He encouraged her.
“I would think your Aman man’s silence is due to an order from his leadership,” he said. “Am I correct, major?”
She cleared her throat and stepped forward.
“Yes. I ordered my team to remain silent about any scenarios that followed the blockade run.”
Jake’s face darkened.
“So you expected military responses to the blockade run.”
“Expected? No. But my team considered and analyzed the possibilities, as a matter of prudence.”
“But why make your men remain silent? I thought we were a team, working together to protect your country from itself.”
She hesitated and swallowed.
“Dim the lights, Liam,” Cahill said.
“Dim them? Why?”
“Just do it.”
“Dimming the lights, sir.”
Walker rotated a knob by his hip and the bridge’s lighting softened, lessening the contrast with the dome’s darkness.
“Better, major?”
She nodded, inhaled, and found her voice.
“I knew it was possible for the prime minister to become aggressive after the blockade, but I didn’t want individual speculation by any of your fleet’s commanders. If he did get aggressive, I wanted us all to discuss the matter together.”
“Fair enough,” Jake said. “I assume you didn’t contact me to argue, though. I think I see where this is going.”
“Renard,” Cahill said. “We’re wasting time speculating until we contact him.”
“Okay,” Jake said. “We’ll stay submerged and undetected. We’ll use my radio mast. You know the proper depth, right?”
“Sure do,” Cahill said.
“We’re rocking a bit,” Jake said. “It might be choppy up there. You sure you can hold depth in the waves?”
“Not me, mate. The Goliath. It’s easy in a big ship like this with huge automated pumps. I’ll make it look like a slow dance.”
Jake smirked.
“A hundred Euro says you’ll lose depth control and break contact with Pierre.”
“You’re on, mate.”
“What is happening?” Volkov asked.
“Good to see you,” Cahill said. “Your English sounds pretty good. Jake and I have decided to come shallow to get Pierre’s opinion on the latest developments. I assume you read them?”
The Russian translator conveyed the message and then relayed Volkov’s agreement with contacting Renard.
Five minutes of gentle ascent later, the deck bobbed and rocked under Cahill’s feet. He held a railing and looked to Dahan to assess her comfort. Being shallower seemed to reduce her stress.
“I’m raising my radio mast,” Jake said.
Seconds later, an unfamiliar person wearing a French naval officer’s uniform appeared at Renard’s chair. After a rapid exchange between Jake and the officer in the Romance language, the man departed.
“He’s getting Pierre,” Jake said.
A minute later, the boss appeared.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Renard said. “I’ve been expecting your call, but I became distracted. I’ll spare you the accusations and admit that I was smoking”
“That means you’re stressed out,” Jake said. “What’s on your mind?”
“The tank movement, as well as the associated artillery and infantry support. The prime minister appears to be claiming the entire Golan Heights as his, and it’s a matter of speculation how far into Syria he’ll push. The Americans and Europeans are held helpless by diplomacy to stop him.”
“But there’s something we can do about it,” Jake said.
“The Goliath’s railguns with the satellite guidance I can acquire can turn back an entire tank battalion.”
Cahill watched the American probe deeper.
“Then what’s your concern?” Jake asked.
“I’m wrestling with the primary question. I have to ask myself if this is our problem to solve.”
“The whole Israeli-Syrian border issue has been a mess since forever,” Jake said. “The whole world condemns Israel’s annexation of the Golan Heights but does jack shit about it, and now you think it’s our job to keep it from getting messier?”
“That’s what I’m considering,” Renard said.
“Did you talk to Olivia?” Jake asked.
Cahill’s urge to include Dahan in the team’s history surprised him. Before he could consider appearances to his colleagues, he leaned into her ear and whispered.
“Olivia is Jake’s old girlfriend. She was a CIA operative who seduced him to capture him about ten years ago, but then they grew close. Now she’s in line for the Directorate of National Intelligence, and she supports our work in exchange for information and for serving as her private fleet from time to time.”
“I didn’t know,” she said. “Thank you.”
Her breath against his ear was scintillating.
“Terry, please,” Renard said. “One conversation. Yes, I did talk to Olivia. Of course, she favors our intervention. Any Israeli offensive is a thorn in her side.”
“Even into a terrorist country?” Jake asked.
“Syrians aren’t all terrorists,” Renard said. “And a unilateral land grab by Israel doesn’t solve the problem of terrorists basing their operations within Syria. In fact, it accelerates the recruitment of disgruntled people into their ranks.”
“So you’ve made your decision?” Jake asked.
“I’m not yet entirely sure. This isn’t a democracy, but I trust you all know that I value your input.”
“Forget it,” Jake said. “I was okay helping people in the Gaza Strip because they were getting screwed. But my research tells me that people in the Golan Heights have pretty good lives under Israeli occupation. I say let it happen.”
As the American’s protest struck Cahill as Jake’s first public dissention against their employer, his Russian colleague countered.
“No,” Volkov said. “We do something.”
As the Wraith’s commander elaborated through his translator, Cahill recalled the strong diplomatic bond between the Russian and Syrian presidents.
“Our mission is to curtail unwarranted Israeli action,” Volkov said. “We are in the business of countering despots in situations where nobody else can counter. This is why I joined this team. We must intervene.”
“I have Jake’s and Dmitry’s positions,” Renard said. “What do you say, Terry?”
Dahan cleared her throat, and the sound spurred him to lean into her again and whisper.
“Do you want to speak before I answer?” he asked.
“If I may.”
“It’s not like you to ask.”
“It’s not like your team to be divided,” she said.
“Go ahead.”
She stepped forward.
“Let me be candid that this is a matter of disagreement within multiple areas of the Israeli government and military forces.”
Her discomfort under the hemisphere stalled her.
“Please, major, continue,” Renard said.
“Aman’s leadership believes, and I believe, that an offensive into Syria will beget the largest terrorist-led counterstrike into my nation of our entire history. The border skirmishes will be brutal and costly in terms of lives, and every sleeper cell will awake as an army of suicide bombers in our streets.”
Again she paused.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Renard asked.
“Yes. Arab nations will be pressured to join the fight with Syria, and there’s a strong possibility that more than one of them will join. It could unravel decades of diplomacy.”
“What say those who disagree with you?” Renard asked.
“They believe a show of force will silence all our enemies,” she said. “I know the opposite to be true. Any idiot without an agenda knows it, but the prime minister is powerful.”