M/V TARABULUS PRIDE
“We’ve beaten them!” René Pinsard’s volubility bubbled to the surface of his normal sangfroid. “They won’t dare try it again.”
Hurtubise made one more scan of the dark ocean, then set down his NVD. “Not tonight, I wouldn’t think. But we will take nothing for granted. Keep at least half the men on watch until dawn.”
“All right. As you wish, Marcel.” Pinsard’s tone was plain: he considered the crisis at an end.
The mercenary chief leaned against a bulkhead and rubbed his chin. It was stubbled, as usual. Sometimes he thought he might grow a beard, but that required trimming and grooming. Easier just to shave whenever he felt like it.
He looked closely at Pinsard. “Think, René. Put yourself in their place. What would you do now?”
Pinsard pondered for a long moment. At length he said, “The only option I can think of would involve helicopters, and apparently they do not have any.”
“Very well. Suppose they get helicopters. How would you deal with them?”
The younger man patted a MAG-58 on its improvised mount. “Automatic weapons will keep them away. Too bad we do not have any SAMs, but we could not anticipate everything.” He paused, then added, “But we still have some RPGs.”
Hurtubise nodded. “Keep two teams on alert, and keep all the guns manned. It’s still a long damned way to Iran.” He straightened himself and began walking forward.
“Where are you going?” Pinsard called out.
Hurtubise stopped and turned briefly. “I am going to ask some very pointed questions.”
M/V DON CARLOS
“Flipper One, this is Four. Over.”
“That’s him!” Pope exclaimed. On the bridge, standing beside Maas, he pressed his hand against his headset. “Four, One here. Go.”
Pfizer’s voice came back, subdued and tentative. “Ah, be advised. We recovered the, uh, item. Over.”
Even on the dimly lit deck, Cohen could see Pope’s eyes close and his lips move. He’s praying.
“One here. RTB, Four.”
“Roger that.” Pfizer went off the air with chilling finality.
Cohen asked, “My God, how’d they find him in the dark?”
“Our PFDs have strobe lights on them. They’re water-activated.”
The SSI men and Maas were still consulting when the last Zodiac pulled alongside. Looking down from the glass-enclosed bridge, Pope felt a dreadful sense of responsibility. Without a word, he walked through the access and headed amidships, where Pfizer was holding position at the accommodation ladder.
When the former SEAL arrived, Phil Green was helping move Don Pace’s body on a wire litter. It was not easy: it took four men to carry the load. Pope placed a hand on Green’s shoulder. “You can take him to the freezer, Phil. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Malten knew Pope’s meaning. He’s going to say a prayer over him.
When the litter bearers set down their burden, Green said, “I’ll take it from here.”
Bosco knelt beside the ex-cop. “I’ll be glad to help.”
Green shook his head. “No. He’s my friend.”
When he rose, Bosco gave his colleague a squeeze on the arm. We’re not really friends yet but we got shot at together. That means a lot.
As Bosco stepped through the access, Green turned his head. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Tell Pope, whatever’s going down, I’m in.”
Bosco silently nodded, then closed the door behind him.