"It's not that," she said, looking at him and forcing a smile.
"What, then?"
"The idea of strangers on our boat."
"The two kids? Or the charter?"
"The kids. I guess I thought we'd have her to ourselves at first. And I know what to expect with the charter guests. That's old news, by now."
"Something about those two boys bother you?" Paul asked.
"I guess it's not them, specifically. I mean, Rick knows Abe's family. They used to keep a big Hinckley here in the yard."
"Hinckley, huh? Some money there."
"Yeah. He said both of them come from well-off families. It's just ... " She shook her head.
"Connie, we don't have to take them. We can handle the trip between us without any trouble."
"I know, but it would be better if we had the extra hands; we won't have much recovery time as it is. I'd hate to be exhausted when our guests come aboard."
Paul put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. "The most important thing is for you to be comfortable. We'll be okay, either way."
She smiled up at him. "I know. I'm just being stupid. I remember the last time I took on pick-up crew."
"Yeah. I thought that might be it," Paul said. "This is a little different."
"It is. You're right. I've got you to watch my back, and besides, we know something about these guys."
"And it's only for two days, not two weeks," Paul added.
"Right. And we're only going to be a few miles offshore. If things don't seem right, there're plenty of places to drop them off, and we've got the extra time if we need it."
Paul nodded. "It's still your call, skipper." He winked at her and grinned.
"Okay. Let's take 'em up on it. Would you go tell Rick, and talk to the two of them?"
"Sure. What're you going to do?"
"I have to watch them lift her; I know it's dumb. There's nothing I can do if they drop her, but I still have to watch."
Bill O'Brien was tempted to drink his lunch. He wasn't a drinker, beyond an occasional glass of wine with dinner. He never partook of alcohol during working hours, but today was wearing on him and it wasn't even half over. He knew he would be in the office until late this evening, even though his boss had told him to stand down. He'd encouraged Bill, in a patronizing tone, to take the rest of the day off. Bill and his boss both knew that wouldn't happen; it was just the man's way of covering his own backside.
The video clip was the cause of O'Brien's problems. When it had first come to him, it had been via a YouTube link in an internal email. By the time he had run all his checks yesterday afternoon and passed his recommendations up the line, the link no longer worked. The video had disappeared from YouTube. In the absence of other supporting evidence, the higher-ups had accused him of overreacting. He knew what he had seen, and his gut told him that this was the real thing. They had a copy of the video, of course, so he didn't look like a complete fool, but it was a near thing.
Aside from the question of whether the threat was credible, there was also the problem of political sensitivity. The brass never wanted to risk rocking the boat, and the notion of a terrorist nuke in a major metropolis on the Fourth of July was way beyond a minor upset. They did not even have a clue as to which city might be targeted. It was much easier to discount the threat than it was to attempt to deal with it, especially since none of the media outlets had picked up on the video while it was live on the Internet.
That in itself was suspicious, O'Brien thought. There were a number of things that made this look like a prank. The failure of the supposed terrorists to leak the video to the media was near the top of the list. Among the few who took the threat seriously, the theory was that this might be an extortion attempt, and that the terrorists were smart enough to leave the government some room to meet their demands without causing a public outcry. While there was a certain logic to that, O'Brien didn't subscribe to it. These people didn't think that way; they weren't that subtle.
In spite of his boss telling him to back off, O'Brien had all his resources focused on the question of how the video had been delivered. The trail was convoluted and crossed organizational boundaries, bringing interagency rivalries into play. No agency so far had been willing to claim the original intercept, which made it impossible to come up with even a rough approximation of where the clip had originated.
O'Brien logged off his computer and picked up a gym bag from under his desk. He thought an hour or so on the treadmill might clear his head.
End of the preview of A Blast to Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller…
Sailor's Delight Page 23