Whispering to the young pilot, the man nodded and locked in the autopilot before leaving the bridge.
“Where did you send Ivan?” the captain asked.
Nudging alongside the captain, Dmitri said, “Smoke break. We need to talk alone.”
Lowering the large binoculars to his chest and turning to his subordinate, Viktor said, “What about?”
“We have gotten word that the U.S. Navy has sent a destroyer to intercept us,” Dmitri said with bile from his lips.
“So? We often run across their Navy in these waters.”
“You are correct, Viktor. But you are not always transporting a nuclear weapon.”
The captain shook his head. “Who are you with? In the old days, I would have guessed the KGB. But now I would have to conclude you are with SVR.”
Dmitri shook his head smugly. “This is not important for you to know, Viktor Drugov. While you control this vessel, I control the cargo. At least the important cargo.”
“Ah,” the captain said. “Then you are GRU.”
The man wasn’t a complete idiot. Good to know.
Viktor said, “What orders do we have now? We have not submitted a course plan change.”
“And you will not until ordered to do so. Do you understand, Captain Viktor Drugov?”
The captain hesitated for a couple of seconds. Finally, he nodded his understanding.
“Good. Stay on this heading until further notice.”
“What if the Americans contact us?”
“You can be assured that they will,” Dmitri said.
“Do they know about our cargo?”
“Highly doubtful. From what I understand, this ship is on her maiden voyage. They are probably just conducting routine operations.” Dmitri put his hand on the captain’s shoulder and squeezed down with considerable pressure. Perhaps too much strength, but he wanted to get his point across. He was the strong horse. Defy him at his own risk.
Dmitri left the bridge and shifted his head for the pilot to get back inside. The young man flicked the last of his cigarette into the ocean and scurried back to his post. Then Dmitri lit his own cigarette and inhaled deeply as he scanned the horizon for the American destroyer. It was out there somewhere, perhaps just beyond view about 20 miles away. Eventually, this destroyer would present itself. How would he respond? How would Moscow like him to respond? These were the questions he would need to answer. Soon.
20
Karl and Maya had met up with the fishing boat early in the morning, where they had taken off immediately from Aruba. The sea had been calm as they crossed more than twenty miles to this port city. Based on what Karl could see, the city lived on oil. In his research, he had discovered that the city had been developed by a couple of major oil companies in the 1940s. As they cruised by the massive refinery to their left, it was easy for Karl to see that this was the largest refinery complex in the world.
Maya nuzzled next to Karl and said, “Wow. That’s a lot of oil.”
The huge white oil storage tanks seemed to go on forever.
“This runs the world,” Karl said.
“Until we find something better.”
“Finding it might be easier than converting.”
She cast her eyes up to his. “Who do we meet here?”
“A representative with an American oil company.” That was all she needed to know.
“What if we are detained?”
“For what?”
“For one thing, entering their country illegally.”
Karl smiled. “That won’t be a problem. They’re probably more concerned about people trying to leave.”
The fishing boat captain cruised slowly into a small cove where other small craft were moored. The captain pointed at Karl and Maya to get ready.
Slinging his duffle bag over his right shoulder, Karl moved toward the port side of the fishing boat, with Maya and her small carry-on bag just behind him. As the boat maneuvered close to the dock, but did not actually touch, Karl stepped across the narrow divide. Then he turned and helped Maya across. Once they were both on the pier, the fishing boat captain lifted his chin as a wave goodbye and backed the boat up until he could turn it around and pull away.
The two of them walked down the pier toward the shore. Karl was a little concerned that Maya looked out of place with her bag, but it was all she had for now.
First, they passed a number of unkempt boats, which did not look like fishing boats. These were used to transport goods daily from Venezuela to the ABC islands, where they catered to both the locals and tourists.
Next, at the end of the pier, they crossed through an area with small kiosks where vendors had various items for sale — from fruits and vegetables to fish and other sea creatures. A number of conflicting smells rose up to Karl.
“Let’s grab something to eat,” Karl said.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
With expert Spanish, Karl ordered them each fried meat and cheese empanadas. At first, they were hard to eat, since they were so hot. But then the two of them devoured their quick meal. Karl bought them each a bottle of water to wash down the meal, but also to hydrate. It wasn’t even noon, but the temperature was already nearly 80 degrees.
The two of them wandered out toward the main road by the port. At the curb, Maya sat on her bag and Karl kept his eyes open for his contact.
They didn’t have to wait long. A beat-up hatchback Ford pulled up and the driver got out. He matched the photo Karl had been sent by the Agency. Barely. The image had shown a clean-cut nerd, and the man before him had gone native, with long scraggly blond hair and a spotty beard. He wore a wrinkled and faded tropical shirt, long khaki cargo shorts and leather sandals. He looked like a lost hippie.
The Agency man shook hands with Karl and Maya, saying his name was Bryan. Then he helped Maya with her bag, placing it in the back of the car. While they were back there, the man dug around in his own bag and came out with a stamp and ink pad.
“Let’s see your passports,” Bryan said.
Maya found her Canadian passport in her purse and handed it to the man. Karl took his Canadian passport from his pocket and handed it over.
Bryan flipped through to an open page for both passports, and then stamped each one. He handed them back and said, “You are now officially here in Venezuela. Since you are both Canadians, you don’t need visas. But you need to be careful here. Travel is restricted without a guide.”
“Isn’t that you?” Maya asked.
Their new friend raised his hands. “No, no. I’m just the welcoming party and customs. I’ll bring you to your contact. Let’s go.”
They piled into the small car, with Karl in the front passenger seat and Maya in the back. Bryan drove slowly away from the commercial harbor north toward the oil complex.
“I’ve never seen so much oil production,” Maya said from the back seat.
“We’re on a peninsula,” Bryan said. “From the air, some people think it looks like a skull. To those in the oil business, it looks like money.”
After a couple of miles, the driver pulled up to the gate of one of the oil company complexes. The guard must have known Bryan, since he waved the Ford through without really looking at the man’s ID. Soon he pulled into the parking lot of an inconsequential-looking building that could have been a temporary building like they used in America at construction sites.
Antigua Petroleum from Houston, Texas, was not currently a household name in America. The company was one of those production and exploration companies that went in first to drill for oil, taking most of the risk of production. Then the big boys would buy their oil from this production company. Sometimes they would even buy up the wells for their own portfolio. That’s what Karl had learned about the company from his quick briefing. His role, according to his cover, would be to secure oil well locations for Antigua. Maya was there as his wife.