“I was raped,” she said.
“What?” Jake said. “Where’d that come from?”
“That’s how I got HIV. Blown cover. I took a slave trafficker off the streets, but I paid for it.”
“Okay.”
Her fingers dug into the vinyl of the headrest on the empty seat in front of him.
“I know how you got it, you know,” she said.
“Don’t remind me,” Jake said. “In fact, don’t remind me that you know everything about me.”
“After you got it,” she said, “everything you believed in and everyone you trusted fell apart.”
Jake squirmed and looked at his screen. Although the Hai Lang’s main electric motors presented a dull subject, he found them more comfortable than Olivia’s topic. He hoped she’d go away, but she lingered.
“It’s nice that I can tell you the truth,” she said.
Jake watched her knuckles turn white on the headrest.
“I found out last night that someone on my own team knew my cover was blown,” she said.
“Was that why you came by my apartment?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Now I know how you felt. All of a sudden, everything I believed in and everyone I trusted fell apart, too. You’re the only one who understands.”
Fatigue and frustration drained her. She sighed.
“Can I sit next to you?” she asked.
He cleared scattered disks and stood. While she gathered her belongings, he went to the lavatory and found her in the seat beside his upon his return.
He sat and let her rest her head against his shoulder. Before Jake could get halfway through a diagram of the Subtics tactical systems, she had fallen asleep.
Careful to avoid stirring her, he twisted to look at her. She was beautiful and at peace.
CHAPTER 19
Olivia had awoken hours earlier and continued studying. Information from Pakistan’s Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence about Pakistani Navy Commander Hamid Hayat had begun to etch lines across her brow.
The intelligence she had gathered from Jake and Renard showed half the picture. The data in Hayat’s dossier revealed more — the paradox of a man who once studied secular government at Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government but who now sought fundamentalist Islamic backing.
She fathomed a multitude of possible scenarios that Hayat could be orchestrating, but she needed more information to resolve his intent. Filling in the gaps with assumptions, she agreed with Pakistani intelligence. Hayat would cripple the Indian fleet and beget a war that would bring a fundamentalist regime to power in Islamabad.
The C-130 banked and dipped, bringing the sun’s reflection in the Arabian Sea into her view.
The plane flew over P-3C Orion maritime patrol aircraft parked outside of Spartan hangars and touched down. Olivia grabbed her new laptop and case and followed Jake through the door. The men who had been her flight crew and escorts bid reserved farewells and watched in confusion as their peculiar cargo deplaned.
On the tarmac, a Lincoln Town Car with the green and white Pakistani national flag over one headlight and an Admiral’s standard over the other overtook a refueling truck. It stopped, and a short man in an Admiral’s uniform emerged, followed by a taller and younger man in a junior officer’s uniform.
The admiral spoke, and the younger man marched up the steps into the plane. Seeing no armed men, Olivia assumed that she was on a secure installation and that the Pakistani Admiral trusted the Algerians.
Showing no concern with abandoning his junior associate, the admiral extended his hand towards his car.
“Please, get in,” he said in accented French.
Olivia followed Jake into the car.
“I am Admiral Sardar Khan, Chief of Staff, Pakistani naval forces.”
The trio exchanged handshakes. Olivia felt unsure if she were forgetting to curtsy or carry out some other inane act of diplomacy, but Khan seemed too businesslike to care.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, finally,” Jake said.
“And you. Pierre mentioned you on his last visit.”
“Do you know where he, is?” Jake asked.
“He is performing exercises in local Taiwanese waters. You cannot reach him. But I can give you these for your travels. I insist.”
Khan pointed out two global Iridium phone and battery packs.
“Thanks,” Jake said.
“No need for thanks,” Khan said. “They are self-serving. Added motivation to ensure that you stay in contact once at sea. I assume you both know of my problem with the Hamza?”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “We both do.”
Jake glared at her, still appearing to harbor a grievance for having been duped.
“I am aware of Miss McDonald’s history,” Khan said, “and since my relations with the American CIA have proven dubious, I hesitated to share classified data with her. However, Pierre assured me that she will not be sharing further news of our affairs with her former employer.”
A pit formed in Olivia’s stomach.
Renard is vouching for me, she thought.
She had been so engrossed during her flight that she forgot that her studies had dragged her into Renard’s standard recipe for attracting recruits. By stumbling into the acceptance of his gift — Hayat’s restricted data — she realized that she would have to be wary of any urges to return favors to the Frenchman.
“I won’t share this with the CIA,” she said.
“That is good,” Khan said. “If the CIA knew what you know, they would only have pressure applied where it need not be applied. They would enable the mishandling of a delicate internal affair.”
Olivia realized that her unique position made her the powerbroker for knowledge about Hamid Hayat. Decency demanded that she arm Khan with his fair share.
“You’re right about the Hamza,” she said.
“How so?”
“We have a satellite photograph of it refitting in a Chinese dock outside of Ningbo. That hints strongly at the potential for tactical nuclear weapons.”
Khan’s face turned ashen.
“If that is true, I must admit that a selfish, childlike voice within my soul wishes Hayat success.”
Olivia frowned.
“He is doing what many silently dream about but think better of when of sound mind,” Khan said. “And I must act of sound mind. He must be destroyed. I am now more certain of it than ever, and you have given me great relief in my decision to share his dossier with you.”
“Shit,” Jake said. “What’s he going to do? Is he coming after America?”
“Possible, but not likely,” Olivia said. “Pakistani intel drew the same conclusion I did. He’s probably going after the Indian fleet. For symbolic effect, he might even try to time an attack to take out one or two Indian carriers in a high-profile location.”
“I need to reposition my forces,” Khan said. “When did he leave Ningbo?”
“Three days ago,” she said.
“I have time. If he moves slowly to conserve fuel and remain silent, I can engage him at the Straits of Malacca.”
“Makes sense,” Jake said. “It’s a global chokepoint.”
“I will still want Pierre to search for him before he gets that far,” Khan said, “but you’ve helped the nation immensely with this news, Miss McDonald.”
“You want Pierre to do what?” Jake asked.
“I see that he did not tell you.”
“I thought we were going to beat back a few Chinese Kilos and be done with it, not that that’s an easy task. Now you’re saying we’ve got to hunt down a renegade?”
“Perhaps I should have said nothing,” Khan said. “These phones, you can try them tomorrow. Pierre should be back from his exercises after sunrise. You can talk to him personally then.”