“Just so. You will have the full support of State and DoD intelligence assets, as well as other, ah, sources. Please understand that we may not be able to reveal those to you, but be assured that we will not pass along anything that we do not consider reliable.”
Derringer asked, “What if we get contradictory info?”
The diplomat shrugged. “We’ll try to filter and deconflict, but as always, it’s up to the men in the field to act as they think best.”
Wilmont shifted in his chair. Generally he held back, absorbing information and scribbling occasional notes, but now he spoke up. “Ryan, excuse me for asking what might seem an obtuse question. But if we’re chasing the cake, which seems headed for Iran, obviously it’s going by sea. Why not send the SEALs after it?”
O’Connor regarded the overweight executive with a perceptible, disapproving frown. “Well, the usual reason, Marshal. Deniability. As you say, the operation will almost certainly take place at sea, and likely in international waters. The United States Government does not condone piracy, let alone participate in such things.”
Wilmont nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yeah. I understand that. But we just don’t have the assets — the gear — for something like this. And we can’t get it fast enough to meet the schedule.”
“Oh, I think you can trust me on that score. You’ll have maximum support across the board: intelligence, technical, whatever you need. If there’s ever an audit of the operation — extremely unlikely, by the way — the investigators will find that all the equipment was declared surplus months before SSI ever saw it.”
Derringer pulled an envelope from his Brooks Brothers suit coat. “Ryan, I brought a list of equipment needs and some operational concerns. This is for our liaison officer — whoever that might be.”
O’Connor scooped up the paper but did not bother looking at it. “Right. I’ll give it to the case officer and he’ll get back to you today. He’s arranging logistics right now. But you have the keys to the kingdom on this one, Admiral. Speed boats, a couple of leased ships, communications, even unmarked helicopters if you need them.”
The SSI men looked at each other. Without a word, they rose in unison. “Right,” Derringer said. “We’ll get going. Ah, do we communicate with you or with the case officer from now on?”
O’Connor stood behind his desk. “Preferably through Grover Hinds, but if you need me, call anytime, day or night.” He paused for emphasis. “This is off the record, of course, but I’m in constant contact with the secretary If you need any logjams broken, she’ll see to it personally.”
Wilmont raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s about as much as we could ever want. Thanks, Ryan.”
“Just get the job done, gentlemen. There’s too much riding on this one.”
51
Paul Deladier sipped his tea and regarded Marcel Hurtubise across the outdoor table. Looking around the square, Deladier could not help comparing the elegant surroundings to his truck-bound existence over the past three days.
“I never knew there were such places in Libya,” he declared. “This is wonderful! Modern facilities, an oasis, a view of the ocean. It’s like a Hollywood movie set.”
Hurtubise hefted his own cup. “Enjoy it while you can,
Deladier cocked his head. “Oh? I thought our work was finished when we delivered the shipment.”
“Well, that depends.” Marcel squinted against the glare — he seldom wore sunglasses — and laid down his cup. He would have enjoyed a good Mosel at the moment, but Libyan sensibilities had to be respected. For a Mediterranean seaport town, the local regulations seemed onerous. Female tourists had to wear long skirts, and bare arms were prohibited.
“What I mean, Paul, is that I may not be here long. The client wants extra security, so I have decided to go with the product, and the ship will leave in a few days. If you would like to come…”
Deladier sat back, pondering a response.
“What is it?” Marcel asked.
“Well, it’s just that I… had not expected to do more. After all, we barely got out of Chad in time.” He tugged at his new shirt. “I don’t even have a suitcase for travel!” He laughed aloud, hoping that it did not sound forced. But driving a semi truck and trailer twelve hundred kilometers across the Sahara had not been an experience he cared to repeat.
Hurtubise looked at his colleague and felt a queasy twinge.
Before Hurtubise could continue, Deladier asked, “When did you decide to take the ship? We didn’t discuss that before.”
“Just yesterday. I meant to tell you, but you were out most of the day.” He forced a knowing grin. “Did you find some agreeable company in this Great Socialist People’s Libyan Arab Republic?”
Deladier saw a chance and took it. “Actually, I met two agreeable ladies. Italian sisters. We did not discuss politics, but maybe tonight. Their ship sails tomorrow.”
Hurtubise nodded his close-cropped head. “Well then, after you kiss them good-bye, maybe you’ll consider an ocean voyage yourself. I’m going to need some good men for security.”
“Mmmm. Does it pay a bonus?”
“Yes, half in advance, the rest on arrival.”
Deladier leaned close enough to whisper. “Arrive where?”
Marcel arched an eyebrow. “You know where.”
52
It was a rare event: a full-scale meeting of SSI’s operations staff. As officer in charge of all the firm’s fieldwork, Sandra Carmichael chaired the meeting with Frank Leopole beside her.
Carmichael stood to emphasize the importance of the event. “We will come to order.” She modulated her voice with West Point precision, emphasizing every word.
“The purpose of this meeting is to make some important decisions, rapidly.” She reached for the console on the table and turned down the lights in the room. With deft motions she brought the PowerPoint display onto the screen.
“All right. We’re operating on partial information that gets older by the hour, but since we have to start somewhere, we’ll start here.” She traced her laser pointer along the Libyan coast. “We have reason to believe that the yellow cake that was taken from Chad will be sent by sea to Iran.”
Sandra Carmichael could be unusually attractive when she wanted— but Lieutenant Colonel Carmichael, U.S. Army (Retired), kept a brisk, almost brusque demeanor. Those who knew her recognized the signs and paid strict attention.
“Since State and DoD have given us approval to pursue the product, we’re laying contingency plans. Libya is obviously off-limits— there’s just no way we can operate there. But that opens a couple of options. I’ve asked Frank to examine them for us since our foreign ops department is most involved.”
Leopole rose to his feet. “Okay let’s look at the geography.” He returned to the map of Africa. “The quickest
