spoke Dutch, French, Spanish, and Norwegian, and could produce convincing proof that three of them were his native tongue.
“Sir, I’d like to discuss some details with you. We got under way so fast that we didn’t have time to get acquainted.”
“Veil, ve verk for de same people,” Maas replied. His eyes said as much as his voice. “Besites, ve haf plenty of time now.” He gestured with his pipe. “Seferal days at sea, maybe efen veeks.”
Pope decided to talk shop before moving to more delicate subjects. “Tell me about this ship. What can she do?”
“How long can you maintain seventeen knots?”
Maas smiled broadly. “As long as fuel lasts.”
Pope eyed his colleague. “Skipper, who really owns this vessel?”
A light illuminated in the skipper’s hazel eyes. He inclined his head, as if studying a specimen in a bottle, then said, “Consolidated Industrial Affiliates, out of Amsterdam.” After a pause he added, “I can show you the papers.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“My dear commander, do you think it implausible that Certain Important Associates would have no sense of humor?”
Pope almost allowed himself to smile. “Actually, yes, I do.”
Maas sucked his pipe and muttered a noncommittal, “Ummm.”
The American judged the European to be ten to twelve years older than himself — enough to justify some deference. “Sir, I’d like to confirm the, ah, command relationship. I mean, among you, me, and Mr. Cohen.”
The skipper blew an aromatic smoke ring. “Easy enough, I think. I command this ship, you command the commandos, Cohen provides the information. That’s how SSI wants it, yes?”
“Yes, sir. That’s my understanding. But I don’t know anything about the communications setup. Command and control, we call it. If you or I need some additional information — more details about the operation— I don’t think we should have to go through Cohen for everything.”
Maas’s eyes narrowed as he studied the former SEAL. “So you don’t trust him.”
“Well, I…”
“Neither do I.”
“Sir?”
“He’s Israeli, yes?”
Pope nodded. “Israeli-American. Dual citizenship.”
“You work with him before?”
“No. But he’s a regular SSI employee.”
Maas grinned. “Admiral Derringer, good man. I’ve known him for years now. Don’t see him so often, of course, but I trust him.” He motioned with the pipe again. “This one, Cohen. I think he’s a good one, too. Competent, I mean. But… where is his loyalty? Maybe more in Tel Aviv than Washington.”
Pope was surprised to find himself feeling defensive about Alexander Cohen. “Captain, it seems to me that we have to trust each other. Considering what’s at stake — the shipment headed for Iran — we’re all… in the same boat, should I say?”
Maas chuckled and slapped Pope’s arm. “Good one, boy!” He cackled again.
“Well, Captain, as I was saying, I need to know about the communications setup. I understand that we receive intelligence through Cohen, but that doesn’t mean we’re limited to asking our own sources for other information.” He thought for a moment. “Besides, what if something happens to Cohen? There has to be a contingency — a backup.”
The skipper nodded decisively. “There is. But for now, come with me. I’ll show you the radio shack and you can talk to the operators.”
“I saw your antenna layout. I guess you can talk to SSI and anybody else you need to.”
“Commander Pope, we can talk to the man in the moon.”
“We need to talk,” Zikri said.
Hurtubise laid down the FA-MAS he was cleaning and wiped his hands on a stained cloth. The two men walked to the portside rail where they could be alone.
“What is it?” Hurtubise asked.
“My second radio operator, Shatwan. Since we are making no more calls than necessary, he has much time on his hands.”
“Yes?”
“Last night he entered the radio shack earlier than he was scheduled. He noticed Aujali transmitting by key, which is most unusual. When Shatwan asked what was happening, Aujali appeared a little flustered. He said that he was communicating with an amateur operator in Rabat.”
The Frenchman rubbed his perennially stubbled chin. He focused on the horizon for a long moment, then turned to the captain. “Didn’t you tell the operators that no messages would be sent without approval from you or me?”
“Yes. You were going to tell them yourself, but I think you were called to inspect something.”
“The machine-gun mounts. Yes, I remember now.”
Zikri spread his hands. “In any case, I thought you should be told.”
“What did Aujali send in that message?”
“We do not know. He said it was innocent enough: asking for news reports from Palestine.”
Hurtubise folded his arms and leaned forward. “Do you believe him?”
“I have not questioned him. I thought it best to tell you first.”
The mercenary nodded slowly. “You did right.” He thought for a moment. “What do you know about him? Not what he told you: I mean, what do you
“Well, I have his papers as a seaman and radioman. I suppose they could be forged, but he has sailed with me before. I have never had reason to doubt him.”
“You said he has relatives in Israel?”
“That’s right. His grandmother’s family. They have tried to emigrate but the Jews always prevent it.”
Hurtubise chewed his lip, as if physically masticating the information.
“Correct.”
“You trust Shatwan completely?”
“As I said before, we grew up together. He is a younger cousin.”
Hurtubise gave an ironic smile. “Captain, my brother-in-law once tried to put a knife in my back. I trusted him up to that moment, too.”
The Arab’s eyes widened. “I do not suppose he tried that again.”
The wolf’s smile reappeared. “He did not try anything again.”
Zikri thought better of asking details. Instead, he said, “Well,
Hurtubise turned and paced several steps. At length he returned and faced the captain. “Do you have a way of monitoring all broadcasts without the sender knowing?”
“Not that I know of. I would have to discuss it with Salih. But I think that we could be monitored from another ship with knowledge of the suitable frequencies.” He looked more closely at the Frenchman. “You think that Aujali will continue transmitting?”
“I think that he might. And I would be very interested to know what he’s really saying to his friend in Morocco. If it is Morocco.”
Zikri shifted his weight in response to the ship’s movement.
