“Lease?”
“Thirty million dollars for two months of use. Fifty million for three months.”
“That’s an inverted volume discount,” Mercer said.
“It’s not about usage,” Renard said. “It’s about keeping the Malaysians waiting for their submarine.”
“I’m surprised they’re willing to wait at all.”
“It will be no more than a month from their perspective,” Renard said. “DCN is actually ahead of schedule on the submarine’s delivery.”
“I can’t wait to hear what you’re going to do with it while they wait. I assume, of course, that whatever it is, it’s in total secrecy to the Malaysians?”
“Indeed,” Renard said. “And an insurance policy must be underwritten for the full value of the submarine. Plus damages of delivery delay. Director Rickets can’t move the funds without leaving evidence he would prefer to not to leave, and he is inviting you to underwrite the operation.”
Renard jabbed his cigarette into an ashtray.
“What operation?”
“It’s possible that an Israeli Dolphin-class submarine, the INS Leviathan, has fallen under the control of a hostile force, through mutiny, hijacking, or other nefarious means.”
“Holy shit! What is it with you guys and crazed submarines?”
“Director Rickets would like for Jake and me to lead the pre-commissioning Scorpène unit in a clandestine effort to sink the Leviathan, if it can be verified to be outside the control of the Israeli government.”
“Why not just have an American submarine do it?”
“One reason is plausible denial,” Renard said. “If the Israelis fall short of admitting that they’ve lost control of their submarine, the Americans would like to have acoustic evidence of a non-American torpedo delivering the final blow, and a joint Spanish-French built Scorpène under the dominion of a shipyard makes for an unlikely suspect.”
“You make it sound like it’s easy. A done deal.”
“The submarine is being tracked now and showing evidence of substandard management,” Renard said. “Acting alone as it is, the outcome is hardly in question should its demise be deemed necessary. Jake and I also developed an excellent rapport with my team of veteran French submariners on an Agosta submarine during our operations in Taiwan and Hawaii. A Scorpène is essentially an updated version of an Agosta.”
“What’s another reason for pulling you guys into it? You said one reason was plausible denial. Is there more?”
“I believe Jake had a term for it. What was it?”
Jake remembered his brother’s omen and felt a knot tighten in his belly.
“A puncher’s chance,” he said.
“You mean—”
“I mean any dumb ass operating a submarine as capable as the Leviathan could press one button and get lucky with a counter-fire,” Jake said. “The political fallout is too huge to risk an American submarine getting into a one-for-one exchange in this, no matter the odds.”
“What do you need me for?”
“We need you to fund a mission,” Renard said, “and we also need you to assure it in the event that we lose, damage, or destroy the Scorpène. The total cost is four hundred million, held in escrow under contract with a reputable Zurich bank, of which at least three hundred fifty million will be returned upon success of our duty.”
“So I put almost half my fortune at risk?”
“Almost half?” Jake asked. “Dang, you have done well.”
“And in return, what’s my upside?”
“Ironically,” Renard said, “your assurance of the Scorpène earns Director Rickets’ assurance that you may continue your life unfettered in South America, and, since you escaped any official list of suspects, free access to return to the United States.”
“Come on,” Mercer said. “I put four hundred million at risk, say goodbye to at least thirty million, and all I get is the status quo?”
Renard reached into his blazer and tossed photographs onto Mercer’s desk.
Mercer’s eyes tightened as he lifted the photos. Jake had already seen them and knew that his friend felt uncomfortable seeing himself in photographs taken from cameras over customs stations at five different American airports.
“Some of your disguises were excellent,” Renard said, “especially the long hair, pony tail, and sunglasses. But you have been watched for some time, facial detection software is powerful, and you have never returned to your homeland with the freedom you thought you enjoyed.”
“If I go through with this, I can put the ‘Colorado Incident’ in my past? Never have to hide or look over my shoulder again?”
“Director Rickets assures it, and he’s proven himself trustworthy,” Renard said. “Of course, we’ve arranged for you to speak with him this evening to verify for yourself, but we need your verbal commitment now.”
Mercer dropped the photographs.
“I’m in.”
Renard reclined in his chair and lit a fresh cigarette. A sense of calm overcame his features that Jake recognized as confidence in a successful negotiation.
“Some negotiations are trivial enough that they manage themselves,” Renard said. “But there is one little detail we’ve left out.”
“What’s that?” Mercer asked.
“Our Scorpène needs a name, at least an unofficial one while our team uses it,” Renard said. “I figured that since you’re the financier, we’d call it the Mercer.”
“Oh, and what do I receive for lending my name?”
“On the contrary,” Renard said as he caressed the arm of his leather chair. “For us paying you the honor of being our submarine’s namesake, you owe us.”
Mercer snorted.
“Sure. How else can I offer to help you?”
“You must give me the name of your interior designer. His taste is absolutely exquisite.”
CHAPTER 8
Salem sat beside Asad in front of stacked monitors.
“How accurate is it?” he asked.
“During our last period at periscope depth,” Asad said, “it was a GPS fix within ten meters. It degrades with uncertainty of currents and gyroscope errors while submerged. It’s approximately accurate to within two nautical miles now.”
“That’s not good enough for our rendezvous.”
“We’ll ascend for GPS fixes as needed to be sure,” Asad said. “We’d be fools otherwise.”
His brow furrowed in militaristic focus, Hamdan marched into the Leviathan’s control center.
“We stacked as many bodies as possible in cold storage,” he said. “Four didn’t fit. We wrapped them in garbage bags to contain the stench of their decay.”
“Didn’t fit?” Salem asked as he turned in his seat.
“We could move only so many cold stores into dry storage. Otherwise, food would spoil.”
“We may receive dry goods from the Zafar,” Salem said. “But we may not. You made a good judgment call.”
The appreciation Salem hoped to see on the soldier’s face proved elusive. His sullen eyes showed suspicion.
“I don’t trust the Iranians,” Hamdan said.
Asad stood and walked to the ship’s control station, distancing himself from the soldier’s challenge.
“We have no choice,” Salem said. “Without their participation, we’d be mindlessly meandering the seas with inadequate fuel to reach our destination, and we’d certainly be heard by hydrophones as we pass the Strait of Gibraltar.”
“But we have weapons,” Hamdan said. “Why not use them against enemies within reach?”