M/V DON CARLOS
“What in hell happened?” Cohen asked.
From the cryptic chatter on the tactical circuit, Cohen had a decent idea of what had gone wrong. But he needed more information before sending the bad news to Arlington.
Victor Pope unslung his MP-5 and handed it to Breezy. Then he stalked up to the Israeli and prodded him with a gloved finger. “I think I’m the one to ask that question, Cohen. They were ready for us and we lost people! Now you tell me what the hell happened.”
Cohen stood his ground, glaring at Pope. “Nothing went out from this ship except the e-mail to SSI that the op was under way. It was sent in the company’s encryption program so there was no breach.” He inhaled, exhaled, and willed himself to stare down the former SEAL. He modulated his voice, aware of the slight tremor.
“Come on, Vic. I need to send the preliminary report.”
“You can talk to somebody else. I’m going back to look for Pace.”
Cohen raised a placating hand. “Vic, come on. Just give me the basics. Of course you can look for him. Hell, I’ll go with you. But I need to confirm what I heard. One dead, one missing, and one wounded.”
A terse nod of the bald head. “Correct.”
Jeff Malten overheard the dispute while supervising the retrieval of two Zodiacs. He was tempted to let Pope continue arguing with Cohen but thought better of it. “Vic, I don’t know how long Pfizer can keep searching. Do you want to refuel your boat? Pascoe’s needs serious repairs, probably more than we can do, and my motor took a round.”
Pope thought for a moment. At length he said, “All right. Jeff, you take mine. Tell Tom that you’ll relieve him, but work out a search pattern that doesn’t duplicate his area.”
“Will do. Oh. What shall we do with Chadburn’s body?”
“Uh … take him to the freezer, I guess. I’ll confirm that when I talk to the captain.”
Malten disappeared forward, where Pascoe’s shot-up CRRC was hauled aboard.
Pope tugged off his gloves and began unbuckling his gear. As he brushed past Cohen he croaked, “You come with me.”
SSI OFFICES
Sandy Carmichael delivered the news.
“We just heard from Vic Pope. Here’s the text, quote: ‘CRRC attack 0220 local failed. One KIA, one WIA, one MIA. Regrouping. Unodir will attempt later today. Require highest priority msg to DDs this area deliver at least two 7.62 miniguns this ship. Send op-immediate. Advise soonest.’”
Marshall Wilmont asked, “What’s ‘unodir’?”
Leopole almost grinned. “Unless otherwise directed. It means he’s taking the responsibility and doesn’t want to hear ‘no’ from us.”
Wilmont still seemed perplexed. “So what do we do?”
“We wake up the secretary of the Navy,” Mohammed interjected.
Derringer spoke up. “To hell with him. We’ll wake up SecDef. In fact, let me do it.” He strode toward his office.
Leopole checked the clock again. “That was barely an hour ago. But I doubt they’ll be able to try again before dawn, which means at least twenty-four hours more.” He looked at Carmichael. “With the ship alerted now, it’s going to be even harder than before.”
Carmichael sat down and braced her chin on her hands. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I wonder who’s dead.”