Holt laughed. “I wouldn’t doubt that for a minute.”
Chapter Fifteen
Gardner glared at Ward. “No. And stop beating a dead horse, Ward. The answer was no two days ago, and it’s still no.”
“We should notify MALSINDO,” Ward persisted, using the acronym for the alliance of Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia policing the Malacca Strait.
“And tell them what? Your boy Dugan and his terrorist buddy have a gut feeling?”
“Listen, Larry—”
“No, YOU listen, Ward. Me, chief. You, Indian. Understand?”
Ward bit back a sharp reply. “At least let’s notify our own guys.”
“Ward. It’s a goddamned VLCC,” Gardner said. “It will check into the traffic system, so I see no need to cry wolf and look stupid. You’ve screwed this up enough, so let’s just lie low and avoid embarrassment.”
Great, Ward thought, all this asshole is worried about is image. There was a huge difference in the scrutiny China Star would get if the authorities suspected trouble.
“Look, Larry. You have to understand—”
“No, YOU look. I haven’t handed you your ass for your boy Dugan fucking things up by the numbers, but if you mention China Star to Singapore, I will HAVE YOUR ASS! Clear?”
Ward managed an angry nod.
“Fine. We’re done. I’m invited to a congressional prayer breakfast, and I’m late.”
Ward stifled an impulse to suggest Gardner pray for some fucking brains and stalked to his own office. After a moment of indecision, he glanced at his watch and called London.
“The bloody wanker,” Lou Chesterton said. “So what now?”
“I follow orders and hope you’ll do the same, but I know you Brits are blabbermouths.”
“Yes, we are a loose-lipped lot,” Lou said. “Why, given that the British High Commission is next door to your embassy, I suspect our Singapore lads gossip over the fence like old hens.”
“No doubt,” Ward said. “However, I hope if they do somehow hear about China Star, that they keep their efforts low-key. My ass is hanging out here a bit, Lou.”
“Understood,” Lou said. “I’m sure things will work out.”
Medina frowned. The sun had pounded the deck for a week, and the steel deck grew hotter each day. He wore gloves now for push-ups, and even the wind rebelled, veering astern and matching their speed to leave the deck becalmed. He watched a nearby thunderhead and willed it closer, with its promise of cooling rain and concealing wind.
His eyes moved toward the bow as the bosun descended from the forecastle with a grease gun. He knew fumes were thick on deck just aft of the raised forecastle and watched the bosun for a reaction. Sure enough, upon reaching the deck, the man tilted his head, and Medina saw cognition in his eyes. The sailor squatted and sniffed at a tank vent. He rose to find Medina beside him.
“We have a bulkhead leak. We must tell the chief mate,” the bosun said, starting aft.
“Wait,” Medina said. “I smelled it before on the starboard side too. Let’s check it out before we get everyone excited.”
Unwilling to appear an alarmist while a green third mate remained calm, the bosun followed Medina under the centerline pipe rack, out of sight of the bridge watch high above.
Medina stopped under the pipes. “There’s the problem,” he said, pointing to a rising stem valve, the spiral threads of its stem protruding vertically from its center.
The bosun scoffed. “How can that be the problem?”
“Look closely,” Medina said.
The bosun hid his amusement as he bent low over the irrelevant valve. Junior officers became senior officers and were to be humored. He was about to straighten when strong hands on the back of his head slammed his face toward the valve, and he lost his balance, adding to his downward momentum. His last memory was the tip of the valve stem rushing toward him and a searing pain as it mangled his left eye and pushed into his brain.
Medina kept his full weight on the bosun’s head until the flailing stopped. He removed the man’s shoe and dabbed the sole with grease from the man’s grease gun, then pressed the shoe to the deck, simulating a slip in grease. He put the shoe back on the bosun’s foot and laced it.
A freshening wind cooled Medina’s face as he ran aft for help. A cooling rain was washing the bosun’s blood into the sea by the time he returned with that help two minutes later.
“Why does anyone have to go?” Braun demanded. “For that matter, why even have a damned inquiry? The captain logged it as an accident.”
Alex gritted his teeth. “Because it’s the law, Braun. Whenever—”
“Captain Braun.”
“All right. Captain Braun. Whenever there’s a death at sea, international law requires an inquiry at the next port of call with a company representative in attendance.”
“Well, I’m sure as hell not letting you go, and I’m not going.” Braun smiled. “Wait a minute. Send Dugan.”
“I don’t think—”
“Didn’t Dugan take Asian Trader through the yard in Singapore just last month?”
“He started her through, yes,” Alex said. “But I don’t think—”
“I don’t care what you think, Kairouz. He knows the ship. He’s available. Send him. Now get out.”
Alex stiffened and left Braun’s office as the German reflected on how often adversity is opportunity in disguise. He was a bit concerned that the accident might draw unnecessary attention to Asian Trader, but that effort was a sideshow anyway. He was sure the expendable lunatic there would manage to kill himself in spectacular fashion. Now, with luck, Dugan would be there to take the fall after it happened. Braun hummed a little tune as he brought up the Web site of the National Bank of the Caymans and opened a new account in Dugan’s name.
Dugan and Anna’s team sat around the coffee table in the surveillance apartment, his sat phone open in speaker mode on the table.
“Braun’s adamant,” Dugan said. “Alex called me into his office and told me I was going to Panama. We carried on a conversation for Braun’s benefit while we scribbled notes back and forth. I made the expected excuses — said it was Braun’s job, I was too busy, et cetera, and Alex made a show of forcing me.”
“But why is Braun so keen for you to go?” Anna asked.
Dugan shrugged. “After the China Star deal, I guess he wants me out of the way.”
“It makes sense,” Ward’s voice from the speaker said. “He isn’t likely to allow Alex out of his control, and Tom knows the ship. I don’t think we should read too much into this.”
“I agree with Ward,” Lou said. “He has China Star under satellite coverage, and we still have Anna in the office to keep an eye on things. If Dugan pushes back at this point, it may make Braun suspicious.”
Anna nodded. “OK, let’s keep Braun happy then. Between China Star and the Caracas intercept, we’re finally getting somewhere. We don’t want to upset him now.”