“You know what I mean. It could have been worse. A lot worse.”
“Frankly, I wanted more,” Riley admitted. “Like a name, for instance. We never even knew his real name, not to mention where he came from or how he was able operate those drones so freely right under our noses. And there’s still two more unaccounted for. Think about that. How many more are out there? It reminds me of when I was a kid in Georgia. We used to play in the woods near a creek. One day, a cottonmouth snake bit my friend, and the next thing you know, the whole place was roped off. He lost his right leg. They found and killed a snake, but we never knew if it was the snake or if there were others. They simply assumed. They hung signs and told us not to play there anymore, just to be safe. Something bothers me about that Saudi professor. The one who supposedly swam with the sharks. I can’t put my finger on it. Something keeps buzzing around in my head. A little voice keeps telling me that he played us. What if he set the whole thing up?”
“You have absolutely no evidence to support that,” Ross said. “And for the sake of argument, if Faiz Al-Aran is still alive, he’d be a marked man all over the planet with no place to run or hide. Someone would pick him up.”
“But it proves my point that there might be a heckuva lot of snakes out there,” Riley quipped. “Poisonous snakes. Tom, I fear this is only the beginning. We have no idea what the world is about to experience in a new drone age.”
“All right, I order you to snap out of this cynical funk. Get your butt into your boat and go catch your fish.”
“Already on my way,” Riley said. “I’ll call you when I’m back in DC. When you’re one hundred percent, we’ll have you and Neela over for a horseback ride.”
Riley finished his drink and gazed north to Tom’s Harbor Bridge, which separated the Gulf of Mexico from the Atlantic Ocean. A light breeze gently tickled the US flag above his pier. He turned the handle on his elevator boat lift, and the L-shaped aluminum beams lowered Just-Duck-Key onto the water. The boat’s engine started faithfully, and he eased the craft forward. It took only minutes to reach his fishing hole. It was just off a deep-water canal halfway between his dock and the open ocean. He swung the bow into the tide flow and dropped anchor. The iron flanges gripped the bottom and held firm. He methodically rigged three lines with chunks of fresh mullet and set each rod in a holder. Just as he sat back in a padded captain’s chair, his cell phone chirped. It was his home number.
“Good morning,” Kissi Riley’s voice sung. “What’s the temperature?”
“Eighty and sunny. There’s a nice breeze off the Gulf. I miss you. Are you packed?”
“Yes. Are you sure about this?”
“Trust me. All you have to do is show up at Dulles. The Secretary’s jet will be fueled and ready to go. It’s his way of saying thanks.”
“How long is the flight?”
“A little over two hours. It’s exactly one thousand miles. You should arrive in Marathon Airport around six. Don’t eat. We’re doing something special.”
“Aren’t you the romantic one?”
“Hey, you deserve it. We both do. I’m looking forward to some nice time off—” A fishing line twitched. “Kissi — I’ll call you right back. I gotta go.”
Riley clicked off and set the phone on the console.
He gripped the rod, and as he did, the line instantly went limp. He counted to ten. Nothing. False alarm. His phone chirped before he could redial. He brought it to his lips and spoke seductively.
“Sorry, honey. I almost forgot… be sure and bring that black see-through thing I bought for your birthday. Tonight, you’re going to live up to your name. You’ve got a great body, and I want it all.”
There was silence.
“I don’t know about great, but I have been working out,” the president’s voice finally spoke.
A series of waves bounced off the canal seawall and rolled the boat sideways. Riley dropped his phone but quickly retrieved it. “Mr. President, geez… I’m sorry. I thought you were… I didn’t know it was you.”
“No harm done, son,” the president said, laughing. “I just wanted to offer my personal thanks for what you did for the country. You made us proud.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that, but I had a lot of help. It’s bittersweet, though. I mean, I wish we could have discovered and prevented those attacks beforehand. It would have… well, the economic problems and all. I hope you know what I mean.”
“I do, Jack, and I tend to agree. Sometimes victory is bittersweet. I pray that the American people can think in those terms. It’ll help us all recover.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jack, how old are you?” the president asked.
“Forty-four.”
“That’s a good young age, son. It’s rather comforting to know that you’ll be around a bit longer. I suspect that we’ll need all the sharp minds we can muster if we expect to win the war on terror. Anyway, thank you again from my heart. Have a good vacation and enjoy your… birthday present.”
Riley set his phone down and noticed his line move again. This time it was different. It was straightening. He gently lifted the rod from its holder. He lowered the tip and heaved backwards.
The fish nearly pulled him into the water, and Riley could hear the rod’s graphite filaments cracking. In an instant, the air was filled with the reel’s high-pitched buzz. The line peeled out toward a deep hole next to the seawall.
It was him.
The line went limp, and Riley quickly reeled in the excess. The monster on the other end wouldn’t budge. After ten minutes, Riley’s arms ached from the stalemate, and he felt rather stupid just standing there. Something had to give. He had no choice. The pressure would either force the fish out of its rock sanctuary or snap the line.
He gathered his strength and pulled.
Something actually moved.
A wave of excitement ran through Riley’s body, so strong that he felt like shouting. He knew he had a chance. His equipment was in top shape, he had a stiff piano-wire leader and a new stainless steel hook. That fish was not getting off.
Twenty-five feet away, Shaitan’s massive body broke the surface like some steel barrel. The giant black grouper fanned its tail slowly, and the movement brought it closer.
Riley spied a net on the boat’s canopy but decided to use a six-foot gaff hook instead. He wrapped his hand through a thick leather loop on the handle and leaned over the water.
“Come to papa!” he shouted. “I’m gonna grill your fat hide.”
The fish would have none of it.
With one strong flap, Shaitan turned back for the seawall. Riley managed to alter the path slightly, and as he did, the monster headed straight for a docked forty-eight-foot Sea Ray Sedan Bridge. The name on the stern was appropriate:
DEVIL FISH
Riley couldn’t see below the surface, but he knew that the fish had circled the yacht’s propeller. Strained beyond its limit, the line suddenly gave off a firecracker-like snap, and the momentum sent him backward onto his butt on the deck. His head smacked into the console. He gave out a loud curse.
A little girl wearing oversized sunglasses and her mother’s floppy straw hat appeared on the Sea Ray’s bridge.
“You said a bad word, mister,” she scolded. “And you’re not a very good fish catcher. He got away.”
“I never knew this state had so many cows,” Marissa said, observing a large herd grazing in the flat grassland.
“It ranks eleventh in the States,” Akil noted. “Most of the beef cattle here are from a Brahman strain. They can handle the heat and humidity. Now I can too.”
“I like it.” Marissa smiled, rubbing Akil’s newly shaved scalp. “It feels so sexy.”