“Well, sir, if it were me, I’d want a multipronged attack on something as big as the Internet. Sticking it with a knife in the hind leg will make it bleed, but that won’t kill it, or even seriously slow it down. But if you shot it in the head, maybe set off a charge of dynamite under it at the same time?”
“The general has a point, boss. There is more than one way to shut off a node. Doesn’t have to be with software, could be with hardware. My programmers can’t fix that.”
“Great. I need to hear this.”
He leaned back in his chair and thought about it for a second. “All right. I’m going to present this to the director and get her thoughts about it. Meanwhile, General, you might want to fine-tune your ship-boarding scenarios. I’m expecting an update from Toni soon, so you can add that into your data files.”
“Yes, sir.” He grinned.
“You really like the idea of storming a ship at sea and taking it over, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I know I shouldn’t, it’s dangerous, but it’s what I’m trained to do. Every now and then, you like to see if your tools still work.”
“Go sharpen them, John. I’m going over to see the director. Jay, you get back on-line and get me something, anything, I can use to convince the director we aren’t grabbing at straws here.”
“On my way, boss.”
The bar was relatively quiet, but the muted sound of bells going off in the casino filtered through the walls. People were smoking as well as drinking, there being no laws against it here. Even though there were apparently vacuum ashtrays on the tables and bar that sucked a lot of the smoke away, it still smelled like cigarettes, with a cigar or pipe thrown in to add their heavier scents. Cigarettes were nasty, but Toni had to confess that she kind of liked the smell of cigars and pipe tobacco.
Toni, dressed now in jeans, running shoes, and a dark blouse, arrived ten minutes early and looked around. She noted the exits, then found a small table next to the wall in the corner. She sat with her back against the wall. A row of curtained portholes ran along the wall at head level, but she arranged her chair so she wasn’t sitting in front of one.
A young and pretty waitress in a short black skirt and white shirt was at the table fifteen seconds later.
Toni ordered, and it was only another minute or two before the waitress returned with a tall glass of tomato juice with a celery stick in it. Quick service.
Roberto Santos arrived exactly on the hour. He wore a dark suit, Armani if she was any judge, a black silk scoop-necked T-shirt, and alligator loafers. The shoes alone probably cost more than all the clothes she had packed. He also wore that gold watch, ring, and bracelet she had seen before. A walking Fort Knox.
He walked straight toward her table, as if he had known where she would be.
“Miss Johnson. Good to see you again.”
“Mr. Santos.”
“Roberto, please. Mr. Santos is my father.”
They exchanged smiles.
The waitress was there before Santos settled fully in his chair, and she had a drink on her tray. It was mostly white, with streaks of brown in it. He smiled at the young woman and took the drink. “Thank you, Betty.”
The waitress dimpled and almost curtsied, then moved away. Toni had the impression that if Santos said “Jump,” Betty would be in the air in a heartbeat, and naked before she came back down.
Santos sipped at the drink. “Ah,” he said. He looked at her and answered what he thought was her unasked question: “Coconut milk and Cuban rum,” he said. “Very fattening. I have to work extra hard after I have one of these.” He raised his glass to her and she held up her tomato juice. It looked like a Bloody Mary. Let him think so.
“To new friends,” he said.
“Why not?” she said.
They clinked glasses.
She nursed her juice while he finished his rum and coconut milk and started a second one. He was very smooth, this Santos, not glib, but totally focused on her, appearing entranced by her every word or look, as if she were the most fascinating woman in the world. Which, in her fake identity, she certainly was not. It didn’t take a genius to realize he was hoping to get laid.
Well, he was going to be disappointed, unless he could talk Betty the waitress into it, which didn’t seem like much of a chore.
When she asked questions about his work, he managed to slip them, like a good boxer does punches, giving her almost no information. He walked around, he said. He watched for trouble. From time to time, he ran errands. Nothing special. Just a job.
Toni smiled and nodded and pretended to be impressed anyhow. He wasn’t telling the truth. If something was going on upon this ship, Santos here was a part of it, she was sure of that. But — short of blowing in his ear and going off to his cabin with him — how was she going to find out what he knew?
“You have not had supper yet,” he said. “We should go and eat.”
Toni realized that extracting herself from this would be more difficult if they had dinner, and she was about to offer an excuse — a sudden unexpected visit from Mr. Red ought to do it — when Santos glanced away from her at somebody who had just entered the bar. He looked back quickly, and he wore a small smile when he did.
Toni looked at the entrance.
There was a strikingly beautiful woman standing there. She looked Asian, maybe Amerasian, Toni couldn’t pin her nationality down exactly. She was tall, had black hair past her shoulders, so black it looked like shimmering ink. She wore a red blouse, tucked into a matching skirt that stopped four inches above her knees, hose, and heels. The clothes were snug enough to reveal a svelte hourglass figure, but not so tight as to look trashy. Toni was aware that the conversational background noise suddenly dropped in volume, and a quick glance around showed virtually everybody in the place was looking at the new arrival.
Except Santos. And given his obvious attraction to women, that seemed odd.
“Who is that?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Pardon?”
“In the red, over there.”
He looked, pretending not to have seen the woman before. “Ah. That is Jasmine Chance.” His accent thickened a bit, so that his next sentence came out, “She work on de boat, too.” Not Hispanic, Toni decided. Brazilian, maybe.
The woman, meanwhile, was on the move, and it looked to Toni as if she was heading right toward their table, smiling like the Cheshire cat as she walked, heels clicking in the suddenly quiet bar. Here was a femme fatale.
Sure enough, she approached their table and stopped, still smiling. “Roberto.”
“Hello, Missy,” he said. He grinned back.
While it was all pleasant and smiley on the surface, Toni immediately felt that charged atmosphere that couples who’d been arguing sometimes had — just before they put on their public faces.
Bad blood here.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Roberto?” Another smile, and if ever an expression was fake, this one was. It had crocodile all over it.
Santos held up a lazy hand. “This is Mary Johnson, she is an executive assistant from Falls Church, Virginia. Mary, this is Jasmine Chance. Head of Security. My boss.”
“A secretary,” Chance said, looking at Santos. Contempt practically dripped from her voice.
Toni felt a strong urge to stand up and slap the woman for that patronizing tone, but that wouldn’t be in character, not at all.
“There was something you wanted?” he said.
Chance never moved her penetrating gaze from him. “An important security matter came up. Perhaps your friend could excuse us for a moment?”
Toni would have loved to stay and listen to this conversation, but it provided the easy exit she needed. She said, “Oh, of course. I was just about to leave anyway. I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”