The station chief continued, “And your father. I never met him, but Langley was full of stories about his exploits. Perhaps this legacy is why such a young officer is allowed to work alone so early in his career.”
Was that a question? Karl thought not. No, this man was not happy with Karl’s appearance in his domain. “I kicked in doors and interrogated some of the worst assholes on earth in the Army. And I have worked with my father on a critical operation. Langley feels I’m ready to operate independently without training wheels, so if you take issue with that, you might want to take your complaint to the Director himself.”
The station chief seemed a bit nervous now.
“I assume you have some information for me,” Karl said. “Let’s go. After all that coffee at the hotel, I could really take a dump.”
“Information goes both ways,” the station chief said.
This was crazy. For some reason the Agency must have been keeping what Karl knew compartmentalized. “My chain of command is directly to the Agency.”
Pointing his skinny finger at Karl, the man said, “This is my country. Nothing happens here without my knowledge.”
“That’s nice. But I don’t work for you. I was told to meet you for coffee, and that you might have some information for me. Is that the case, or were you just talking shit to Langley?”
“Listen, you little punk. I’m here to tell you that if that missile ever hits Venezuelan soil, we will be taking the lead. Do you understand?”
Yeah, Karl understood. This station chief felt like the Agency had just measured dicks and he had come up short. “I’m not trying to step on toes here,” Karl said. “I was given a job and I’m just trying to do it to the best of my ability.”
The station chief motioned to the driver to pull over, which he did. Karl stepped out onto the sidewalk, realizing immediately that he was less than a block from his hotel.
Before Karl walked away, the station chief said, “Someday you’ll need the cavalry. You better hope to God we’re ready and willing to come charging in.”
Karl left it like that, without a smartass comeback. Maybe he had grown. As the van pulled away, he glanced about the area, making sure the Russians or the Venezuelan intel officers were nowhere in sight. Nothing. Good. He wandered back to his hotel, wondering what in the hell he stepped in now. This hadn’t been a meeting. It was an ambush. A warning. The station chief had just tried to intimidate Karl. But he was the son of Jake Adams and Toni Contardo, and he didn’t scare easily.
When he got to his room, Maya had already showered and dressed. Her new bag was also packed.
“Everything alright?” she asked.
“Yeah. I just need to shit, shower and shave and we can be on our way.”
A half hour later they checked out of the hotel and waited for their ride in the lobby. Karl still could not see anyone watching them. Had the Russians given up on him? Not likely. Russians had the patience of a sloth.
After waiting a few minutes, their ride showed up out front — the white Toyota SUV driven by Juan Ruiz, vice president of new development for Antigua Petroleum.
Ruiz got out and set their bags in the back under a cover before getting back behind the wheel. Karl was in the front seat with the oil company man, while Maya sat in the seat behind the driver.
“Did you two have fun in Caracas?” Ruiz asked.
“The hotel was nice,” Karl admitted.
Maya said nothing.
Before taking off, Ruiz glanced at Karl and asked, “Where now?”
Karl had tracked the GPS location on his phone the night before and thought about the map of Venezuela, coming up with the largest major city close to the coordinates. “Do you know Ciudad Bolivar?”
“Of course,” Ruiz said. “It’s in the heart of the Orinoco Belt. We have a small office there. Do you need to meet someone there?”
Shaking his head, Karl said, “No. That’s just the closest major city. Is it far?”
Ruiz put the SUV in gear and pulled away from the hotel. “Too far to drive. We’ll take the company plane.”
Karl glanced to the back seat at Maya, who seemed tired and indifferent. “You have a pilot standing by?”
“Yes, of course,” Ruiz said.
“Can you trust his discretion?”
Smiling, Ruiz said, “I hope so. I will be our pilot.”
28
Gathered again in a secure briefing room were the CIA Director John Bradford, the CIA Director of Operations Sherm Swanson, and the Chief of Naval Operations Jim Bechtold. The CNO also had a female captain with him on this visit. Manning the projection equipment was analyst Roddy Erikson.
Roddy stood before a large LED screen showing a map of the region where the Russian ship was currently located, along with a blip on the screen indicating the USS McGrath.
Swiveling in his chair toward the naval officers, Bradford said, “I understand the SEAL team made it to the destroyer.”
Bechtold said, “Yes, they did. I understand it was a rough ride and even rougher landing.”
Bradford glanced at the female naval officer, noticing her name tag for the first time. “Wockovich. Any relation to the captain of the McGrath?”
After a short hesitation, the Navy captain said, “Yes, sir. He’s my younger brother.”
The CNO waved his hand and said, “You can’t swing a dead cat in the Navy without hitting a Wockovich. They’re a prominent naval family.”
The CIA Director knew this. “Is your older brother, the admiral, still in San Diego?”
“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “He’s the Third Fleet commander.”
“Impressive family,” Bradford concluded.
The captain gave a half smile. She was a large-boned woman hovering about halfway on the attractiveness scale. But with a quick glance at her ribbons and golden wings, Bradford could see that she had been a naval aviator with an Air Medal.
Roddy briefed the room on the progress of the ships toward Venezuela, pointing to the potential port of call at Puerto La Cruz. “They’re still experiencing heavy seas, though, slowing their progress.”
“Not by much,” the CNO interjected. “They’re taking their time on purpose.”
“Are you sure?” Bradford asked.
The CNO said, “Yes. The merchant ships aren’t made for speed anyway, but they seem to be intentionally plodding along.”
This was interesting news to Bradford. Why would the Russians slow-walk bringing the ship to port? “Any speculation on why they’re taking their sweet time?”
Both naval officers shook their heads.
“If you had to speculate,” the CIA director said.
“Port of calls are like airline flights,” the CNO said. “They have a window to hit.”
Bradford knew that much. “And they just changed their shipping schedule from Africa recently. So, that makes sense. The bigger question, though, is what we should do with the ship.”
The CNO deferred this question to Captain Wockovich, who said, “There are a few options based on the Law of the Sea.”
Bradford laughed. “The Russians could give two fucks about the law. They’re in violation of at least the INF Treaty. A stern letter to the UN won’t do here, Captain.”
“I was getting to that,” she said. “We could board the Russian ship with our SEAL team and inspect her.”
“We could just sink the fucker,” Bradford said.
“That might start World War Three,” she said.
“Placing a restricted nuke in our hemisphere is not an act of peace, Captain.”