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That was the day he began plotting to fake his death. It took two years to accomplish, followed by another nine months of eighteen-hour days, but he was nearly finished with the next step toward attaining the power to remake the world however he saw fit.
When the final checks of equipment were finished and the trucks drove off, it was time for his phone call. He found a quiet section of the loading dock and dialed Admiral Dayana Ruiz.
“Yes,” she answered on the fourth ring.
“Admiral, didn’t you see who was calling?” His voice was transformed by a modulator so that NSA eavesdropping software wouldn’t recognize his voice.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Then you should answer faster next time. You waste our time when you play petty mind games.”
“I waste our time?” she said. “You were the one who didn’t sink the Ciudad Bolívar. I lost twelve men on the operation, and I’m having to answer questions about why Venezuelan Navy seaman were aboard her when she was discovered. And where are my drone subs?”
“I had to sink them.”
“You what?”
“They were about to fall into American hands. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Ruiz shouted so loudly that Kensit had to hold the phone away from his ear. “When I find you, whoever you are, I will destroy you!”
“Your focus is on the wrong person,” Kensit said. “You should be after Juan Cabrillo.”
“Who is that?”
“You know him as Buck Holland, captain of the Dolos. His ship is actually called the Oregon, and you didn’t really sink it. It was all an elaborate ruse.”
“What are you talking about? How do you know that we sank the Dolos?”
“As I said, you didn’t sink it. You sank a duplicate.”
“Nonsense.”
“Is it? Then how can you explain Lieutenant Dominguez and the rest of his men getting ambushed aboard the Ciudad Bolívar?”
“You. You’re behind all of this.”
“Why would I do that? Now I don’t get the balance of the money you owe me. What would I have to gain? Admiral, this really isn’t that difficult.”
There was a pause. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
Kensit tapped on the phone’s screen, then said, “Look at the text I just sent.”
It was a photo of Juan Cabrillo and Franklin Lincoln aboard the Ciudad Bolívar after it had partially capsized, standing on the railing, with the Oregon in the background.
“Do you recognize them?” Kensit asked.
“The blond man, no. But the black man was at my warehouse in Puerto La Cruz.”
“The man you don’t recognize is Juan Cabrillo, aka Buck Holland. The ship you see is the Oregon.”
“It’s the same dimensions, but it looks nothing like the Dolos.”
“They can disguise their ship.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I thought you might say that. Check your messages again.” He sent her a short time-lapse video of the Dolos being transformed into the Oregon.
