“Is this because of us running the blockade?” he asked.
“The prime minister has many motives, and we can’t blame ourselves. If he wants to wage war now, it’s on him, not on us.”
“Did he state that it’s in response to the blockade run?”
The hard shadow her brow cast over her eyes suggested he’d again provided her a clown show.
“Even if it were the truth, he’s stating the opposite,” she said. “He’s been airing footage of the commandos commandeering our vessels and declaring his blockade impenetrable.”
“Again, how do you know that?”
“That also came with Pierre’s latest report.”
“Did you bribe or threaten me crew into letting you carry all the latest news to me? I feel bad for Liam especially. He knows I’ll clobber him if he withholds data from me.”
“Your crew respects me. Liam knew you’d be okay with it.”
He found her argument annoying but accurate.
“Fine. But what about this media skewing? The prime minister can pretend only for so long before the activists air videos of aid reaching the Gaza coast.”
“It’s already airing, but the prime minister is counting on conflicting stories to keep him looking strong while he earns internal support to extend his territory in the Golan Heights.”
He inhaled to talk but she stopped him.
“And yes, that’s also from Pierre’s latest feed.”
“I’m beginning to feel responsible for this. You make it sound like the blockade run pushed him over the edge of sanity.”
“We can only guess if our work provided him a motive.”
He ignored her counsel and internalized the blame.
“Bloody hell. This is what I do. This is what I signed up for. I defend a side that nobody else will because I know it’s right. It just hurts to think my efforts could be backfiring.”
“You fight for money.”
He blushed. For once, he appreciated her brusqueness as it lifted him out of a skid towards self-pity.
“Yes, and the pay’s good. Great, actually.”
“I did this against my own country for a military salary. I suggest you stop the self-indulgent whining.”
“Whining? I give you leeway when talking to me, but watch yourself. We’re doling out the fates of hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people. Forgive me if I get a bit emotional.”
Her voice rose a quarter octave for the first time since he’d heard her speak.
“Emotional? You’re doing everything in your power to behave like a robot.”
“I’m commanding a warship. You’ll have to respect the… the… Damn it, woman, you keep me off balance. You’ll have to respect the… rigidity.”
“The man I saw save his friend and lead his comrades through battle was anything but a robot. You did it with courage, intuition, and creativity that no robot could muster.”
Her stare stymied him. Reading her was impossible.
“Thank you?”
“Don’t ask me when you thank me. Just thank me. The commander of the Goliath doesn’t ask. He just does it.”
“Bloody hell, major, I can’t figure you out. If I offend you, you’ll snap my neck. If I ignore you, I’ll hurt your feelings, if you actually have any. I can’t win with you.”
“I have feelings.”
“What?”
“I said I have feelings.”
His adrenaline subsided and let him recede into calmness.
“Of course, you do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything—”
“And there’s nothing to win. You say you can’t win with me. You pretend it’s a competition, but we’re on the same side.”
“For the moment. But that could change day to day or even hour to hour. You’re here to police me more than to help me, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be a bastard!”
“Can you deny it? I wish you would. I know you’re trained to lie, but at least make the effort.”
“Part of my job is policing you, but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The point is that everything isn’t an intelligence mission. Sometimes life happens and it can’t be planned out.”
She was shaking.
“I didn’t mean to make you mad,” he said.
“I’m not mad.”
“Dear God, woman. Why do you speak in tiny sentences? You try to behave like a man except that you can’t be a man because you’re a gorgeous Sheila.”
She blushed, and her eyes glistened. As her helplessness explained her trembling, it melted him.
“So you’re alone in your private quarters with a woman you think is gorgeous, and all you’re doing is complaining?”
“You make me sound like a buffoon.”
“Then stop thinking and do something about it.”
“Will you… May I call you Ariella?”
The first smile she’d offered him illuminated her face.
“In private, as we are now.”
“May I… kiss you?” he asked.
“Don’t be an idiot. Just do it.”
He swooped in and offered a gentle pressing of his lips against hers. After a few seconds of his body tingling and floating, he sought a gentleman’s exit of a slow pulling away.
She refused.
Her tongue muscled its way into his mouth, and he slipped into morass of oneness with her. Seconds slipped uncounted into timelessness, and he returned to reality where he was pushing her against the door as he gasped for breath.
Gentle afterglow kisses followed.
“Why did you ask to kiss me?”
“You mean after your sermon about me not needing to ask permission for anything?”
She nodded.
“If I surprised you, I risked a punch to me windpipe.”
She laughed a gentle staccato.
“You’re right.”
“So what now?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I found you attractive in your dossier photographs, but I didn’t plan a romance mission.”
“I know you didn’t. I guess you should start by calling me ‘Terry’, in private.”
“‘Terry’, in private.”
“We’ll muddle through. No need to ruin this with rules.”
“Okay.”
He kissed her again before returning to thoughts of business.
“I suppose we should contact Pierre,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Ask him to use your cannons.”
“Right. Follow me.”
He stepped towards his door, stopped, and turned back to her. After stealing another kiss, he headed to the bridge.
With Dahan behind him, he paced forward, offering hurried greetings as he passed his staff. After shutting a watertight door and climbing stairs, darkness enshrouded the plexiglass hemisphere, and the space’s solitary inhabitant rose from a seat.
“Welcome,” Walker said. “I assume you’ve heard the news.”
“Major Dahan told me everything, probably more than you can glean from Pierre’s report. I’ll take a look at it though.”
He moved to a console and called a recent archive of his boss’ messages. Everything aligned with Dahan’s story.
“Let’s get a satellite link to Pierre,” he said.
“With two submarines in our cargo bed?” Walker asked.
“We’ll have Jake raise his radio mast and feed us.”
“Sounds good. See what he says about it.”
Cahill tapped an icon to beget a gentle chime in the Specter’s control room. Seconds later, Jake sat before the monitor.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“You’ve seen the latest updates from Pierre?”
“Yeah. I’m sure the media will eventually figure it out and let the world know that the Gaza blockade was broken. I’m not too worried about that. I don’t know what to make of the tank movement, though. My Aman guy is playing dumb if he knows what it really means.”
Sharing a new connection with his Israeli romantic interest, Cahill sensed her trepidation to talk. He recalled her discomfort during the crash dive and realized she struggled under the watery shroud of darkness.