Piranha

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.

After watching it, Ruiz growled, “I will hunt those spies down and vaporize them.”

“How? You have no idea where they are.”

“But you do?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I can’t just leave Venezuelan territorial waters with a frigate. I need a reason.”

“I know. In three days there will be a combined fleet exercise called UNITAS in the Bahamas.”

“I’m aware of it. Venezuela was not invited to participate.”

“Neither was Cuba,” Kensit said. “But both of you can send your own ships to observe their operations. When you are near Haiti, you will divert your vessel and sink the Oregon.”

“Why are you so eager to help me? What will this cost?”

“You have political ambitions. I’ll make sure you achieve them.”

“Why?”

“You’re my type of leader. Direct, action-oriented, a little emotional for my tastes, but I can live with that. Once I help you sink the Oregon, I expect the rest of my payment.”

“You’re insane!”

“No, that’s only fair. And if you don’t sink the Oregon, I will reveal that her captain outwitted you. Your credibility in the Venezuelan Navy would be shattered. Then once your reputation is destroyed, you’ll go to prison when I release details about your smuggling operation. Be there in three days.” He didn’t wait for a response before he hung up. Ruiz would come. She didn’t have a choice.

He put the phone away and saw Hector Bazin walking toward him.

“Doctor, Brian Washburn arrived as you instructed. I’ve got him in the car. Shall I bring him?”

“Yes. Once we’re on the boat, I need you to go to the United States. Captain Cabrillo is causing us more problems.”

“Kill him?”

“If you can. But now that he’s found out about the Piranha subs, the U.S. military may suspect that someone on my old weapons development program was responsible for selling the plans, so your highest priority is to eliminate any remaining links between me and the Sentinel project. I’ll brief you about the target once you’re in the air.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get the governor.”

Bazin returned with Washburn, who looked as if he didn’t want his six-hundred-dollar shoes to be exposed to the air here, let alone touching the dock. When he got close to Kensit, he stuck out a hand and turned on the charm.

“You must be the Doctor,” Washburn said with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“No, it’s not,” Kensit said, ignoring the hand. “I sent for you and you came. There is no power balance in this relationship. You’re used to being the one in charge. Not here. You work for me now.”

Washburn’s smile vanished, replaced by a sneer. “Who do you think you are, you little weasel?”

“I’ve been called every name possible during my life, so save the macho posturing. I have video of you murdering a man. You can leave now and face the death penalty or life in prison. You can try to kill me, and Bazin here will break your neck before you can reach me. Or you can do as I say and become president of the United States. Choose right now.”

Washburn looked at Bazin, then back at Kensit, and realized he was completely outmatched, both physically and mentally. The sneer dissolved.

“All right. But why have you brought me to this godforsaken place? It literally reeks.”

“That’s what happens when you have a city of three million people with no functional sewer system. You would not want to swim in the harbor. We’re going to take a ride on the Victoire over there.”

Kensit pointed at a white, hundred-foot-long Lürssen yacht with a satellite dish on the foredeck.

“We’re going on a cruise?” Washburn said.

“First, I’m going to show you my facility. A place called Oz.”

Washburn’s lip curled. “You’re joking.”

“Have you found me fu

Washburn put up his hands. “Okay. Oz. Where is it?”

“You won’t know that, but I will show you my operation because I need you to believe I can do everything I say I can do.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I operate a revolutionary surveillance system. One that needs to be seen to be believed. It’s called Sentinel. I also want you with me when we complete our most important mission using Sentinel’s capabilities. You gave your company the excuse I told you?”

Washburn nodded. “I’m here to review our aid for the Haitian earthquake rebuilding efforts.”

“Good. That will survive scrutiny. Not that anyone will suspect you have anything to do with what’s about to happen.”

“Which is?”

Kensit ignored the question. “Who is standing in your way in the next presidential election?”

“No one’s declared yet, but James Sandecker has a head start as the incumbent vice president if he wants the presidency. Are you saying you have dirt on Sandecker, too?”

“No, he’s squeaky clean. But you’ll need an edge to win in the primary. That’s why we have to make you vice president.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to kill Sandecker.”

Washburn’s eyes bugged out. “You want me to be party to killing the vice president of the United States?”

“You’ve killed before. You’ll have to kill again if you’re president, you’ll just have drones and soldiers doing it for you. You’re all in, just like I am.”