Renard blinked to clear his vision. “Indeed, I did. But each of them can wait. They’re strategic in nature, and my prospective clients can wait, despite their certain protestations to the contrary.”
The Australian challenged the logic. “But if you’ve achieved perfection, you’ll end up retiring for good and making them wait forever. Not that they’re anyone I care about, but you see where I’m going with this. Your sabbatical’s starting to sound like forever.”
“I’m not sure. I honestly don’t know. It’s all too sudden.”
Surprising Volkov, Cahill shifted into a pensive tone and allied with Renard. “That’s fair, I imagine. You’ve been at this longer than any of us.”
“Thank you, Terry.”
“No problem, mate. Alright then. I wasn’t sure when to tell you guys, but I may as well blurt it out. Ariella and I are engaged. We were waiting for a good time to get married, and I suppose now we can plan for it.”
Happy for his colleague, Volkov shook his hand and then stepped aside while the others congratulated the Australian.
Breaking his self-imposed silence, Slate spoke with a tone that threatened Volkov’s desire to retain command of the Wraith. “May I share what we talked about, Pierre?”
Renard nodded. “Go ahead.”
“It’s not just Pierre. I’m tired of this, too. I never really had a choice about joining this fleet, like you guys did. With me, it just sort of happened. It started with revenge, and then it’s been a long, long road to redemption. After what we just did, there’s nothing left for me to do, either. If anyone still thinks I owe them anything, they’ll never be satisfied. And if I haven’t forgiven myself by now, I never will. I need time to figure out if I can do that.”
Volkov challenged Jake. “But what would you do? A man of action. You can’t be satisfied with less.”
His translator offered the look he’d developed when doubting the Russian commander’s intent to repeat his sentiments in English.
“Go ahead. Tell him.”
After the translation, Jake gave a sheepish grin. “I need to do something I’ve been putting off. I’ve been researching it, and I’m going back to school.” He paused for effect. “I’m enrolling in a bible study program and getting my Masters in Divinity.”
Renard answered some of the questions swirling in Volkov’s mind, starting with the involvement of his high-ranking CIA contact. “Miss McDonald has assured me that Jake can enroll without fear of his background being discovered. She created a fake background for him that will enable his acceptance, and she’ll also make sure he’s accepted wherever he applies.”
Volkov felt his future crumbling. “Can’t that be done part time? I’m afraid that if we take a year off, we may never reunite, just like Terry said — especially with Pierre’s frame of mind.”
For the first time that evening, Renard spoke with authority. “My mind’s made up.” As the translator relayed the message, the Frenchman gave Volkov an apologetic look. “I must be honest with myself. I can’t consider another mission without time to reflect upon my identity, my family, my legacy.”
Volkov’s chest tightened. “There’s nothing I can say to stop this? What if this is the end? What if we never get back together?”
Renard smiled. “If we do get back together, we’ll know that our enduring union was meant to be.”
A week later, Volkov stood on the bridge of a Bahraini fishing boat. Renard had helped him find a ship with a bilingual captain, and the Frenchman had also funded the trip. The sting of possible forced retirement still hurt, and he appreciated the distraction of the open sea. “Where did you learn Russian?”
The middle-aged fishing captain kept his eyes on the horizon. “At home. My mother is Russian and immigrated two years before I was born.”
“Lucky for me. I don’t know how else I’d be getting along.”
The captain scoffed. “No. Lucky for me. Your boss paid me for more than I could hope to catch, and I brought only half my crew. And they get to rest and play cards the entire trip. This is almost a paid vacation.”
Volkov turned towards the cabin’s rear. “Can I refill your coffee?”
“Sure.” As a voice rose from the captain’s hip, he lifted the radio and responded. “Hold the coffee. Your friend’s calling for you.”
“Oh, really? Excuse me.” Curious, Volkov headed aft through a dank corridor until he stopped in front of a door. As he reached for its knob, it flung open.
Wide-eyed and giddy, the lithe trainer reached for Volkov’s shoulders. “I heard their response! I checked three times!”
After days of the ship’s fishing sonar belting out dolphin calls without results, Volkov had feared their expedition’s failure. “You’re sure it’s them?”
“A mother knows!” The trainer darted out the aft door to the weather deck.
Volkov followed his friend outside into the pleasant, warm air. “What direction were they?”
The trainer pointed off the starboard beam.
Calm seas and sunlight made searching the surface easy, and Volkov scanned the waters with his naked eyes. “I don’t see them.”
“I know they’re coming. They have to come.”
Volkov encouraged his friend. “They might make the entire trip underwater.” Despite his own words, he kept his optimism in check.
Five minutes later, dolphins surfaced, and the trainer howled in joy. “That’s them! They’ve got their vests.”
One dolphin raised his head above the water, exposed long rows of small teeth, and then fluttered his tongue while releasing a staccato screech.
“It’s Mikhail!”
Happy their search had succeeded, Volkov guffawed. “Unbelievable. Of course, it’s Mikhail. Andrei’s too cool to talk.”
“Get the crew! Get the nets! Get them to fill their holding tanks! We need to get my babies aboard!”
“Right.” Volkov turned to the door.
“Wait! Look! Two more with vests.”
Volkov saw two dolphins wearing black harnesses covered in Arabic characters. “Suka, blyad!”
“They’re Iranian. They look like the ones from the American reconnaissance images. My babies have made friends.”
Thirty minutes later, the ship drifted, and the trainer treaded water in a wetsuit while ushering a dolphin into a net. “Come on, Mikhail. This is the only fishing net I ever want to see you in, but get into it for me.”
After the mammal obeyed, a crane lifted him and swung him over the deck. Deckhands guided him into a tank with Andrei. Then the crew lowered the netting to retrieve the first of the Iranian animals.
Seeming to trust the process from having seen the Russian dolphins commit, a Persian cetacean wiggled over the netting. As the crew lifted it, the animal’s underbelly became visible.
Without announcing his intention, the trainer ducked his head below the water and disappeared. Before the first Iranian dolphin joined Mikhail and Andrei in the tank, the lithe man reappeared and shouted his discovery. “I didn’t think to check until I saw the underbelly, but the Iranian dolphins are females.”
Volkov chuckled and then yelled to the water. “Your babies didn’t make friends, Vasily. It looks like they’ve found themselves wives!”
“That’s wonderful!
Volkov took the union as a positive sign. “Now your babies can make babies, and you can train the newborns to be super-dolphins for our fleet.” He lowered his voice and completed his sentiment to himself. “God willing, we’ll have missions for them, if my friends can admit their addictions and realize they can’t escape this life.”