“There’s a groundswell movement to return the land to the Ukrainians? My network has heard of such uprisings, but nothing has ever taken root.”
“And it may or may not. It depends who you ask, and the results could vary anywhere from Crimea becoming an independent state to backfiring and bringing stronger Russian dominance.”
Renard leaned back, revealing an uncertainty so honest that Jake believed it.
“So you really don’t care about the results — just the message. You undermine the Russian president in his new term, you secure your position within the CIA, and you declare America’s willingness to stand up to Russia.”
“Close,” she said. “You’re not representing the United States. You’re representing the United Nations.”
“You gest.”
“Nope.”
“That explains it then. That’s how you expect me to pass the Bosporus and Dardanelles unchallenged. You’ve already negotiated Turkey’s involvement through channels in the United Nations.”
She cleared her throat.
“Yes, but don’t ask me the terms or who knows about them. And don’t expect that the passage will be trivial, but I will introduce you to a Turkish admiral who can help you manage it.”
“Understood.”
Jake capitalized on a moment of silence.
“Hold on,” he said. “Have either of you considered that Pierre’s fleet doesn’t have any weapons designed to attack pipelines or bridges? I mean, maybe the Goliath’s railguns could pound away at a bridge, but what would happen is just a guess.”
“I can get the weapons,” Renard said. “Let’s assume this is possible. What I don’t understand is why you don’t just send in a team of clandestine divers. You could use Navy Seals and commandoes from a few other nations to claim it as a United Nations action. That would accomplish your message.”
She shook her head.
“The Ukrainians tried this unilaterally, and the Russians caught them red-handed. A submarine torpedo blew up close to the bridge, and the shock wave killed a pair of divers. There was also a submersible that was lost while trying to break the pipeline.”
“A submersible was lost?” Renard asked. “Taken out by the same submarine?”
“We don’t know. The Ukrainians don’t know. It could’ve been an accident, but we have to assume it was the Russians.”
“The Russians? Using divers of their own? Those waters are shallow enough for diver operations all the way to the bottom.”
“Maybe. Or maybe trained animals. The Russians use them for defense, just like we do.”
“Well, shit,” Jake said. “You want to send me in against the Black Sea Fleet, which includes frontline Kilo submarines operated by arguably the best diesel submariners in the world. They’re actively guarding the targets you want me to attack, and they’ve got Flipper on their side, too?”
“Jake has a point,” Renard said. “Of course, I foresaw this as one scenario you might propose, and I have considered tactical options. But I must be candid that this is the most troublesome mission I’ve ever considered. We face a long road to reach agreement on this.”
Her face darkened, and Jake feared that she prepared a tirade to remind them that she held the trump card of having them both executed for past crimes. Past verbal assurances of debts paid in full felt fleeting. She grabbed a pen and a sticky pad, upon which she wrote before extending it to Renard.
“I assumed it would come to this,” she said.
As the Frenchman reached for the note, Jake expected his friend’s face to turn ashen with a silent threat of imprisonment or worse. Instead, his mentor blushed, folded the paper, and stuffed it into his breast pocket.
“Do you have a timeline?” Renard asked.
“I don’t have any deadlines other than the patience of those who will support me, and I’ll tell them how long they need to be patient. You tell me how much time you need, and I’ll let you know if it works for me.”
Jake sensed Renard stiffening his back moments before Olivia stood.
“Wait,” he said. “That’s it? We’re done?”
Olivia blushed while pursing her lips.
“I’ll explain in private, Jake,” Renard said. “Trust me for now.”
“I always have.”
He followed Renard’s silent example and remained quiet as they walked to their limousine. He slid into the seat and burst with curiosity as the car started moving.
“Well?” he asked.
“She wrote down a dollar figure I couldn’t refuse.”
“You sold me to the Russian’s for money?”
“No. You know me better than that. I have a plan that will succeed. You, Terry, and your crews will be fine.”
“You’re sending two ships? A submarine and the Goliath?”
“Yes.”
“You’re risking a lot of money worth of your fleet — not to mention your people.”
“I always fear for my people because I care about them. The war machines are insured.”
“Is that what she wrote?”
“Part of it, yes. She insured the hardware. She also offered to cover all expenses plus a generous fee.”
Jake considered the politeness of asking.
“Well, are you going to at least give me a hint?”
“You recall what she’s paid in the past.”
“Yeah, a few hundred million was the most, right?”
“Correct. It’s much more this time. Enough to complete the purchase of the second transport ship I wanted.”
“Damn! Nice.”
“And then some.”
“Shit. What? Nine figures?”
Renard raised his palm.
“No. Don’t be silly. It’s not that much.”
“Oh.”
He stared at the Frenchman, who failed to suppress a childish grin.
“But it’s really, really close.”
CHAPTER 3
A gust tilted the helicopter, and Terrance Cahill cursed.
“Bloody hell.”
The aircraft recovered and touched down on the dirt.
“Welcome to Pengjia Islet,” Renard said. “There’s no easy way to get here.”
“Worst landing I’ve ever had.”
“That was indeed rough. But in all fairness, when Jake first arrived here, he did so with a tandem jump that nearly killed his companion. Your arrival is luxurious by comparison.”
Cahill tossed his helmet to a crewmember of the Taiwanese helicopter, ducked, and followed Renard into the night.
Moist air rising from the island’s cliffs caressed his cheeks as he escaped the rotor wash. A blast of wind made him crouch, and a look over his shoulder revealed the lights of the fleeing aircraft climbing into the darkness.
Laboring against soft earth, he saw the elder Frenchman outpacing him. He stifled a complaint and vowed to improve his physical conditioning.
When he joined Renard at the lighthouse, the islet’s solitary habitable edifice, a motion sensor illuminated a bulb and revealed a keypad. The Frenchman tapped a code and pushed open the door.
Cahill followed him into the circular structure. A Taiwanese sentry approached, exchanged words in Mandarin and nods with the Frenchman, and gestured the men forward.
“You understand Chinese?” he asked.
“Enough.”
The sentry helped Renard slide a desk, kick back a carpet, and pull open a trap door. The Frenchman started down steep stairs, and Cahill followed his silvery hair into the stone tunnel.
Florescent lights revealed a crude, jagged ceiling, and Cahill’s legs ached as he stooped.