Chapter 31
Kurt stepped into the crowded bar feeling far more at home than the Chinese. He’d spent half his life in busy seaports and harbor towns. This was his kind of crowd, even if they mostly spoke another language.
He made a slow pass through the place, just watching and listening.
It didn’t take long to spot all the players.
The Russians were in one corner, blending nicely, but talking a bit too loud.
The Chinese sat on the far side of the room, sticking out more obviously despite their civilian clothes.
There wasn’t a large Asian population in Norway.
Kurt saw only two of them, and not the man he was looking for. Turning, he located Gushan standing at the bar with his back to the crowd.
Kurt went right toward him, noticing a tumbler of whiskey on the counter as he arrived. “Interesting place for the People’s Liberation Army Navy to make an unscheduled liberty call,” he said, parking himself beside Gushan at the bar.
Gushan didn’t budge. He’d seen Kurt approaching in the mirror. He’d been expecting him to show up one way or another ever since the wounded Lyra had managed to limp into port. If there was going to be a confrontation, this seemed as good a place as any.
“We’ve heard good things about the waters,” he said, doing his best to borrow a line from the American film Casablanca.
Kurt had quoted it several times when they’d been hunting the ecoterrorist Ahab.
He’d sent Gushan a link to watch it while he recovered from his wounds in the hospital.
Gushan had watched it several times, considering it a window into the American mindset and trying his best to keep up with the snappy English dialogue.
“You were misinformed,” Kurt said, following along. “The waters here are frozen.”
“So it would appear,” Gushan replied.
“I saved your life once,” Kurt said directly. “How thoughtful of you to repay me by trying to sink my ship and drown my crew.”
Gushan’s jaw clenched. He refused to look Kurt’s way, staring straight ahead. “We saw your ship enter the harbor,” he said. “It seems to have had a terrible accident. I must congratulate you on saving it and bringing it safely to port.”
“The damage was no accident,” Kurt said. “Someone put three iron fish into our side. Fish that were made in China. Know anything about them?”
Gushan stared at his nearly empty glass. “Only that four of them would have done more damage than three.”
Kurt considered the information. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but it made little sense to use the first penetrator to take out the sonar sled.
Sink the ship and you’ve dealt with the sled as well.
It was a wasted round. A well-placed and purposefully wasted round.
One he now assumed had been misaimed by Gushan.
Gushan had pulled his punch. The Lyra wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t.
Kurt nodded slowly. So now they were even.
The bartender came into sight. Kurt pointed to Gushan’s glass and held up two fingers. The bartender retrieved a bottle and poured the drinks.
“It is fortunate,” Kurt said, continuing their conversation. “For both our sakes. Your ship has been tracked by an American Seawolf attack sub since the moment you left the ice field. Had we gone down, they would have blasted you from the sea within a matter of minutes.”
Kurt had no idea if this was true. But it made for a good bluff.
Gushan nodded, accepting the dangerous reality stoically. He didn’t doubt it for a second. “So the guardrails are off,” he said, turning to Kurt at last.
Kurt stared at his old friend. Willing him against all odds to be reasonable. “Let’s talk about putting them back on.”
—
As Kurt spoke to Gushan, Joe waited outside in a large orange vehicle outfitted with knobby tires and cold-weather gear. The Big Orange Rig, as the NUMA team called it, was designed to go off-road in the backcountry; handling terrain no regular four-by-four could take.
It was painted the color of a lifeboat, carried the NUMA logo on both the side and the roof, and sprouted no less than four antennas, each for a different radio system or sensor.
It was not exactly inconspicuous, but it was the only vehicle available to take off the ship and Kurt was more interested in making an entrance than sneaking up on anyone at this point.
While Joe understood the advantage of being obvious, he was a little wary of lingering in the machine while it sat in the parking lot.
He kept his head on a swivel, checking the lot around him, using the mirrors and the vehicle’s multiple cameras.
It wasn’t long before he noticed two people sneaking toward him.
They came across the lot and up to the passenger side of the vehicle. One of them banged on the door.
A dark face appeared beyond the tinted glass. A second face huddled next to it, a little lower.
Joe hit a switch lowering the window. “Can I help you?”
“This thing have seat warmers?” Gamay Trout asked.
“Front and back,” Joe said. He unlocked the doors. Gamay took the front seat, while Paul stretched out in the back.
As the door closed, Gamay pulled off her gloves, turned up the heater fan, and began rubbing her hands vigorously in front of the nearest vent. In the back seat, Paul pulled off the glasses, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes tightly.
“You all right?” Joe asked.
“Just trying not to throw up,” Paul said. “Looking at the world through the drone’s-eye view while using your own eyes to see the terrain around you is terribly disorienting.”
Joe could imagine. “Doesn’t sound fun. But step back outside if you think you’re going to toss your cookies. I just had this thing detailed.”
“I’m good,” Paul said, taking deep slow breaths.
“How long has Kurt been in there?” Gamay asked.
“Only a few minutes,” Joe said.
“What exactly does he hope to accomplish?” Paul asked.
“He wanted to put the Chinese on notice. Reminding them that we’re still here,” Joe said. “While also screwing up whatever meeting they were coming to take part in. We have to assume that whoever their contact is, he or she probably won’t show once they spot Kurt walking around.”
“We could have just kept an eye on them and followed them when they left,” Paul noted.
“I suggested that,” Joe said. “Kurt figured this method had some ‘additional intangible value.’ ”
The three of them laughed. They all knew what that meant. Kurt wanted to irritate the Chinese to the greatest extent possible.
Knowing Kurt’s plan, they watched the tavern, waiting for a Hollywood-style brawl to kick off.
But instead of smashed bottles, patrons running from every exit, and someone getting tossed through the front window, the only activity they witnessed was a back door opening and a scruffy man in an oversized coat stepping outside.
He leaned against the wall, fumbling for something in his coat pocket, and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Using his bare hands to remove one, he stuck it between his lips. A match flared as he lit the cigarette, and a blue cloud of smoke caught the light as he exhaled.
“It’s ten degrees outside,” Gamay said. “The guy must really need that smoke.”
“Why come outside?” Joe said. “European places let you smoke as much as you want.”
“Maybe he’s an American,” Paul joked.
The words had been tossed out casually, but suddenly the idea took hold. Gamay turned to her husband. “Paul?”
“Already on it,” Paul said. He was unfolding the glasses and getting used to them again.
The drone was hovering out of sight a half block away, where it could keep an eye on the van.
He directed it to move closer and to point its camera at the huddling figure.
Once the drone had focused its cameras, Paul neatly broadcast it to the vehicle’s navigation screen via Bluetooth so everyone could see it.
The man was young and thin, with short hair and a week of patchy scruff on his face. He wore a withered look, as if he hadn’t eaten much. A bruise and abrasion on his cheek stood out.
“That’s the guy who was driving the van,” Paul said.
Gamay recognized him as someone else. “That’s one of the hijackers. Ridley Wiles.” They’d all seen the photos and studied them, but Gamay had a knack for recognizing faces.
“So, the Chinese are meeting someone here,” Joe said. “But why is this guy sitting out back with the alley cats and the trash cans?”
“Maybe he’s waiting for Kurt to leave the building,” Paul said.
The cigarette was flicked aside and the man they assumed to be Ridley ducked back into the warmth and shelter of the tavern.
“I have an idea,” Gamay said. “Let’s grab him and take him into custody.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Joe asked.
“The old-fashioned way,” she said. “We ambush him and take him by surprise.”