“Get out of here, Camille,” Sherabi muttered.
Sherabi rejoined the group. Camille hesitated, then followed.
“… word from the Americans,” the chief of staff was saying. “They’ve spotted a fishing boat approaching Tsumago. It will enter the zone in a few minutes. According to them, it’s carrying several men and an American… one of theirs.”
Camille felt the room spinning around her. Briggs! It had to be. She saw Sherabi and the crew cut man exchange a glance.
“What’s his status?” the crew cut man asked. Camille recognized his accent as American. Briggs’s controller, she thought.
“He was handcuffed to the deck and under guard, it appeared.”
Camille could no longer restrain herself. “But he was alive, General?”
The chief of staff turned. “Who is this, Hayem?”
“One of mine. She just returned from Beirut. She’s on her way to debriefing.”
“Let her stay,” said the prime minister. “If she’s been in Beirut, she may be able to lend some insight to what’s going on.”
Camille turned to the chief of staff. “General, was he alive?”
“Yes, he was alive. But if he stays on that boat, he won’t be much longer.”
Casting a heard stare at Camille, Sherabi and the crew cut man walked past her into a nearby conference room. As the door swung shut, she heard the American say, “When those choppers lift off, I gotta be aboard. If he gets back…”
They’re going to board ship. Camille knew her career — and perhaps her life — was teetering over a precipice. What she was contemplating was impossibly dangerous. Mossad had a long memory and an even longer reach. The hell with it. She took a deep breath and walked into the conference room.
“Camille, get out of here!”
“I will not!” she snapped. “You! Who are you?”
The American stuck out his hand. “Art Stucky.”
“Well, you can go fuck yourself, Mr. Stucky. And you, too, Hayem.”
“Camille!”
“You fed Briggs to the wolves, both of you. You bastards!”
Sherabi’s eyes narrowed. “Tanner? The same man you—”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was in Beirut? Good God, Camille, what have you done?”
“Don’t dare lecture me! I may not understand why you did it, but when I figure it out, I’ll make sure everyone knows.”
Sherabi grabbed her arm. “Not another word! If you keep your mouth shut, you may—”
She jerked her arm free. “You have three choices, Hayem. Either you have me dragged out of here and put a bullet in my head; you get me on whatever chopper this asshole is talking about; or you get used to having the CIA as your enemy.”
Stucky jabbed his finger in her chest. “Look, you cunt—”
“Stucky, shut up! Camille, for the sake of your father’s memory, please—”
“My father would be sickened by what you’re doing. Make your decision!”
For a long ten seconds, she and Sherabi stared at one another.
Stucky said, “Hayem, you can’t actually be thinking—”
“Shut up, Art. All right, Camille, all right. You win.”
Forty miles north of Tel Aviv, Newman ordered Minneapolis to periscope depth. “Sir, we are at PD, reading zero bubble.”
“Very well. Sound general quarters.”
The GQ claxon blared, and the conning tower’s lights went red. Throughout the boat, watertight hatches slammed shut, and men raced to their stations.
“Captain, all stations manned and ready. All boards green.”
“Very well.”
Newman joined Speke and the fire control officer at the tactical table. Under their elbows lay a laminated chart of Israel’s coastline.
“Radar, conn,” Newman called. “How’s our track?”
“Solid, sir.”
“Read ’em off, starting with the target.”
One by one, the operator recited the bearings and ranges of Tsumago and the picket ships around her. Newman studied the plot. Tsumago, at the center of the ring, lay seventy miles to Minneapolis’s southwest and forty-five miles from Israeli territorial waters.
“Okay, we’ve got six friendlies to worry about, all within twenty-five miles of the target,” Newman said. “It’ll be tight shooting. Fred, we’ll go RBL.” Newman referred to a range and bearing launch. Its counterpart was a bearing only launch, which sent the Harpoons downrange, armed and looking for the first target to cross its path. An RBL, on the other hand, would direct the missiles to attack only those targets it found within a certain patch of ocean.
“Right,” said the fire control officer.
“We’re shooting four. All of them have to hit within ten seconds of one another, so make sure your way points are dead-on. Radar, conn, what’s the target course and speed?”
“Course, one-one-zero, speed three-two knots.”
“Conn, aye. Fred, start your track. Unless you hear otherwise, be ready to launch the minute she crosses the twelve-mile mark.” Newman checked his watch. “Seventy-three minutes from now.”
69
True to Azhar’s prediction, they slipped through the zone’s outer ring without incident, but twelve miles from Tsumago, they were met by a U.S. Navy frigate, which tried to hail them by loudspeaker. Azhar did his routine of waving and shrugging and then ordered Salim to sail on. The frigate broke off and turned for the coast, her bow slicing the waves and single screw spewing a rooster tail. As she faded in the distance, Salim and Ghassan began laughing with relief. Azhar stood at the window, staring ahead, his face blank.
Twenty minutes passed.
Tanner heard the whine of Tsumago’s gas turbines long before he saw her. Salim and Ghassan started pointing excitedly through the window. Azhar walked onto the after-deck. “We’re almost there,”
“I can hear it,” said Tanner.
“I am sorry for this, you know. It was never supposed to be this way.”
Tanner could feel the cleat loose under his hand. “I’m sorry, too.”
A few minutes later, the boat turned to port, and Tanner caught his first glimpse of Tsumago since his and Cahil’s penetration of the shipyard. She was a few hundred yards away and turning toward them. He found himself thinking of Bear. This is where it had happened. God, it didn’t seem possible.
Let it go, he commanded himself. He forced it from his mind. He gripped the cleat until the head of the nail bit into his palm. Have to be fast…. One, maybe two thrusts will be all you’ll get. Wait for the right moment.
Bullhorn in hand, Azhar left him and climbed onto the foredeck. On Tsumago’s bridge wing, a dozen rifle-armed men stared down at him.
Azhar called, “Attention captain of Tsumago. Permission to board.”
A figure walked onto the bridge wing. Tanner immediately recognized the handlebar mustache: al-Baz. “Abu, is that you?”
“Yes!”
“Why… why are you here?”
“Do you think I would miss such a moment in history?” Azhar called, “After so much planning, my friend, did you think I would let you take all the glory? You have taken her this far, at least do me the honor of joining you the rest of the way.”
Al-Baz hesitated a moment, then nodded. “You are welcome. Come aboard.”
Tanner jerked the cleat free of the gunwale and tucked it into his waistband.