“I’ll wait to see him in person,” Jake said.
“Fine,” Khan said. “I’ve reserved rooms in our officers’ quarters for you to rest. Pierre’s chartered jet is on the tarmac, however, should you wish to leave now. It is comfortable and permits sleeping.”
Olivia exchanged a glance with Jake.
“I’d like to spend a night on a bed that’s not moving,” he said. “That will soon be hard to come by.”
The next morning, Olivia’s clothes from the prior day had appeared outside her door, laundered. When she slid them on, she felt invigorated.
Unsure if she were making the right choice, she stepped aboard the Gulfstream jet with Jake. The floor was covered in plush beige carpet, and the seats were comfortable leather. She continued her study of Hayat.
After several hours of study, she sought a distraction, but Jake looked engrossed in his technical studies, and the pilot and copilot had locked the door to the small cockpit.
What the hell, she thought. Let’s have some fun.
She reached into Jake’s pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
“Hey,” he said.
“Watch this,” she said.
She dialed and waited.
“You think it’s going to work,” he asked.
“We’re close enough to civilization that it might.”
A voice on the line sounded surprised.
“Hello,” a man said. “Who is this?”
“Uncle Robert,” she said. “You don’t recognize me?”
“On his phone? For added drama? What the hell are you doing? Are you safe?”
“You still have your hundred percent track record of no injured officers on your watch. I might lose this connection soon, so get Rickets on the line quickly.”
“Right.”
She waited until she heard Rickets’ voice.
“You like calling me at odd hours,” Rickets said. “Where are you?”
“Heading toward Keelung.”
“Whose side are you on?” Rickets asked.
“Mine.”
“Careful answer,” he said. “If you want to come back, I can make it happen. We can work something out with Taipei to get Slate, and I can cover for what you’re doing now. We can still both claim victory on this mission. No one has to get hurt or embarrassed.”
“That might sound tempting if I could believe you.”
“I lost nights of sleep over what happened to you. I didn’t want you to get hurt by the truth, but now that you know, I have to admit that I feel better about it. That secret between us was killing me.”
“As long as you feel better.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I’m trying to tell you I’ve come clean with you on everything. I want your trust back. I want you back.”
“You want my trust? Then you dig up everything you can about Commander Hayat from his time in America. I mean Harvard, the naval submarine school, and everything else you have. Tell me where he shopped, what he ate, who he hung out with. You have that waiting for me pier-side at the Hai Lang, and I’ll think about trusting you.”
She expected him to tell her off.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
Rickets was either bluffing or bending over backwards to win her approval. Either way, she played it.
“And I want you to leave Jake alone.”
“I can’t promise that,” he said. “He still stole a Trident missile submarine.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And now I understand why.”
CHAPTER 20
The Gulfstream landed on a runway at Keelung naval base. As she descended toward the tarmac, Olivia thought the upscale executive jet seemed juxtaposed with the P-3 Orion anti-submarine aircraft and the F-16 attack jets.
A stark white van rolled to a stop, and its solitary occupant stepped through the driver’s side door. The lithe, silver-haired man slid a lighter under a cigarette.
“You were expecting another admiral in a luxury vehicle?” he asked.
“Shit, Pierre,” Jake said. “I’m surprised you remember how to drive.”
“I wanted time alone with both of you,” Renard said. “I fear we will have little privacy in the near future.”
Jake marched to Renard and threw an arm over his shoulder.
“It’s good to see you,” Jake said.
“And you, my friend. I feared you might not join me.”
“Ran into a little girl trouble.”
“I would say more than a little,” Renard said. “I don’t know whether to thank you or to cast you away.”
“Why’d you have Khan give me the data on Hayat?” Olivia asked. “What do you want from me?”
“A little courtesy, perhaps,” Renard said. “You are in no position to be asking questions.”
“I’ve earned the right by bringing him to you.”
She looked at Jake, but he lowered his head and brushed by her to grab their luggage.
“You studied to be an analyst, yet you wound up in the field,” Renard said. “Why?”
The question caught her off guard.
“Apparently, when men look at me, their penis-brain interlock kicks in. The CIA likes women who can toy with men. Plus, I’m kind of smart and pretty handy with small arms.”
“But you are too smart to waste your time with simple seduction,” Renard said. “Each time you wiggle your breasts to dislodge a man’s brain from his central nervous system, you sense that your analytical skills are atrophying.”
Renard had a point, she agreed. When her father had died, she abandoned her desire to serve as a criminal psychologist, but she wondered if the seduction of the CIA had deflated her true passion of psycho-analysis.
“So what’s next for me?” she asked.
“I want your services as an analyst.”
“I figured that out already. What do you want me to resolve?”
Renard blew smoke.
“If I can finish affairs on this island according to the plan I’ve outlined for the Taiwanese, Hayat is my next target. I want to understand my adversary. Who is he, what is his agenda, and where is he going?”
“I was afraid that’s what you wanted. I went through as much as I could on the plane rides, but there’s nothing sticking out. Unless I get more data, I agree with your friend Khan that he’s heading for India.”
“Very well,” Renard said. “Jake and I have a large enough task in front of us already. Perhaps you’ll have more for us upon our return. I’ve arranged for the best accommodations within the confines of the naval base. I didn’t want the CIA coming for—”
“How come I can’t come with you?” she asked.
“A submarine is no place for a woman,” Renard said.
Jake closed the van’s back doors and frowned.
“Chauvinist,” he said.
“It’s not a matter of ability or social grace,” Renard said. “It’s a matter of keeping twenty-three men focused on their duties without the distraction of her curves.”
“Twenty-three men?” she asked. “The Agosta 90B requires thirty-six for a full crew.”
Renard raised an eyebrow.
“I did my homework,” she said. “You need an extra pair of hands. I can cook, clean things, and steer the damned thing for you.”
“I don’t need the extra hands for a short-duration mission,” Renard said. “The manning requirements are only for extended operations.”
“But you’ll want me eventually, if you’re going to go after Hayat. May as well start my onboard training now.”
Jake chuckled and slapped Pierre on the shoulder.
“Touché, mon ami,” Jake said.
“You’re just giddy because you think I’m going to let you take your girlfriend with you,” Renard said.
“My what?” Jake asked.
“Young lady,” Renard said. “This is battle. Men will die, and I cannot guarantee your safety. Are you ready to face death?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“So be it, then,” Renard said. “I will have Henri issue you the baggiest jumpsuits he can find. You will wear no makeup and no perfume, and you will hide your hair under a ball cap at all times.”
She smirked as she passed by him and sat in the van.
“Don’t worry, Pierre,” she said. “I won’t tell Marie you have a crush on me.”
“I don’t—merde!”