“Have we turned on course?”
“Yes, Hana. And the Zafar will overtake us in twenty-three hours at our present speed of four knots.”
“When did we last confirm the Zafar’s agenda?”
“It’s been a while,” Asad said. “You’ve slept ten hours. Nightfall will be soon.”
Asad appeared confident, and Salem knew that challenging him two days earlier had been correct in stimulating his competence.
“Good. Well done.”
CHAPTER 9
Being raped at knife-point and infected with HIV while cracking an Eastern European sex slave trafficking ring had put Olivia McDonald’s field work on hold until Jake Slate. Then, her life spiraled out of control, carrying her into the murky and uncertain worlds of romance and submarine combat. She had considered it a wild ride, but she welcomed the chance to tuck the chaos into her past and return to her roots as a psychologist doing analyst work.
The sun shone through CIA headquarters windows and cast a heavy shadow across her desk. She raised her gaze to her old boss, Director Gerald Rickets, who towered over her.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the best with submarine profiles.”
She glanced at the surrounding cubicles and saw inquisitive faces seeking glimpses of a bigwig in a dark suit, a direct report to the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
“And because you’ve been on a submarine,” he said. “You know how they think.”
“You’re sure you’re not just doing me a favor?”
Thick ebony fingers scrunched against her desk, stabilizing Rickets’ leaning torso. His voice took on a tone too meek for a man of his stature that she recognized as the enduring shame he couldn’t shake.
“I’m going to do you favors until you’re running the agency or I’m pushing up daisies, whichever comes first, young lady. I still owe you for what I did to you in Paris. But this is a perfect match for you.”
“How fast do you need answers?”
“As fast as you can. Two days. Three tops.”
“Gerry!”
Rickets stood, and the inquisitive heads slid back into cubicles like scurrying gophers.
“I know it’s fast, but you’ll have at least a dozen people,” he said. “Top analysts are being gathered now.”
“What if I’m not up to it?”
“You are. Just split up the crew’s dossiers evenly and get the best people on the senior crew members.”
“What’s the goal?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We’re playing a game of diplomacy with Tel Aviv while we have a submarine playing chicken with one of theirs. The goal is to find whatever you can as fast as you can and give me reports every six hours — sooner if you have a breakthrough.”
She envisioned a coffee-fueled sleepless night.
“Yeah, Gerry. It sounds like something perfect for me. Can I have half an hour or so to cancel my life for the next three days?”
“Sure,” he said. “What do you have going on?”
“Well, um, I kind of have a date.”
His stare cold, he leaned on her desk again.
“What about you know who?”
“He sort of broke up with me in Charlotte.”
“Sort of?”
“Yeah, and I sort of liked it. This transcontinental secret love thing was exciting at first, but then it just got old.”
Rickets’ tone turned to paternal suspicion.
“Who is he?”
“A cop,” she said. “We met in a cop bar where my dad used to hang out.”
“Good. I like him already. Wait. Is he—”
“No, he’s not. I wanted to try dating a normal person instead of restricting myself to the HIV club.”
“Have you told him?”
“No. I was going to tonight, but I guess that’ll have to wait.”
She stood, and her chair rolled out of her cubicle.
“I know the timing stinks,” he said. “But this is a good opportunity for you to show the agency what you’ve got. You know it’s a great assignment.”
“You’re right, Gerry. My flailing social life will still be there when I get back.”
Lieutenant Commander Robert Stephenson jogged up the stairs to the upper decks of the Bainbridge. His palms slid across metal railings as the soles of his black shoes clapped and rang against serrated steps. Even inside the ship’s superstructure, the evening’s cool salt air smelled sweet as he caught his breath.
He entered the radio room and closed the door. A petty officer stood by a high-speed printer.
“Almost ready, XO,” the sailor said.
“No hurry. I like coming up here myself to get incoming message printouts,” Stephenson said.
“The exercise, sir?”
“Sure, but it also gives me time to think about what I read before presenting it to the captain. It’s a good practice to bring solutions and insight when playing messenger.”
“Hell, sir. You know the skipper’s gonna piss and moan no matter what you do. He’s just a—”
“That’s enough!” a man said from the shadows.
“Senior Chief Wilson?” Stephenson asked.
“Yes, sir,” Wilson said.
A lean man with a senior chief petty officer’s anchor and star on his camouflage collar turned to the sailor and nodded toward radio equipment control panels.
“Go line us up for the twenty-one hundred satellite download,” he said.
The sailor ducked away.
“I’ll deal with him later,” Wilson said.
“I know you will,” Stephenson said. “There’s a healthy amount of complaining, and then there’s destructive attitudes. I’m seeing too much of the latter case.”
Sadness clouded Wilson’s face.
“You seem down, senior chief. I’ve noticed for a while now, actually. Something bothering you?”
“Can we talk? In private?”
Stephenson balanced himself against a bulkhead while looming over the senior chief petty officer. His head in his hands, Wilson sat at his desk in the corner of the radio room.
“I don’t know if I should be telling you this, sir.”
“Trust your instinct,” Stephenson said.
Wilson lifted his head, exposing ruddy palm imprints encasing bloodshot eyes.
“I used to date the skipper’s fiancée.”
“Well, dang,” Stephenson said. “That’s a tough one.”
“That’s why I’ve been hiding in the radio room and doing everything possible to avoid him. A guy can tell when another guy’s been with his woman.”
“Was this before or after the skipper met her? Or in some gray area in between?”
Wilson waved his hands in defense.
“No, sir. It’s not like that. Totally before. I’d never snake a man’s lady. I’ve always played straight up, even if I have gone overboard since my divorce and become, well—”
“A playboy. Some of your recent exploits are becoming Bainbridge legend. It’s just a phase a lot of people go through after divorce. When you’re ready, you’ll evolve out of it.”
Wilson’s head returned to his hands.
“I haven’t so much as been on a date since Farah.”
“How serious was it?”
“You want a chair, sir?” Wilson said as he arched his back and stretched.
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Well, sir, I’d say we were in pretty deep. It was fast but it was intense. She’s a real intense lady. Smart, confident, and driven as all hell.”
“Driven to what?”
“To finding a husband, best I can tell. Maybe her biological clock is ticking. You know. Woman passes her mid-thirties, looks back and realizes her career kept her from a family, and then it’s scramble time. I have to admit, if I wasn’t gun shy from my own divorce, I’d probably be calling her my fiancée instead of that jackass.”