“I’m showing.”
Breanna looked at the windows on the computer. She had a lot to do, but it was difficult to focus on any of it while the Whiplash mission was under way. She knew she had to separate herself—and yet she couldn’t.
Maybe it would be better to go over to Langley and work from there. At least she wouldn’t be checking the secure message system every few seconds, and looking at SpyNet, and checking the news…she could hook directly to MY-PID and get regular updates.
Her secure sat phone beeped. It was a call from Danny, asking for an update.
“Zen, I have to go,” said Breanna, barely getting the words out of her mouth before hanging up.
41
Approaching the Iranian coast
IT WAS A LITTLE OVER 250 MILES FROM BAKU TO THE COAST of Iran. The speedboats made the trip in just over four hours, dodging a small patrol craft operating out of Babol.
The Voice gave them directions the entire way. Danny still felt it was intrusive but he was beginning to think of the system as a personality, rather than a computer. It definitely acted differently than any computer he’d ever dealt with before.
Technically, MY-PID was simply the sum of its various connections and databases. The programmers had kept the interface portion extremely basic, using techniques and routines developed and tested at Dreamland. Most of these, at their very core, were barely more sophisticated than the routines that worked GPS units, or the so-called personal assistant bots that gathered Web and media feeds for smart phones. But the sheer volume of the data available to the system and the algorithms it used to sort through them shaped the MY-PID’s interaction with users in the same way a human personality did.
The Voice was like a brainy, overknowledgeable kibitzer, an egghead that could be extremely valuable, but at the end of the day was still an egghead. In many ways it reminded Danny of Ray Rubeo, though the computer wasn’t quite as full of himself as its real-life analogue.
They were already in Iranian waters when Breanna called, using the Voice’s communications network.
“Danny, your subject is on his way to Tehran,” she told him.
“Roger that. We’re like zero-two minutes from shore.”
“I see.” Breanna paused. “I thought you were going to hold until we were positive he was in the air.”
“Schedule is a little tight, Bree. We have a bus to catch.”
“Acknowledged.”
“You wish you were out here, huh?” said Danny. “It sucks sitting behind a desk.”
“How’d you guess?”
Her voice had made it obvious. “I know exactly how you feel,” he told her.
“We’ll trade notes when you get back.”
“Deal.”
The Voice warned that a car was approaching on the road a few yards from where Danny wanted to land. He cut his speed, drifting to let the vehicle go by before moving closer to shore. As he coasted, he looked back for Nuri. Though the boat was only a mile or so behind, Danny couldn’t see it; the night was too dark and it was too low to the water. The engines were plenty loud, but the hum from his own craft drowned them out.
“Trouble?” Hera asked. It was practically the first word she’d said since they left Baku.
“It’s just a car. We’ll let it pass,” he said. “You ready to use your Farsi?”
She told him, in Farsi, that she was as ready as an old woman to bake a cake—an expression her Iranian grandfather had used to indicate that he was willing to do whatever had to be done.
The Voice translated for him.
“Simultaneous translate to Farsi,” Danny told the computer. “As long as it’s chocolate.”
He repeated the words as the Voice reeled them off.
“Your pronunciation is off,” said Hera. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a joke. I like chocolate cake.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you?” he said.
“I laugh at things that are funny.”
As Nuri’s boat slipped in alongside, the Voice reported that two more cars were coming down the road.
“I don’t want to wait too much longer,” said Nuri. “If we miss that bus, we have no way of getting to Tehran until morning.”
“Agreed,” said Danny. “We’ll go in after these pass. You ready, Flash?”
“Born ready, Colonel.”
“Nuri let a soldier drive?” said Hera.
“Boats are easy,” said Flash. “You should see me with a motorcycle.”
“Maybe you’ll get a chance with the bus,” said Danny.
“I’m game.”
Hera scoffed.
“You like driving motorcycles?” asked Danny.
“I have to be honest, Colonel,” said Flash. “I’ve never driven one.”
“No?”
“Chief Boston was going to show me in Sudan, but we didn’t get a chance.”
“It’s practically a requirement for Whiplash. We’ll have to teach you.”
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
“One more thing,” Danny told him. “Don’t call me colonel anymore. We have to stick with our covers.”
“Right.”
“Boss, anything like that is good.”
“Right.”
While they waited for the cars, Nuri sat on the deck at the rear of the cockpit, rehearsing his Farsi. He had spent much of the trip practicing with the Voice. Iran’s native language had never been particularly hospitable to his tongue. While the Voice could help with vocabulary, Nuri was still having fits with the pronunciation.
“Vehicle three has passed,” said the Voice.
“Let’s get in while the gettin’s good.” Danny slid the engine up out of idle, gave it a quick jolt, then dropped the throttle back again.
The Voice steered them past a group of rocks to a shallow shelf at the sea’s edge. The wind had died to almost nothing. Danny handled the boat easily, stopping just short of the shore, where the water was shallow enough that he didn’t beach.
Flash had a harder time. Just as he drew his boat up to the Phantom, the bow hit a submerged tree trunk. They pitched hard to port against the other cruiser.
The impact caught Hera by surprise, sending her to the deck.
“Watch it,” she said, scrambling up.
“Sorry.”
“Let’s go,” said Danny. “Hera, grab the line.”
She went to the side of the boat. Nuri, still somewhat distracted, climbed out to the bow and tossed the lead to her.
“Can’t we get any closer to shore?” he asked Flash.
“Man, I’m just hoping I didn’t beach us.”
Nuri sat and took off his shoes and socks, then rolled up his pants. He didn’t want to be too wet when he got on the bus. He had another change of clothes, but they were packed in the suitcase, which would be brought along by Danny and Hera later.
He put his foot over the side tentatively, dipping it in the water. It was colder than he expected.
“Best to just get in,” he said aloud to himself, easing down. His teeth started chattering. He held his shoes above his head and walked toward dry land.
The water was nearly three feet deep and came up to his waist, soaking his pants and the bottom of his shirt.
“Damn,” he muttered.
He pushed away from the boat, took a step, then slipped on the mossy bottom, dunking his entire body.
“You better grab the suitcase and get some backup clothes,” said Danny.
“Have Flash get it,” said Nuri, squeezing out his drenched shirt on shore.
Flash had his own solution. He stripped off his pants and held them over his head as he waded first to the other boat for the waterproof luggage, then to shore.
“Tell me next time so I can close my eyes,” said Hera.
“Next time I sell tickets.”
“You got the boat?” Danny asked Hera.