Anyone else in the Unites States Navy would have assumed he was reading their name tag. For Katie it was different. It was no secret, even among the other services, that the daughter of the President of the United States was a Navy intelligence officer. She guessed there were dozens of other mid-grade officers in the service cursed with the same last name—Ryan was relatively common—and she’d always felt bad about that. She preferred to carry her own baggage, not burden others with it. Almost without exception, those who met Katie had preconceived ideas about her.
Most of them were wrong.
“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Conza and I have received orders to join your team.”
“So I’ve been told. Any idea why?”
Katie and Conza exchanged a quick glance. “Honestly, I’m not sure. We were just told to pack our bags and haul ass over here. I’m sure it relates to this airplane that’s gone down, but we figured the specifics would come later.”
It was hard to read the colonel’s eyes behind his sunglasses.
“You can ask if you want,” she said.
“Ask what?”
“You know, if I’m—”
“You’re a lieutenant in the United States Navy,” Carter said, cutting her off. “That’s all I give a shit about. I’ve been told you’ll be accompanying my team to Bodrum. I figure it’s because there was a Navy officer on board this downed airplane. Just be advised that this will not be a sightseeing tour. You are part of my team, and I’m going to put you to work.”
“Lieutenant Conza and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Carter broke into a grin. “Good answer. As they say in the Navy, welcome aboard.” He held out a hand, and Katie gave him a firm handshake. Conza did the same.
The colonel told them to make themselves at home, then diverted to one of the SUVs and began issuing orders.
Sergeant Burgstahler reappeared and beckoned them up the loading ramp. He led the way to a short row of airline-type seats at the front of the cargo bay. They stowed their gear, took a seat, and the loadie unceremoniously dropped a small white box in each of their laps. “Fine cuisine, courtesy of Naval Air Station Sigonella.”
Conza opened his box and saw pretty much what he expected. One turkey wrap, a shrink-wrapped apple, a woodchipper-inspired energy bar, and a pint-sized water bottle.
“Turkey wrap,” he said. “Get it?”
“Thanksgiving?”
“No, it’s where we’re going.”
Katie tried, but failed, to suppress a smile. She set her box aside and committed to getting some sleep on the flight, a skill she’d fine-tuned at Annapolis.
Because you never knew when the chance would come again.
9
Gulf of Antalya
Nine Miles Off the Turkish Coast
0920 Local Time
Clark knew his men were tired. He was tired.
But this wasn’t the time for rest.
He was still getting to know the members of Task Force 99. He’d handpicked the team of topflight international operators for a mission in China earlier that year. They had meshed so well on the op that he’d decided, with the DNI’s blessing, to “keep the band together.” Task Force 99 would never replace The Campus, but it was an effective alternative for certain missions. All the members had been on board, and they’d kept up a high operational tempo ever since. And if this new tasking was any indicator, it wasn’t about to slow.
Aphrodisiachurned through dense fog. Bauer was at the helm, an eight-pronged wooden ship’s wheel steady in his hands. The German had the most experience driving boats, courtesy of his time with the German army’s Kommando Spezialkräfte. He had later transferred to that nation’s spy agency, the BND. Bauer was keeping a close eye on the radar. It wasn’t a military-grade system,but good enough to provide warnings of the two most immediate threats: other vessels, which could conceivably include patrol boats, and the rugged Turkish coastline.
Their destination was a lightly populated stretch of those shores, and while there were more isolated areas along the Gulf of Antalya, the extra distance andAphrodisia’s slow speed precluded using them. Clark had minutes earlier received an update from Mary Pat Foley on his heavily encrypted laptop. After reading the message, he called the team on deck—a few men had disappeared into the cramped lower compartment. It was a small, confined space, but some had been willing to trade the engine noise and exhaust fumes for a bit of extra warmth.
Everyone spread out on the open deck, leaning on winches and sitting on the gunnel. Clark stood near the open wheelhouse door so Bauer could hear as well.
