already written off as surplus.” He tapped the tabletop. “Believe me, George, we’re covered.”
Ferraro grinned sardonically. “Trust me: I’m from the government and I’m here to help.”
“Well, there you go,” Derringer interjected. “The government is by far our largest client. It’s always come through before, but also consider this: Uncle Sugar keeps coming back to SSI because we deliver. If we declined an important contract because some of our accounts receivable were slow, we’d be out of business before long.”
The CFO ceded the argument by raising his hands, palms up. “All right, gentlemen. I understand, that’s the nature of the PMC business. I’d just like somebody to explain why I always seem to read about all these contractors being extravagantly overpaid, but it’s never Strategic Solutions.”
56
Marcel Hurtubise strode along the Qasr Ahmad waterfront, seeking a particular vessel. He glanced seaward, noting the Yugoslavian-built breakwater, and took in the maritime air. It might have been restful had he been interested in resting. But he was on business. Sometimes he wondered if he knew how to rest anymore.
He found what he was looking for. With no indication to the contrary, he strode up the gangway and asked for the captain. The seaman— a Turk by the look of him — nodded brusquely and disappeared through a hatch. Moments later it opened again.
“Welcome aboard,” the captain said in accented French. “I have been waiting for you.” He shook Hurtubise by the hand with more vigor than custom allowed, grinning widely at the passenger.
In turn, Captain Abu Zikri saw a reserved, fortyish Frenchman who spoke passable Arabic but whose eyes seldom stopped moving. The grip was firm, brisk, and devoid of warmth. In a word, businesslike.
“Would you like to settle in right away?” Zikri asked.
“No, I’ll just look around. My men and I will stay ashore for another day or so. But we will be here every day to make… arrangements.”
Zikri motioned expansively as he walked, literally taking Hurtubise from stem to stern. “She’s not as pretty as she once was,” the Arab began, “but she’s fully serviceable. Oh, I admit, she could use some paint, but most women do, too, don’t you think?”
Hurtubise made a noncommittal response, preferring to evaluate the ship’s layout. He began visualizing how he would board the vessel in order to capture her, then worked backward to arrive at a defense.
Zikri seemed not to notice. Striding the deck, he became expansive. “Eighty-eight meters long, thirteen meters beam. She draws six and a half meters at thirty-one hundred tons. The engines are recently overhauled, and we can make twelve knots if we have to…”
“How many in the crew?”
“Ah, eighteen good seamen, tried and true. Mostly Arabic, a couple of Greeks. Their papers are all in order, I assure you. But depending on the length of our voyage, I may need as many as twenty-five. You know, rough weather, long watches. That sort of thing.”
“Of course,” Hurtubise replied.
Marcel Hurtubise never had much interest in things nautical, but he knew what to look for. Though much of the vessel was unkempt, he was pleased to see that the engineering spaces were clean. It spoke well of Captain Zikri’s priorities. The Frenchman nodded to himself, a gesture that his host noticed. “You approve,
The seaman beamed. Thus encouraged, he said, “Perhaps you would like to take some refreshment in my cabin. Some tea or… something else.” He winked broadly.
57
Frank Leopole entered the Rock Fish Bistro on Wilson Boulevard, scanned the crowd. He was late, which was unusual.
Martha Whitney had been early which also was unusual.
Sandy Carmichael and Colonel David Main were into their first round of margaritas while Whitney worked on her second green tea. “No more alcohol for me, sugar,” she declared. “I had enough in Chad to last me for years.” She did not bother to elaborate upon her conspicuous consumption with Gabrielle Tixier. Carmichael and Main looked at each other across their salt-rimmed glasses — the West Point classmates knew Whitney as a conventional Baptist who tolerated demon rum but seldom indulged in it.
“There’s Frank,” Carmichael exclaimed. She waved, caught his attention, and made room for him at the table.
“Anybody else coming?” Leopole asked.
“I don’t think so,” Whitney replied. “We done been here for ever so long.” She winked at him.
“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I had to wait for the latest from Dave Dare.”
Main, who provided DoD liaison for the firm, showed his interest. “You know, I keep hearing about this Dare guy. But apparently nobody ever sees him.”
“He da Phantom. Ain’t nobody never see’d him ‘less it be da admiral.”
Carmichael almost spilled her margarita. “Honestly, Martha, sometimes I wonder what your normal speaking voice is like.”
Another broad wink. “Keeps ‘em guessing, honey.”
Main pressed the subject. “Well, is it true? Only Admiral Derringer knows Dare?”
This time Carmichael locked eyes with Leopole. Dare’s face and true identity were a corporate secret. “Oh, I’m sure somebody besides the admiral has seen him face-to-face. He has some researchers who follow his leads, but really there’s no need for the rest of us to deal with him directly.” She wrinkled her nose at Leopole, who ignored the hint. They had both spoken with David Dare in person, twice each. Carmichael even knew his actual given name.
“Well then, how do you know how much credibility to give his information?”
“Results,” Leopole said. “I’ve never known him to be wrong on a major point. If he’s uncertain about something important, usually he’ll just tell you he doesn’t know.”
Carmichael leaned across the table toward Leopole. “Did he come up with anything yet?”
The former Marine shook his head. “Nothing definite. He’s working on the shipping angle but said it’ll be a little while. Actually, I think he probably has a lead or two but doesn’t want to tell us anything until he’s sure.”
Sandy leaned back, brushing her shoulder against Main’s. Since he was not in uniform, he could drop the military decorum. Though touching Main’s hand, she regarded Leopole for a moment. She felt no special attraction to him, nor would she permit an office romance, but she wished he would let her introduce him to one or two of her girlfriends.
