“What’d you find?”
“A Libyan army desert warfare training base about six hundred Ks southeast of Tripoli. Been used off and on over the past few years by the Libyans and possibly by al-Quaeda, so we’ve keep an eye on the place. Just lately it’s been deserted, but about seven weeks ago workmen came in and put up a lot of camouflage netting, and built something very large under it. Took them four and a half weeks working only at night.”
“The mock-up?” McGarvey asked, and he could see the sense of it. And he could also understand why DeCamp, if he were their contractor, would have expected total anonymity out in the desert. As far as he was concerned no one would be looking for him in Libya. No reason for it.
“I think so, and Eric agrees,” Otto said. “Anyway, six warm bodies showed up about a week after the work crew left — project apparently completed — and then it got interesting. Two of the infrared images seemed to be stronger than the others, and we’re guessing it means they were at a higher elevation than the others. Closer to the underside of the netting.”
“On top of the mock-up.”
“Right. And then what had to be a practice run for a military operation, the other four approached the mock-up from two separate directions.”
McGarvey saw that too, and he walked to the window and looked outside at the flotilla still circling Vanessa. “They’ll be coming from the sea, from the protestors. I didn’t think Schlagel would take the risk.”
“Well, maybe not, Mac,” Otto said. “The four only approached the rig, but then they stopped, moved together, and in the morning they left. Never came back.”
“They built something in secret, something they didn’t want satellites to see, used it once, and then left,” McGarvey said. “Someone spent a lot of money for what? To try to reach the rig from the sea, but for some reason decided it wouldn’t work?”
“My snap guess would be that they wanted to approach the rig underwater, attach explosive charges to the legs, and then back off. The rig would capsize and maybe sink to the bottom.”
“But they cut off their training op,” McGarvey said. “Because they realized that it wouldn’t work. They couldn’t guarantee that there’d be no survivors.”
“Means they’re coming aboard.”
“How’d you come up with DeCamp’s name?”
“Source Beta in Tripoli, works for Army Logistics. Name is Peter Abu-Junis Jabber, left over from the British SAS training missions. Anyway he’s on his way out of badland, and I figured he was worth tapping. Told me that DeCamp had used the base about nine years ago for some sort of training mission. He wasn’t sure, but he thinks it might have been DeCamp again this time.”
It was more than circumstantial, it was thin, and yet McGarvey had a feeling that they’d found their contractor at last. “Find out who’s paying him, and maybe we’ll get the why.”
“We’re working on it,” Otto said. “But if our guy is DeCamp, whoever’s paying him has deeper pockets than Schlagel.”
“Marinaccio and her friend in Venezuela?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Anyway, kemo sabe, watch your ass out there because he’s coming your way, and if Schlagel is involved it’ll be just as a smoke screen.”
“I haven’t watched much television lately. What’s he been up to?”
“He held a send-off rally at the Coliseum in Biloxi for his flotilla. Standing room only in the fifteen-thousand seat arena, and they were stacked up out in the parking lot, and still coming even after it was over. Since then he’s been holed up at his place in McPherson, spreading the message on his SOS network every night from seven till ten central. And the guy is good, he’s generating a lot of buzz.”
“Serious attention? Enough that we might not have only DeCamp to worry about?”
“If you mean some nutcase coming after you, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, though Schlagel makes it a point to tell everyone who’ll listen that his is a ministry of peace and all that Lamb of God bullshit,” Otto said. A long time ago he’d worked for the Jesuits and he still had bitter feelings about religion in general. “But if you’re asking for help out there no one is going to lift a finger, he’s become that powerful.”
“Have you been able to hack into his system?”
“Yeah, and it was easy. Too easy. There was nothing there. If he has some sort of a secret agenda he’s keeping it to himself, or maybe a trusted adviser or two, just word of mouth. But I did find out something interesting. His real name is Donald Deutsch, a poor kid from Milwaukee who did a stint in the army, got busted for selling tax-free cigarettes and liquor in Europe, and then disappeared in San Francisco about the time the reverend Jeremiah Thaddeus Schlagel showed up.”
“If he really pushes for the presidency the media will nail him.”
“Won’t matter, Mac. In fact, if he’s as smart as I think he is, he’ll go public with his past. Had to reinvent himself, had to pull himself up from the gutter, up by the bootstraps. If the timing is right, he’ll get a boost.”
“And if it’s wrong, maybe we’ll get a boost.”
Otto laughed. “I’m on it,” he said.
“I want some options,” McGarvey said.
“I hear you, but you lost one. Joseph Bindle, the
Work on the second impeller cable frame was nearly completed, and when McGarvey walked out on deck, the crane was lifting the last of the steel girders into place, and two welders started working, sparks flying everywhere. Defloria was speaking with Herb Stefanato, his construction foreman, and he looked up, a little irritated.
“As you can see we’re a little busy, Mr. McGarvey.”
“I only have one question.”
Defloria nodded, knowing that he had no choice.
“Would it be possible to get someone aboard by boat, maybe through a hatch in one of the legs, without anyone knowing about it?”
“No hatches in the legs are accessible from outside the rig, but I suppose someone could toss grappling hooks and climb up over the side. But we’re a long ways off the water, and the seas would have to be calm. Wouldn’t be like the Somali pirates boarding a cargo ship or supertanker.”
Stefanato, who’d been closely watching the welding operation, looked over his shoulder. “Someone’s on deck twenty-four/seven, and we’re very well lit up. Are you saying something like that might happen?”
“Other than by helicopter, how do you get people and equipment aboard?”
“The crane lowers a basket to a resupply ship. And that can be a dicey operation if any sort of a sea is running. People have been hurt.”
“One other thing,” McGarvey said. “Has anyone from the flotilla tried to contact you in any way?”
DeFloria gave him a bleak look; he was obviously a man caught between a rock and a hard place, between wanting to get his men off the rig, out of harm’s way, and needing to follow the company’s orders if he wanted to keep his job. “They’re on the radio to us constantly,” he said. “The only channels they don’t interfere with are six and eight that we use for intership communications with the
“What do they say?”
“They want us to turn around and go back to Biloxi, and they’re willing to send someone over to negotiate with us.”
“What do you tell them?” McGarvey asked.
“Al’s given his crew strict orders not to respond under any circumstances,” Defloria said.
“Even in an emergency?”
“They have enough boats to handle just about anything, including communications with the Coast Guard, and I was told by the company to keep out of it, no matter what. Our job is to see that Vanessa gets to Florida without delay.”
“Very good,” McGarvey said and he started to turn away but Defloria stopped him.
“Let me know if something should develop.”
“If possible. But it’ll be fast.”
