Salem’s heart sank.
“I see.”
“We have but one choice. We have to release you.”
“This will delay us,” Salem said.
“The delay is only slight. We will inform the Trigger, and he will adjust his timing to compensate.”
“I understand.”
“What speed can you sustain toward the Gulf of Maine?”
“I believe the ship can go faster, but I’m comfortable with ten, at most twelve knots.”
“It’s best that you go slowly while evading the attention that will be surrounding us. Ten is fine.”
“What about the tow cable?” Salem asked. “Can you cut us loose now?”
“Yes. That is no problem.”
“We’ll risk having it catch in our screw.”
“We’ll reel you in first before cutting, to shorten the length so it can’t reach your screw.”
“We’ll have to come shallow and slow.”
“Yes, this is just as planned, only sooner than hoped. Ten knots. I’m slowing now.”
“Excuse me for a moment,” Salem said.
He darted to the operations room and asked the linguist to fetch Asad and Bazzi. Then he returned to the communications unit.
“I’m back,” Salem said.
“The Coast Guard already has an aircraft en route.”
“You’ve foreseen events well,” Salem said.
“You have little time. I need to speed up again to render assistance. Make haste in coming shallow.”
Asad appeared beside Salem.
“Bring us to snorkel depth,” Salem said. “The Zafar is slowing to ten knots. I’ll have Bazzi bring up propulsion. Use Latakia where you see fit.”
“You look concerned, Hana. Is everything alright?”
“There is a change in plans,” Salem said. “But we will be okay. Bring the ship shallow.”
Asad marched away. Salem grabbed the communications unit.
“We’re coming shallow,” he said.
“While we cut the line, we will have to hold it taut around the capstan. You may feel your ship being jerked about. That cannot be helped. Make sure your pots and pans are stowed.”
“What’s wrong?” Bazzi asked as he approached.
“We must part with the Zafar,” Salem said. “Prepare the propulsion system for operations. Wake everyone you need. Make haste. I don’t want to linger in this area.”
“Yes, Hana.”
“Also, have a soldier walk about the ship and make sure everything is stowed. We may get jerked about while detaching from the Zafar.”
Minutes later, Salem prepared to release the Zafar from its towing obligation.
“We’re at snorkel depth, ready to be released.”
“Very well. I’ll secure the towing capstan. You may feel jerking soon.”
“This is our last communication then?”
“Yes. Possibly a few jerks while we cut, and then we will be separated.”
“I thank you for a job well done.”
“And I thank you for a task to soon be accomplished.”
Salem returned to the operations room and felt ripples in the Leviathan’s speed. He found his balance by shifting his weight between the balls of his feet and heels, and then he felt nothing.
He walked to the communications unit and hailed the Zafar to no response. Then he stepped back to the operations room.
“We are alone again,” he said. “Is Bazzi ready?”
“Not yet, Hana,” Asad said.
“No matter. We will change course now regardless, since we are now responsible for our own journey. We will drift to our new course.”
Salem bent over a keyboard and called up a chart. He sought the course to point the Leviathan at the southwestern tip of the Gulf of Maine.
“Come to course three-two-zero,” he said.
Asad jostled a joystick, and Salem felt the deck heel under him and settle even again. A digital gauge showed the Leviathan’s speed at eight and a half knots and slowing.
“Bazzi is ready,” Asad said.
“Have him bring us to ten knots.”
CHAPTER 19
Olivia’s phone woke her, and she peeked at it through her half open eye. It was an automated message from a CIA central watch post. She flipped open the phone and checked the message telling her to log in to her secure web folder.
Tapping the keyboard of a laptop computer, she saw its monitor illuminate. A few clicks and passwords later, she was reading a message stating that a man using a disposable cell phone had called Ghaffari and left a voice mail. The Farsi words translated to ‘Publish Your Work’.
Electronic surveillance had tracked the call’s source to Iran. The voice was being frequency-analyzed to recordings of people of interest, but Olivia knew that finding a match was speculative.
Olivia compressed her morning routine and emerged showered and clothed in time to see the professor passing by a window. Moments later, Ghaffari was marching to her Mustang, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
She waited until the Mustang pulled away and then darted to her Fusion. The sun had risen, but the roads remained fast before rush hour. Keeping the Mustang in sight, Olivia sped through the commute to the university, pondering a suspicious voice mail, a duffel bag, and Ghaffari’s early morning egress.
On campus, Olivia slowed as she watched the Mustang glide into a parking slot. Ghaffari sprang from the car without the duffel bag and hastened toward the library.
Olivia parked, slung a backpack over her shoulder, and walked to the library. She climbed stairs and swept upward, scanning each floor for the professor. She found her on the third floor at a computer, and she sat at a distance where she could see Ghaffari’s face.
She slid her backpack to a table and withdrew a psychology text. Olivia peered over the book’s edge and studied Ghaffari’s expressions as the professor jabbed her jump drive into the library computer, clicked the mouse, and tapped the keyboard.
Her habitual brooding ire became contempt as Ghaffari seemed displeased with the computer’s speed. She wiggled fingers beside a mouse in a subconscious attempt to hasten the machine. In juxtaposition to her subject’s inquietude, Olivia became patient in observing the professor’s intense fixation on the monitor.
An expression cracked the grimace congealing on Ghaffari’s face, and Olivia tagged it as happiness, the first indication of joy the professor had revealed as she yanked her drive from the computer, logged off, and sauntered away.
The professor out of site, Olivia trotted to the computer and logged in. She dialed her phone and held it to her ear. After a sterile greeting, she rattled off her badge number and awaited technical support. A man with a young geeky voice greeted her.
“How can I help you McDonald?”
“I need Ghaffari’s Old Dominion web account data.”
“One moment while I access her info. Okay… got it. Are you ready to memorize or write?”
“Yes. Go.”
Olivia asked the man to remain on the line while she typed. Ghaffari’s computer session revealed its nature when Olivia opened a browser. She discovered a new webmail account and relayed its information to the man on the phone.
“That’s a Google account,” he said.
“Can you get in?”
“We have access to all major accounts — golden keys to email servers. Give me a second… I’ve got the emails sent from that account, three minutes ago. It looks like five emails were sent. Big ones. About fifteen pictures in high resolution. I’m forwarding them to your account now.”
“Can you describe them to me?”
“Sure, let me open the first. It looks like a sailor with a teddy bear. He’s holding a sign—”