Faisal had recognized soon after he started checking the location and emailing updates to his employer that the tracker was on a boat or ship of some sort. He had been surprised at how slowly it had moved after it broke away from the coast of Maine.
As ordered, he had checked the location every few hours, logging onto the website maintained by the manufacturer of the tracker. He had made use of a virtual private network, or VPN, to hide his own IP address. If anyone noticed that he was tracking that particular device, they would not be able to determine his location.
He had watched the news from the U.S. with great interest yesterday; whatever he was tracking had been sitting still in New York since the third of July. He would not have been surprised to hear that the city had been destroyed on the Fourth. When nothing happened, he felt a slight disappointment, and he had decided that perhaps the video was only to distract the Americans while his employers did something else.
This morning, the tracker had begun to move. After four hours, it was out in the ocean off New York harbor. A few minutes after he reported that by email, the man had called. He had wanted to know how long the tracker would continue to function, and he had been abusive when Faisal confessed that he didn't know. When Faisal had protested that he had nothing to do with the selection and placement of the tracker, the man had backed off. He had asked if Faisal could research the question and let him know as soon as possible.
Faisal had promised that he would provide the information with the next position report, which he was about to send. He had been studying the manufacturer's website, learning about the tracker. It appeared to be configured to update its position every thirty minutes, which meant that its battery should last for about another three weeks, assuming that it had been activated at about the time Faisal had been instructed to track it.
Kareem Abdullah was not happy as he waited in the bare anteroom to the Caliph's office. He was frustrated because he didn't yet know what went wrong in New York. Of more immediate concern, he was angry that he was being kept waiting. He understood that it was intended to signal the Caliph's displeasure, which further irritated him. The old man had no inkling of the complexity of Kareem's mission; that he would presume to treat his supreme field commander this way was inexcusable.
As the curtain over the office door stirred, Kareem composed himself; there would be time for emotion later. He brushed past the simpering young man who summoned him. Entering the office, he gave the Caliph a brief nod.
"Asalamu alaikum," Kareem said, signaling his displeasure by taking a seat across from the Caliph before he was invited to do so. He was pleased by the flicker of irritation in the older man's eyes.
"Wa’laikum asalam," the older man said. "Tell me how you failed."
"We are still collecting information, Excellency."
"I understand that the man who was to trigger the device did as he was ordered," the older man said.
Kareem hid his surprise; he didn't know the older man had an independent source of information in America. He resolved to find and eliminate the spy; he couldn't tolerate divided loyalties in the field. "And what other information have you gleaned? Perhaps by now you can tell me what happened."
"Do not forget your place, Kareem. You are but an instrument of Allah's will, as expressed through his earthly representative. A valuable instrument, but one that can and will be replaced if warranted. Now, tell me what you have learned so far."
"Since the yacht was in place, and Amal activated the trigger, we know that either the weapon was not armed or it was defective."
"How do you know the yacht was in place? Amal did not know which vessel carried the weapon, did he?"
"No, Excellency. We have a device on the yacht which transmits its location every thirty minutes."
"I see. What of the two men who were to ensure its delivery and arm the device?"
"They are missing. They should have checked in after they left the yacht in New York, but there has been no word from them yet. We have someone going to their house as we speak."
"They are American-born, the spawn of traitors."
"A man should not answer for his father's misdeeds. They have proven themselves as fighters here among us, Excellency."
"Then why have they failed?"
Kareem took a deep breath. "In the real world, many things can go wrong, Excellency. They may have been captured, or the device may have been damaged. We will find out, and we will destroy the infidel."
"You must move quickly; I have decreed that we will strike on International Friendship Day."
"International Friendship Day?"
"You are the one who studied in the west, Kareem. It disappoints me that you do not understand the infidels' culture."
"I've not heard of International Friendship Day, Excellency. When is it, and where is it celebrated?"
"It is 30 July on the infidels' calendar; it is decreed by their United Nations."
"And where do you wish us to strike, Excellency?"
"Why, New York, of course, where the United Nations is headquartered. Now go. Do not fail me again. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Excellency."
"And report to me as soon as you have found those two who are missing."
"Insha’Allah," Kareem said, rising from his seat.
"Masha'Allah," the older man said, staring at his subordinate until Kareem turned with a short nod and left the room.
10
“Let's come up on the wind," Connie said. Diamantista II was under full sail as they left Sandy Hook on their starboard quarter. They had been on a broad reach with 15 knots of breeze from the west-southwest since they left the upper part of New York harbor.
"Okay," Paul said, moving to crouch within reach of the sheet winches. "Whenever you're ready."
Connie nodded and began to turn to a southerly course, allowing Diamantista II to respond to the sails as Paul cranked in on the mainsheet. He moved from winch to winch, trimming the sails a little bit at a time, until they were on a close reach.
"Perfect," Connie said. She had a hand on the wheel, testing to see if Diamantista II had any lee or weather helm. "I can't get over how much better she balances than the other boat."
"Pretty nice," Paul agreed. "We almost don't need the autopilot. What kind of speed are we making?"
"We picked up over a knot when we put the wind ahead of the beam; we're holding just under 10 knots over the ground."
"That's good; we should make Cape May in time to anchor before dark," Paul said, watching the shoreline slip past a few miles to the west.
Paul moved back to the windward cockpit seat, facing out to sea, and was soon lost in thought. He smiled at Connie as she sat down beside him and put a cup of coffee in his hand.
"Thanks. I thought we finished the thermos," he said.
"We did. I made more."
"Just now?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes." She smiled.
"Guess I was tuned out," he said.
She laughed. "That's an understatement. You've been staring at the horizon for almost half an hour. What's on your mind?"
"I'm trying to make sense of this whole thing with Abe and Mo and the Masons."
"Once a detective ... " Connie said.
"Yep. Can't help the way my mind works."
"Well, tell me about it. You figured it out yet?"
"What if they were going to pick up a bomb after they hijacked us?" Paul asked.
"So you don't think this was about Abe wanting to have his way with me?"
"Well, I'm just trying this out. He made his intentions clear enough, but what if you were just a fringe benefit?"
"I'm not following you."
"He was a personable kid, for the most part," Paul said. "What made him change all of a sudden, and decide to force himself on you?"
"I don't know, Paul," Connie said, pulling back slightly from him.
"I know that; that was a rhetorical question." He saw the hurt look on her face. "I didn
't mean it was your doing. I'm thinking that maybe they planned all along to hijack the boat. That might have given Abe the green light to go after you, since he knew they were going to do away with us anyway."
"Is that what you think? That they were going to kill us?"
"I'm just exploring the possibilities that fit the facts we have."
"Okay," Connie said, "but why would they hijack Diamantista II at that particular moment?"
"Good question. I'm thinking that maybe there was some prearranged meeting that was supposed to take place in that vicinity."
"What? Near Provincetown?"
"Well, I was thinking we'd just gotten into Cape Cod Bay — relatively protected waters, but not far enough in to have much other traffic, at least that time of the morning."
"Uh-huh. Okay, but who were they meeting?"
"Remember what O'Brien said about the video?"
"Nuclear attack on a major east-coast city?"
"Right. What if somebody was going to deliver a nuclear weapon to them?"
"Hm. But why there? And why then?"
"I don't know. Could be lots of reasons."
"How big would this thing be?"
"I don't know," Paul said. "I've heard of suitcase nukes, but I don't know how powerful they would be. Or how big, really."
"And why wouldn't they have it on board already? Hidden before we even got to the yard?"
"I'm guessing, but that would have meant that they had to smuggle it into the U.S. and transport it cross-country. I know the DHS has some kind of radiation monitoring network that's supposed to cover transportation hubs to catch this sort of thing. Maybe there was a ship waiting offshore, and they were going to deliver it to Diamantista II when Abe and Mo called."
"Wouldn't this monitoring network pick up on it when Diamantista II came into New York harbor?"
"Maybe not; they're focused on commercial shipments that cross the borders. Even if they were tracking Diamantista II for some reason, our trip originated in the U.S."
"You should talk to O'Brien, Paul. Maybe this is something they haven't thought of."
"Yeah. I'll call him after lunch. Right now, I feel a nap coming on. Then I'll fix us something to eat. Give my ideas time to jell; it helped to talk it over with you."
"That's an interesting thought, Paul," O'Brien said, his voice sounding tinny coming from the satellite phone's speaker.
It was mid-afternoon, and Diamantista II was a few miles north of Absecon Inlet. They'd been watching the skyline of Atlantic City for hours, wondering if it was a mirage. They could make out details of the buildings, now, so they'd stopped joking about whether they were hallucinating. For most of the day, it had seemed that they were doomed to forever approach it, but never pass it.
"I was wondering, Bill. I don't know much about nuclear weapons. Do you?"
"Not much. Why?"
"How big would something like that be?"
"I don't know; they range from what they call 'man-portable' on up. But I have no idea about how powerful those are."
"Man-portable? That's like the suitcase nukes in the spy novels?"
"Yeah, but I've been told that's mostly bullshit."
"Mostly?"
"Yeah. Apparently, those are what's called dirty bombs. They pollute a good-sized area with radioactive waste, but they don't do much blast damage. The man-portable ones are bigger and heavier than a suitcase, I think. I've already told you more than I know, Paul."
"You think there's anything to my idea?"
"Possibly, but I've kinda been shut down as far as following up on the nuclear threat goes. I've been told to focus on the two kids and figure out how they stayed under the radar, where they've been, whether we can turn up any contacts they may have maintained, that kind of thing."
"I see," Paul said.
"So if I start asking questions about nukes, I'll probably just get my knuckles rapped. Sorry, pal."
"Yeah, okay. I've been there."
"You got anybody else you can ask? Just between us, I'd like to know. I can't find fault with your ideas; I just can't pursue them," O'Brien said.
"Yeah, there may be somebody that can get me some answers. I'll keep you in the loop if I get anything."
"That would be great. You guys having a good sail?"
"Yes, it couldn't get much better. Calm seas, clear sky, nice steady 15-knot wind."
"Sounds nice."
"It's beautiful; the only problem is that if we look to the west, we see New Jersey a few miles away," Connie said.
O'Brien's laughter tinkled from the speaker. "Well, guess you can't have everything. You still planning on staying in Annapolis for a few days?"
"Yes. Probably get there day after tomorrow. We'll give you a call," Paul said.
"Good. Look forward to meeting you. Call sooner if you learn anything new. Good talking with you." There was a click as O'Brien disconnected.
"I don't understand," Connie said. "Why would they rein him in like that?"
Paul shrugged. "Could be any number of reasons, I guess. Somebody up the line may not want him involving outsiders like us; it could be as simple as that."
"Who are you thinking of calling? Phillip?" Phillip Davis, their friend in Martinique, had been active in the intelligence community before he retired, and he had a background in the military, as well.
"No. I thought about him, but I think this is out of his field. He's had a lot of experience with insurgents and governments of third-world countries, but I don't think we ever gave any of those folks nuclear weapons. I had in mind calling J.-P."
J.-P. Berger, Dani Berger's father, had been a partner of sorts to Phillip, as well as to some of Paul's friends in Miami. He was involved in all sorts of international trade, and some people thought he was an arms merchant. All his ventures were blessed by legitimate governments, although they dealt through him to maintain plausible deniability.
"Would he know?" Connie asked.
Paul shrugged. "If he doesn't, he'd know who to ask."
The man on the motorcycle throttled back as he approached the turnoff to the house trailer. The trailer sat a hundred meters or so back in the Maine woods, in a small clearing that was littered with rusty junk. There were odd bits of machinery salvaged from fishing boats, an old automobile or two, and several piles of moldering timber that might once have been wooden boats.
Before he reached the turn, he saw light reflected through the brush from several vehicles parked in the driveway. Maintaining a steady speed, he rode past the turnoff, venturing a glance up the driveway toward the trailer. He counted five cars.
Two were police cars, and the other three were nondescript sedans that looked like unmarked government vehicles. Several men tramped through the open area, eyes to the ground, and one man in a suit stood on the steps of the trailer, supervising the activity. He didn't need to know more. He continued up the dirt road to the next intersection, where he took a paved road and headed back toward the boatyard.
He parked his bike next to a beat-up pickup truck in a gravel lot outside a ramshackle beer joint not far from the boatyard. He'd met Mo and Abe here a few times since they'd been back in the States. They had introduced him to some of their coworkers as a friend from home.
He could have passed for a local based on his appearance, except that the locals all knew one another. With that in mind, he decided he would keep to himself until he spotted some of the men to whom Abe and Mo had introduced him. He knew most of the crew from the yard stopped in for a cold beer after work; many of them lingered for an early dinner of greasy burgers and fries.
He'd listen to their conversation; if it seemed safe enough, he might approach them and remind them of having met them. He could ask if they had news of his two friends. On the other hand, he might overhear enough to satisfy his curiosity. In that case, he would slip away unnoticed and send his report to Kareem Abdullah.
Mo and Abe had failed to check in, and the device had not exploded when Amal triggered it. Tha
t told him what he needed to know, but Kareem had insisted on this follow-up. Otherwise, he would have moved on with his backup plan. He had been close enough to Mo and Abe to know that they wouldn't have disappeared on their own. He suspected that they had been captured, and the activity around the trailer confirmed it.
"Bonjour," J.-P. Berger said, gazing out the window of his office at the early evening activity on the street.
"Hello, J.-P.?"
"Yes, this is J.-P. With whom am I speaking, please?"
"This is Paul Russo, J.-P. I didn't know if I'd find you in your office this late. It must be evening in Paris."
"Yes, but it is never too late for a friend to call. Dani told me that you and Connie had a buyer for Diamantista. When will you take delivery of the new boat?"
"We're sailing her down the New Jersey shore right now."
"Ah, congratulations. She is called Sailor's Delight, no?"
"We changed our minds. She's Diamantista II."
"That is good. I like that name; it has some meaning. The other one, it was what we would call cliché. The English word escapes me, but it means, mm ... "
"The English word is cliché, as well," Paul said.
"Ah. No wonder I could not remember." He laughed. "Anyway, it is a good name, Diamantista II."
"Yes, I like it, too. Connie didn't, for a while. It reminded her of the trouble she had when she first got the original Diamantista, but she changed her mind. And she likes the addition of the Roman numeral II, because it could signify that there are two of us."
"Yes, I see. It has more than one meaning, just like diamantista in the Spanish. She sails well, this new one?"
"She's a blast to sail," Paul said.
"I would think so. No boat I know sails better than Vengeance, and they are the same, no?"
"Yes. I'm calling for a little help, J.-P. Connie and I had a problem with some men who may be terrorists, and I'm looking for background information on man-portable — "
A Blast to Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 3rd Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series Page 8