“Here. I’m hit bad, ” came a weak reply.
“Hang on, and keep talking,” Broussard shouted, swimming toward the voice. He arrived as his friend slipped below the surface, and he dove, groping until he grabbed an arm. He kicked them to the surface and gulped air as he made out Hopkins’s face in the moonlight, tape dangling from a cheek. Hopkins coughed.
“C’mon, buddy. You can make it. Hang in there.”
“I’m all sh … shot up,” Hopkins said, “… got a full clip into m … me.”
“Knock that shit off, Hopkins. You gotta make it, or Vega will kill me,” Broussard said.
Hopkins rewarded him with a feeble smile before he closed his eyes and spoke no more.
Broussard ran hands over Hopkins’s body, confirming by touch the accuracy of Hopkins’s diagnosis, as he struggled to apply pressure to more wounds than he had hands. The lightening sky found them bobbing in a circle of bloodstained water as Hopkins stared through lifeless eyes. Near exhaustion, Broussard checked for a pulse one last time, then blinked back tears of anger and grief as he closed Hopkins’s eyes and let his friend sink.
An hour later aboard a Super Lynx helicopter of the Royal Malaysian Navy, vectored to the last-known coordinates of the Alicia by the Singapore Operations Center, Broussard looked over the straits. Sheibani’s smirking face rose unbidden.
“Keep smilin’, asshole,” he said, “payback’s gonna be hell.”
Chapter Four
Christ. What an ugly building. Dugan walked up the rise to the embassy entrance. Singaporean civilian guards confirmed his identity and business, and he moved through a metal detector and bombproof doors, past a Marine guard to passport services. Minutes later, he stood in a windowless conference room as Jesse Ward appeared, trailed by a younger man.
Dugan hadn’t seen Ward in person in some time. The man’s wiry black hair was thinner and flecked with gray now, and his dark face lined. Intellect still sparkled behind the soft brown eyes, but in khakis and a rumpled blue blazer, he looked ordinary and forgettable. The perfect look for an intelligence agent.
“Good to see you, Tom,” Ward said, pumping Dugan’s hand as he nodded toward his companion. “This is my boss, Larry Gardner.”
Quite a contrast, thought Dugan, shaking Gardner’s hand. Gardner was much younger, with a flawless tan, movie-star looks, and black blow-dried hair. His suit had never graced a store rack, high-end or otherwise, and his silk tie sported a perfect knot. The cuff of his snowy dress shirt protruded from his jacket to reveal monogrammed initials, and a gold Rolex advertised resources beyond a government salary. He looked like a lawyer. Dugan disliked him on sight.
“OK, what gives?” Dugan asked as they sat. “It must be important to get you all the way from Langley to Singapore.”
Ward opened his mouth, but Gardner cut him off.
“What’s your relationship with Phoenix Shipping, Dugan?” he asked.
Dugan shot Ward a questioning look, then shrugged. “Alex Kairouz is my biggest client and a good friend. I’m taking one of his ships through yard period up in Sembawang right now.” He paused. “Why? What’s this all about?”
“Would it surprise you to know Kairouz has links to terrorists?”
Dugan’s face registered surprise before his eyes narrowed in anger.
“Alex Kairouz? Terrorists? Bullshit. He hates those Muslim fanatics.”
“Who said anything about Muslims, Dugan?”
Dugan glared at Gardner. “It was a wild guess. The IRA and the Popular Front for the Liberation of Kansas haven’t blown anyone up lately.”
Gardner colored and opened a folder, pretending to study the contents. “He’s given you a lot of money.”
“He hasn’t ‘given’ me a damn thing. He paid me for services rendered.”
“Perhaps,” Gardner said, “but your association, and other things, put you under a cloud. Ward here speaks well of you, but until we’re sure where your loyalty lies—”
“Where my loyalty lies?” Dugan interrupted, looking first at Ward, then refocusing on Gardner. “You know, if I were sensitive, this would hurt my feelings.”
“Look, Dugan,” Gardner said, “lose the attitude. Your duty as an American citi—”
“Mr. Gardner. Larry. May I call you Larry?” Dugan asked, continuing without waiting for a response. “Larry, I assure you, I will cooperate.”
Gardner flashed Ward a smug smile.
“However,” Dugan went on, “cooperation is about relationships. For example, the bond Agent Ward and I enjoy. But Larry, I don’t feel that same chemistry here. I’m sure it’s my fault, but I think I should continue with one of your associates.” He paused. “Is Moe or Curly Joe available?”
Gardner’s smile faded. “You son of a bitch,” he said, rising to stalk out, then slamming the door behind him.
Ward shook his head. “You could get me canned, Tom.”
“Nah. Even the government needs a few competent people around. Why don’t you buy me dinner while you brief me on my duty as a loyal American?”
Ward nodded.
“Great. See you in the lobby of Trader’s at eight. And grab a nap. You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Ward said.
“Seriously,” Dugan said. “If you drop dead, I might have to deal with that asshole.”
Ward drained his mug. Crab shells overflowed a plate, surrounded by mostly empty dishes of fried noodles and other Singaporean delicacies. Dugan lifted a pitcher of Tiger beer and raised his eyebrows, but Ward declined. Dugan refilled his own mug and looked around. They sat alone on the roof terrace of the restaurant, above the bustle of open-air eateries that lined Boat Quay. Access via a cramped spiral staircase made service difficult, but Dugan’s status as an old customer and generous tipper allowed secluded dining.
“Secure enough for you?” Dugan asked.
Ward nodded.
“So tell me, Jesse, how’d you end up with that asshole as your boss?”
Ward shrugged. “The agency occasionally buys in to the ‘nutty management theory of the week,’ in this case, ‘leadership candidates’ rotating through supervisory positions. Ops is usually exempted, but not this time. Gardner’s our first. I got him because maritime terrorism isn’t as sexy as falling planes.”
“Surely everyone sees through him. He’s got the personality of a dose of clap.”
“He can be slick when he wants to, and he’s connected. He has political aspirations.” Ward grinned. “Maybe you shit on a future president.”
Dugan shuddered. “God help us.”
“Anyway, I’ll handle him.”
“Handle him while we do what exactly?” Dugan asked.
Ward looked Dugan straight in the eye. “Tom, I need you to accept Kairouz’s offer.”
Dugan looked puzzled. “How did …”
Then he understood. “Son of a bitch. You bugging my phone?”
Ward didn’t blink. “Of course you’re bugged. And so am I, and so is everyone else. You might not have read it, but you signed that waiver a long, long time ago. Way back when you agreed to keep your eyes and ears open and to take some pictures for us now and again. How could it be otherwise? There’s too much at stake not to monitor ourselves.”
After a long moment, Dugan nodded. “All right, point taken. That doesn’t mean I like it. So what’s the deal with Phoenix? Oh yeah, and what the hell did Gardner mean when he said my association with Alex ‘and other things’ put me under a cloud. What other things?”
“You inspected a ship for MSC last week,” Ward said.