To Hunt a Sub Page 30

  “He’s a biggy. He could sell us both out!”

  Duck painted a worried expression across his face and scratched his cheek. “Yeah, that’s a problem. They’ll see all the phone calls between him and Al-Zahrawi and arrest him I bet before tomorrow. He’ll give us up for a deal, so we gotta move first.”

  “He’s got everything on his computer, even access to the website.”

  “Yeah, the website. The one with the auction.”

  “Yeah. I wish I could give them that!” Matt’s eyes skittered around the yard and he wiggled closer to Duck. “Hemren told me Porter’s log-in when I promised to sponsor his sisters, but the only access is behind some hidden partition on his computer. Really hidden, in an Easter Egg. That’s one of those coding tricks programmers use, but we need an address.”

  “Yeah, I got that too. He uses that name…” Duck let his voice trail off.

  After a moment, Matt chimed in, “His kids, yeah and his wife.”

  “Yeah. They have that already. You gotta have more.”

  “No—not real kids. He calls his bank accounts his kids. You know, the numbers.”

  “I know and they know. We need something else.”

  “There is nothing else! Why would I think I needed something for trade? I figured this was a scam when Al-Zahrawi paid me so much.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth and murmured into his palm, “D’you think this espionage stuff is real?”

  Duck scrunched his brows together. “Doesn’t matter if the police believe it. And the FBI! Then Salah goes killing people. We’re on the chopping block for that. I didn’t sign on for murder. Did you?” A frantic head shake from Monroe and Duck continued, “We gotta close our deal before Porter or we go to jail.”

  “Time’s up, ladies. Back to your cells.”

  Duck clapped Matt on the back. “Don’t talk to anyone, Matty. Everything’s gonna work out.” He liked the despair that enveloped Matt’s face as he did the zipper move across his clamped lips. “I like your uniform, Jerry. Makes you look important. Hey, you don’t believe this stuff do you? My buddy and me would never endanger our country. He’s not smart enough, and me, I just liked Sam. You saw her, didn’t you?”

  The guard leered and Duck winked at Matt.

  In seconds, they were in. A clock ticked down from thirty-six hours, twenty-seven minutes. To the right was a list of the current bidders—both US friends and enemies—and a satellite photo titled ‘Proof’. Duck clicked on it, and it panned to the outed Chinese sub.

  James’ call to Rowe went straight to voicemail.

  Chapter 66

  Saturday

  The sun was high and heat cracked the hard savanna earth. A cheetah shadowed a summer-thin herd of gazelle. A flock of hopping, bobbing raptors clutched shreds of meat from a carcass nothing more than bones and hooves.

  With less than thirty hours left, Rowe and Kali chased Al-Zahrawi deep into the hinterlands. The ground baked under their feet, the grasses scratched exposed skin, and insects bit mercilessly to drink their blood. The duo avoided the populated animal routes in favor of dense, harder-to-penetrate-and-therefore-safer scrub. They eased over humps and trenches, up and down steep eroded banks. Dust was everywhere—on leaves and branches, in their teeth and throats. They struggled through calf-high vegetation, past rocky outcroppings, resting where possible under the humid shade of an acacia where the temperature silenced even the birds. An elephant herd three hundred strong wandered in aimless abandon. A gazelle whinnied, elegant head bouncing high as she accompanied a male with sweeping horns. A sow with five hoglets rushed single file across their path. A stately waterbuck watched, alert but unafraid.

  Kali and Zeke divided up duties. Zeke stalked their human prey while Kali gathered food. She knew how because Lucy did this often—insects lived under rocks and grubs in the deadwood of old tree limbs. Hyraxes and lizards were nutritious, but almost impossible to catch.

  Finally, panting and dripping sweat, the pair took a break under a euphorbia and Rowe explained his plan. When he finished, Kali stared at him.

  “That’s not a very good plan.”

  “Probably not, but it’s what we have.”

  Kali bit back her next comment and rose to continue on the trail left by Al-Zahrawi and Sean.

  Hours later, as the sun burned orange just over the jagged horizon, they collapsed at the foot of a hill by a craggy old baobab. Its gigantic gnarled spirals thicker than a man’s body joined the main trunk about head high. Lucy would vault into the arms of a baobab when chased by a Sabertooth. Rowe picked a rough-skinned frog from the cracked and lined bark, bit the head off, offered the rest to Kali, and downed it himself when she gagged. They rested until full dark, and then Rowe disappeared into the velvety night.

  Kali relieved herself downwind and started to build a tree nest, high enough for safety but low enough for escape. She crouched in the fork of two branches and wove slender fronds into a springy platform. Next, she braided leafy foliage into a circular bed and cushioned it with grass. It took her an hour.

  Lucy did it in three minutes.

  The evening shadows turned the landscape into a city of ghosts, sparse tree limbs limned against a gray background. Tall grasses swayed to the rhythm of the nocturnal hunt. Indigenous canines, eyes sparkling, wondered if she were prey or predator. An owl rose smoothly from the ground carrying a writhing snake. Not far in the distance, a young bull elephant stood silhouetted against the horizon, testing the air with its trunk, calling to its herd. In Africa’s pure skies, sound carried for miles.

  Kali felt close to Lucy here.

  A twig cracked. She froze, slitting her eyes to hide their reflection.

  “Any room for me?”

  “Zeke, dammit. You scared me!”

  He scampered up and into the nest. “This has been your goal all along, to get me into a comfy bed and take advantage of me.” Kali giggled. “It won’t work on a man of my strong morals.”

  Kali snuggled in. “It’s been a long time since I went to bed the same day I woke up.”

  Through the canopy was a brilliant display of crisp stars, accompanied by the glowing swath of the Milky Way. She absorbed the cacophony of African life—the trill of insects, the distant hoots and hollers, and the rustle of wind. It was hard to accept that this overpowering beauty hid such danger.

  She fell asleep, dreaming Lucy found Sean.

  Sunday

  Rowe shook Kali awake. “Time to go.” They licked dew from the leaves to quench their thirst and Kali used the latrine while Rowe prepared a breakfast of raw rabbit and ptarmigan. Between bites, he recounted the night’s recon. Al-Zahrawi and Sean traveled alone, armed with a submachine gun. No sign of Sam or Borodnoi.

  James had heard nothing since Giordano radioed they were landing. Rowe might have insisted on silence. That probably explained it, but only fifteen hours remained. One sub still hadn’t called in and that wasn’t the worst of it. Rowe had to stop Al-Zahrawi transmitting those magnetic signatures. Failure meant America lost her military dominance.

  “Any indication Otto’s in Al-Zahrawi’s hands, Eitan?”

  Sun shook his head.

  “Which means Rowe is alive.” As long as Rowe lived, nothing would stop him.

  But James didn’t know Kali, not really, so he asked Sun, “If Al-Zahrawi captured Kali, is she strong enough to commit suicide or allow her son to be killed to save her nation?”

  Sun stuffed Twinkies into his mouth before responding. “She knows right from wrong.”

  James had never worked with Eitan Sun before, but had heard a lot about him, everything from quirky to genius to annoying. James would add ‘loyal’ and ‘patriot’ to the list. Sun had a personal courage that had nothing to do with physical strength, military weapons, or political power. It came from the man’s moral core. Eitan Sun could stand on James’ shoulders anytime.

  “I can get you some of whatever color you’re eating today, Eitan.”

  “No thanks. I just ate,” and h
e leaned into his monitor.

  “What?” James asked as Sun gobbled down another Twinkie and grinned like he won the lottery.

  “I found a corner piece.”

  “What?” James repeated, brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Of the puzzle.”

  Before James could demand an explanation, his secure phone rang. An unknown number was highly unusual. He connected, but said nothing.

  “Special Agent Robert James? This is the USS West Virginia. Captain Actual Desmond Hilgrave. Can you confirm a high priority message we received?”

  It took James a moment to pull the name from memory. “Captain Hilgrave.” He was a friend of Rowe’s. “Why are you calling on this line?”

  “Before I continue, for security reasons, please verify the last three places we saw each other.”

  James took his time, wanting to be entirely accurate. “There’s only one, Captain, last August at Arlington National Cemetery, your Dad’s grave, with another Officer Zeke Rowe calls Griff.”

  “Affirmative, Bobby James. Thank you. I received an order to call in. You are my UCV”—unexpected contact verification.

  “Yes, Sir, there is an urgent message. Code Purple.” Reinstall from back-ups. Primary network compromised.

  “Roger that,” and he disconnected.

  James smiled half-heartedly. “All subs are now virus-free.”

  “A pyrrhic victory if Al-Zahrawi can find the entire fleet at will.” Sun spoke with a quiet intensity.

  A hollowness grew inside James. “Let’s give Zeke a few more hours. I do not want to make that phone call to the CNO, explaining how billions of dollars’ worth of warships must be replaced. Our Naval strength will be decimated for years to come.”

  “Don’t underestimate Zeke. He won’t return until all signatures are secured, all individuals with knowledge eliminated, and Sean is safe.”

  “What do you make of these footprints, Zeke?”

  “Al-Zahrawi is speeding up. He wants us tired when he springs his trap. To him, you’re a pencil pushing academe and I’m a cripple. We’re close to the end.”

  Kali bent over. “But something’s wrong. The right side—it’s always deeper than the left.”

  “Those are Sean’s. He weighs less so his impression’s shallower. He’s limping.”

  A pack of wild dogs materialized, first one and then its brothers and sisters. Kali coated herself in the elephant dung they had collected, as did Rowe, which turned the predator’s attention to Al-Zahrawi and Sean. For the first time since they landed, Kali was glad Al-Zahrawi had a gun.

  Kali and Zeke finally reached the uncrossable East African Rift. Craggy walls, thousands of years of horizon layers painted brown-red to humus-black, plummeted downward. When Kali peered over, she imagined she could see the prints of a long-gone mammoth etched into the rock-hard valley floor. Far beyond this primal landscape, fumaroles from one of the most active volcanic regions in the world billowed smoke and gas into the unspoiled air.

  “Thirty-seven minutes left.”

  The whop-whop of a helicopter came out of nowhere. Kali threw a horrified glance at Zeke, but his face remained calm. Maybe it was Bobby James or Zeke’s SEAL friend Duck Peters--and then a spray of bullets spewed shards of rocks into the air, the rat-a-tat burying all other noise. Clouds of dust choked her as she zig-zagged, trying to escape, every moment expecting a sharp explosion of pain in her back.

  And then she heard a wet grunt. She jerked toward the sound and found Zeke in a crumpled heap under a jutting stone ledge, a red mist floating above him. His eyes glazed as blood pumped from the rich red holes stitched across his chest. Kali screamed and raced to his side, covering him with her body. Her ears rang, nostrils stung with the reek of cordite. He winced, tried to sit up, and collapsed to the ground. Her hands trembled so, she couldn’t keep pressure on all the bullet holes.

  “I can’t do this without you, Zeke. Please, you must live!”

  He smiled, eyes hooded, arms relaxed. “Kali… won’t… make it.” His voice sounded hollow, agonized. “Go. You can…”

  He fell silent. Tears spilled from her eyes, but she swiped them away with bloody hands and stepped into the meadow.

  Chapter 67

  Sunday

  “I’m here, as requested,” she shouted. “Let my son go.”

  The chopper hovered, like a raptor over carrion, and then landed on a flat expanse of scrub the size of a football field. She marched to a spot halfway between the body of Zeke Rowe and the helo, carrying a briefcase, her only weapon her brain.

  Out from a narrow rocky defile stumbled a grubby, ragged creature more animal than human. His hands were tied behind his back, head bowed, feet bleeding, but his eyes lit up with hope and love as their eyes met. The torn shirt and dirty trousers, new a month ago, now nothing but rags from trekking across the hinterlands, bagged on his gaunt frame. It was all she could do not to race forward and wrap her arms around her son’s grimy emaciated blood-streaked body.

  In the nanosecond their eyes connected, she told him everything would be alright and he told his mom he believed in her.

  Heart thumping, throat rough and dry, a visceral dread threatening to overwhelm her senses, she fixed on a tall, regal figure approaching from Sean’s left. Al-Zahrawi’s head was high, eyes shrouded in long lashes, a beautiful face marred only by a three-inch scar. He had the relaxed assurance of a man who’s won. He was armed with a boxy gun, the one carried by every terrorist on every news feed. He shoved Sean. The boy stumbled, unable to break his fall, collapsing painfully onto his right shoulder. He kneeled clumsily, cricked his neck and gave Kali a brilliant smile until Al-Zahrawi kicked him, throwing him face-first in the dirt. Kali turned a dead-eyed stare on the man she once considered a friend, a label she didn’t give to many.

  “Don’t hurt him, Al-Zahrawi —or shall I call you Gegham Keregosian.” His eyes widened. She’d surprised him. Good. “Your jihad depends upon his safety.”

  She quashed her anger. Emotion caused mistakes, and that could cost Sean his life. She breathed in and out, gaze steady as she absorbed her surroundings. In the open door of the copter stood Aleksei Borodnoi, grinning, holding another deadly-looking weapon with a curved handle. To his side, a lissome vision with corn silk hair and sculpted features—the venerable Sam.

  The day waned, bathed in the humid light of a sinking sun. A web of clouds promised rain, but delivered not even a slight breeze. At a distance, frightened off by the copter’s arrival, paced the wild dogs, the pack growing by the minute, heads raised, ears and tails erect, yellow eyes fixed on their human prey. The aroma of danger and desperation wafted in equal parts from their bodies.

  Overall a good place for a clandestine meeting: too camouflaged to be easily spotted and far enough from the original landing site to challenge even Sun’s skills.

  A headache flared, her first since arriving on this continent, but she turned her attention to Sean. “Are you alright?” Her voice to her ears sounded strong and steady.

  Sean tried to answer, but Al-Zahrawi stepped his head into the dirt. A deep weariness threatened to unravel the tenuous marriage Kali had cobbled together between what she wanted to and must do. She squared her shoulders, jutted out her chin, and studied her prey.

  On another day, if she didn’t know about Al-Zahrawi, she would consider him attractive, but today, eyes bright with passion, muscles bulging, gun’s barrel stabbed into the neck of an unarmed teenager, Al-Zahrawi was nothing more than a demented fanatic. Kali waited through a lengthy silence, wordlessly thanking legions of male colleagues for teaching her the intimidation game. When Al-Zahrawi opened his mouth to speak, she interrupted.

  “You’re tired, Salah. You lost weight. You’re painfully sunburned—you forgot the mud mask. Here,” and she tossed a plant root toward him. “Spread this on the worst parts. Didn’t you learn anything from Lucy—other than, of course, how to destroy?”

  Sweat trickled down his forehead and wet circles marked
his shirt. His eyes darted between Kali’s eyes and what she held in her hands. She felt his excitement like the beating pulse of disco music, tasted it like a fine French wine. His goal was so close. Zeke’s words seeped through her sensibilities, Play to his ego. You can’t miss it. Look for his largest feature.

  “We’re here for one reason: To trade Sean for Otto.” She gripped the briefcase with both hands to hide their shaking. “You understand Sean’s importance to me, Salah. Family is the bedrock of Islam.” Her accent on Islam’s second syllable earned a slight smile from Al-Zahrawi. “Raising Sean is my priority.” She fought to keep her tone reasonable, unhurried. It took almost more effort than she had. “At our core, you and I are alike—responsible to God’s law over man’s. Today, I must care for my child.”

  Al-Zahrawi never removed his eyes from her, lips in a tight line, vein throbbing against his left temple. Kali breathed slowly, stretching out the silence, headache thrumming against the front of her skull. A buzzard rasped, calling his mate. The wild dogs panted, saliva drooling from their open mouths, yellow teeth glistening.

  “You are here at your request, Ms. Delamagente. You wished to thank me in person.”

  Of course—her email to Mr. Keregosian. Kali adopted a faint smile, ignoring the sweat dripping down her body and tickling her skin. “I hope you got your money’s worth.”

  As she spoke, she placed the briefcase at her feet and moved her arms behind her back.

  Al-Zahrawi scowled. “Your American moxie is distasteful. Islam teaches a woman to earn her children with obedience. Are you obedient, Kalian?”

  “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Salah. I’ll trade Otto for Sean. With my AI, you can fulfill your prophet’s words—slay the pagans wherever you find them, seize them, beleaguer them.

  “Otto is the means to your end.” With that, she brought her hands forward. In the right was Zeke’s seven-inch Ka-Bar. Borodnoi aimed his weapon at Kali’s head as she pressed the blade to her own throat. “Take Otto, but understand: If my son or I die, Otto dies too.” A cloud of confusion filled Al-Zahrawi’s eyes. “Otto must find me or he stops working.” She tapped a welt on her arm. “If I’m dead, he dies too.”