Chapter 12

Jake was awakened by a pounding on his stateroom door. He slid out of bed and was buckling on the shoulder holster as he stood by the door, "What is it?"

"It's me, Koenraad," said the voice on the other side of the door.

Jake scowled and glanced towards Helene, who was pulling the covers up as high as she could and still be able to see.

Jake unholstered the .45 and opened the door a crack, "What is it?" he asked again.

Koenraad held up an AK-47, not pointing it at Jake, but offering it to him, "We've pinned the kaffir down below deck. We need more men to make sure she doesn't escape. Besides, I thought you would want to be there."

Jake nodded and opened the door enough to accept the gun. Koenraad looked past him, leering at Helene, even though she had to be nothing more than a mass of curly blonde hair and a vague shape under the blankets from his perspective. Jake pulled the rifle out of his hand with a little bit more force than necessary and glowered when the other man looked at him questioningly.

"Go," Jake said. "I'll catch up."

Koenraad nodded and explained where Jake should go. Jake closed the door.

"Nothing but a shoulder holster is a good look for you," said Helene quietly.

Jake looked down. He'd remembered to reach for his gun, but forgotten to reach for his pants. He shrugged. His pants were far less likely to keep him alive. Unstrapping the holster, he dressed quickly.

"Be careful," Helene said. Jake nodded. She sounded sincere. Even though she'd initiated things last night, Jake was worried about how things would be between him and Helene from here on out. A genuine concern for his well-being was a good sign.

Gayle listened for signs of pursuit as she checked her watch. She needed to play cat and mouse for another twelve minutes before slipping away. She'd spent a full day learning the layout down here until she could find her way in or out with her eyes closed. As far as she could tell, the skeleton crew that manned the Kleine Schwester never came down here. If they did, they certainly didn't dust. That had made it easier to create all the false signs she'd needed to set up to facilitate her getaway--footprints that led to dead ends, trails of red paint that would look like blood to a man who didn't have time to look too closely.

After they'd cut off her call to Thule, Gayle had slipped away just ahead of her pursuers, losing them easily. Every time they got too far away, she fired a few rounds into the shadows to get their attention, drawing them lower and deeper into the ship.

Eleven minutes. She was trotting along on a catwalk that ran along the inside of the hull, trying to make as much noise as possible and afraid that she'd been too clever for her own good. Every time she slipped away, the men would scatter, each in a different direction. There was no order to their search. Twice, she'd had to double back so as not to lose them completely.

As such, she was surprised to hear footsteps coming towards her from the opposite direction from where the men should be just as she was halfway down the ladder from the catwalk. Lifting her feet from the rungs, she slid the rest of the way down, landing as gently as she could on the plating of the deck below.

Caught out in the open, she spun around in the direction the sounds had come from and saw the form of a man in one of the ubiquitous olive green jumpsuits many of the men wore while on duty. Not bothering to register what he was doing, she raised her AK-47 and fired in his direction. The man ducked into a side corridor without returning fire. Gayle took off on a path parallel with the hull.

She'd only gotten about two hundred feet when she encountered a group of three men who also shouldn't have been there. As surprised as she was, they were even more so. None of them had their guns at the ready. One was even lighting a cigarette. She had a half second to aim before spraying gunfire in their direction and saw one of the men keel over backwards in a spray of red.

This had not been part of the plan. There was a crawlway entrance between the two groups of men, but she would have to get into it unseen and hope nobody spotted the way in. Otherwise, they would pin her down there and finish her. She would need to take out the two men in front of her or the one behind her if she wanted to get out of this alive.

She turned and ran towards the first man she'd shot at, reasoning that he was only one man and she might be able to surprise him again. Gunfire rang out behind her, but it had virtually no chance of hitting her as she'd already ducked around a corner.

She took off running at full speed, the men following close behind. She skidded around a corner just ahead of another fusillade of bullets from her pursuers and ran face-first into a man's chest. She tried to raise her rifle to fire, but they were too close. The man spun her around, wrapping an arm around her throat.

She had slid her knife clear of its sheath when he shouted, "Stand down. I've got her."

The knife was already on its reverse arc when she recognized the voice, nearly buried in his flesh when she remembered what Ioke had told her. By then, it was too late to stop the motion. She swung as wide as she could, but felt it connect with flesh and heard a sharp, pained intake of breath. The man's arm came away from around her neck.

Instead of turning around to face him, Gayle went down on one knee and took aim. When her two pursuers skidded around the corner, two AK-47s opened up, mowing them down--hers and Jake's.

She turned around and saw Jake collapsing to one knee, her knife protruding from his thigh.

"Go," he gasped. "Hurry."

Gayle shook her head, "You can't stay here. Follow me."

Jake struggled to his feet, "I don't think that's feasible."

Gayle ran towards him and ducked under his arm so that he could lean on her shoulder. Then, she glanced at her watch, "We have to go. We've only got four minutes."

"Until what?" asked Jake, running along with her as best as he could.

"I don't know exactly," admitted Gayle. "But, we won't want to be standing this close to the hull when it does."

Jake nodded. For the next couple of minutes, they ran and hobbled together as best they could. Then, the sound of gunfire came from in front of them. Jake tried to stop their forward momentum, buy Gayle urged him on.

"No," she said. "That's one of mine."

Jake followed her, "One of your what?"

Gayle didn't answer, "We're running behind. If we're still alive in ten minutes, I'll try to explain."

As they ran by, she saw that Jake wouldn't need this part explained. In spite of whatever pain he must be feeling, his eyes immediately tracked to the machine duct taped to the wall as they went past.

"Where did you get a boom box?" he asked.

"One of the shipping containers up top," said Gayle. "There's still cargo from when the Kleine Schwester was first hijacked in some of the aft containers including half a truck full of vintage 1980s boom boxes."

Jake nodded, "Very MacGuyver of you."

In spite of everything, Gayle grinned at the compliment, "Thanks. It's nice to have someone appreciate your hard work."

Another burst of gunfire sounded somewhere behind them and lower.

"Another one of mine," she said. "In sixty seconds, there will be six going off simultaneously. It should sound like a re-enactment of Normandy down there. Can you get up this ladder?"

Jake nodded, "I think so."

Gayle pushed him upward, "Hurry. We don't have much time."

By the time they got to the top of the ladder, there was a cacophony of gunfire down below, some recorded, some live. She could imagine the men, bearing down on where they thought she was, sensing the kill. She glanced at her watch again, "Thirty seconds."

"Until what?" asked Jake, stumbling.

Gayle shrugged, "Like I said, I'm not sure. I had to do some guesswork. I'm not a demolitions expert."

Ioke was "sunbathing" on the deck above the staterooms when the Kleine Schwester suddenly canted violently to one side hard enough to send an empty deck chair that had not been bolted down crashing over the edge into the foamy, gray water below.

Stumbling to her feet, she looked over the edge, "What the hell was that?"

Helene was standing next to her. As they watched, huge air bubbles rose along the side of the ship, the largest ones belching fire onto the main deck. A second later, they heard the dull reverberation of klaxons echoing throughout the ship.

"I think that's a hull breach," said Helene.

"Are we going to sink?" asked Rebecca, fear clear in her voice.

"I don't know," said Helene. "I only know the phrase 'hull breach' from Star Trek."

"Well then," said Ioke. "I'm sure we'll be fine as long as the captain gets the shields up quickly."

After a few seconds, Rebecca asked, "What do we do now?"

"We fight," said Helene. "We're not going to get a better chance than this."

"Fight?" asked Ioke. "How are we supposed to fight?"

"I know where the weapons locker is," said Helene. "Maybe we can break in while everyone is working on keeping the ship from sinking."

"And if we can't?" asked Ioke.

"We improvise," said Helene, shrugging. Seeing Ioke's reluctance, she said, "It's that or we sit on our thumbs and hope this all turns out all right somehow."

Ioke wasn't convinced, but she could see that she wasn't about to convince Helene that it was a crazy idea either. Besides that, she had a sneaking suspicion that Gayle was behind the explosion down below. She'd tried to talk Gayle out of her course of action, too.

"All right," she said reluctantly. "Let's find this weapons locker."

Thule sat at the head of the table in what was now being referred to as the War Room, listening as his people tried to put together all the information they could in preparation for the assault on the Kleine Schwester.

"Play the tape of the phone call from the ship one more time please," said Yuval. "Something is sticking in my head."

Robert, the signals expert who Thule knew was spying for General Pak, pressed a few keys on the laptop RSS had issued him. After a momentary pause, a young woman's voice emerged from a speaker in the center of the conference table. It said, ""This is Gayle Cooper. I'm being held captive on board a ship called the Kleine Schwester along with a group of approximately..."

Yuval signaled to Robert to stop, "Again."

The recording started again, "This is Gayle Cooper. I'm being held captive..."

"I know this Gayle Cooper," said Yuval. "Or, I have heard the name before."

"She was a Medeforte candidate," Melinda said. She checked her notes, "She applied last year, but was rejected for... unspecified psychological problems. For some reason, she was put back on the list this year and applied again. That's odd."

"Why is it odd?" asked Thule.

"Once Sean has rejected a candidate, he almost never puts her back on the list," said Melinda. "I've never heard of him putting one on the list two years in a row." She pulled out her PDA and started pressing spots with her stylus. "I guess that makes sense. He wanted her as a replacement for Alma." She looked up, "He likes to have at least one of us who can act as a bodyguard in situations where a more traditional bodyguard would draw unwanted attention. He's trying to negotiate an extension with Alma right now because he hasn't been able to find a replacement. I guess there must not be a lot of options."

"That's not it," said Yuval. "Her name came up when we were interviewing Oliver Heinzen."

"Who?" asked Melinda.

"T. H. E. King," said Yuval. "The smut-peddler."

Thule slid Yuval a folder, "This is Helene's report on the trip down to PKE. See what you can find."

Yuval opened the report and began to read. Thule turned to Melinda, "I need a secure way to communicate with Mr. Medeforte. He needs to know what's going on and I want his approval on this operation."

"And if he doesn't approve?" asked Anders. He'd been mostly silent for the last hour.

"Then I pay for it out of pocket," said Thule. "He doesn't get to say, 'Don't do it.'"

Anders nodded grimly, but didn't speak.

"Something on your mind, Mr. Harter?" Thule asked. "You've been trying not to scowl all morning."

Anders looked around. Then, he said evenly, "Yes. Something is on my mind."

"Should we step into my office?" Thule asked.

"No, sir," said Anders. "That won't be necessary."

Thule raised an eyebrow. He couldn't remember Anders ever calling him "sir." Evenly, he said, "Say your piece."

"I don't like waiting for them in Morocco," said Anders. "What if they don't go there?"

Thule rubbed his temples, "They've got to go there." He scowled, counting off on his fingers, "We've been over this, Mr. Harter. Santo Perdido is just off Madagascar. The Kleine Schwester won't go around the Cape of Good Hope because it would be in danger in the Pacific. The most logical overland route is through Morocco. The next two most logical routes start within easy striking distance of Morocco. As long as they're at sea, the situation is static. We nab them when they hit dry land."

"I still don't like it," said Anders. "Too much can go wrong in the next four days while we sit on our hands."

Thule shook his head in the negative, "You've made your objections known before, Mr. Harter. You have your orders."

Anders rose from his chair, "Fine. You sign the paychecks." He strode to the door of the war room, "I need some fresh air. It stinks in here." As he strode out the door, he almost tripped over Masha. Without a word of apology, he kept walking and disappeared.

"What's his problem?" Masha asked.

"You know Anders," said Thule. "Such a fucking maverick." He turned to Yuval, "If he shows any sign of not doing his job in Morocco, I want you to shoot him. We can't afford to fuck this up."

Yuval nodded, looking serious, "You got it, boss."

Thule looked up to Masha, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Masha shook her head, "I didn't mean to interrupt. Dawn says that she found the problem with Robert's car. It's running smoothly now."

Thule smiled at Robert, "Looks like you're not going to be stuck here all day after all. Why don't you go get some sleep. You've been on since eleven. Haven't you?"

Robert gave a sleepy smile, "I don't mind burning the midday oil sometimes. But, it will be nice to get to bed."

Thule nodded, "Tell Ryan to grab the NYPD transcripts and come in here on your way out, please."

Robert rose and walked out, throwing a "will do" over his shoulder.

A minute or so after he'd left, Masha asked, "Do you think he fell for it?"

Thule nodded, "He's never given any indication that he knows we're on to him. The question is whether or not the General falls for it. We should know that by tonight."

Masha smiled, "Good."

"And Masha..." added Thule.

"Yes?"

"You did good on this one. It would have been much more difficult without your help."

Masha smiled more widely, "Thank you, Thule. That means a lot to me."

Anders came back into the room, "He just drove out the main entrance." He looked around, closing the door, "Everyone in this room is cleared to know the real operational details of our planned assault on the Kleine Schwester. Let's get to work, people. We haven't got a lot of time. Ryan will be here shortly and we're still not sure of his loyalties."

"I found it," said Yuval. He read from the file, "When questioned about the missing women, Heinzen only acknowledged working with one--Gayle Cooper. He said that they had worked together briefly, but that he had declined to work with her more because she was too mentally unstable." Yuval nodded, "I remember that part because Jake wrote down a question to the effect of how mentally unstable someone had to be in order to be considered unsuitable for a career in pornography."

Thule nodded, "There are an awful lot of questions about that one. Is there anything else I should know about her, Melinda?"

Melinda looked at her PDA again, "After Miss Cooper was rejected the first time, she enrolled in the New York City Police Academy. It appears that she was doing very well there." She frowned.

"Something troubling you?" asked Thule.

"I need to make a phone call," said Melinda. "In private." She rose and looked at Thule, who gave a quick nod of his head. Then, she stepped out of the room.

Before anyone could comment, Matika came in holding an eight-by-ten photo, "We just got the latest picture of the Kleine Schwester. You're going to want to see this."

Thule took the picture, put it on the table, and looked at it. He couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, so he said, "What am I looking at here?"

Matika pointed with her pen, "This lighter patch of water indicates a hull breach. And, it looks like a significant one, too. The shadows tell us that the ship is canting at least six degrees."

"Is it going to sink?" Thule asked.

Matika shook her head, "Not likely. But, they will be limping until they can make repairs."

Thule nodded, "How long will that take?"

"Unknown," said Matika. "And, not the right question. The breach is below the waterline. If they're not going to limp all the way to Santo Perdido, they'll need to go somewhere with the proper repair facilities that won't immediately seize the ship as stolen property. There are only a handful of places like that in the world. But, they're fairly close to one." She put down another photo. On this one, the ship was a large dot of only vaguely determinate shape. Thule recognized it immediately, having just seen it from the window of a plane.

"Hanish-Assab," he said.

Matika nodded, "Yup."

"Lucky break," said Thule. "Now, how do we use it?"

Suggestions flew back and forth across the table. Thule listened carefully, not commenting. After what Yasmina had said about having too much influence among her own people, he'd done an experiment at breakfast, expressing an opinion early on in a conversation--one he didn't really subscribe to and which ran counter to the general sentiment. He was gratified to see that, while it did shift the conversation, his interjection was eventually dismissed as erroneous. Still, he didn't want to change the flow of the strategic discussion by voicing an opinion before the people with more experience in field operations had spoken.

In fact, by the time they'd finished talking, the conclusion was mostly foregone. All Thule had to do was take the plan everyone else had come to and put it into words.

"We'll do it Anders's way," he said. "The less we put the hostages at risk, the better."

There was a long, silent paused. Thule looked up and realized everyone was looking at him, "Yes?"

"About that," said Anders. "Yuval and I have been talking to the black ops team and we think it would be a better idea if you didn't come on this mission--at least, not with the first strike force."

Thule nodded gravely as if considering Anders's words. For once, the field agent was looking worried. Thule couldn't resist prolonging his agony a little and asked, "Does the whole team feel this way?"

Anders nodded, "Pretty much. It just..."

"Mr. Harter..." Thule interrupted him. "Before you discussed the advisability of my joining you on the mission, I'm wondering if it wouldn't have been wiser to ask if I had any intention of actually doing so."

Anders looked puzzled, "Huh?"

"I never had any intention of attaching myself to black ops for this mission," said Thule. "Where on Earth did you get the impression that I had?"

"Well," said Anders. "You keep talking about how 'we' are going to accomplish the mission's objectives..."

Thule shook his head slowly, then said, "My apologies if my language was imprecise. I'm not about to go mucking up such a precision operation by dropping myself into it. I don't have the training or the background and there's no time for me to get either. I would only be a liability."

Again, there was a long, awkward silence, waiting for Thule to speak. He said, "Anders, do you agree with my assessment?"

Anders sat up straighter in his chair, "I would have been more diplomatic about it, but yes. I agree."

"Then, why did you think I would try to come along?" asked Thule, letting his exasperation show a little.

It took Anders a second to answer. He seemed to be trying to find a diplomatic response. But, what he ultimately decided to say was, "Historically, you haven't let a lack of training stop you."

When Thule realized what Anders was talking about, he laughed, "Trust me. If I'd had the resources I have today when I investigated the Vandevoorts, I would not have been running around in the woods with a couple of automatic weapons I didn't even know how to fire."

Anders nodded. He might have been about to say something, but Masha looked up and, listening to the headset she'd put on, said, "Romeo Jordan is here to see you."

"Five minutes, then send him in," said Thule. He was about to tell his team to remove any sensitive documents from plain sight, but they were already doing so. It took far less than five minutes, too.

"Mr. Jordan," said Thule, rising to shake his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Romeo's hand got to half extension before a puzzled look came over his face. He asked, "Hunter?"

At first, Thule thought it was meant for him, but Romeo's eyes were focused on someone behind him. Turning, Thule saw it was Melinda. She looked surprised as well. Thule waited to see how she would respond.

"No one has called me that in years," said Melinda. She looked more closely at Romeo, "Do I know you?"

Romeo shook his head, "No. But, I got in a lot of trouble because of you--you and that Vietnamese girl you posed with."

"Quy?" asked Melinda. "Why would you have gotten in trouble over me and Quy?"

Before Romeo could speak again, Thule held up his hands for silence. Everything was coming together in his head. Abruptly, he said, "Everyone leave the room as quietly as possible, please." If his eyes had been open, he would have been gratified to see that people were obeying his order. But, they were scrunched tightly closed. He'd had a flash of insight and didn't want to risk losing it to a distraction.

Real detective work, he'd heard many times, wasn't like you saw in books and movies--with one brilliant detective making masterful deductions with limited information. It was a lot of plodding analysis.

Only this time, it wasn't. The disparate parts of the case had all come together in one blinding flash that made it seem painfully obvious.

He opened his eyes, "Everyone come back." He didn't have to say it very loudly. Not everyone had gotten out of the room.

"You okay, boss?" Masha asked.

Thule nodded and sat back down in his chair, "I've got the answer--the whole answer. I just need one bit of verification." Riffling through his folders, he found the one he was looking for. Opening the folder, he slid out an eight-by-eleven black and white photo and slid it across the table to Romeo.

"Mr. Jordan," he said. "Can you tell me who that gentleman is?"

Romeo shook his head, "No. Sorry."

The room seemed to let out a collective groan from a dozen throats. Thule persisted, "Why not?"

Romeo looked at the picture again, "Because I don't know his name. Everybody just calls him the General."

"All right," said Thule, looking up at all the surprised faces. "Please hold your questions until the end. I'm going to explain everything."

"I'm impressed," said Melinda. "And I'm sure Sean will be, too." She, Marigold, and Thule were in the hot tub in the basement. Around them, the mansion was a beehive of activity. Oddly, they were three of the four people who had nothing specific to do at the moment. Thule had invited them, along with Dawn, to join him. Dawn had demurred, muttering something about Lava soap and motor oil.

"In hindsight, it seems rather obvious," said Thule.

"Like hell," said Melinda. "Even now, I'm not sure I get all of it."

Thule stretched. "So," he asked, then yawned widely. Not content to wait for the yawn to finish, he asked, "What did you need to call Mr. Medeforte for?"

"I had a suspicion," said Melinda. "For something as important as this, Sean rarely only uses a single resource. But this time, for some reason, he didn't go through me for anything but your services. I just spotted his secondary resource and thought it might be relevant to the investigation to have it confirmed."

"And, what was the secondary resource?" asked Thule.

Melinda's eyes widened a little in surprise, "You don't know?"

Thule shrugged.

Melinda looked pleased with herself, "Gayle Cooper."

Now, it was Thule's turn to look surprised, "Really? Why wouldn't Medeforte tell you about her?"

"He thought I might be the leak," said Melinda. "So, he set it up directly." Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and she looked at Thule, "You knew it was her all along. Didn't you?"

Thule shook his head, "No. I figured it out when you rushed out to call Medeforte."

"So, why did you ask?" Melinda questioned. Thule just looked at her, waiting for her to answer her own question.

However, it was Marigold who spoke up, "You wanted to see if she would lie to you."

Thule grinned, even though he was vaguely annoyed at Marigold for spoiling the test, "Very good."

Marigold smiled at the compliment, "Hey. A girl doesn't spend a year with you and not figure these things out."

Thule didn't bother to point out that the idea they'd spent a year together stretched the truth in several different directions at once. Not only would that be catty, but it was at least as much his fault as Marigold's.

"So," asked Melinda. "Do I pass the test?" There was a glint in her eye that Thule could not immediately define the source of.

"You pass this test," said Thule. Then, he scowled, "I'm sorry, Melinda. I don't trust easily. Even before it was part of my job, that was true. You're too bright and too well-positioned for me to trust immediately." Seeing Marigold open her mouth to comment, he added quickly, "Now that I have the luxury of trusting at leisure, I intend to do so."

Melinda shrugged, "I'm oddly flattered. And, it's really no more than I expected."

Marigold lay dozing in the crook of Thule's arm, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Once, she would have been frustrated by this arrangement. It seemed like she'd spent most of their relationship curled up against him as he slept, exhausted. But, she hadn't realized how much she needed that until it wasn't available.

Besides, it really was different now. Thule wasn't exhausted. In fact, they'd lain like this for hours, just talking, straightening things up between them. All the things Marigold had been worrying Thule would discover over the last few months, Marigold found herself confessing of her own free will. Things were still not all right between them, but they were better. Once again, the relationship would change. New rules would be made. A new understanding would come about.

There was only one thing missing from this tableau that would make it perfect. And that one thing padded by in sweats and stocking feet almost as soon as Marigold had the thought. Marigold waved to her, indicating that she should join the two of them. But, Dawn shook her head and kept walking towards her own room. There was something in her eyes that made Marigold's heart sink and, even before she realized she was doing so, she was sliding out of bed and chasing the other girl down the hall.

"Dawn," she called, alarmed.

Dawn turned to put a finger to her lips, "Don't wake Thule. I've seen his itinerary for tomorrow. It's hellacious. If you want to talk, come to my room."

Marigold followed, wishing Dawn would walk faster. Once in the room, Dawn closed her door, giving them some privacy. Marigold made to hug her, but Dawn stepped aside, leaving her grasping at open air.

"It's a little late for that," said Dawn. "Don't you think?"

"What?" asked Marigold, bewildered. "A hug? I've hugged you since I got back."

"I meant more of the general sucking up thing," said Dawn sitting on her bed. "I figure, if you were going to come looking for my forgiveness, you would have done so by now." She scowled, "Look at you. I bet you didn't even know I was mad."

Dawn was right. Marigold had no idea why she was so upset. She wracked her brain for what she might have done to offend Dawn. She sat down heavily in one of the antique chairs, staring at Dawn as if she could read what was wrong in the other girl's face. Dawn stared back at her defiantly as if daring her to try to guess.

Just as Marigold was about to speak, Dawn asked, "Has Thule forgiven you?"

Marigold felt a wave of hope. Would it be that easy? She gave a half-smile and said, "Not entirely, but I think he will."