Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) (19 page)

“C’mon, Green. Let’s get to the bow.”

***

Arnett groaned as she struggled upright. Her fingers protruded from the dirty remnants of the cast like painful purple sausages. A moan reached her. Someone’s alive, she thought, staggering toward the sound.

The deck forward of the windlass was slick with blood. She stepped over a severed foot laced in a work boot. Thorton and Billingsley were dead against the bulwark, and Roy McCluskey lay moaning between them, his left leg missing below the knee. The stump spurted blood.

She knelt in the gore and removed his belt. He moaned.

“Hang on, Captain,” she said.

She wrestled the belt onto his stump with her left hand and twisted. The blood flowed unabated. She held tension with her throbbing right hand and repositioned her left to twist tighter. He was unconscious when she got the blood stopped.

“Don’t you fucking die on me!” she screamed, all the pain and horror of the last moments pouring out. She repeated it between sobs as she rocked on her knees in the gore, clutching the twisted belt. They found her there, and it took all Green’s strength to pry her fingers away.

M/T Luther Hurd
Pedro Miguel Lock, Panama
1135 Hours Local Time
5 July

Only Blake and Milam remained aboard. Water leaked by the hull in slackening streams as workers packed earth against the port side. From the bridge, Blake watched trucks on the east bank dumping rocks and broken concrete. The hull rang with repeated clangs as small dozers pushed the rubble out into the water against the ship’s side, followed by sand and dirt to fill in the voids and create a solid road against the shipside. The next loads were dumped farther out. They were already fifty or sixty feet along.

Blake winced as rocks and dozer blades scraped new paint and dust billowed over the pristine deck. He shook his head and moved down the stairs. The Engine Control Room was empty, but he saw Milam through the window standing on the walkway looking down into the engine room. His engine room. A spotless place, bright with new paint and full of new equipment. An engineer’s wet dream, Blake thought not unkindly.

He moved through the door quietly and stood behind Milam, hesitant to disturb him. The only sounds were the muted drone of the emergency generator and the hollow booms of rocks against the hull. Finally, Blake cleared his throat.

Milam looked back with a sad smile. “What brings a rope choker to the realm of the honest working man?”

“They’re burying our ship, Jim. I couldn’t watch anymore.”

Milam shook his head. “I’ve been at sea almost twenty-five years. Mostly rust buckets older than me I kept running with duct tape, baling wire, and whatever I could make with a lathe and a welding machine. I finally get the engine room of my dreams”—he sighed—”and it’s a friggin’ dam.” He changed the subject. “We about wrapped up?”

“Yeah,” Blake said, “I talked to the office on the satellite, right to Hanley himself. He’s chartering a jet to fly us all to Houston, including the injured folks and our… casualties.”

Milam nodded. “How’s McCluskey?”

“Calderon says he’ll make it,” Blake said, “thanks to Arnett.”

“She’s got sand, that one,” Milam said, and Blake nodded agreement.

They both stood, reluctant to leave, flinching as a rock boomed against the hull.

“OK,” Milam said. “I’ll go kill the emergency generator.”

Neither moved.

“Look, Vince,” Milam said. “You saved our asses. You’re a hero.”

“I don’t feel like a hero,” Blake said. “I feel like an asshole who couldn’t even get his brand-new ship to the first load port and who got good men killed in the process.”

Milam squeezed Blake’s shoulder. “Yeah, I guess this hero stuff’s overrated.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

CIA Gulfstream
Airborne En Route to London
5 July

Dugan drifted toward consciousness, feeling better after a five-hour nap, his headache reduced to a dull throb. He heard voices through the fog and opened his eyes.

“It’s motive I can’t understand,” Ward said to Reyes. “What can Iran and Venezuela possibly gain by targeting Panama and Malacca?”

“Obviously the canal was the prime target,” Reyes said.

Ward shook his head. “Not from the allocation of resources. There were ten attackers in Malacca, and they hijacked
Alicia
and stole the boats to set it up. To say nothing of chartering
China Star
and timing her arrival in the straits. All very elaborate. Compare that to the attack on your country. As effective as it was, it seems to be the work of one man, acting alone.”

“There may have been others in the crew,” Reyes said.

“No way,” Dugan interjected. “That crew worked for Phoenix for years. Medina was the only unknown. The regular third mate was due back from vacation but was injured in a car wreck in the Philippines. Medina was a last-minute relief, and the captain was pissed about going through the yard with a green man. He was happy when Medina turned out to be a capable worker.” Dugan paused. “Evidently a bit too capable.”

“Which brings us right back to why,” Ward said. “Closing Malacca would hurt Iran, so a failed attempt there might deflect blame. But destroying the canal wouldn’t greatly impact Iran, and I don’t see how either act would help Venezuela.”

Reyes shrugged. “Oil prices are sure to spike.”

“Temporarily, yeah,” Dugan said. “But Malacca’s still open, and tanker traffic through the canal is minimal. Prices will settle in a week or so. That alone can’t be the motive.”

Reyes looked pensive. “I do not know about Iran, but Rodriguez is no friend of Panama. He supports the FARC guerrillas in Colombia, who are an increasing problem on our border. Also, it is no secret he is upset our current canal expansion will be insufficient to allow the transit of loaded VLCCs. He openly advocates a second, larger canal in Nicaragua, and there are rumors that he urges the Chinese to pledge to send half their trade though a new canal so that his friends in Nicaragua can secure financing in the international market.”

Ward sighed. “That may be part of it, but my gut tells me the worst is yet to come. And we’re playing a man down. Tom obviously can’t go back into the office. The ship’s agent will have reported his arrest by now, so Braun thinks he’s in Panama.”

“Alex can help Anna inside,” Dugan said.

Ward chose his next words with care.

“Alex isn’t out of the woods, Tom.”

“Bullshit. You know he’s being coerced.”

“I do. But we have no hard evidence. Closures at either Panama or Malacca increase distances and soak up capacity. Freight rates will skyrocket and Kairouz stands to profit. Money equals motive. A nice, uncomplicated motive. People like things simple, even if they’re wrong. And between your relationship with Alex and your own involvement with
Alicia
,
Asian Trader
, and an offshore bank account, you both look pretty hinky. With Gardner beating that drum in Langley, my support might mean squat. Unless I miss my guess, he’s already on the horn, pressing for the Brits to arrest you when we land.”

Dugan looked worried. “So how do we play it?”

Ward looked at Reyes and smiled. “Well, since you’re officially, or at least semiofficially, in Panamanian custody, it’s really out of our hands. That’ll throw Gardner a curve, and he’ll hesitate to escalate things until he’s sure they won’t blow up in his face. But make no mistake. This is high profile. The holiday weekend means it’ll take a bit longer for a critical mass of political assholes to form, but in forty-eight hours tops, we enter the never-never land of congressional hearings. When the shit hits the fan, I’m the goat and you and Alex are prime suspects. Two days. After that we’re toast.”

CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia

The
Luther Hurd
at Pedro Miguel dominated the news. Gardner watched on his office television, the graphic gore roiling his stomach. He’d arrived at work at six thirty, sleep denied him by a pounding head and quivering gut. He chased Tylenol with tepid coffee and considered how what he’d learned in the last three hours impacted Larry Gardner. Throwing Dugan to the Panamanians was still promising, presuming Ward hadn’t screwed it up. He tried Ward again and hung up at the voice mail. He dialed Panama.

“Carlucci.”

“Gardner here,” he said. “Ward with you?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Do the Panamanians have Dugan in custody?”

“Who is Dugan, and why do you think he’s in custody?”

“Ah… I saw his name in the briefing notes.”

“Funny,” Carlucci said, “I write those. I didn’t mention a Dugan.”

“What the hell difference does it make? Where is he?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Look, Carlucci, you’re hindering an ongoing operation. If you don’t want to end up somewhere even less important than Panama, start being helpful.”

“Fuck you.”

Gardner burst into obscenities at the dial tone and slammed the phone down. Still cursing, he picked it back up and dialed.

“Flight Operations.”

“Gardner here. What do you have on Ward?”

“Let’s see, looks like he left Panama for Heathrow this morning at 0215, refueling in Miami. I show his ETA in London as 2015 local; that’s 1515 our time.”

Hair rose on Gardner’s neck. “He alone?”

The man paused. “Nope. Manifest shows Ward, a Thomas Dugan, and a Panamanian national named Manuel Reyes.”

Gardner hung up. Son of a bitch. Reyes. With Ward and Dugan. No good could come of this. He needed some cover, just in case. He was parsing the possibilities when Senator Gunther appeared on television, standing at a bank of microphones in front of the Capitol. Gardner raised the volume.

“…will leave no stone unturned in fixing the blame for these intelligence failures. To that end, I’ve convened a special Senate investigation…”

Gardner smiled. It was about to rain shit, and he’d just found a raincoat.

Offices of Phoenix Shipping

Braun frowned. “Be here, Sutton. That’s final.”

“But I can upload the virus now and trigger it remotely. I don’t need to be here.”

“What if it’s discovered?” Braun said. “Besides. I want you here tonight to ensure every system is running. Complete destruction. No file remnants on local hard drives.”

“You’re burning the bloody building. What’s the point?”

Braun’s stare was ice. “The point, Sutton, is you’ll do as told. Now. Backups?”

“Held off-site. Only Kairouz and I have decryption keys.” Sutton handed Braun a flash drive. “This one works but his doesn’t. Without this, the backups are useless.”

Braun slipped the drive into his pocket. “Good. Is the safe house set up?”

Sutton nodded. “I tested the cable and Internet yesterday.”

“And I drove the route,” Farley said. “Looked fine.”

“Any trouble renting the place with the cover identity?” Braun asked.

“Didn’t have to,” Sutton said. “It’s my aunt’s place in Kent.”

Braun exploded. “You bloody idiot! A place connected to one of us will be obvious!”

“Bu… but there’s no connection,” Sutton stammered. “It’s in her name. She’s in the loony bin. Alzheimer’s.”

“What’s her name?” Braun demanded.

“Married name’s Lampkin. Husband’s dead. I don’t even visit. I got the key when me mum passed last year. It’s safer than a rental.”

Braun considered it. No time for other arrangements.

“All right,” he said. “But Sutton. Don’t disappoint me again. Clear?”

Sutton nodded as Braun continued. “Everything ready on your end, Farley?”

“Yeah. I checked out the school. Like you figured, it’s all girls with no males on staff except a custodian. I slipped in last night to check the setup. One gent’s toilet, off a side corridor to a supply storeroom. It’s at the back of the building with a window opening on to the alley. It’s perfect. We’ll be halfway to the safe house before anyone knows she’s gone.”

Braun nodded. “That’s it then,” he said, dismissing them. As they left, he moved to his desk and took a pair of pliers from a drawer. He crushed the flash drive beyond recognition and slipped the remains back into his pocket for later disposal, then dialed his phone.

“Sudsbury and Smythe,” a pleasant female voice answered.

“Mr. Carrington-Smythe, please. Captain Braun calling.”

“He’s been expecting your call, Captain. I’ll put you right through.”

London Heathrow Airport
2015 Hours Local Time
5 July

After a great deal of persuasion, Reyes agreed not to cuff Dugan upon landing. However, the big Panamanian kept Dugan close as the pair trailed Ward across the tarmac to Lou Chesterton and Harry Albright. The Panamanian’s introduction to the Brits was perfunctory—both men were staring at Dugan.

“Bloody hell, Yank,” Harry said. “You hit by a lorry?”

Dugan glanced at Reyes, who remained expressionless.

“You OK, mate?” Lou asked.

“I’m fine,” Dugan said. “What’s the plan?”

Lou looked at Ward. “A bloke from your embassy called and urged us to detain you. I patiently explained to him that MI5 is intelligence, not law enforcement, and without arrest powers. He then suggested that I convey you, and particularly Dugan here, to the US embassy for ‘debriefing.’”

Ward shook his head. “Mr. Dugan is in the custody of Lieutenant Reyes. He will not be going to the embassy, though perhaps the lieutenant and I should go to the embassy and explain the situation while you take Dugan to Anna’s building.”

“Go where you will, Agent Ward,” Reyes said. “I stay with Dugan.”

Ward sighed. “All right. Lou, can you take me to the embassy while Harry drives these two to Anna’s?”

Anna Walsh’s Apartment Building

“My God, Tom,” Anna said, “are you all right?”

Dugan’s smile faded. “I can’t tell you what a confidence builder that was. I’m beginning to feel like the Elephant Man.”

“There’s a resemblance, mate,” Harry said, “but he was quite intelligent.”

Reyes smiled, and Dugan laughed, his pain made tolerable by the pills he’d taken on landing.

“They didn’t beat the cheekiness out of you I see,” Anna said, then turned to Reyes.

“But I’m forgetting my manners. May I offer you something to drink, Lieutenant Reyes?”

“Coffee, if it would not be too much trouble,” Reyes said.

“No trouble at all,” Anna said. “Tom? Harry?”

Both men nodded and followed Anna into the small kitchen and watched her prepare the coffee. When it was ready, they all moved to the living room.

“Cassie OK?” Dugan asked.

Anna nodded. “Well covered. Two men at all times.”

“And Braun?” Dugan asked.

“Quiet. But up to something,” she said. “That’s my gut anyway.”

“Mine as well,” Harry agreed.

“Then it’s unanimous,” Dugan said. “But damned if I can figure his next move.”

They fell into frustrated silence, but soon Anna smiled.

“I’ve seen that look,” Harry said. “What are you on to, Anna?”

“We can assume the next attack will be by a Phoenix-owned or -chartered tanker, right?”

“So what?” Dugan said. “We can’t check them all without alerting Braun.”

“Bear with me,” Anna said. “Targets?”

Dugan shrugged. “Suez, the straits of Hormuz and the Bosphorus, maybe the Cape of Good Ho—” He stopped and looked at her.

“Exactly,” she said.

Harry and Reyes looked confused.

“Would you two mind sharing?” Harry asked.

“We concentrate on tankers near choke points,” Anna said. “That’s the short list.”

“Braun will only manipulate communications for attack ships,” Dugan added. “It’d be noticed if he tried that for every ship in the fleet.”

“Tom can call the short-listed ships on a pretext,” Anna continued. “Alex can’t do it because Braun is watching him closely, and a call from me would seem strange. The captains might call back to see what’s going on and alert Braun in the process. But no one in the fleet knows Tom’s not in the office.”

“And if Tom senses something amiss,” Harry finished, understanding, “that’s the ship. Bloody brilliant.”

“One problem,” Anna said. “My computer crashed again, as did Tom’s. And Sutton was his usual helpful self. I can’t access the position report. Tom, you have a hard copy?”

“Not a current one,” Dugan said. “Get word to Alex. He can slip it to you somehow. By the way, does he know I’m here?”

“He thinks you’re in custody in Panama. And let’s keep it that way. He’s reacting as Braun would anticipate. Knowing you’re here could change his demeanor and alert Braun.”

“But he—”

“You have to trust me on this, Tom,” Anna said, ending discussion of the issue.

“Now,” she continued, “I have to see him out of the office. I’ll call and say I’m worried about Tom and want to talk. I’ll suggest we meet tomorrow morning for coffee.”

“Wrong motive,” Harry said. “Braun thinks you’re a tart. Come on to Kairouz—imply you’re worried about your position with Dugan gone. Offer to discuss ‘serving his needs.’”

“Won’t that shock him?”

“He’ll get it,” Dugan said. “And if he’s initially shocked, so much the better.”

Anna nodded and called. As predicted, Alex played along and agreed to meet Anna at eight thirty the next morning.

She snapped the phone shut. “My reputation as a slut is secure. Now what?”

Harry yawned. “I’ll update Lou and Ward and piss off home to the little woman.”

“Do that,” Anna said. “Let’s all get some sleep.”

Harry stood up. “I’ll let myself out,” he said.