To Hunt a Sub Read online

  Al-Zahrawi, Borodnoi, and Sam Vitolska raced for the plane using a terrified Sean as a human shield. Al-Zahrawi sprayed someone off-screen with automatic rifle fire and boarded. As the Gulfstream took off, Rowe exited the freeway and wove his way past the sparse residential neighborhood that bordered Albany Airport.

  “We got Edik and the Monroe’s. Matt says Al-Zahrawi and Borodnoi plan to sell the Tridents to everyone who pays a minimum bid. Matt swears he had no hint the Vitolska’s were criminals. He thought it was a custody fight. Sam said Kali used drugs and Edik wanted Sean away from her. Edik always spent a lot of time with Sean, so the Monroe’s believed the story. Who else would treat someone else’s kid with such kindness?”

  Joe snorted. Marines hated how civilians turned a blind eye to evil, declaring themselves powerless to affect America’s security.

  “Edik—since his girlfriend tried to kill him, he’s agreed to talk, but only to you.”

  “Me? How’s he know me?”

  “He says you’ll understand.”

  By now, Rowe was on the airport property, in sight of the departed Gulfstream’s hanger.

  “I like Joe.” James was now in sight, a strong upright figure in the distance, standing by an older but no less sturdy Joe. “He’s you retired. When Matt started a rant about his innocence, Joe tripped him and knocked him out.”

  James handed off the phone to Joe. “Edik did a lousy job holding us off. I’d swear he shot at Sam. She sure aimed at him. Poor shmuck didn’t know the escape plan included sacrificing him.”

  Rowe pulled up next to the group gathered around an open T-hangar. He froze for a second then jumped out and shook his head.

  “This schmuck used to be a pretty good SEAL. How’d you get caught up in this, Duck?” Rowe stuck a hand out.

  “Someone’s got to cover your ass, Zero.” Duck’s toothy grin spread across his face and into his eyes. Rowe got his nickname when Duck saw ‘Z. Rowe’ written on his SEAL duffle bag.

  “Sam’s a crummy shot if she missed your big target.”

  “She’s a sharpshooter, but I swapped her rounds for blanks. Figured I was going to piss her off at some point.” Duck chuckled. “Good to see you.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you on the feed.”

  Duck had a lean Italian face all planes and angles, bulging calves, and a neck so thick it became part of his shoulders, but it was his warrior mindset that made him a dangerous foe. He never gave less than full throttle because second place could kill you. His job was the life of the guy next to him even if the price was his life. He tried a peacetime deployment—attaché to an Admiral—but got transferred back to a SEAL team when his boss tired of bailing him out of whatever trouble he got himself into.

  All Duck really did—and he did it well—was fight. If not for the SEALs, he would have been in prison, but the Navy turned him into what his minister called ‘God’s pillar of the hood’.

  “I disguised my appearance with cotton in my gums, colored contacts, put pebbles in my shoes to change my gait. I met Al-Zahrawi twenty years ago when he was starting out. He’s a fanatic, kills for sport. Every time he came to the house, I ran errands.”

  Duck hadn’t changed. His personality filled the area like sunshine on a cold day.

  “Sorry I lost touch,” and Rowe clapped his old partner on the shoulder.

  Duck smiled as his eyes grew serious. “Al-Zahrawi hasn’t done much since the Embassy bombings. We thought he was dead or in prison until we got chatter about a cyberweapon that hijacks submarines. Navy intel said it was theoretically possible, so assigned me to infiltrate. Sam made me babysit some kid. They were holding him hostage so his mom would cooperate.”

  “This is the mom—Kalian Delamagente.”

  Duck turned to Kali. “You invented a virus that infects subs?”

  “That’s Kali’s office mate, Catherine Stockbury. Kali came up with a way to find the sub after the virus activates.” Rowe could see Duck snap the pieces together.

  Duck continued, “Something went wrong at the last minute because they’re only auctioning one. Winners fill in a code which will deliver the sub to their home port of choice.” He checked his watch. “It closes in 48 hours.”

  “Do you have the website address?”

  Duck shook his head. “You don’t either? Neither side trusted the other. Their goals aligned, but not the reasons. Sam wants money. Al-Zahrawi wants revenge.”

  Duck’s voice softened. “They killed your friend, Cat.”

  “Tried. She’s hanging on.” Rowe explained her escape.

  “I wanted to warn her, but we weren’t around the same places. She was living on borrowed time the moment Borodnoi got what he wanted from her.” His beefy face gentled. “Some guy close to you dead dropped regular updates on your progress.”

  A smile limped across Kali’s face. “Not an issue any more.”

  James arrived, panting. “No flight plan. The only good news is they don’t have Otto.”

  Kali’s phone beeped—a text message. She read it and was about to share it when Rowe stopped her, “I told Porter you were busy all day,” and guided her away from the group.

  You have 48 hours to exchange Otto for your son. Bring Dr. Rowe so I can kill him.

  “Bobby doesn’t need to see this, Kali. If he does, he won’t let you out of the country.”

  “I have a plan.”

  “So do I.”

  Chapter 65

  Friday

  “This baby has a cruising altitude of 36,000 feet at Mach .87. We can reach the Middle East or Africa before refueling.” Ramey Giordano moved through the spotless G550 with the familiarity of a man who’s exactly where he wants to be.

  Kali had never met Cat’s father, but when he called Thursday, she recognized his voice. In a voice filled with pain and guilt, he offered anything he owned if Kali and Zeke would make Cat’s attackers pay. They settled on his Gulfstream G550, the pilot Ramey Giordano, and a planeload of whatever supplies Rowe needed. Rowe’s only demand: The FBI couldn’t know. The man agreed without question. The next day, Ramey Giordano, a fit-looking retired Marine aviator with shoulder-length silver hair pulled back in a ponytail, showed up at Kali’s office and asked for a shopping list. Rowe scratched out two pages including military-grade weapons which didn’t even make Giordano blink.

  Kali had been feeding information to Otto for the last hour, searching for Al-Zahrawi. Finally, she pressed back into her chair and began chewing a cuticle that already looked raw. Before she could say anything, her cell rang.

  “An international prefix. Kenya I think. I’ll put it on speaker.” She answered with a curt, “Delamagente.”

  “Hello! This is Dr. Xavier Blumenstein.” The voice sounded like its owner should be teaching English literature at Oxford. “Do I have the pleasure of speaking with Ms. Kalian Delamagente?”

  “Yes, Dr. Blumenstein.” She fought to control her emotion. “Dr. Fairgrove mentioned you. I’m here with a colleague, Dr. Zeke Rowe.”

  “It is so good to meet you, Ms. Delamagente, albeit telephonically. Dr. Fairgrove spoke of you often. He described your help with his research in smashing terms, called you a rising star.” Kali winced that Fairgrove represented her work as his, but kept quiet. “I apologize for my tardiness, but I had to drive a hundred miles to make this call. It is critical I ring up the dear man, but I can’t reach him. Do you have his current number?”

  “I’m sorry, but Dr. Fairgrove died this week.” Her voice was kind, but curt.

  The Doctor sucked in a breath. “Gor Blimey… What happened?”

  “The police haven’t made a determination yet.”

  “Foul play, eh? Such a tawdry end for so magnificent a chap.” Dr. Blumenstein sighed once, and then again. “Dr. Fairgrove made an incredible discovery, one which will return him to the forefront of paleoanthropology. A beautiful Homo habilis skull, and this on the heels of the autochthonous crocodile remains he found. He came into his own after
too many dry years with the most remarkable ability to suss out our antecedents, as though he knew where their bones slept. An autumnal story.”

  Kali had no time for lionizing Fairgrove. “What can we help you with, sir?”

  “Dr. Fairgrove was uneasy. When I asked why, he shook it off, but said if I didn’t hear from him, to give you the bell. And so I am. He left artifacts here and coordinates to another location he led me to believe you would appreciate.”

  Fairgrove knew his plans were crumbling. Kali asked, “Where is this second dig?”

  “In the hinterlands of Tanzania, by Ngorongoro and the East African Rift.”

  “Thank you. I do understand, Dr. Blumenstein. I’ll get back to you in a few days.”

  “Take your time, Ms. Delamagente. I enjoy communing with these amazing artifacts. If you can’t reach me, please keep trying,” and he disconnected.

  “It has to be the meeting.” Kali mumbled as she added ‘East African Rift’ and ‘Ngorongoro’ to Otto’s parameters. Like the Vulcan game Kal-toh, where one move transforms a mixed up jumble of sticks into a harmonious sphere, suddenly everything fit.

  “The Great Rift Valley, a 3,700 mile crack in the earth's crust formed when violent forces tore east from west. It is literally the middle of nowhere.” Edged by an archipelago of volcanoes and lakes, it extended through Lucy’s homeland and included the foothills of Ol Doinyo L’engai where Zeke met Annie. It seemed to be the uniting force behind this case.

  “Al-Zahrawi’s going where he feels strongest.”

  Rowe deleted another message from Cariole. He would have to wait. Time had run out. The plane was loaded and ready to go, kitted out with three H&K submachine guns with infrared laser targeting mounts and sound suppressors, four Sig Sauer P226s with three spare magazines each, a Winchester 120-guage pump, one thousand rounds of additional ammo for each weapon, ten hand grenades, three stainless steel Super Tools, three CRKT Tanto folding tactical knives, and a bag of Tuff-Ties. It was enough to fight a small war if necessary. Support items included food for a week, twenty cases of water, a trauma kit with scissors, bandages, a couple of packs of clotting agents, disinfectant, lip balm, alcohol swabs, and prescription bottles of antibiotics and pain medicine.

  Rowe and Kali jogged across the tarmac toward the sleek corporate jet. Both wore hiking boots, short-sleeved cotton shirts, jeans, and wide-brimmed hats. The weather was perfect with scattered clouds and a light wind.

  Duck raced up as they neared the plane. “Get out of here! James and Cariole are on the way. Kali received a deposit for a million dollars yesterday. James thinks she earned it by giving up Otto. Cariole—he says you lied to him.”

  Rowe hitched his bag up to his shoulder and started running. “Duck, Cariole’s a good guy. Tell him we’ve been set up and are going to prove it. Tell Bobby I’m sorry.”

  Kali grabbed his arm as they ran. “That’s why Hemren used my computer to send those messages and install the worm on the Dean’s system.”

  “None of that matters. We either demonstrate your innocence or we’re both dead.”

  Rowe took the stairs two at a time, Kali right behind, as sirens howled from the highway. Rowe shouted to Duck. “Find that website.”

  The steps clanked into place and Giordano expertly guided the Gulfstream down the runway as the lights of a police car raced toward the General Aviation hangers. The last thing Rowe saw as the plane lifted off was Duck saluting them and James flinging his thousand-dollar jacket to the tarmac.

  Saturday

  Eleven hours later, give or take, Giordano landed on an abandoned airstrip at the most likely confluence of Serengeti and Rift. From the air, the ground was etched with winding blue streams and studded with water holes, but once on the ground, Kali saw only miles of yellow-brown savanna shimmering under the scorching heat.

  Giordano dropped the stairs and a blast furnace hit Kali. She struggled to breathe as the weight of hot, humid air pressed against her chest. Sweat poured off her head and down her legs, soaking her socks and leaving her hair stringy and limp.

  Rowe seemed unfazed. He told Giordano to leave if they weren’t back in thirty hours and then trotted North through the tall tussock grasses and brittle scrub, not pausing until he reached the protection of a boulder field. Kali staggering after him.

  “We’ll find their trail from there,” and he indicated the craggy top of the lone hillock.

  Kali jerked her head once. After the stifling heat in Israel, she thought Africa would be fine, but the thick humidity and brutal sun left her faint and nauseous.

  “How does anyone—”

  Before Kali could finish, there was a whoosh overhead and an explosion shook the ground. Rowe dragged her behind a boulder where they hunched until the noise subsided. When she peered back toward the plane, the acrid stench of petroleum assaulted Kali’s senses and her skin reddened from the heat rolling off the plane’s smoldering carcass.

  “Ramey!” Kali lunged forward, but Rowe stopped her.

  “He couldn’t survive, Kali! You’re only going to give Al-Zahrawi another target.” Rowe searched for the launch site. “That weapon is accurate only a short distance which means Al-Zahrawi is close… There.” Rowe pointed southwest to a cut between two hilltops. “That overlook. It’s the only landmark high enough.”

  A shape moved against Nature’s browns and yellows. “He’s not even hiding. He wants us to follow.”

  So much death and violence. How would the world survive if this was how it solved problems? Clearly, Al-Zahrawi thought it effective, which was why he kidnapped Sean, tortured Annie, and blew up Ramey. He expected Kali to capitulate.

  She wouldn’t. She had her own favorite method of problem-solving.

  When she turned to Rowe, he was watching her. There was a sadness to his posture, pain in his expression, replaced quickly by resolution.

  “We can still do this, Kali. We’ll find food and water off the land. Everything else we need is in our backpacks and our heads.”

  “Of course we can. Let’s go.”

  Duck took the seat next to James that Cariole vacated. “How bad is it?”

  “The Detective insists we stake out all airports in the Gulfstream’s range and arrest Zeke and Kali when they land.”

  “Come on, Bobby. Zeke will never give a weapon like Otto to our enemies. Trust him to do his part. He won’t quit until he’s done what needs doing. You and I need to find that auction or whatever he does won’t be good enough.”

  James scowled, but said nothing, engrossed in his laptop.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m replaying video of Al-Zahrawi’s arrival at the airport. We picked it up through OnStar and a computer Sean had in the backseat.”

  Sam sat in the front, breasts pushing against the thin fabric of her tank top, blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and down her chest. Al-Zahrawi was in the back, his dark molasses face shining, pleated slacks and striped silk shirt not even wrinkled. He and Sam argued over something. Sean huddled next to Al-Zahrawi, but as far into the corner as possible. One hand played a rhythm against his chest while the other scratched up and down his leg. His eyes were wide and frightened.

  I’m trying to find a reflection, or angle, that gives up the website they’re fighting over.”

  Duck jerked upright. “Stop! Play it again, Bobby.”

  “See something, Duck?”

  “Sean’s fingers. Rewind it.”

  “Yeah. He’s telling us the car’s license plate, but they’re airborne.” James rewound anyway.

  Duck leaned in. “The boy told me about the code. Type this into the computer. W, w, w—it’s the URL.”

  James entered the rest of the sequence into the browser’s address bar.

  A splash of color crystallized into a stark collage of destruction underlaid with the American flag. A log-in box appeared with a countdown clock on the right side.

  “It’s the auction. Forty-two hours, twenty-one minutes and fourteen seconds
.”

  “Now all we need is the username and password.”

  “Clever. The web page has no metatags, which makes it invisible in the virtual world. I wouldn’t find it for months. You need the address and an invitation.”

  “You can crack it, though?” A nub of doubt entered James’s voice.

  “We need to know who has an account and break their log-in.”

  Duck rose. “Matty will tell me.”

  “Hold up. I’ll walk you out.”

  Before Kali and Rowe took off, each came to Eitan Sun with a plan. Each had a 23% chance of success. Both were one-way tickets. Rowe’s was easy, but Kali’s more complicated. When Duck and James left, he picked up the phone to call his buddy, the Secretary of Defense. Sun got his agreement to Kali’s idea with the condition that the Chief of Naval Operations agreed.

  “How the hell—”

  “We’re past the point of blame, Sir, but after this, I’ll fix it.”

  “You think this will work?”

  “Simple.”

  Simple, like the Riemann Hypothesis.

  “How’s it going?” Duck sidled up to Matt Monroe for the mandated ten-minute exercise break.

  “They got you too. My attorney says I’ll be out tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, they got nothing. They want to scare us so we talk.” Duck circled a conspiratorial finger between the two of them. “I’ll make a deal for what I know, maybe even win me a finder’s fee. But nothing about Sam. No way. She’ll be back for us.”

  Matt refused to make eye contact, his lips in a tight line.

  “I helped her escape, you know. She’ll be back for me. She loves me. I’ll make sure she takes you, too. And Connie if you want. Or not—start over.”

  Matt shook his head. “Yeah. You got it all planned out, but they’re accusing me of stuff I didn’t do. I don’t even know anything—except about that Dean.”

  “They already know that, if it’s what I’m thinking. You got something else?” When Matt didn’t answer, he leaned in and lowered his voice, “Of course you do. What d’you have?”