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Linda Ross entered the op center with Sloane Macintyre in tow. Sloane stopped as soon as she stepped through the door. Her mouth hung a little loose as she looked around the futuristic command center. The main view screen on the forward bulkhead was split into dozens of camera angles showing activity all around the ship as well as a clear shot of the Oregon’s bow as she powered through the sea.
“Linda said I’d get a better idea of what you all do if I came with her,” Sloane finally said as she approached Juan. “I think I’m more confused now than I was five seconds ago. What is all this?”
“The heart and soul of the Oregon,” Juan said. “From here we can control the helm, the engines, communications, safety teams as well as the ship’s integrated weapons systems.”
“So you are with the CIA or something?”
“Like I told you before, I used to be. We’re private citizens running a for-profit company that does freelance security work. Though I will admit the CIA has thrown us a lot of business over the years, usually with missions best left off their blackest books.
“Originally, our contract was to sell some arms to a group of African revolutionaries. The arms had been modified so the rebels could be tracked. Unfortunately we were double-crossed but we only learned about it after committing ourselves to rescue Geoffrey Merrick. So now we’re back to get the weapons, only it turns out Merrick’s ex-partner has other plans for them.”
“Who paid you to supply the guns in the first place?”
“It was a deal worked out between our government and the Congo’s. Most of the money came from the CIA; the rest was going to come from selling the blood diamonds we were given in exchange for the arms.”
“The diamonds you gave to Moses Ndebele for his help?”
“You got it. Hey, I guess the story wasn’t so long after all,” Juan quipped.
“And you make a living doing this?” she asked and then answered her own question. “Of course you do. I saw the clothes in Linda’s closet. It’s like Rodeo Drive in there.”
“Chairman, can I talk to you privately?” Linda asked.
Juan didn’t like the tone in her voice. He got up from his chair and offered it to Sloane with a flourish. “The ship’s yours.” He guided Linda to the far corner of the op center. “What’s up?”
“I was going over my interrogation notes and, while I’m not positive, I think Susan Donleavy withheld something.”
“Something?”
“Not about what Singer’s attemptin
g here. I got everything out of her about this that I could. It’s something else. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“It’s about the timing of this whole operation,” Juan stated.
“It could be. I don’t know. Why would you say that?”
“It kept me up for most of the night,” he admitted. He laid out his concern. “Singer’s had this in motion for years, with the generators and the heaters, and suddenly he’s striking at an oil facility in order to release a couple million tons of toxic sludge. Why? Why now? He’s expecting hurricanes to carry the vapors across the Atlantic but he can’t predict when and where a storm will form.”
“Do you think maybe he can?”
“What I think is that he thinks he can.”
“But that’s impossible. At least with any degree of accuracy. Hurricanes grow randomly. Some never get stronger than a tropical depression and simply blow themselves out at sea.”
“Exactly, and that wouldn’t work for his grand demonstration.”
“You think he knows there’s a major storm coming and that it will carry the oil vapors across the ocean?”
“I’ll do you one better,” Juan said. “I think he knows the storm’s track will slam it into the United States.”
“How could he know that?”
Juan brushed a hand through his crew cut. It was the only outward sign of his frustration. “That’s what kept me awake. I know it’s not possible for him to predict a hurricane, much less its path, but Singer’s actions can only lead us to that conclusion. Even without us here Makambo’s men will eventually be overrun and the oil shut off. So Singer can’t guarantee the fumes would drift far enough and remain airborne long enough to be sucked into a forming hurricane, or that if they do that the storm wouldn’t dissipate on its own. Not unless there’s another element to all this we don’t know about.”
“I can try again with Susan,” Linda offered. “I ended the interrogation after I learned what I needed to know about the attack on the oil terminal.”
Juan regarded her with pride. She was giving up even more of her soul. And as much as he wanted to protect her from the toll questioning Susan Donleavy had on her, he knew that she would have to do it again.
