Christina shook her head. “Maybe if we track that payment to the salvage company, we might…” She trailed off, as if she’d realized the same thing Connor was thinking.
“It’ll just lead us to a ghost account,” he said. “A one-time-use numbered account, untraceable. And my guess is, it’s not the only one they used. The main thing here is issuing the warning to the port authorities so they can be extra vigilant. Sitting on our hands and not doing anything because someone might not get promoted or might get a little egg on their face is ridiculous. People seem to forget that in our world we have victories and we have failures, and nine times out of ten, inaction leads to failure.”
“So what are you going to do, call the port authorities yourself?”
Connor laughed, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again as an idea hit him. He could basically do just that. His grip tightened on the wheel as he worked it through in his head. He’d been so focused on what Pennington wouldn’t do because of what it might cost him, he hadn’t stopped to think about what he, himself, could do. If this thing was truly as important as Connor knew it was, how could he expect others to risk their careers when he hadn’t even considered ruining his?
He could call the port authorities right now; he could warn them. He could set things in motion that couldn’t be easily stopped.
Hell, he could call the papers, too.
Connor couldn’t suppress the mischievous grin that spread across his face. Calling the press would lock the agency into either action or denial—and if they denied it and the facts of the case were somehow leaked by “unnamed intelligence sources”… there would be a total shitstorm. And regardless of the agency’s response, at least the information would be out there, and people would be on the lookout. Hopefully that could help stop Hakimi’s attack.
Christina raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got that look you sometimes get when you’re about to do something really stupid.”
“It’s either really stupid, or really smart.” Connor started his car. “I haven’t figured out which yet.”
Chapter Twelve
Mohammad leaned over the gunwale, looking out over the flat blue ocean. The seas were calmer today than they’d been through their entire journey so far, and for Mohammad’s land-legs, it was a gift. He’d been on boats before, but never out in the middle of the Pacific, an ocean so vast it made his own pitiful existence pale in comparison. He had trouble even processing the width of it, not to mention the depth.
God is definitely great to create such a wonder, he thought.
He’d finished his first prayer twenty minutes ago and since then had been silently contemplating the power of Allah. Every morning he expected to see the land of the infidels appear on the horizon, beckoning him toward his calling. But the vastness of this ocean meant that he wouldn’t see land for another few days—giving him the opportunity to bask in Allah’s glory for a little while longer.
He turned, put his back to the rail, and watched his men continue to modify the rack to the scientist’s exact specifications. A construction schematic had been provided, and tools and fabricated metal components lay on the deck all around the rectangular housing container.
The container’s top panels were currently open, folded down on either side. Two hoses snaked across the deck, attached to intake valves on either end, ready to pump in the thousands of gallons of water needed to make this work. Mohammad still didn’t understand how water was supposed to fool the Americans, but the scientist had been adamant.
He’d better be right, Mohammad thought. Mohammad had visited the man’s workroom only once since their journey began; the man’s incessant talking and need to explain everything in technical detail gave Mohammad a headache. And the truth was, Mohammad had no interest in knowing the ins and outs of how the device worked—just that it would. He would have to count on the irritating scientist’s expertise. The man was Russian, but seemed to be familiar with the capabilities of American technology.
The Americans had highly specialized equipment, head and shoulders above what the rest of the world considered state-of-the-art. Mohammad found it amusing that, despite the safety and security that this technology provided to the citizens of the United States, many of them nevertheless decried the exorbitant amount of spending allocated to the military. The sheep actually campaigned for less security.
That made absolutely no sense to Mohammad. The safety and security of his people was his number one priority, and the cost never even entered his mind. He would do everything in his power to protect his people and preserve Allah’s will. Money and wealth and possessions meant nothing to him. Serving Allah meant everything.
“A beautiful morning.”
Mohammad looked up, and smiled when he saw his friend approaching. “Indeed. Allahu Akbar.”
Ramzi bin Sadir repeated the customary greeting and stepped up to the ship’s railing, looking out over the still ocean. “I wish I could show my son this sight. He would never believe how enormous this ocean is.”
“It’s hard for me to believe it myself, and I’m standing here looking at it,” Mohammad replied. “It is wondrous, is it not?”
“It is. But the captain says we should be within sight of land in another three days.”
“Should?” Mohammad frowned. “Is he not certain? Shouldn’t his chart tell him this?”
“He says there is a storm front moving in from the north. It could slow us down.”
Mohammad stared at the horizon. “I see no storm.”
“That is what I told the captain. But he assured me that it is coming.”
“That will affect our construction. How close is the scientist to being complete?”
“I have not seen him yet this morning,” Ramzi said, “and I spent only ten minutes with him last night. The moody bastard actually yelled at me for disturbing
