“Okay, enough games, mates. We need to surface as soon as Dmitry shifts his water. Go ahead Dmitry.”
Volkov engaged his gray-bearded veteran in moving fluid throughout the Wraith’s inner tanks. With Cahill’s pressure sensors guiding the orchestra of water weight, the old mechanic made quick work of the rapid redistribution.
“You look good, Dmitry,” Cahill said. “I’ve got you and Jake nestled in me cradle real nice. Let’s get to the surface.”
A gentle ascent brought the Wraith’s depth gauge to its limit of zero before the Goliath lifted the submarine from the water. As the deck rocked below Volkov, his boss’ image appeared on a monitor, and the aging Frenchman appeared rejuvenated.
“Can you hear me?” Renard asked.
“You sound and look great as usual,” Jake said.
“Success is a panacea,” Renard said. “I am energized.”
“Great,” Jake said. “Any news?”
“Nothing yet on the prime minister’s fate. The only news I have pertains to our team. An oil tanker inbound for Haifa will rendezvous with you and transfer the Aman team from your ships via helicopter.”
Volkov welcomed the removal of the foreign presence from his submarine, but the Australian seemed agitated.
“Any exceptions?” Cahill asked.
“Yes,” Renard said. “Major Dahan will remain aboard the Goliath until you make landfall. I wanted the entire Aman team to stay for our debriefs, but I’m afraid I could only earn agreement for her to join us.”
“Makes sense,” Jake said. “I’m sure some factions in Israel consider them heroes but others consider them traitors.”
“You assume that people know of their involvement with us at all,” Renard said. “There are few who do, and it must be kept that way. Ergo, the team can’t risk being seen with us, but since it’s easier to hide one lady than her full team of men, we can keep Major Dahan.”
The Australian seemed eager to change subjects.
“It’s decided, then,” Cahill said. “Send us the rendezvous coordinates and timing for the transfer.”
“Of course,” Renard said. “I’m having them sent now.”
“We need to talk about something more important,” Cahill said. “Where to park these ships. I’m thirsty for a coldie.”
Volkov leaned into his translator.
“What’s he thirsty for?”
“I believe he means a cold drink, like a beer.”
Volkov had dreaded the prior mission’s celebration for his sense of alienation. The language barrier and his newness to the team had made him uncomfortable.
The anxiety of another social gathering bothered him, and he tried to find reasons to feel accepted and comfortable. He’d proven his worth against the Israelis, and his Australian colleague had lauded it. He’d saved his American colleague, but he feared he’d embarrassed Jake.
As he attempted to excuse himself from the conversation, it drew him back in.
“Greece would be nice, but it’s still too soon,” Jake said.
“Agreed,” Cahill said. “We could hang out in Turkey.”
“Wrong direction, and it forces us to transit through Greek waters,” Jake said.
The Frenchman interjected.
“Not necessarily the wrong direction,” Renard said.
“What’s going on?” Jake asked. “You’ve got that shit-eating aura like you’re about to screw us.”
“Not at all. There’s a backlog in Toulon shipyards, and so I called my old friend, Admiral Khan, to arrange an earlier availability in Karachi. Since Terry’s new bow is coming from Taiwan, I could have it diverted. And I can fly your new propeller and periscope from France on military transport.”
“So we get to pick our repair yard?” Jake asked.
“You’re surprised that I’m offering you a choice?”
The American’s voice reached falsetto.
“Yes!”
“Agreed, it’s unusual that I would do so, but tactically it makes no difference when looking at the cost and timing of handling the repairs and reaching our next client.”
“You already know our next client?”
“I’m negotiating with my top choice, and there’s no hurry as there’s flexibility on the mission’s timing.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell us… never mind. Why would I bother to ask?”
“Indeed. I’ve never burdened you with such useless and dangerous a priori knowledge, despite your urchin-like curiosity.”
The Australian interjected.
“I’m not curious about anything except me next drink,” Cahill said. “We could head to Alexandria, if places in Egypt cater to beer drinkers.”
“I think they do,” Jake said. “If not, then maybe Malta,” Cahill said. “I’ve heard good things.”
The American looked away from the screen.
“I’m checking the chart. I’ve heard good things about Malta, too. That would be fine, I guess. Or Sicily again.”
“We could do both, if we want to make a vacation out of it,” Cahill said.
The Frenchman redirected the conversation.
“Hold on,” Renard said. “Don’t become too liberal spending my money. Your fuel isn’t free.”
“Fine,” Cahill said. “Since I’m declaring Dmitry as the superhero of this mission, I say he gets to pick.”
As the translator finished the sentence, insecurity tightened Volkov’s chest. He stammered through his first words, thankful for the translator’s filtering of his fear.
He also pushed the terrible event far into the future.
“I would feel best if we put a lot of water between us and Israel,” he said. “I’m also tired of France. Let’s head towards Pakistan and put the major choke points behind us before we stop.”
“That’s what? Ten days? You’re killing me, mate.”
“No, he’s on to something, Terry,” Renard said. “Muscat, Oman is great for tourism. Site seeing, fishing, snorkeling, and possible other distractions if I remember correctly.”
“Could we charter a boat for a booze cruise?” Cahill asked.
“I’m sure I could arrange that,” Renard said. “For those with more refined tastes, there’s also a possible day trip to Dubai.”
“I can be patient, then, I guess.”
The Frenchman frowned.
“You sounded like you were near tears,” Renard said.
“Well, you’re keeping a thirsty sailor from his beer.”
“Instead of making Terry cry, we’ll head to Port Said to fix Jake’s submarine. I can bribe our way into the yards for a couple weeks, and that will give us time to relax and unwind. Then we’ll continue on to Karachi for the Goliath’s new bow.”
“Egypt could be cool,” Jake said.
“I’ll set up tours for Cairo, Alexandria, and the pyramids, but there will be free time,” Renard said. “There will also be free time for men to travel home, if desired.”
Smiles, affirmative murmurs, and nods followed the declaration.
“So be it, then,” Renard said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
Sensing a lull in the discussion, Volkov excused himself and sought solitude. Walking the quiet confines of the cramped corridors, he decided to distract himself with a snack.
Sailors filled the mess deck as his crew relaxed in front of computer screens, books, and each other. Even with men engaged in their own worlds, a solitary figure struck him as an outcast, distinct from the others and sitting alone.
Volkov skipped his snack and braved the greeting.
“May I sit, Vasily?”
The trainer looked up and smiled.
“Dmitry.”
Volkov sat across the dining table and started with a topic he knew would beget a discussion.