Isaac Obano was back at the portside of the ship standing next to the Coast Guard Cutter tied to the Nigerian Princess. He was talking to the officer with the clipboard. Afua noticed that the officer was holding two colorful cans of caviar under his left arm that he had not been holding earlier.
Smiles and laughter were exchanged between them. There was some sort of salutation offered, and the soldiers began to exit the Nigerian Princess, climbing back over the rail and onto their own ship.
Soon thereafter, the lines had been pulled in and the Coast Guard’s vessel was pulling away.
“Is the anchor dropped?” Afua asked Isaac.
“Yes,” Isaac told him.
“We can’t move from here for twelve hours. That’s when the package will resurface.”
“I understand,” said Isaac.
Afua didn’t know exactly what Isaac had been told about the mission. He didn’t know if Isaac knew what was in the watertight container currently sitting on the ocean floor. He didn’t even know if he could trust his fellow Nigerian. He only knew that in twelve hours the container would automatically blow its ballast and float to the surface.
“Turn on the locator,” Afua told Isaac. “When it comes to the surface, we need to get it back on board as soon as possible.”
Isaac turned and began walking back toward the stairs that led to the wheelhouse.
Afua watched the Coast Guard’s ship move further away, putting more distance between their ships. Afua kept a close eye on the cutter until it was out of sight. Only then did he begin to relax.
White House Situation Room — Washington, D.C
Currently, there was not a situation in play requiring the five most powerful people in the United States government to convene in this location. It was simply a convenient place because it had an assortment of video displays, was soundproof, bugproof and had the most secure Internet access possible with modern technology.
The White House IT technician was working with the Hail Industries IT technician to connect two video screens with a high-definition video stream that was being sent from different sides of the planet. The president watched as the word “connecting” transformed into a video stream that showed two people she recognized.
The left side of the screen displayed Marshall Hail, clean-shaven, and wearing a polo shirt with a coat. However, since he was sitting at a metal table of some type, she couldn’t see what he was wearing out of frame. The president wouldn’t put it past him to be wearing nothing but underwear. That was probably not the case, since the person to his right was their CIA agent. The beautiful Kara Ramey smiled pleasantly at the people in the Situation Room. Ramey was wearing a blue blazer with a plain white blouse buttoned up to her neck, accompanied by a colorful scarf that puffed out and hung down to her third button. Ramey’s red curly hair was vibrant and shiny. The president wondered how one person was blessed with a beautiful face, a killer body and beautiful hair. It would be as rare as winning the lottery. Indeed, Ramey had won the lottery when it came to looks which was one of the reasons she had become so effective as a CIA agent.
Behind Marshall Hail and Kara Ramey, President Weston was looking at something you wouldn’t typically see in your average corporate boardroom. There was a large, round porthole fused into the white wall; therefore, the president surmised that Ramey and Hail were still aboard Hail’s ship, the Hail Nucleus, or possibly one of his other cargo vessels.
The technician looked at the screen as if he was the proud father of a new baby. He then glanced back at the president with a look of, “See how good I am.”
“Thank you, Jacob,” the president told the technician, his cue to leave the meeting. On his way out, Jacob closed the door securely behind him. It made a sucking sound, like the room were pressurized.
“Mr. Hail and Ms. Ramey, can you see everyone?” the president asked.
“Yes, we can. Please call me Marshall,” Hail told her with a cajoling smile.
“Good to see you again, Madam President,” Kara said graciously.
The president introduced the others in the Situation Room. “You remember General Ford, Mr. Pepper, Mr. Spearman and, of course, your friend, Mr. Rodgers.”
Mr. Rodgers sounded funny to Hail, and he almost made a joke. Mr. Rodgers was the host of a syndicated kids’ TV show when he was growing up. He also knew that Jarret Pepper had his doctorate degree, and could be addressed as Dr. Pepper. If Hail was looking for a laugh at the expense of Jarret, Hail could address him as Dr. Pepper. Reigning in his inner child, he said, “Nice to see you gentlemen, again.”
There was a moment of silence as the president shuffled through some papers. She selected one page and looked it over. She began the meeting by summarizing the reason they were convening today.
“I am looking over a very brief agenda of what I would like to cover today, and the first item on my list is to discuss the disposition of Lt. Commander Foster Nolan.”
The president set her agenda down and looked at her advisors. “I spoke with Mr. Hail — I mean, Marshall,” the president corrected herself, “about the possibility of the lieutenant commander staying with his team. I wanted to address any issues or reasons we might need this pilot to return to service at this particular time.”
All eyes in the Situation Room looked to General Ford for his decision regarding Nolan’s future.
General Ford, also the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff hesitated before answering, appearing as if he were giving this issue great thought. He made a face of contrition and said, “If the lieutenant commander is of value to Mr. Hail, we do not have a problem assigning him to the Hail Team.”
This was the first time that Marshall Hail had ever heard the word team from Washington, and he liked the way it sounded. Hail felt he should say something, and said, “We appreciate having the lieutenant commander’s skillset, and I believe he will be an asset to our team.”
The president picked up the agenda. She said, “OK, well, that was easy.”
She read the next line on the page and said, “I believe Jarret has something he would like to discuss now.”
Pepper had rehearsed his little speech in the mirror many times trying to anticipate all the complaints that would be issued from Hail. He had come up with quick and cutting responses to about anything Hail might say. In the recent past, he had done his best to cast Pepper in an imbecilic light, and he would be damned if he was going to allow Hail to patronize him in front of his peers again.
Pepper began, “Yesterday, we received an e-mail from Victor Kornev. It was sent to Kara’s virtual cellphone that resides on the CIA servers.”
Hail and Ramey looked surprised. Pepper continued.
“Of course, he wasn’t sending the e-mail to Kara. He was sending it to Tonya Merkalov, the fictitious identity that Kara portrayed when she met Kornev in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia. During that meeting, Kara replaced the phone charger that Kornev was using with a special one that was created by my CIA team. Even though Kornev has changed cellphones several times, he is still using the same phone charger, probably because it works on many different electrical grids and voltages. Each time he plugs his new phone into the CIA charger, the program inside the charger hacks his phone and sets up a virtual phone on our servers that traps all his videos, audio, texts and e-mails. It also records every call he makes. An added advantage to having his phone compromised we know his exact geographical location.”