Although “isolation” was probably too strong a word. He wasn’t banned from leaving, in truth. He had gone out a number of times, for food or just for simple exercise. But while he was technically free, there was an atmosphere on the boat — a mood he could see in the eyes of the crew. It was a look that resembled ambivalence, at best. And in other cases, derision.
It seemed that while Captain Zhirov knew the true circumstances surrounding the older Belov, the message hadn’t made it to the rest of the crew. To them, he was clearly a prisoner aboard their boat.
When the door to Belov’s quarters opened next, it was Zhirov who stepped through, followed by his first officer. A tall and lean man with dark eyes, Zhirov carried himself with a pronounced air of authority.
After closing the door behind them, both sat down — the first officer remaining noticeably more erect in his seat.
“The two GRU teams are nearly ready,” Zhirov started. “It will be a subsurface attack, with one team taking the oil rig and the other the American science vessel.”
“What do they plan to do with the ship?”
“Hold it until our air support arrives. Once we find what we’re after, the priority is to exit both vessels and the area as quickly as possible. Before the Americans can mount a counterattack.”
“That will leave only a few hours.”
“That’s correct,” the first officer replied curtly. “The first priority is to assume control of their communications system. That will give us the longest possible window. When we have the information, GRU will evacuate immediately. The rest will be airlifted out.”
“Helicopters are the only thing that can land on the Valant or the American ship,” Belov said.
“Or a Yak,” Zhirov replied, referring to the subsonic jet trainers. “They can’t make it onto the ship, but there’s enough space to set one down on the oil rig. And it can make it back to Dakar.”
“At low altitude?”
Zhirov smiled at Belov’s comment. “Yes, at low altitude.” Evading radar was going to be key. Flying below radar at night would reduce what the Americans could track, but it wouldn’t eliminate it completely. There were still satellite images and the thermal signatures of the Yak’s jet engines. To conceal that, they would need another, albeit less exotic, cover. “A larger Ilyushin transport will be positioned to fly the exact same route and speed at a higher altitude. Above the Yak. Its larger profile and exhaust stream is perfectly designed to help obscure anything the American satellites can pick up.”
Belov raised an eyebrow at both men before him. It was a clever ruse. “They’ll know it’s connected, somehow.”
“Yes,” the first officer replied. “But they won’t know how. And by the time they figure it out, our cargo will be in Dakar.”
Belov’s expression changed to curiosity at the mention of “cargo.” There were only two types in his mind: things and people. “What kind of cargo are we talking about?”
Zhirov half-grinned. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On you,” the captain said. “You are the only one who knows what they’ve been doing. And you know more than anyone else what it is we’re after, so you tell us what our cargo will consist of.”
Zhirov was right. It was the single-most reason why Belov was still alive. And it was finally time to play his cards. All of them.
“Samples,” he said. “Biological samples.” After a moment, he let himself grin along with Zhirov. “And some key personnel.”
“They must be captured alive?” the first officer said.
“If possible.” Belov was not officially part of the Russian military or government, but he’d seen enough skirmishes and battles to know how rarely these things ended well. There was simply no avoiding it. Once the battle began, the outcome was unpredictable.
“If they survive, it gives us a huge advantage,” he said. “If they don’t, it will at least make things that much harder for the Americans.”
49
The faint outline of Tobago was visible soon after dawn. The rippling waters had returned, along with a warm morning breeze, stripping the distant island of its thin white cloud cover.
Down below, Alison awoke to the gentle rolling of the boat and the soft clinking of something outside.
She rose curiously, leaving an empty bed, and made her way up the four steps into the main cockpit, where she peered out through the window in the metal door.
John Clay looked up when the door opened. A large compartment was open with Clay standing inside, waist-high. His shirtless, lightly tanned chest and back were first to catch her eye.
“Morning.”
Alison stared for a moment before looking out over the water. Small, scattered whitecaps dotted the water as far as she could see. “Good morning,” she answered cheerfully, while squinting briefly at the morning sun. “What are you doing?”
“Just making a small repair. The fuel line to the port engine is clogged.”
“Is that serious?”
He smiled. “Only if you want to use the port engine.” He then motioned to the water beyond the boat. “I’ve been going slow. Trying to keep quiet until most of our friends wake up.”
She smiled. “That’s very thoughtful.”
“Noise travels easier underwater,” Clay said, searching through the toolbox and picking up a different wrench. “How’d you sleep?”
“I’m guessing pretty well since I didn’t hear you get up.”
It was a joke. They both knew Clay generally didn’t make a lot of noise — another trait, or remnant, from the training of his past. She wondered if he even thought about it anymore.
“There’s some hot water on the stove for your tea.”
She turned around and looked at the small, stainless steel tea kettle. “How’d you do that without making noise?”
Clay grinned. “It’s a secret.”
She gave him a sarcastic grin and disappeared inside, returning a minute later with a mug in her hand, complete with bobbing tea bag.
“How much longer until it’s fixed?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes. Just putting things back together.”
Lee Kenwood emerged behind her in shorts and a T-shirt, his glasses propped atop a slightly sunburned nose.
“Morning, Lee.”
“Good morning,” he nodded, looking down at Clay. “I hope we’re not sinking.”
Clay laughed and continued working. “If we are, then I did something very wrong.” He winked at Alison. “And if I did, don’t tell Steve.”
She sipped and held up three fingers with her other hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Clay stopped and frowned. “Actually, I think that’s the Girl Scout pledge.”
“Oh, right.”
Lee laughed and stepped back inside. “I’m going to make some coffee. You want any, Clay? I know better than to ask Ali.”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
Alison cocked her head playfully. “He’s an orange juice man.”
She turned when she heard clicks and whistles from the water. Several dolphins were awake, including Dirk. But still no sign of Sally.
Without a word, Lee’s arm extended out through the open door to Alison, holding out her vest. She took it and turned on the power switch. Without putting it on, Alison turned the vest around so that the camera was facing the water.
“Good morning, Dirk.”
Hello Alison. You ready now.
“Not yet. But soon. We’re fixing the metal.” She immediately made a funny face. “John big strong man!”