There was silence while both of them contemplated the horrific ramifications of what she and Hawke had just said. A moment later, Conch spoke again.
“Alex, there’s more. And it supports your argument. General Charley Moore, JCS Chairman at the Pentagon, called me three hours ago. He’d just stepped out of an emergency Oval Office briefing with the president. Moore’s got a CIA field agent named Brock down in the Triangle area right now—”
“Harry Brock got me out of the jungle.”
“Right. He decided to go native after he got you extracted. We thought he was dead. Anyway, he’s just turned up alive in Brazil. He checked in with his boss six hours ago. He’s seen something down there, something too big for him to handle alone. But he indicates it’s a situation that needs immediate attention.”
“Papa Top. Harry must have found him. You’ve got to order a strike, Conch.”
“No. In this political climate, Washington has no intention of sending waves of bombers over the Amazon, Alex. You know that as well as anyone. I’m asking for your help. Off the books.”
“I’ll find Brock. We’ll do what we can.”
“Brock is holed up outside of Manaus, at a hotel called the Jungle Palace. He’s there now, waiting to hear from you.”
“Conch, could you get a signal to him? Tell him to sit tight. I’ll pick him up there in forty-eight hours.”
“Done. Listen, Alex, I’m afraid our hands are tied. I wish there was some way we could—”
“You don’t have to say any more. I understand the difficult position you’re in, Conch. Neither you nor the president can afford to have a clandestine U.S. operation blow up in your face right now, especially one in Latin America.”
“That pretty much sums it up, Alex. As long as you understand that you’ll be on your own as far as we’re concerned.”
“When have I not been on my own?”
“Right. That’s your style, isn’t it, Lord Hawke? The lone wolf himself.”
“Conch. As soon as I return I will try to explain myself. But right now, I’ve got to get moving.”
“Don’t be stupid about this.”
“I’ve got the right equipment. The right men. And I know the theater of operations intimately. I want to go this alone. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“When can you shove off ?”
“Stiletto can be under way in six hours.”
“Alex, I hate to say this to you. Especially given how much I hate you at this moment. But I have a really bad feeling about this thing.”
“Well, Conch, you know what, it is a really bad thing.”
“Don’t push it. I thought you’d already died once in Brazil.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t ready. I guess I wanted to keep my hand in a while longer. Although some days I feel like just pissing off and retiring to the bloody Bahamas. Lie in a hammock all day and whistle ‘Rule, Britannia.’ ”
“Good night, Alex.”
“Good night, Conch.”
“Be careful. Vaya con Dios.”
55
H awke was up and moving early next morning. The rising sun sent brilliant red rays streaking across the wave tops and the day dawned, cool and clear. Beyond the walled perimeter of the old Naval Station, Key West was still sleeping it off.
The only audible sound on Blackhawke’s topmost deck was the cry of screeching white gulls and black scimitar shearwaters, diving and swooping off the ship’s great stern. That, and the martial tune of the Union Jack on its massive mahogany staff, snapping smartly in a fresh morning breeze.
Hawke found Ambrose Congreve already tucked in to his customary pair of three-minute eggs. Seated all alone on the curved stern banquette, the famous detective was wearing a wide-brimmed Panama and a three-piece suit of pale yellow linen. He was scribbling furiously in the code book.
“Good morning, Alex,” Ambrose Congreve said. His voice was near to bursting with hearty cheer. “Sleep well, old pot?”
“Like a babe in arms,” Hawke replied with a wry smile.
He had finally given up all hope of sleep and risen at five. After a few more necessary phone calls and packing enough gear and tropical kit for two weeks south of the Equator, he’d subsequently gone for a very long swim outside the harbor. He’d pushed himself to the point of exhaustion and beyond just to see if he could do it. He could, and he felt invigorated by the effort. He was more than ready to shove off.
Stiletto was moored along the breakwater, just aft of Blackhawke, and arc lights had been blazing on the dock all night long. She was still taking on provisions for a two-week voyage to the tropics. The crew was also loading additional ammunition for the new weaponry Hawke had added at a yard in the south of England. And racing to finish topping off her tanks. After briefing them, Hawke had ordered everyone assembled on her foredeck to be ready to shove off in two hours.
“Have some breakfast,” Congreve said, offering a plate of salted fish. “Kippers?”
“I’m trying to quit Kippers. Hated the bloody things all my life.”
Hawke pulled up a chair and the steward took his order of fruit, coffee, eggs, and toast with Dundee’s orange marmalade.
Ambrose said, “The oddest thing. I saw Pippa hurrying down the gangway at dawn this morning. Had her luggage in tow and there was a taxi waiting on the dock. She looked…unhappy.”
“I booked her an early flight. She was leaving today anyway.”
“Well, you’re in a mood.”
“I am indeed.”
“I won’t ask.”
“Looks like you’re making progress with the Da Zimmermann code, Constable,” Hawke asked, eying the opened book beside Congreve’s plate. The pages were now much marked up with Congreve’s pencil scrawling and tabbed with tiny yellow stickers from front to back.
“I will tell you one thing. There is going to be an attack of some kind. And it’s been in the works for quite a long time.”
“Where Washington? New York?”
“America, to be sure. But nothing more specific as to date or location yet.”
“Too soon to bring Conch into this?”
“Hmm. What can I tell her at this point, really? It’s odd, but I keep stumbling across the phrase, his hand on the bible. Whenever does one put one’s hand on the bible?”
“When you swear to something?”
“Hmm. Anyway, halfway through the novel, the coded message comes to an abrupt halt. Absolute gibberish again after page 230. We’ve hit a wall, I’m afraid.”
“You’re joking. It just stops working?”
“Yes. I’ll keep at it. By the way, Conch was looking for you last night. She rang my cabin. Apparently all hell is breaking loose.”
“Yes. She reached me.”
“And?”
“Ambrose, I’m terribly sorry to do things this way. I know you loathe surprises. But, I’ve canceled your flight for London later this morning.”
“Really?” Congreve said, touching his linen napkin to his lips, “I must say the idea of a few more days in the tropics is not without appeal.”
“I’ve booked you another. In fact, I believe that’s your flight landing now.”
“That thing?”
