She pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at it. Realizing she’d let her battery run empty, she wondered how many other mistakes were escaping her attention tonight. As she plugged her phone into a charger, her inner girl wanted to run home and hide, but the monster redoubled her strength against all challengers.
In a corner window of a screen, she checked the image her laptop captured of her. Despite her buried fear, she appeared strong and presentable. “Fine. Tell the executive assistant I’m ready for a video conference.”
“It’s not a conference. The commander will be calling you on your secure cell phone. We’ll handle the encryption and route him from here.”
She fiddled with her phone until it turned on. “Give me a minute for it to boot up.”
The supervisor left the camera’s view and then returned. “Confirmed.”
After muting her speakers, she waited until her phone rang, and then she answered. “Olivia McDonald.”
Though she knew the vice admiral by reputation as a thoughtful man, he sounded irritated. “Good evening, Miss McDonald. This is Vice Admiral Schmidt. How are you ma’am?”
“I’m fine, sir. How are you this morning? It’s three o’clock in the morning for you, right?”
“It’s two o’clock.”
She realized the one-hour time difference between Bahrain and Oman. “My mistake. Two o’clock.”
“I’ve had better mornings, and I understand you’re to blame for my rude awakening.”
Years of conditioning had braced her to absorb the verbal jab without volunteering knowledge. “That depends on why you were awoken.”
“I’m being cordial with you, Miss McDonald. I expect that should earn me your candor. You should know I rank among the senior staff who know about your personal naval task force. Can we skip the political gaming talk?”
The triple hit of him highlighting her political wiggle words, his knowledge of her connection to the Goliath, and him reducing her fleet to a task force weakened her. Her tough outer monster recoiled to a defensive posture. “Of course. I apologize. It’s a habit.”
“Your task force was supposed to be parked in Oman all night and then head to Pakistan for repairs. But I was just informed that all three of your ships are sixty-five miles away from Iranian waters and driving straight north. That requires an explanation.”
She suspected he had access to satellite feeds, to spying aircraft, or to a nuclear submarine in his fleet that spied on Renard’s machines. As she inhaled deeply, her cold monster calculated half-truths and arranged her sequence of words. “It’s true that I watch the task force and that I have influence over it, but I don’t have direct control. Sometimes, the ships’ owner heads out on independent operations without telling me, and he updates me after the fact.”
“The owner. You mean Pierre Renard?”
The ease with which the vice admiral used a name hidden for decades behind espionage and aliases saddened Olivia. Though she used Renard, she admitted she considered him a friend and considered his growing exposure dangerous. “Yes. Pierre Renard.”
“Are you saying you have no idea what he’s doing?”
“No, that’s not quite right. You rightfully demanded candor from me. Pierre called me tonight. He won’t share everything that’s going on, but he assures me there’s no need for alarm.”
“That sounds like political gaming talk.”
The monster reminded her that candor required truth but omitted volunteering information. Nobody but Renard knew she knew of the hijacking, and the beast protected that secret. “I’m sorry, but Pierre holds all the cards, so to speak. I normally trust him for weeks of independent operations without telling me what he’s doing, but I understand your concern given his proximity to Iran.”
“I trust you’ll put these games to bed and get clarity by the time I call you again.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
His voice became grim. “And let me be clear. Whether you can clarify his intent or not, I need to draw a line. You know that. This shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“No, it’s not. I appreciate you mentioning it. Can you tell me where that line is, so to speak, so I can convey the proper sense of urgency to Pierre?”
“I know what his ships can do. I don’t care if they harass the Iranian navy. That’s between them and Iran, and my fleet is smart enough to stay out of the way. But if your ships try to pass through Hormuz, I’ll enforce my authority in the strait. I can’t afford to let them pass into the Persian Gulf.”
She knew better than to ask what he meant by enforcing his authority. At best, it meant ordering Renard’s ships to turnaround and then escalating if they disobeyed. At worst, it meant sinking them without warning. She knew the vice admiral had such power. “I appreciate your honesty, sir.”
“That little task force of yours is useful. They don’t follow the rules of engagement I hold sacred, but I understand how they might serve our national interests. But don’t think for a second that I won’t do my duty. I need to protect my fleet and the allied nations in the region.”
“I’ll take the appropriate action with proper urgency, sir.”
“I trust that you will. Have a good and hopefully productive evening, Miss McDonald.”
Holding her silent phone, she felt her inner girl starting to cry, but the monster clamped down and reminded her to celebrate.
The commander of the U.S. Fifth Fleet had declared an irrelevant boundary, given that the Goliath’s fate would be sealed long before Hormuz.
Renard would have it back in his hands before it reached Iranian waters.
If not, she’d use the young agent, Matt Williams, to slip the Goliath’s information to the Iranian navy, and let the Persians purge the waters of her problem.
CHAPTER 13
Terry Cahill paced the control room. “How long does it take to plan a bloody swimming party?”
He started to appreciate the soothing influence of the silver-haired French mechanic, Henri. “Give them time. Let them get it right.”
“We know exactly where me ship is. Just grab hold of it and leave a few explosives. It’s not that complex.”
“Trust the experts.”
The Australian ceased pacing beside the Frenchman. “What do you know about them? I know next to nothing.”
“You mean the security force?”
“Yeah.”
“The network Pierre befriended as a student at l’École Navale is strong. He’s close to a former marine who connected him to top veterans of the marines, army, and foreign legion. Our security team is excellent.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but if they’re so good, why are six of them dead and me ship in some mongrel’s hands?”
The mechanic’s face tightened. “I’ve been asking myself that question.”
“It’s a toughie, isn’t it?”
“No security scheme is perfect, and I believe it’s a matter of gamesmanship. Pierre estimated the amount of effort a belligerent force would bring against his fleet, and he staffed his security team appropriately. But someone studied our defenses and was willing to invest the resources to overcome them.”
“Someone wanted the Goliath badly.”
“Badly enough to risk their lives.”
As he considered calling Julien to relieve him and free him to join the swim team’s planning session, the Australian remembered the session was happening in French. He’d be alienated, and he had to trust Jake to provide a submarine expert’s insight into the Goliath’s peculiar pitfalls.
But Cahill noted Jake didn’t command the Goliath. He did. And though the American could recite specifications of the combat transport ship like a walking technical manual, he lacked real-world knowledge of the stolen prize.