“Well, we aren’t just here to fish,” Fortner said. “There are some more pressing matters that we all need to discuss sooner rather than later.”
Blunt didn’t say a word, keeping his eyes fixated on his line still hanging limp from the end of his rod. Patiently, he reeled in his spinner, waiting for his line to tighten so he could set the hook. Once he finished, he stood and stared out over the water. He watched with a mixture of disgust and anger as a large bass swam beneath the boat.
“Did you see that?” Blunt asked as he pointed at the water.
“I thought we were supposed to be quiet,” Colton said. “I never can keep up with these whimsical rules.”
“That sucker was huge,” Blunt said.
Fortner leaned over the railing to look and shrugged. “Guess it’s gone now.”
A buzzing noise in the distance grew louder. Blunt scanned the horizon and noticed an inflatable raft powered by an outboard motor chugging straight toward them.
“I can promise it’s gone for good now,” Blunt said. “Doesn’t anyone know about the importance of remaining as quiet as possible while you’re on the water fishing? Doesn’t anyone know how well sound travels through water?”
“We came here to talk,” Colton said. “At least, I did. I would’ve never agreed to come out here just to fish, that much is certain.”
The raft eased up next to their boat. A man stood and waved before tossing a rope to Fortner.
“Mind giving us a hand?” the boat’s apparent captain asked.
Recognizing the U.S. Coast Guard markings on the small watercraft, Fortner tied off the rope to Blunt’s ship and held out his hand. Instead of the captain climbing aboard, his two passengers stepped forward: Alex Duncan and Brady Hawk.
The captain gestured for Fortner to disentangle the two vessels. He complied and used an oar to shove away the small boat to a safe distance.
“Hawk, I can’t decide who likes to torture me more—you or Mr. Colton here?” Blunt said.
“The fish aren’t biting, are they?” Alex asked as a wry grin spread across her face.
“Is it that obvious?” Blunt said as he hung his head.
“Usually, I get a greeting somewhat warmer than that,” she said.
Blunt narrowed his eyes and stared out across the water. “Just be glad that today I didn’t shoot at you.”
“That bad, huh?” Hawk asked.
“Not even a nibble,” Blunt said, shaking his head.
“Bad day fishing beats a good working, eh?” Colton said.
Blunt huffed a soft laugh through his nose. “If only this day was just about fishing. Since that’s obviously not going to happen, we might as well discuss what we’re all here to talk about.”
Blunt ushered everyone below deck and into the modest cabin. It had seating for eight, which was plenty of room for the group assembled.
Once they were all seated, Fortner opened the conversation.
“There’s quite a concern in the intelligence community, especially at the Pentagon, about what Karif Fazil might do with the weapons system he stole from Colton Industries. There have been numerous theories floated around, but I wanted us all to discuss this collectively and see if we can reach a conclusion on what he might be planning.”
Hawk raised his hand. “Before we get into that, can I make a polite suggestion that all Colton Industries weapons include a more undetectable tracker in the event of another heist? I was just sent on a wild goose chase that almost got me killed.”
“I know it might be of little consolation to you now,” Colton began, “but our engineers are already working on it.”
“That’s a start,” Hawk said.
“Well, regarding the matter at hand,” Blunt said, “I’m not sure I’ve got any better ideas on where Al Hasib might be planning to target. Quite frankly, there isn’t a spot that’s better than another.”
“J.D., have you spoken with Justin Frazier at the NSA?” Fortner asked.
“I gave him a call, and we discussed what was happening,” Blunt said of the NSA chief. “But if he knows anything more than what’s out there in the intelligence community, he wasn’t saying. I’ve known Frazier a long time, and based on his demeanor, I’d say he’s in the dark like the rest of us.”
“Does anyone think Fazil is planning on targeting any U.S. harbors?” Colton asked.
“I wouldn’t rule anything out,” Fortner said. “That would be a risky proposition, but Al Hasib has never operated under any type of conventional strategy. Their end game appears to be terror, in and of itself.”
“Based on some of the chatter I’ve been monitoring, I think I know Al Hasib’s target with this weapon,” Alex said.
Fortner’s eyebrows shot upward. “You’ve heard something we haven’t?”
She nodded. “The Strait of Hormuz.”
“Oh my God,” Colton said. “That’s the nightmare scenario.”
Fortner nodded. “Yeah, you’re not kidding. Seventeen million barrels of oil pass through there everyday, roughly thirty-five percent of all seaborne oil. It’d be an epic crisis without an end in sight.”
Blunt looked at Alex. “Do you really think Iran is going to be okay with this? They’ve been threatening to do this for years but have never made good on it.”
“From what I’ve gathered from my sources, Al Hasib is working in conjunction with Iran,” Alex said. “The Iranians are permitting this under the table so they can be the heroes and amass some leverage on the international community when they shut it down.”
“Everyone will see right through it,” Fortner said.
Alex shrugged. “Maybe, but will anyone really care once gas prices sky rocket? Those leading nations will just want to reestablish stability in the region. They won’t care what it cost.”
“Well, that’s one theory,” Colton said. “Got any—”
“This isn’t just a theory,” Alex said. “My sources are solid on this one. And from what I understand, they could have the weapons system in place and operational in less than a week.”
“We’re going to need something actionable before we start an international incident,” Fortner said. “Iran isn’t going to take too kindly to any kind of intervention by Americans, even if
