardner said.
Ward shrugged. “Whatever.”
Gardner stalked off, appalled at Ward’s ignorance. No wonder he was still an agent.
Minutes later, Ward sat at his computer, requesting a flyover of Kharg Island, Iran, with a specific request for updates on the China Star. He’d refrained from mentioning satellite coverage to Gardner, fearing the man might object because it was Dugan’s idea. If you didn’t ask, no one could say no.
Chapter Thirteen
Medina jogged down the deck, his routine well established after two weeks at sea. The afternoon sun was warm on his back as he moved along the deck and dropped to do push-ups near a ballast-tank vent. His exercise attracted no notice now other than jokes about his sanity. It was the perfect way to keep check on events unfolding unseen below the deck at his feet.
The gasoline had eaten through the Styrofoam by now, he was sure of it. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned the gasoline weeping down the bulkheads of the empty ballast tanks, evaporating in the process. As the sun warmed the deck each day, the expanding air in the empty tanks whispered out the vents, and at night, sea water rushing past the outer hull cooled the air and reversed the process, sucking in oxygen-rich sea air. Fumes would escape each day, but most would remain, slowly filling each tank from the bottom up as it “breathed” through each cycle, mixing its contents into explosive vapor.
He put his nose near the deck as he did push-ups and smelled the faint odor wafting from the nearest vent to lie invisible along the deck before being swept away by a breeze. He smiled. The tanks were ripening and chances of discovery slight as the wind dissipated the fumes. His plan would work, inshallah.
The car lurched to a stop, and Farley watched Gillian Farnsworth’s face in the mirror, disappointed that she was ignoring his provocation. She got out and went into the school, returning with a glum-looking Cassie in tow.