Everyone in the center stopped working and stared as the first images from the Orion, loitering 10,000 feet above the Mediterranean came in. Tsumago lay at the center of the monitor with the SAG’s picket ships at the edges, their wakes white against the blue water. Dutcher could just make out the single figure seated on the fishing boat’s afterdeck. God almighty, it’s really him.
“What’s this from?” asked Talbot. “It looks like real-time.”
“It is,” said Mason. “A super zoom camera. Used for sub hunting.”
“Tsumago’s slowing,” said Cathermeier. They’re going to board her. Chief, how far are they from the twelve-mile mark?”
“Ten miles, sir… twenty minutes if she resumes her same speed.”
“When do the Israelis go?” asked the president.
“They should be lifting off now,” said Cathermeier. “Chief, contact Tel Aviv, confirm that.”
Thirty seconds later: “Confirm, General. Helos are en route. Eight minutes until they’re over the deck.”
Cathermeier turned to the president “Time, Mr. President.”
The president hesitated, then nodded. “Proceed.”
“Chief, contact Minneapolis. I want secure voice-to-voice with the CO.”
“Conn, radar: target is slowing… now coming to a dead stop. Second vessel, designated unknown Bravo One, is merging.”
“Conn, aye,” Newman called.
“What’s going on?” asked Speke.
“I don’t know. Talk to me, Fred.”
The fire control officer said, “Solid track, self-test complete on four birds.” He flipped open a clear plastic cover on the console, inserted a key, and closed the cover. “We’re ready to launch.”
“Very well. Stand by. Radar?”
“Target still dead in the water, conn.”
“Radio, conn: Skipper, we’ve got a secure voice-to-voice for you.”
Newman and Speke walked to the radio room. The operator handed Newman the telephone handset. “Captain Newman here.”
“Captain, this is General Cathermeier. Give me sit-rep.”
“We’re in position and ready to fire, General. The target has slowed—”
“We know. We expect her to resume course and speed shortly. She’ll cross the twelve-mile mark in twenty minutes. The moment she does, you are authorized to launch. I say again: You are authorized to launch.”
Preceded by Azhar and followed by Ghassan, Tanner climbed the cargo net and pulled himself over the rail onto the deck. He was immediately surrounded by half a dozen guards. Azhar and al-Baz embraced.
“Who is this?” al-Baz asked.
“A trophy. An American agent. He will give us extra leverage if we need it.”
“Good. I must say, Abu, I am surprised to see you.”
“Why is that?”
“The general said—” al-Baz broke off and glanced at Tanner.
“Whatever he hears will die with him,” Azhar said.
“The general said you were… that you were not involved in the final phase.”
“I know. Accept my apologies. For security reasons, some details were kept between only al-Khatib and myself. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.”
“So,” Azhar said, “shall we get under way?”
“Yes, yes. Follow me.”
In the windlass room, Cahil heard the chugging of the trawler’s engines, then the bullhorn exchange between Azhar and al-Baz. As the whine of Tsumago’s turbines died away and her momentum slowed, he climbed the ladder and peeked out.
Cahil almost didn’t recognize Tanner’s face. “Briggs…” he whispered. “Good, God… What did they do to you?”
To all outward appearances, Tanner looked beaten; his shoulders were hunched, his bruised face etched in pain. Then Cahil saw Tanner’s eyes. Having seen the look a thousand times, he knew it instantly. He’s still there… looking for his chance.
As the group moved off toward the pilothouse, Cahil climbed down the ladder and began pacing. He had to do something. What, though? Think!
He felt the deck shudder beneath his feet. The whine of the turbines increased.
“Come on, come on…. Think—”
He stopped. He stared at his radio lying on the deck. Attached to it were the wire leads he’d cannibalized from the anchor windlass.
A smile spread across his face. “That just might do it.”
After setting Tsumago back on course, al-Baz left Azhar and Tanner to his stateroom. Prodded by Ghassan, Tanner sat on the floor in the corner. Beneath his buttocks he felt the hum of the engines increase.
“You had some fun with him, I see,” said al-Baz.
“It was necessary,” said Azhar.
“Has he told you much?”
“Enough.”
“Such as?”
“We can discuss that later. Is everything ready?”
“Yes, of course.”
“The device?”
Tanner felt his heart skip. He kept his eyes on the deck.
“It’s secure,” al-Baz said softly. “Certainly you—”
“What kind of yield can we expect?”
“Pardon me?”
“The yield,” Azhar repeated. “I understand it is large, but how large?”
“Fifty kilotons.”
Fifty? Tanner thought. How did—
“And casualties?”
Al-Baz hesitated. “Have you not discussed this with General al-Khatib?”
“The general has been rather busy, Mustafa. How many casualties?”
“From the blast alone, one hundred fifty thousand. With radiation sickness, we expect another twenty thousand in three weeks.”
Azhar nodded absently. “Very good,” he whispered. “Let us go see it.”
“What?”
“I will inspect the device. After it goes off, that won’t be possible, will it?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then lead the way, Mustafa. Time is short.”
Tanner glanced up. Al-Baz remained seated, staring at Azhar.
“Is there a problem, Mustafa?”
“No, Abu, not at all.” Al-Baz stood up and opened the door. “This way.”
Working over the windlass’s control panel, Cahil almost missed hearing the rapid thumping in the distance. He looked up, cocked his ear. He climbed into the chain locker and peered through the hawse pipe. Dead on the bow, no more than a half mile away, a pair of helicopters skimmed over the waves.
“Too soon,” he muttered. “Too soon…”
He scrambled back down, twisted the last wire into place, said a quick prayer, then threw the release lever. There was a two-second pause. First with a whine, then a thunderous rattle, the anchor’s massive links began tumbling from the hawse pipe.
Flanked by a pair of his own guards, al-Baz led them across the forecastle to the cargo hold. Al-Baz rolled the capstan aside, rapped twice on the hatch, then lifted it and called down. A voice called back. Al-Baz motioned one of the guards to enter, then gestured for Azhar to follow. Tanner, prodded by the other guard’s rifle, went next.
Briggs took the rungs slowly. Near the bottom of the ladder, he felt a hand grab his boot and jerk hard. He slipped and crashed to the deck below. The cleat fell from his waistband and clattered to the deck. Azhar saw it, and his eyes narrowed. He kicked the cleat across the deck.
He grabbed Tanner’s shirt and lifted him up. “Stand up!”
In that brief moment, Azhar’s hand slipped into the waistband of Tanner’s pants. When it withdrew, Tanner felt the unmistakable outline of a pistol against his belly.