“OH, HULLO,” AMBROSE CONGREVE SAID, HIS EYELIDS FLUTTERING. A wavering shape had mysteriously appeared at his bedside. Yesterday, he’d come into New York City from Southampton by ambulance. The surgery to remove the bullet from his spine took place at New York Hospital. That was six hours ago. Congreve’s voice was very weak, his face a kindred shade to the grey-white pillow beneath his head.
“Is that you there, Alex?”
“Indeed, it is.”
“You’re in New York City.”
“Yes. I came just to see you.”
“Oh. How am I?”
“That’s what I came to find out. How are you?”
“In hospital, I’m afraid. I, uh, had a bit of surgery.”
“So I understand. It went very well, according to your doctor. How do you feel?”
“All right, I suppose. My eyes are a bit wonky. Sleepy.”
“Well, you’re still in the arms of morphine. You’ll be swell in the morning. The doctor assures me that with a little bed rest, you’ll make a full recovery. Back to fighting strength in no time, old scout.”
“What pretty flowers. Dahlias. Who are they from?”
“I believe they’re from Mrs. Purvis. The roses are from Ross Sutherland.”
“Ah. Who’s that? In the chair?”
“That’s Detective Mariucci. He and I have been getting acquainted while we waited for you to wake up.”
“Whom is he talking to? I can’t hear what he’s saying. I don’t see anybody in the other chair.”
“He’s on his mobile to someone in Washington. The game is afoot, as your idol Mr. Holmes would say.”
“Watson. The game?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“Is Diana here?”
“She was. She’s been in that chair for the duration. I told her to go out and get some air. She should be back any minute.”
“You met her?”
“I did. She’s everything you said and more. Lovely woman. I’m very happy for you.”
“She’s too good for me, Alex.”
“That’s true, obviously, but I think given enough time she’ll bring you up to speed quite nicely.”
Ambrose closed his eyes and whispered so softly that Alex had to bend down to hear, “What, when drunk, one sees in other women, I see in Diana, sober.” After that he made no sound. He’d drifted away again.
“Alex?” Detective Mariucci whispered, “I need you over here a second.”
“Yes?”
“That was ATAC Command in D.C. The friggin’ French have invaded Oman. Bonaparte’s sticking with his story.”
“What about the sultan’s tape?”
“Claims the Oman tape was made under coercion by the West. By you, specifically. French TV is showing the beginning of the tape where you’re wiping blood off the guy’s face before he speaks. Jesus Christ. Here, take this phone. Somebody’s patching an urgent call through. Stokely Jones calling you from Hong Kong. Ten seconds.”
Hawke put the phone to his ear, his eyes cold as stone. He spoke to Stokely for two minutes, max, disconnected, said good-bye, and punched in another number.
“I’m putting this call on speaker,” Hawke told Mariucci and collapsed exhausted into the chair next to him. He placed the phone on the small table between the two of them and tilted back the rest of his cold coffee. He had wiped blood off the sultan’s face. And the sultan had thanked him for—wait. Bonaparte was running that part of the tape without sound.
“Jack McAtee,” they heard the gravelly voice of the president say a second or two later.
“Mr. President, sorry to disturb you at this late hour. Alex Hawke calling.”
“Alex! Good to hear your voice, partner. Good work over there. I’m in the Situation Room with Kelly, Gooch, and Charlie Moore. We’ve already got your videotape on the air. Al Jazeera’s running it every ten minutes and France is already taking serious heat from the Arab world.”
“Glad I could help, Mr. President. About the tape. The French media are running the first part without sound. Under government orders. We need to get the whole thing on the air, sir, the entire thirty seconds preceding the sultan’s speech.”
“Done. Tell me what you need, Alex.”
“Mr. President, I’m on speakerphone in New York with Captain John Mariucci of the NYPD Anti-Terrorist Task Force, sir. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
“Just got the news, Alex. I was on the phone with Bonaparte not three hours ago. I told the crazy sonafabitch that unless he wanted to be on the wrong end of another invasion at Normandy he should keep his ass out of Oman. He assured me he had no intention of invading. Now I learn the French have gone into Oman anyway.”
“I just heard that, too, sir.”
“Will we never learn?”
“Sir, I have news of a different nature.”
“Talk to me, Alex.”
“Mr. President, fifteen seconds ago I got a call from Hong Kong. As Director Kelly knows, I sent a man out there early this morning to finish sorting out General Sun-yat Moon’s activities.”
“Right.”
“I believe we have a complete understanding of that operation now. It’s not good, Mr. President. In the last four years, four super-tankers were launched at various von Draxis shipyards in Germany. All were purchased by the French oil company Elf. Three of the four have extremely powerful nuclear devices secreted inside their lead keels. The keels were hung at Shanghai Shipyard at the same time that Chinese reactors and enriched fuel cores were installed.”
“Alex, what kind of devices are we talking about?”
“Implosion-triggered fission bombs, Mr. President. Heavy duty.”
“Christ. Hold on a second, Alex. I’ve got you on speaker. Brick Kelly wants to know if these devices are plutonium or weapons-grade uranium?”
“Stokely definitely said plutonium, sir.”
After a few moments of muffled conversation, the president continued, “Go ahead, Alex. As of this moment, I have to inform you that this is a completely compartmentalized operation. It now has its own ticket. Codename: Wild Card. Langley’s putting the steel in it right now. Nobody gets in without that ticket.”
“Acknowledged, sir. The devices are shielded inside the ship’s solid lead keel. Brilliant concept. Detection is virtually impossible by harbor security. No leaks. Impervious to X-ray inspection. No port security team in the world could screen them out.”
“Location of these tankers now?”
“Locations unknown at this point, sir.”
“Names?”
“Happy Dragon, Super Dragon, and Jade Dragon, sir. All sailing under French flags, sir.”
They could hear the president barking orders at various staffers inside the Situation Room. Then he was back on the speaker.
“Alex, we’re already all over the tankers. We’ll find them. I get the feeling there’s more to this story.”
“Sir, such a device was also designed into the keel of the cruise ship Leviathan.”
At that moment, Mariucci grabbed Hawke’s arm.
“Holy mother of god!” Mariucci cried, jumping to his feet. “She’s here! Leviathan? She arrived this past Tuesday! I was on one of the Moran tugs that—”
“Alex,” the president said, his voice steady, “you are talking about that huge ocean liner that arrived in New York earlier this week?”
