Chapter Eight
Pouring over charts in the antechamber of the Taiwanese Minister of Defense, Renard lifted his wireless phone. He was eager to know what Marie had found.
“You’ve discovered something?” he asked.
“Our man claims to have recently become impotent from an accident at sea,” Marie said.
“Unfortunate,” Renard said but felt his lips curling into a cruel smile.
“I did not pry. But by his demeanor, I suspect neglect or even malice in the events surrounding he accident.”
“Is he depressed - anxious?”
“I’m tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
“Please, I have little time.”
She sighed.
“You must continue,” Renard said. “You’re discovering details about this man that can turn him into an ally. You might be finding something of incredible value to me.”
“I thought I was of incredible value to you.”
“Of course you are.”
“Nice to hear it,” she said.
“About our man? His state of mind?”
“He’s perfectly rational and not lacking in self-confidence. In fact, I wondered at times tonight who was seducing whom.”
“Must you tease me?” he asked.
“You deserve it! You use me like a whore and expect me to be your loyal handmaid?”
“Can you forgive me for the time being?”
“Perhaps.”
“Thank you. About our man?”
“He rides an off-road motorcycle, practices tai kwon do, and climbs rocks,” she said.
“Then he does not lack courage. Or bravado. What of his friends and family?”
“He seems to have only a few friends. He told me his father was a CIA officer who died young at the hands of the Chinese. His mother died several years ago. I did not pry for more details.”
“You’ve done very well. Get a suite by the airport and leave word of your coordinates with my assistant in Marseille. I will meet you there as soon as I can, but I have a project here I must finish first.”
“I can get more information from him before I leave.”
“How is that possible?” he asked.
“I have a rendezvous with him tomorrow. I agreed to see him for lunch and coffee.”
“To torment me or to help me?”
“Perhaps I did so with no regard to you whatsoever.”
“You must not show. Leave Chicago tomorrow morning.”
“That’s cruel!” she said.
“If you fail to show, he will blame your absence on his condition and become more frustrated. I need him to feel alienation and isolation in order to exploit him.”
“Do you understand anything but how to manipulate people?” Marie asked.
“I’m cursed with such a gift,” Renard said. “Is our man returning home soon?”
“He was to stay here only during the weekend.”
“Follow him home. I will join you in two days.”
*
Through the window of Einstein Bros Bagels, Grant Mercer watched huddled pedestrians fight Chicago’s wind. He slurped a latté.
The man across the table stared at a half-eaten cinnamon bagel. Mercer couldn’t remember having seen his friend so despondent.
“She isn’t coming,” Mercer said.
Jake remained stone.
“Jake, you know the odds. It’s a coin toss if you ever see a woman after the first night. It just seems worse because you thought you had a connection.”
Still stone.
“Let’s get out of here. Maybe we can talk about it outside,” Mercer added.
On the sidewalk, Mercer zipped his Timberland jacket.
“Look, man, I know how you feel,” he said.
Mercer felt himself being pulled at his shoulders and spun like a top. He flailed his arms and dug his fingers into Jake’s biceps. Expecting his knees to smack the sidewalk, Mercer was surprised when Jake caught him by his jacket.
“You do not know how I feel! You don’t have a fucking clue. The Navy ruined my life.”
Mercer let Jake hold him.
“What the fuck do you say about that?” Jake asked.
“All I want to do is to help you.”
The hold loosened as Jake’s voice trailed to whisper.
“You don’t know how I feel.”
Jake relaxed his grip. Mercer staggered backward and pulled Jake into a hug while stabilizing himself.
“I’m here for you, buddy,” Mercer said.
Jake’s chest expanded with shallow breaths. Tears filled Mercer’s eyes. He remembered the day nine years ago when Jake was orphaned. It was the only time he remembered seeing Jake cry.
*
From an upstairs patio of Trolleys Food and Spirits, a favorite watering hole in St. Marys, Jake watched the sun touch the horizon over a southern Georgian tributary of the St. Marys River. Around him, a dozen Colorado shipmates gorged themselves on hot wings and beer during a warm spring day. He poured a beer for Scott McKenzie, the Colorado’s adulterous mechanic.
“Done like a pro, sir,” McKenzie said.
“I am a pro. Pass me some wings. I’m starved.”
“I’ve seen you eat, sir. Just save us some. There’s only fifty on that plate.”
Jake devoured three wings. The fourth slithered through the barbeque sauce on his fingers and hit the table. He wiped his hands and mouth.
“You know I’ve talked the executive officer into transferring you off the ship, right?” Jake asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to call my detailer to argue about it though, because he’s going to send me to Groton. It’s too damn cold in Connecticut,” McKenzie said.
“It’s not so bad up there. Plus I can talk to the commanding officer of the Miami to see if he could use you. He’s my mentor.”
“Yeah, well I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“You’re not still attached to our shipmate’s wife, are you?” Jake asked.
“She still calls me. I just hang up, but I still love her,” McKenzie said.
“The stars aren’t aligned on this one. If you stick around here, you’re going to slip up and get caught. Trust me. You’re going to have to start over somewhere else.”
McKenzie grunted.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I’ll do like you said and just get as far away from this mess as I can. I guess I owe you one, you know, for talking to the executive officer for me.”
Jake emptied his glass. Through the corner of his eye, he spied a figure on the street below. A woman in a green and yellow dress stood there. Dark hair framed a face hidden behind sunglasses.
Marie? Jake thought.
As if she had heard him, the woman looked up.
Jake pushed his way through the bar’s double doors. Standing in the empty street, he watched the mystery lady glance at him before slipping under the waterfront’s covered pier.
He jogged to the dock and raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s reflection. A silver-haired man in a gray blazer sat between him and the woman who was descending stairs at the dock’s far end.
The man lowered his ‘USA Today’.
“Marie will not be joining us, Lieutenant Slate.”
Jake looked into eyes of blue steel. The stranger closed his newspaper and lit a Marlboro with the flame from a gold-plated lighter.
“Who are you?” Jake asked.
“Pierre Renard, your agent of revenge.”
“How the hell do you know my name?”
“I know a few things about you, but I cannot say how. I asked Marie to contact you.”
“You sent Marie after me? Like a spy?”
“More like a recruiter.”
“Recruiter for what?”
“A project that will enable you to take revenge upon those who have wronged you.”
“How did you know about...Marie told you everything?”
“I apologize for my methods, but I wanted to be sure that I could offer you what you needed before flying half way across the world to meet you.”
“Meet for what? Get to the point!”
Renard exhaled smoke.
“I need your assistance in acquiring warheads from your submarine.”
Jake stepped back as if Renard had shape-shifted into a rattlesnake. He pushed a hand through his hair.
“Who put that idea in your head?” Jake asked.
“You did.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you all but admitted to Marie that you’re in the market for revenge. And I know more than you admitted to her. I know, for example, that your commanding officer is at least partially responsible for your condition, and given the extent of your injury, I would not blame you for holding the United States Navy and its bureaucratic leadership responsible.”
Jake was as shocked by the man’s understanding of his state of mind as his knowledge of his secrets.
“Okay,” he said. “If that were true, then so what?”
“I’m sure you’ve pondered taking the situation into your own hands, but you’re too smart for wanton aggression. This leaves you in a quandary.”
Jake said nothing.
“Take warheads from the Navy that destroyed you – that will quiet your inner demons.”
He hungered to join Renard in whatever scheme he was concocting, but he wanted to test the Frenchman’s sincerity.
“You’re a government agent trying to entrap me. Do you think I would turn my back on my country?”
“I intend to arm Taiwan with nuclear warheads to improve their position against China,” Renard said. “You can help me.”
He held out an envelope.
“Ten thousand dollars. I insist. This should allay your fears that I work for your government. If I did, then I’ve just ruined my case with entrapment.”
Jake shook his head.
“Lieutenant,” Renard said, “I would not be here if I were not certain that I could help you. Our interests are aligned, and I understand you more than you may know.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I can see how your patriotism has been betrayed, and I know how militaries can destroy the finest men. You see, I commanded the French nuclear submarine ‘Amethyst’.”
“So you’re Marie’s friend.”
“Yes.”
“Prove that you really were a French submarine commander. Tell me where you earned your commission.”
“L’Ecole Navale near Brest. I graduated in nineteen eighty-two with seventy-six other Aspirants.”
“Name every class of Russian surface combatant you know. A submarine captain would still know them.”
“The real Russian names or the NATO nicknames?”
“Spit it out.”
“Very well. Kresta, Kynda, Konin, Kashin, Krivak, Kara, Kirov...that’s it for the K’s that I can think of off the top of my head. There was, of course, that hideous helicopter carrier Moskva that looked like it might capsize at any moment.”
Jake nodded.
“I did a summer exchange at L’École Navale. Tell me about your graduation party. The one I saw made my academy’s Ring Dance look like geriatric bingo.”
Renard sighed.
“There was, of course, the splendid fireworks display over the harbor and young men from military academies across Europe in their finest dress uniforms. Many Aspirants brought their sisters, and I fell prey to the most beautiful. We met at a caviar table next to an ice sculpture of the Jean d’Arc, our sacred training vessel.”
“I remember there was no lack of babes.”
“Well, this ‘babe’ as you say, was indeed beautiful, and quite amazing. Considerate, intelligent, refined. We married six months after the dance. We had a son.”
“Sounds like a textbook story - easily memorized.”
“I prefer to forget. I returned from a deployment on the Rubis submarine to discover that I’d lost my new family to a drunk driver.”
Renard looked at the river. The sun had set over the tree line, but its receding light cast a shadow across the Frenchman’s face. Jake noticed pain that looked genuine.
“Is the inquiry over?” Renard asked.
“One last question,” Jake said. “Bearing to a contact is due north. Range - ten nautical miles. You’re steaming east at ten knots, the contact is steaming west at ten knots. What’s the bearing rate?”
“I’ve not done target motion analysis for years.”
“I made the numbers easy. Prove you know the formula that every submarine commander knows.”
“Ten nautical miles, twenty knots across the line of sight? Roughly four degrees per minute bearing rate.”
“Alright, I’ll buy that you were a submarine commander, at least for now.”
“Then you will accept my payment?”
Renard extended the envelope again.
“How have I earned this?”
“I’m paying for your planning. You will brainstorm possibilities, using any resource you can imagine, to acquire at least ten warheads from your ship. If you agree to share your thoughts, then meet with me at the Jacksonville Airport Hilton, room two-zero-three, within three days.”
Jake took the money.