“Go on.”
“Three Burmese rent-a-thugs,” Brice said, “and four Indonesian villagers longing for Paradise. It’s the remaining three that are interesting. One was the ex — chief mate off Alicia and the guy that masterminded the hijacking of the boats. Broussard and Vega ID’d him, but we have no idea who he really is. Then there’s a rogue American named Richards: ex — US Army, ex — private-security contractor, in our files as a known bad actor. We used him on some low-level stuff a time or two, but he was way too volatile and unstable. He was cut off the company Christmas-card list some time ago.” Brice hesitated.
“You’re one short,” Ward prompted.
“Yeah, the last guy could be a problem. Yousif Nassir Hamad AKA Joe Hamad, Ensign USNR. The cream of the latest crop of NROTC graduates, allegedly on compassionate leave in Dearborn, Michigan.”
“Oh shit,” Ward said.
“Shit is right. This kid’s the poster child for Arab-American assimilation. The navy was ready to put his picture on recruiting posters.” Brice paused. “Like I said. A problem.”
“You got a solution?” Ward asked.
“We’re working on it.”
“Need any help?” Ward asked.
“We’re good. But we’d like the body to stay ‘unidentified’ a while. Do what you can to make sure no one at Langley gets hot to trot to run down the identities of every single assailant. I need a little breathing room here.”
“Done,” Ward said and wished Brice luck.
Three hours later, Ward was still at his desk, trying to piece together the strange parts of the puzzle. Should he call Gardner? He didn’t look forward to that conversation. Ward smiled. Screw it. He’d been right about China Star, so Gardner couldn’t come down too hard. And since his boss was going to be pissed anyway, he might as well combine the chewing out for disobeying orders along with one for failing to keep Gardner informed. Two transgressions for the price of one.
Ward glanced at the time and shut down his computer. He might have time to get home and spend the afternoon hosting his holiday cookout before he got an irate call from Gardner. That would get Dee Dee off his back, at least.
Ward was locking his door when Gardner appeared.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Home,” Ward said.
“Not before we talk. I’ll call you in when I’m ready.” Gardner stomped off without waiting for a reply.
Ward glared at Gardner’s back.
As it turned out, Gardner did get a call — from the deputy director of the CIA. The Old Man received a morning briefing report 365 days a year. In a slight nod toward relaxation, on holidays he delayed perusing the report until after a late breakfast and most of a pot of coffee, but when something attracted the Old Man’s interest, he inquired. China Star qualified.
Blindsided, Gardner had panicked at mention of China Star, weighing his options. Just before he threw Ward under the bus, the Old Man offered a gruff “well done.”
“Just doing our job, sir,” Gardner had replied before a polite good-bye.
He was enraged at Ward’s disobedience, all the more so since the man had apparently been right. His first instinct was to pick up the phone, but he quickly had second thoughts. If he could get into the office and ahead of Ward on the information curve, maybe he could paint Ward as out of touch and not doing his job. He might not be able to openly punish the man for disobeying orders, but there was more than one way to skin a cat.
Gardner’s plan had fallen apart when he found Ward in the office. His only outlet for petty retribution was to keep Ward waiting as he skimmed the intel from Singapore and simmered. After a cursory review, he decided to kill a bit more time by checking his e-mail, and his eyes were drawn to a flashing “high priority” icon. As he read the message, his frown morphed into a smile. He printed the e-mail and punched his speed dial.
“Ward. Get in here.”
Ward controlled his anger as Gardner waved him to a chair.
“So, you were right,” Gardner said. “I guess even a blind pig finds the odd acorn.”
You’re welcome, asshole, Ward thought.
“But don’t go getting too smug” — Gardner shoved a paper across the desk—”because your instincts about Dugan are a bit further off the mark.”
Ward studied the printout detailing transfer of a million dollars through several accounts with terrorist associations into and out of a new Cayman Island account, held by a series of dummy corporations and trusts that led back to Thomas Dugan.
“Dugan’s under financial surveillance?”
“You’re god damned right,” Gardner said.
“Larry, we’ve had his financials forever. Dugan’s not for sale, and if he was, it’d take a lot more than this. This is chump change.”
Gardner scoffed. “So someone wasted a million bucks to set up your buddy?”
“Not really. The money’s gone. What’s that tell you?”
“That Dugan’s smart. He made it disappear.”
“Yet dumb enough to leave a trail in the first place? I don’t think so, Larry.”
“Whatever. Dugan and Kairouz are still our prime suspects. Clear?”
“Crystal,” Ward said.
“Good. Get out.” Gardner shut down his computer as Ward rose.
“Wait a minute,” Gardner said. “Where’s your pal now? I don’t want him to disappear.”
Ward stifled his anger and looked at his watch. “He’s on his way to Panama. He’s not going to disappear.”
“Whatever. At least the asshole is out of the way for a while.” Gardner also checked the time. “I’ll be at the parade,” Gardner said. “Senator Gunther invited me to sit with him on the reviewing stand. Call me if there are any developments.”
Ward nodded and walked down the hall, dreaming of putting a bullet into Gardner’s head.
Chapter Twenty
Reyes hung up the phone. Something was very strange. Asian Trader hadn’t delayed on the Pacific side even long enough to off-load the dead seaman’s body. A death at sea was traumatic for all concerned, and usually the company involved was eager to land the remains and put the event behind them. The ship’s agent had also seemed surprised, saying only that he was following orders from a Señor Dugan that nothing should prevent the ship from meeting her priority transit slot.
Given the accelerated transit, Reyes had expected pushback when he told the agent that since Asian Trader wouldn’t anchor at Cristobal until early evening, the inquiry would start the following morning in daylight. The agent had seemed unconcerned, allowing that was expected, and in any event, Señor Dugan himself would attend the inquiry and was not arriving until later this evening.
Now why would an owner pay dearly for early transit and then so easily accept delay? He had many questions for this Señor Dugan. But that was tomorrow.
He looked at the stack in his in-box and sighed. He’d actually been looking forward to getting out of the office for a while. He glanced at the time and considered calling Maria to meet him for lunch later. Then he remembered. She was helping with the field trip to the locks today. He smiled as he remembered the twins’ excited chatter at breakfast about seeing the big ships.
His smile faded as he looked back at the in-box. He sighed again and picked up a file.