Chapter 47
True to his word Kurt slept most of the flight.
He woke up an hour before they began their descent into Reagan National, had a snack, and remained in the world of his thoughts, saying little to the others.
After a brief check-in at NUMA headquarters all four of them went home.
Twelve hours later Kurt was at the White House, where he briefed Sandecker, the President, the chief of staff, and the director of the CIA on the events of the past week.
He’d already written an exhaustive report, but they asked enough questions to make him wonder if anyone had read it in depth.
To his surprise, none of the four seemed nearly as glum as he was.
Kurt cringed at what he was hearing. He’d never been a fan of moral victories, and he didn’t like credit or a pat on the back when he hadn’t done a thing to deserve it.
“With all due respect, Mr. President, I didn’t keep the weapon out of Russian hands, Ahab did.
It was him all along. He lured NUMA up to Norway with faked artifacts from the U-boat we had been looking for.
He brought the Chinese in, promised them an easy score, and then strung them out.
I’m guessing he pulled the Russians in at the last minute as some kind of wild card.
And while our adversaries may not have the weapon now, Ahab does.
That cannot be a good thing for anyone.”
With the President’s permission the director of the CIA chimed in.
“It’s a valid point, Kurt, but our sources tell us the Chinese and the Russians both believe the EAGL components were destroyed when the C-17 exploded.
They think you and Zavala were behind the self-destruct code, which makes sense when viewed from the outside.
Given your combined reputation as something of an unstoppable force, they have no reason to believe otherwise. We want to keep it that way.”
Something bad was coming. Something he wouldn’t like. Kurt could feel it. Otherwise they wouldn’t be laying the praise on so thickly.
Sandecker spoke next. In his own inimitable way, the Vice President added a few more cards to the stacked deck.
“I know it sticks in your craw, but you’re going to be feted for this.
Privately, of course, but in a way that will confirm to the Chinese and Russians that you’re being rewarded for a job well done.
That will keep them thinking: Close, but no cigar.
Which reminds me, as part of your reward I’m sending you a box of cigars.
You can share them with anyone at NUMA—except Al Giordano. ”
“He seems to have his own,” Kurt noted, then turned back to the issue at hand. “And what if Ahab decides to sell the laser to the Russians or Chinese now?”
“We don’t believe he will,” the CIA director said.
The chief of staff chimed in next. “If he wanted to turn the laser over to them he missed his best chance. At this point he’d have to convince them you didn’t destroy the laser, and that what he has is real, and then he’d have to explain how he got it and why he didn’t give it to them before. A tall order all around.”
“Which means he’s not going to sell it to them,” the CIA director added, closing the loop.
“So what is he going to do with it?” Kurt asked.
The question landed like a lead ballon and sat there. No one had an answer. If they possessed even a clue, they were keeping it to themselves.
“I’m not going to ask you if we’re looking for him, because it would be pure insanity not to,” Kurt began, “but why don’t you let Joe and I help? We’re very motivated to find him and bring him back to justice.”
The President looked at his silent team. They would have kept silent until the end of time if he didn’t give them permission to talk. Finally, he nodded toward the CIA director.
“We don’t think Ahab is going to be a problem for very long,” the director said.
Kurt narrowed his gaze.
“We have verified intelligence that suggests he’s dying,” the DCI elaborated.
“The bodies of his conspirators that were pulled from the sea around that freighter two years ago were contaminated with radioactive materials. It was in their skin, in their blood, in their organs. The boat itself was virtually glowing. Ahab was on that boat, covered in his own toxins. That he’s still alive is honestly surprising, but he won’t be for long. ”
There was a smug certainty to the statement, the kind Kurt hated to hear from government officials. “Even if that’s true, it just makes him more dangerous. A man with nothing left to lose.”
The confidence that Ahab was not a problem continued.
“Ahab is a smuggler, a terrorist, a murderer, and a traitor to at least three countries,” the DCI said.
“What he’s not is an engineer, a scientist, or a specialist at fabricating high-tech devices.
He would need significant technical help and a substantial amount of time to turn the parts he’s stolen into a working weapon.
With the Chinese and Russians out of the running we don’t see anywhere he can get his hands on the expertise, and in any case, we don’t think he has the time. ”
Kurt wasn’t sure he agreed with the assessment. Ahab had proven to be incredibly resourceful. He was not a man who did things halfway. “He has plans for this weapon,” Kurt insisted. “And if we don’t find him first, we’re only going to learn what those plans are when things start blowing up.”
“Of course we’re looking for him. But we think he’s likely to run out of time before we find him. Either way,” the DCI insisted, “we’ll handle it from here.”
The room fell quiet once again. The hum of the air filters in the background the only sound.
Kurt let it go. They’d given him more than he expected, he appreciated that, but the final words were the type that didn’t allow for another round of questions.
“Sorry, Kurt,” Sandecker chimed in. “As usual you’ve done a hell of a job. Time for you to rest up. You and your whole team are going on extended paid vacations. I’ve already cleared it with Dirk and Rudi. They agree that you’ve earned it.”
And that was that. An hour later Kurt was back at his townhouse on the banks of the Potomac, sitting on his deck overlooking the river.
It was a crisp November afternoon. The trees had lost all their leaves.
Thanksgiving was a week away. From his vantage point, the river looked like a painting, a silver path running through a land of gray and brown.
He put his feet up, tipped back a glass of whiskey, and watched as a formation of Canada geese flew overhead, honking loudly as they got a late start for warmer climates.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Forget this,” he said, getting to his feet.
He stormed back into his house, nearly pulling the door off the track as he threw it open. Heading to his study, he sat down at the glass-topped computer table, and after another sip of the whiskey, he opened his laptop.
After logging into his NUMA account, he opened a folder called NUMA FILES CLAS X-1.
It was the classified reports he’d filed when chasing Ahab two years prior.
He read through everything he’d written, supplemented by information developed and attached by other sources.
Finally, he went over the information shared by Gushan and the Chinese.
It was almost hard to believe how much things had changed since that brief moment of cooperation.
He switched from whiskey to coffee and was brewing a second pot when the doorbell rang. A check of the security camera revealed Joe’s smiling face. “Avon calling.”
Kurt laughed and pressed a button to unlock the door remotely.
Joe came in, shut the door behind him, and walked through the townhouse and up the steps to the top level.
He was surprised to see Kurt’s desk covered in papers, photos, and Post-its.
The computer screen had at least nine different windows open.
“You look like a detective trying to solve a crime on late-night TV.”
“I am trying to track someone down,” Kurt said.
Joe looked down at one of the printed photos. It was of Ahab and an accomplice, loading weapons into a shipping container. It had been taken a couple of months before they caught him on the freighter.
“Oh no,” Joe groaned. “Tell me you’re not…”
“I was ordered to take a vacation,” Kurt replied. “No one specified where I should go or what I should do while I was on that vacation.”
The glee in Kurt’s voice was a combination of caffeine, sugar, and the always uplifting feeling of being productive.
Joe looked down in the dumps about it. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what they had in mind.”
“Who knows what they had in mind?” Kurt said. “This might have been their plan all along. I mean, do they not know us by now?”
“Us?” Joe asked.
“You don’t have to join me,” Kurt said. “But you will.”
“You sound awfully confident,” Joe replied.
“You don’t like to be alone,” Kurt said. “You have pathological FOMO, and you won’t want me to have all the fun. And most importantly, after everything Ahab put us through, you want to see him locked up just as badly as I do.”
With a sigh of exasperation, Joe grabbed a mug from Kurt’s cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t bother with the sugar or milk. “What have you found?”
Kurt gestured to different parts of the evidence board he’d created.
“Nothing, nothing, nothing, and nothing,” he said.
“Except for this.” He pointed to a photo showing Ahab standing next to a tall man with ginger hair and a scruffy beard.
“His name is Rand; he’s a South African expat who worked with Ahab on a few things, but ultimately didn’t want anything to do with dumping radioactive waste. ”
“Even smugglers have to have standards,” Joe said.
Kurt laughed. “I think his objections came from a place of self-preservation more than morality. He’s something of a germaphobe and that tends to include fear of other invisible things that might hurt you like toxic waste and radioactive material.”
“I like him already,” Joe said, swigging the coffee. “How does he help us?”
“He’s the one who ended up selling Ahab out to the Chinese.
Under a significant level of pressure, Gushan was able to pry a few details out of Rand.
Including the name of the freighter Ahab was using to haul the toxins.
True to his word, Gushan kept it quiet. Rand stayed free.
And as far as I know, Ahab never put the puzzle together. ”
“So, he’s still out there?”
Kurt nodded. “And I think I know where.”
“Please tell me it’s somewhere warm.”
Kurt tapped the computer screen and clicked on one of the open tabs.
An image showing a beautiful white-sand beach, dotted with palm trees and fronting a turquoise bay, filled the screen.
A large house with several floors and multiple verandas sat back from the beach.
It was partially hidden by the tall palm trees, but several cars could be seen in the looping circular driveway, including the latest version of the Hummer H3 and what appeared to be a pair of matching Ferraris.
Several speedboats with fast profiles sat on the beach as if waiting for tourists to come and ask for a ride.
An outbuilding that looked like an airplane hangar offered a partially closed roof and a tantalizing glimpse at something white and shimmery inside.
“Is that our hotel?” Joe asked hopefully.
“It’s Rand’s house in the Philippines.”
Joe grumbled at this revelation. “Once again, I find myself in the wrong business.”
“At least with our jobs we don’t have to worry about being shot, blown up, or dragged off to some far-flung prison colony by a hostile government.”
Joe offered a withering stare.
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “You’re right. We’re obviously nuts. Are you ready to go?”
“To the beach house in the Philippines?” Joe said. “Sure. When do we leave?”
“As soon as you’re packed,” Kurt said. “I figure all you need are shorts and a couple of T-shirts.”
“I have an image to uphold,” Joe said. “Besides, if this guy Rand happens to be looking for a partner, I’m going to want some sharper attire to interview in. What about Paul and Gamay?”
Kurt expected the situation would end up with some form of direct combat, more like what they’d been through the last time they dealt with Ahab than the dangers the Trouts were used to facing. He shook his head. “It’s not their fight.”
Joe nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”