“They need more adult supervision over there than they’re getting,” Tomazic added.
A smile tugged at Grafton’s lips.
Mario Tomazic didn’t notice. He said, “The pirates will take the ship and hostages to Eyl. These are apparently Ragnar’s men. I want you to get your people to Eyl and wait for the green light to take out that son of a bitch.”
“Okay.”
“I want one less pirate in the world.”
“We’ll give it a try,” Jake Grafton said, smiling. He liked Tomazic, who could dance between the cow pies with the best of them. Still, after all those years in the army, he knew when to lower his head and charge, and he had the guts to do it. Tough for the bad guys.
Grafton thought about it for a bit, then said, “The government going to pay the ransom?”
“Don’t have a demand yet.”
“Oh, we’ll get one. Pirates are in it for the money.”
“I don’t think the White House savants have thought that far ahead.”
“Oh,” Jake Grafton said. “Well, when they get around to it, the money could be our ticket in. We motor right in with the cash, see the man. That would be Plan B. Plan A would of course be a sniper. Less risk to our guys.”
“What would you need for a sniper hit?”
“A drone over the city twenty-four/seven. Without a spotter on the ground, a drone would be the next best thing. A sniper will need a good setup location and some lead time, the more the better. And he’ll have to have an escape route. However, a sniper can only shoot when he has a target. A sniper isn’t going to get a shipload of people out of there if the money isn’t paid, either.”
Tomazic eyed Grafton under his shaggy eyebrows. “So we have two problems.”
“One relatively easy to solve, the other less so,” Grafton replied.
The director sighed. “If we pay the ransom, presumably the pirates will release the ship, crew and passengers,” he said. “It’s good business. On the other hand, if the ransom is not going to be paid, we have to go forward as if it will be and rescue those people before the pirates realize what is going down.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Okay. Get the sniper thing going and give me a plan for rescuing the people if the politicians refuse to pay.”
“Is that even a possibility?”
“They’ll make the decision that they think will do them the most good politically. Whatever that is. They always do.”
“Plans are just paper,” Jake said. “We’ll have to see how the cards fall.” He shrugged.
“Just as long as the cards fall our way,” Tomazic retorted dryly. Like Grafton, he didn’t believe in fair play. Stacking the deck was not only legal in the intelligence business, it was the only way to play the game.
“Do you really think the White House will give you a green light for a sniper hit?”
“I’ll get one eventually,” Tomazic said grimly. “After the ship’s passengers and crew are ransomed, released or whatever, those people downtown are going to have an epiphany. They are going to want us to do something to solve the pirate problem in that corner of the world, or at least make it go away for a while, and they are going to want it done yesterday. When they come to Jesus, I want you and your men ready.”
Half a world away from Washington, Toad Tarkington was as frustrated as a man can get. Sultan of the Seas lay a mile away from his flagship, drifting on the glassy sea. There wasn’t a breath of wind. Surrounding her were gray warships, sprinkled here and there, moving slowly to conserve fuel and yet remain under control. Helicopters and Ospreys droned back and forth overhead, watching and filming and staying far enough away from Sultan to present no threat. Miles above an E-2 circled, watching every ship and plane within a two-hundred-mile radius.
If he wanted them, carrier jets were armed and ready on the flight deck of an American carrier coming south from the Persian Gulf. They could be overhead within an hour. With every minute that passed, the carrier closed the range.
Sometimes in the night when he was trying to sleep, Toad thought about the irony of keeping all these ships at sea, the sailors on watch, the airplanes flying, all to prevent pirates from grabbing an occasional merchant ship and demanding some money, a pittance really, compared to the cost of preventing the piracy in the first place. Maybe most crime is like that: It costs more to deter bank robbery and catch and punish bank robbers than they could ever steal. Yet we try to deter bank robbery and catch and punish the evildoers nonetheless.
Toad wasn’t thinking about the irony now. He was sitting in his chair on the flag bridge listening to reports and reading messages from Washington, his fleet commander, and his theater commander. Messages poured in, and staffers read them and passed the ones they thought he should see on to him for perusal. Orders, advice, reminders, more orders, suggestions and general bullshit. Toad was used to it. He had been reading navy messages since he graduated from the Naval Academy, back before the glaciers melted and man discovered toilet paper. Back when there were iron men in wooden ships. Or wooden men in iron ships. Something like that, Toad knew. He was an old fart; all these youngsters standing around busily looking at the Sultan and trying to be respectful while thinking of ways to solve this military problem just reminded him of it.
The fact that the problem was insoluble right now didn’t compute. Gotta work this thing, get it unscrewed, come up with a solution, make it happen. That’s what we’re here for. Dammit, people, this is the U. S. Navy we’re talking about.
He decided to write another message to Washington. Reached for a pad of paper and took his pen from his shirt pocket and started in.
When he finished, he motioned to his chief of staff, Flip. “Washington be damned. This is what we are going to do.” He handed the captain the draft message.
Haducek scanned it. “But, Admiral, they already told you not to do this.”
“No, they told me to do the SEAL thing instead. So I did. Now I’m going with my plan.”
“Sir, you can’t—”
“Yes, by God, I can! There are eight hundred and fifty unarmed civilians on that ship whose lives are being threatened by homicidal pirates. I’m the officer on the scene. Yes, by God, I can!”
Tarkington took a deep breath. When he resumed speaking, his voice was again normal. “Get that typed up. Get the ships in position. We go when everyone is ready. Ten minutes before we go, you send that message. Got it?”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Mike Rosen left the e-communications center and headed for the buffet at noon. There had been no announcement, but he was hungry—and why not? He passed two pirates on the way. They were standing near the elevators chewing khat and cradling their weapons, looking worried. Perhaps the earlier SEAL assault had unnerved them. The ship was obviously not moving, not getting closer to Eyl and safety, and they must be worried about that, too.
Rosen could see the surface of the ocean through a window in the lounge area as he walked through it. The sea was flat as a plate, with gray naval vessels moving slowly along. Beyond them was the sea’s rim, a perfectly straight line. A high, white overcast threw a soft light that made every detail stand out.
There was indeed food, food straight from the coolers. Nothing hot. Still, the toasters worked, and there was plenty of jam. Coffee was a score. The stewards had trouble keeping the big urns full because the passengers were draining it out so quickly. Rosen had to stand in line to get a cup. At least it was hot and strong.
The passengers were subdued, more withdrawn, plainly worried. Some of them had been roped to the lounge chairs during the SEAL attack, and they were badly frightened. Watching that pirate murder two passengers right before their eyes had shaken them to the core. They might not live through this disaster. Tragedy. Death was right there, waiting …