HAIFA, ISRAEL
“Hey, there’s Jeff!”
Breezy turned at Bosco’s exclamation and glimpsed Jeff Malten walking through the hotel lobby.
Bosco could not help himself. “Hey, we’re a circus act!” The ex-Army men extended their arms like Joan Rivers, clapping their hands and balancing imaginary balls on their noses. “Arf arf! We’re trained SEALs!”
Malten looked at his Navy friend. “Some things you can always count on in a changing world.” He shook hands with his colleagues and introduced his partner. “Bosco, Breezy, this is Scott Pfizer. He’s another trained SEAL.”
Breezy allowed himself to grin. “Trained? Does that mean you balance balls on your nose or do you do water tricks?”
Pfizer was short, muscular, and businesslike. “Well, I’d say that I do tricks. By the way, how far can you swim under water?”
“Depends on what I see,” Breezy quipped. “But I met this Greek gal the other night and she could hold her breath longer than—”
Bosco interrupted his friend’s reverie with an elbow to the ribs. “Jeff, what’s the rest of the team look like?”
Malten swiveled his head. “I think we’d better talk in one of the rooms. This Cohen guy was supposed to make reservations for us.”
“Yeah, we met him. He seems to have things organized. C’mon, we can talk in our room until he gets back.”
Following Brezyinski down the corridor, Malten asked, “Where’d he go?”
“Damn if I know. He comes and goes all the time, like he’s the only one involved but there has to be other people. Maybe the Israelis just like to keep their contacts to a minimum.”
In their room, Bosco helped himself to the refrigerator and offered drinks to the others. Malten passed while Pfizer accepted a ginger ale. Dropping Breezy’s wet trunks on the floor, Malten occupied the chair and organized his thoughts. “Are you guys in contact with Arlington?”
Bosco sipped his beer and nodded. “We check e-mail at least twice a day. We have a phone card but we’re not supposed to use it if we don’t have to.”
“Well, then you’re probably pretty much up-to-date. Vic Pope is running the other team, and he’ll take the ship if it goes the long way around. I’m getting another SEAL and four other guys to start, with maybe a couple more besides. It’s real loosy-goosy, but I guess it has to be until we know more. If the ship goes via Suez, we’ll get the nod.”
“So we’ll have, what? Eight or maybe ten guys?”
“Yeah, I think so. Frank wanted to load what he’s calling our East Team with most of our SEALs because we won’t have as much time to prepare as Pope’s team. Our job is to get you guys aboard the ship. After that, it’s pretty much interior tactics.”
“Fine,” said Breezy. “But what then? I mean, like, what do we do once we own the boat?”
Malten shrugged. “That’s still up in the air. I guess part of it depends on what Cohen turns up.”
Bosco asked, “So what do you know about Cohen?”
“Just what Frank and Sandy told me. Dual citizenship, apparently a lot of experience with the Israelis, though I don’t know details. He’s worked with SSI before. What’d he tell you?”
“Well, he’s lined up a ship for us to use. He wants a twenty-knot speed and big enough to carry a couple of Zodiacs. He said it needs to be foreign registry, which I guess means anything but Israeli.”
Malten glanced at Pfizer. The younger SEAL said, “That’s not a big deal. Ships change registry now and then, and they can fly a flag of convenience.”
Bosco gave him a blank stare. “Flag of convenience?”
“It’s a tax dodge. Panama is a real small country, but I think it registers more ships than anyplace else. There are even countries without coastlines that register ships because the fees are so low.”
“You mean, like, Nebraska could register ships?”
Pfizer chuckled aloud. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I’ve seen merchant vessels with Mongolian registry.”
“You gotta be shitting me,” Bosco exclaimed.
“No lie, GI.”
The operators heard four sharp raps on the door. Breezy looked through the peephole and said, “It’s Cohen.” He admitted the Israeli-American and introduced the new arrivals.
Alexander Cohen quickly surveyed the team but showed no interest in the individuals’ opinions. Instead, he took charge of the assembly and exercised his home-court advantage. “I know that none of you have been to Israel before, but that doesn’t matter too much. We won’t be here very long because I just have confirmed that our target is docked in Misratah. It will probably sail in the next two days or so.”
“Where the hell’s Misratah?” Bosco asked. He resented Cohen’s attitude and could tell that most of the others shared his impression.
“Oh, that’s in Libya.” His tone seemed to imply Of course.
Jeff Malten was not prepared to accept much on faith. “What’s the source of that information?”
Cohen raised his hands, palms up. “I cannot discuss sources, Mr. Malten. I’m sure that you understand the need for security.”
“No, actually, Mr. Cohen, I don’t. Especially when it’s our necks. I think we’re entitled to know something about the information we’re acting on.” He made a point of looking around. “I think we all do.”
“Damn straight,” Breezy said.
Bosco added a Ranger “Hoo-ah.”
Pfizer, sensitive to his status as the new guy, merely returned Cohen’s gaze.
“Another thing as long as we’re discussing priorities,” Malten added. “As far as I know, I’m leading this team. That’s what Colonel Leopole told me when Scott and I left Washington yesterday, and I don’t think anything’s changed since then. If I’m wrong, now’s the time to hear it. From him.”
Cohen’s brown eyes took a gunslinger squint at the former SEAL; a gaze of respectful resentment. At length Cohen said, “That is my information as well, Mr. Malten. But since this is my country and since I am arranging our equipment and shipping, I believe that SSI grants me control over the preparations. Once the operation begins, of course you are in charge.”
Malten’s brain registered the phrase My country. He could not resist making his point. “Well, maybe that’s the difference between us. These guys and me, we’re Americans. That’s our country. I understand that you have dual citizenship…” He allowed the sentiment to dangle in the thickening air.
Alexander Cohen was unaccustomed to having his loyalty questioned by Americans or Israelis. He bit off the response he felt building in his throat and, controlling his voice, replied, “I was born in America of Israeli parents. Considering what that ship is carrying to Iran, I think we both have cause for concern, don’t you?”
Jeffrey Malten nodded, then pressed his point. “So how do you know what ship we’re after?”
Cohen decided on a middle course. “The ship is called Tarabulus Pride. It’s Libyan registry, about three thousand tons. Apparently it’s loaded and ready to sail. We don’t know why it hasn’t left yet, but maybe the French security firm wants to get more men. They must know we’ll be tracking the shipment.”
Malten was unwilling to concede the intelligence argument. “Okay, that helps. But how do you know all this?”
Cohen folded his arms. “Mr. Malten, for now I can just say that we are confident of the information. I can ask for permission to share that with you, but it will take some time. And I do not think we have much time.”
“All right, I’ll trust you to do that. Now, what about our own ship and equipment?”
Cohen sat at the writing desk and laid down a notepad. “Our ship is leased for one month, which should be plenty of time if the yellow cake goes via Suez. It’s fully fueled and manned. We have three Zodiacs, weapons, radios, and boarding equipment. Here’s the list. Let me know if you need more.”
Malten looked at Pfizer with raised eyebrows. “Well, that’s a lot of gear in a short time. Mr. Cohen, I don’t…”
The Israeli smiled. “As long as we’re arguing so well, make it Alex.”
“Okay, I’m Jeff.” Malten looked at the list again. “Ah, right now I don’t know if we’ll have enough men for three boats. But it’s good to have a spare.”
Cohen leaned back, hands behind his head. “Nothing’s too good for our American friends.”