> Corsair
>  by totallynotabrony
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Story two in the Sail Canvas trilogy.  Thanks for reading.


CORSAIR




The fishing was slow.  I hadn’t planned on the impromptu angling from my backyard dock, but I had finished far too many cups of coffee and needed to do something until I was able to go to sleep. 
I had been down at the shipyard visiting the night crew.  Since they were working on a personal project of mine, I was showing up a lot more often to have a look around.  Everywhere I went, I was offered coffee.  It’s just part of working late hours.  Not wanting to be rude, I’d accepted every time, and now I wished I hadn’t.
When I got home, I’d left my keys and wallet inside.  Dress code on my dock was strictly casual, which was good because as a pony I was naked anyway.
I thought about having a refreshing swim, but I had caffeine jitters, not a hangover.  After all, it wasn’t even my night to get drunk.  I probably spent too much time at the club anyway.  Even if I wasn’t a seafoam green stallion with a sailboat on my hip, they would know me there.
Since I wasn’t drunk, I sat out on my dock and fished.  There was no bait on the hook.  Since I wasn’t going to eat what I caught, there was no point in catching in the first place.  Yes, kind of counter-intuitive, but I found it relaxing.
At around two in the morning, I heard a crash that sounded like it came from somewhere inside my house.  I turned, trying to figure out what the noise was.
Through the darkened windows, I saw some dim lights moving around.  Coupling that with the noise I heard that could have been my front door breaking down, it was not a situation that I wanted any part of.
I had no idea who had just broken in, but it was sheer dumb luck that I hadn’t been inside the house at the time.  I grabbed my fishing pole and jumped aboard my boat, tied up to the dock. 
I looked back.  It didn’t appear that anyone had yet realized that I wasn’t inside the house.  I went up to the bridge to start the engine.  That was when I realized that the keys to the boat were hanging on a hook near the back door of the house.
Fortunately, I did have a spare set, but they were in a magnetic key holder below decks.  It took fifteen long seconds to remember where I put it and get back topside with them.  
I jammed the key in the slot and twisted.  The engine started with no hesitation.  Before I engaged the propeller, I remembered that the boat was still tied up.  My cell phone rang just then.
I fumbled for the phone while I was going down to the deck to take care of the mooring lines.  I realized I couldn’t untie them with only one free hoof, so I dropped the phone on the deck.
I got the lines untied and the phone was still ringing.  It must have been an important call.  I put it to my ear as I went back to the bridge and started the boat moving.
“Mr. Canvas?” asked an official sounding female voice.
“Speaking.”
“I’m calling from your security company.  Did your home alarm just go off?”
“Yes!  There’s someone in my house."  I figured it was someone.  Somepony doesn't usually break down your door.
“Shall we send the police?”
“Please do.  Could you give me a call back when they arrive?”
She said she would and hung up.
I went out about a quarter of a mile and slowed the boat down.  I picked up the binoculars that I kept near the control console and looked back at the house.  From that far away, and at night, I couldn’t see much.  I settled in to wait, snacking on a few stale animal crackers I’d found on board.
About ten minutes later, I got the call telling me to go home.  A couple of uniformed cops met me on the dock.  Checking the house, my front door had indeed been smashed open.  From the imprints in the carpet, it looked like heavy boots had tramped through the entire house, but nothing had been taken.
I may have been rich enough to afford a house on the water with a security system, but not paranoid enough to have cameras.  I suddenly regretted that decision. 
Luckily, a few of my neighbors were that paranoid, and a day or two later the police were able to compile a few pictures of a nondescript van.  Detective Martin Wade showed them to me in his office.  It wasn’t technically his territory, but I knew the man so I was able to get him to take a look.
Wade was a trim-looking black man in his forties.  Being an engineer by trade and a smartass by nature, I would have joked about the aerodynamic efficiency of his shaved head, but I was still sore about having my house broken into and was not in a joking mood.
“They had time to walk through the entire place but they didn’t take anything, not even your cash,” said Wade.  “That tells me that they didn’t find what they were looking for.  I’m going to guess that was you.  So tell me, what does anyone want with Sail Canvas?”
“I wish I knew.  I don’t recall pissing anyone off lately.”
“The scene analysts figure that there were between four and six of them.  I think you got damn lucky.”
We talked a little more and I thanked him for his opinion, though he hadn’t told me much I didn’t know.  I left his office and went off to my next meeting that day.  I used to be an ordinary rich trust-funder, but then I started owing too many favors to the wrong people and the CIA kidnapped me.
Well, they didn’t really.  It just felt that way.  I had to do things that could pretty well be considered black ops.  It wasn’t that I had any special set of skills; I just had access to boats and the ability to move around the world under the false pretense of doing business.  Sometimes that’s all it takes, but it didn't help that I was a pegasus with a U.S. passport.  Sometimes, a complicated backstory is better.  
If asked about it, I could simply explain that my parents came from Equestria when the dimensional portals opened in the early nineties.  Now in the summer of 2016, I was twenty-three, had inherited the family shipbuilding company, and was theoretically stinking rich.  In reality, that wealth hung by a thread and I had to depend on the CIA not to bury me.
I won’t deny that I got my fill of adventure working for them, including shots being fired at me everywhere from Russia to Libya.  My yacht was taken over and turned into a wolf in sheep’s clothing with sophisticated weaponry.  There was also a Russian agent that I’d become friends with.  We planned to meet again soon.
Playing spy was still not what it cracked up to be, though.  I had tried to find the limits of what they would allow by various methods.  I had once brought a complete civilian—my friend, Andy Newhart—on an operation by passing him off as an experienced astronomical navigator from a different branch of the CIA.  That had ended badly.  The CIA had me on a short leash and had threatened my money and social life if I didn’t play along.  
Carl Hanley was an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency.  He was my handler, although I disliked that term.  It made me feel like a circus animal or something.  He was somewhat overweight with a round face and a bowl haircut, and didn’t look like your average CIA spook.
“I heard someone broke into your house,” Hanley said to me from across the table.  We were meeting at a small café near my home in Norfolk, Virginia.  If I were to go up to Langley to meet him at the CIA headquarters, someone might get suspicious.
“That’s right,” I said.  “They broke in, but didn’t take anything.  I wasn’t home.”
“I heard that, too.”
I didn’t ask where he heard it.  He probably wouldn’t tell me.  I said, “Do you know anything the local police don’t?”
Hanley looked around and leaned closer.  “We’ve heard things from Libya.”
I frowned.  “How do they know about me?”
Hanley shrugged.  “The way we figure, it’s probably members of Ali Al-Azhem’s cell.”
Al-Azhem was a terrorist leader who had been assassinated during a CIA operation several months before.  I personally didn’t do anything, but I was there with my boat.
“What am I supposed to do?  They know where I live.”  I did a lot for the CIA for relatively little compensation.  They didn’t want to lose my services, though, and would want to protect me.  This was the upside of owing my soul to the government.
“We could move you into a safe house.”
“I’d sooner set up a cot in the dry dock than stay in one of those.”  My yacht had worked pretty well for the mission we had taken it on, but I had convinced the CIA to fund the construction of a new boat built for the purpose.  It was being constructed at a secure dry dock at my shipbuilding yard.
Hanley shrugged.  “We’ve got to do something about this.  If you wind up dead, someone is going to ask why, and that might lead back to me.”
No, Hanley didn’t actually care for me.  That that was okay, though.  I didn’t care for him either.
I had to go to the airport next.  On my way, I called Andy Newhart.  It was a convenient time between teaching his Japanese classes at Old Dominion.
“Sail, how’s it going?” he said, answering the phone.
“Not so great.  My house was broken into.”  I filled him in on the details.
“Well,” he said after I had finished, “that certainly is strange.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
“Well, take it easy Sail.”
“Sure.”  I hung up.  Talking on a cell phone and driving wasn’t illegal in Virginia, but I tried to avoid it when I could.  It was difficult to do with hooves.  If anything, working for the CIA had taught me to be more careful.
That afternoon, I was at the airport to pick up Nika Ivanova when she arrived.  The woman worked for the Russian FSB, the modern equivalent of the Soviet KGB.  We’d met a few months earlier on a joint CIA/FSB project.
Somehow, Nika had gotten away from work for an entire week.  I wondered if her office was abuzz with talk of her American boyfriend.  Probably, if the FSB was as good of an intelligence agency as they were supposed to be, they knew I was actually just a friend.  And a pegasus.  Still American, though.  I hadn’t been born and raised in Virginia just to call myself Equestrian.
Nika had been to the United States a few times, but had never done any traveling.  She mentioned this to me, and I suggested we take a drive.  Neither of us had anything better to do.
“Which direction?” I asked.
“You pick.”  Her English was good, yet accented.
I knew the area pretty well.  Going north meant city and more city.  Going west for any length of time would put the setting sun in our eyes.  To the east was the Atlantic Ocean.  So we went south.
In not too long, we were rolling through the Virginia countryside.  My BMW had been designed for the Autobahn, so interstates were no problem.  Nika seemed content to sit and look out the windows, so with nothing stopping us, we continued on into North Carolina.  I saw a sign showing the way to Kitty Hawk and pointed it out.
“Is that the name of an aircraft carrier?” Nika asked.  From her job, she probably knew more about the U.S. military than many people who were in it.
“Yes it is,” I told her, “but the reason the place is famous is because it’s where the Wright brothers made the first airplane flight.”
She seemed interested so we decided to stop by, but it was too late in the day and the visitor’s center had closed.  We decided to find a place to eat, instead.  At a small restaurant the waitress seated us, and said, “Can I get ya’ll somethin’ to drink?”
Virginia had been part of the Confederacy, but many people had decided to drop the southern drawl in order to fit in with the rest of the country.  A lot of the South, though, didn’t give a damn what the North thought.  I was all right with it, though.  You can’t get good sweet tea anywhere else in the world.
Nika didn’t seem to understand the waitress’s accent, but got the idea when I ordered.  I wondered if there was a Russian equivalent to a southerner.  A Ukrainian, maybe?
We talked about the Outer Banks a little while waiting on the food.  Nika said that the islands looked even smaller than the intelligence photos had indicated.
I grinned.  “I love it when you talk shop.”
Leaving the restaurant later, the summer sun was still up.  We decided to keep driving.  I had always thought that the Outer Banks of North Carolina didn’t seem like a good place to live.  It was sandy and featureless, and the wind never stopped blowing.  Despite that, the road was lined with the houses of people who had incomes like mine.
We got to Hatteras in time to see the old lighthouse turn on for the night.  Before they died, my parents sailed on pleasure cruises all around the world.  My father once told me that in all the travel he did, the roughest seas he ever encountered were off Cape Hatteras.  The lighthouse was old, but still useful.
We got rooms that night in an old house that had been converted to an inn.  The place looked like it had withstood dozens of hurricanes, and while I’m not usually a fancolt over civil engineering, I appreciated it.
The next morning was bright and clear.  We drove north with the sunroof and windows open.  I actually preferred the blowing wind to air conditioning.  It’s a pegasus thing.  The trip seemed to pass more quickly than the day before as we chatted about defense contracts.
Merging onto Interstate 64 near Norfolk, I accelerated to pass a welding supply truck and a bus.  I saw a van zoom by in the left lane, clearly above the speed limit.
Suddenly, the van slowed and the back door opened.  I found myself staring at the business end of a rocket propelled grenade launcher.
I jerked the car hard to the left and saw the exhaust trail of the flying grenade miss the car, but not by not very much.  There was an explosion somewhere behind us as my car left the road and dropped onto the grass median.  I cranked the steering wheel back over.  The sudden transition was too much for the electronic stability control to handle, and the car spun back onto the pavement, facing the wrong way.
I quickly checked the mirror.  The van hadn’t stopped.  Nika’s pistol was in her hand.  I didn’t know how she’d managed to bring it with her on an airplane.  Through the windshield, I could see the wreckage of several vehicles.
The RPG had hit the welding truck in the side, right behind the cab.  The back of the truck was full of tanks of fuel, oxygen and other welding gasses.  The resulting explosion had ripped the truck apart and spread debris all over the road.
A public transportation bus had been following the truck and plowed into the wreckage, spreading the flammable material around.  A couple of cars had then piled in.  There were a few smaller detonations as undamaged welding tanks exploded in the heat of the fire.
We started to get out of the car.  Another boom and flying shrapnel ended any thoughts we had of trying to approach the wreck.  Nika and I both sat there for a few seconds.
The fire carried with it a particular smell.  There was the scent of burning rubber and plastic, but also something else, like roasting meat.
“Do you smell that?” I asked.
Nika’s face went white.  “It’s people.”
We left the scene before any police showed up.  I figured that was the way Hanley would want it.  I called him to confirm that.  A news helicopter had arrived quickly, and the burning wreckage was all over TV.  He didn’t know that I had been involved until I told him.
Hanley demanded a meeting as soon as possible.  I wasn’t planning to tell him Nika was with me, so I dropped her off at a library before I went to see him.
We met at the same café from a few days previously.  Hanley looked nervous.  He evidently realized that if terrorists were willing to take me out on a crowded interstate, he wasn’t safe sitting across the table from me.
“Sail, you really need to lay low for a while,” he advised.
“What good is that going to do?  They found me here.”
“We can protect you.”
“I think I’d like some time to think about it.”
“No, you’re coming with me.”
“Come on, with the failed attack today, it’ll take them a little while to regroup.  If I’m going to disappear, I need some time to set things up to run without me.”
“All right, I’ll give you two hours.”
“No, I need twenty-four.”
“Why?”
“I’m being conservative.  If I get done early, I’ll give you a call.”
Hanley didn’t say anything.  “Come on,” I prodded, “you can track my cell phone.  Heck, have someone follow me in a car.”
Hanley nodded.  “I’ll give you twelve.”  I got up and walked out without waiting for him to say anything else.
It would take a little time for Hanley to get the cell phone track set up and get a surveillance team on me.  I went back and got Nika.
“Sorry,” I said.  “You’re going to have to spend some time lying down in the back seat.”  I explained the situation to her.
I phoned Dave Hillenburg, the shipyard superintendent.  “What’s the status on my project?”
“We’re just a couple of days from done,” he told me.  “It needs paint and some interior fixtures.”
“Can we float it tonight?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Do it.  Do it as fast as possible.  Get it ready for a shakedown cruise.  I’ve got some guests that I want to impress.”
Dave said that he would and hung up.  I needed to give him as much advance warning as possible because the dry dock where the boat was being built required some time to let the water in and get the boat floating.
After that, I went to see my lawyer, David Goldstein.  We had worked together for quite a while and he knew me pretty well.  I usually dropped a few hints about what was going on with me, and he took precautions to protect himself from any backlash of my actions.  In return, I paid him.  We had a good system.
I told Nika about how long she would have to wait on me, and went into David’s office.  I actually hadn’t been there that often, because we usually met over drinks.  It was about the kind of place you would expect from a man who filed his taxes with a high six figure income.
“I’m going to be leaving town soon,” I said.  “Maybe for a long time.”
“Business or pleasure?” he asked.
“Maybe a little of both.  I’d appreciate it if you kept things running around here while I’m gone.”
He nodded.  “I can do that.”
We talked a little more business.  I was careful what I told him, and he didn’t ask questions.
Coming out of the office, I spotted a car across the parking lot with two men in it.  They were casually dressed, and had I not been expecting them I probably wouldn’t have noticed.  They followed when I pulled out of the parking lot.
I took a winding route back to my house, trying to kill time.  I pulled into the garage and shut the door.  As I went through the house and shut the blinds Nika took herself on a little tour of the place, looking impressed.  It was too bad that if our plans worked, neither of us would ever see the house again after that day.
Nika helped me collect my things.  You don’t really know how much junk you have until it’s been pulled out of the closets and spread all over the floor.
I realized that there was no way I could fit everything into my car.  I had a pickup truck that I didn’t drive very often, usually only to pull a trailer with my small boat on it.  I was glad to have it now.
I packed about half of my clothes, some of the kitchen supplies, food, a few small electronics, my diving equipment, bedding, and all of my weapons.
Everything fit under the truck’s bed cover, so it didn’t look like we were carrying half the house with us.  Once again, Nika had to hide in the back seat.
I drove to the shipyard and pulled up to the security checkpoint.  I had come to know the gate guards pretty well.  A middle aged man named Maurice was on duty when I pulled up.
“Good evening, Mr. Canvas.”
“Hello Maurice.  Listen, I think I have someone following me around.  Corporate spies, maybe.  If they show up here, could you call the police?”  I gave him a description of the car.
“I’ll do that, Mr. Canvas.”
I thanked him and drove through the gate, telling Nika it was okay to show herself.  She sat up and looked around.
“This place looks bigger than I imagined when I looked at the surveillance intel.”
Spying on your friend with satellite images?  Kinky.
Hillenburg was waiting when we pulled up to the drydock.  He appeared to be a little surprised to see a pickup truck crammed with stuff and a young woman departing from the back seat, but didn’t say anything.
I introduced them.  “This is Nika Ivanova of the Russian Federal Security Service.  She’s come to inspect the project.”
One of the reasons that I liked Hillenburg was that he didn’t ask questions.  He shook her hand and opened the door to the structure built around the dry dock.  We had used that particular dry dock over the years for secret projects because it was covered and the ships within could remain unseen.
Inside, the boat floated on the water of the dry dock, which was almost level with the water outside.
I had seen the boat that I designed take shape over the last few months.  I usually wasn’t very sentimental, but seeing it nearly completed was a somewhat emotional moment.
We hadn’t come up with a name for the boat yet.  The traditional christening with the bottle of champagne usually occurred at launch, but that time had come and gone. 
The boat was 160 feet long.  It was somewhat odd looking, with a large flat foredeck that helicopters could land on.  The stern had a narrow walkway around it, but the rest was occupied by the superstructure.
The vessel had been coated with red oxide primer.  The plans called for that color to remain on the lower hull, while the upper portions would be painted white with black accents.  The work crew had started to splash some white over the decks, but hadn’t managed to complete it before I had requested the boat be floated.  The result was an ugly patchwork.  Oh well.
I enlisted the workers to help carry everything from the truck to the boat.  They all must have wondered what was going on, but no one said anything.
Hillenburg got a call on the radio clipped to his belt.  He spoke to it for a few minutes and came to me.  “There’s something going on at the front gate.  Two men claiming to be with the CIA showed up.”
“That’s weird.  I didn’t invite them for this.”  I checked the time.  “We’re going to need to take it out for sea trials right now.”
Hillenburg called for a tanker to bring some diesel fuel.  I did my best to remain calm while we waited an agonizing five minutes, and then waited a few minutes longer while workers primed the engines and finally managed to get them started.
The watertight doors at the end of the dry dock began to open.  All the gear Nika and I had brought was onboard.  Hilenburg walked up the gangway with us.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked.
“I’ll take it slow and get the hang of driving it.  Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he answered.
“How long have you been working for the company?”
“Thirty-two years.”
“You’ve been doing a great job.  I think you deserve a bonus.”  I handed him the keys to my truck.  “Sorry the driver’s seat is pony-spec.  It shouldn’t take too much to get it changed back.  Now if you don’t mind, Agent Ivanova and I are going to go for a little cruise.”
Hillenburg nodded, and walked down the gangway, slipping the keys into his pocket.  He called for the gangway to be removed and the lines holding the boat to be untied.
Up on the bridge, I put one hoof on the wheel and used the other to slowly edge the throttles backward.  The boat was a little larger than I was used to and didn’t respond immediately.  It slowly began to slide out of the dry dock.
As the boat edged out from under the dry dock roof, I saw the car with the CIA agents in it pull up.  Apparently, they had managed to get someone to verify their credentials and force the gate guards to let them in.
As the boat cleared the dry dock, I engaged the bow thruster to help turn it around and get it pointing out to sea.  The two CIA men were both on their cell phones, probably calling for backup.
I didn’t rush.  If they were truly intent on catching us, they would find a way.  I steered eastward, the sun setting behind us.
The first indication that we had company was when a pair of jets made a low-level pass over the boat.  Night had fallen since we left, and I couldn’t make out what kind of airplanes they were, but based on the glow of the twin engines each of them had, I figured they were F/A-18 Hornets that had been sent from Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach.
A call came over the standard maritime channel on the radio.  It asked for me by name, so I picked it up.  The radio was a small portable model because the boat’s main radios hadn’t been installed yet.  “Sail Canvas here.  What can I do for you?”
“You are ordered to return to port immediately.”  It was a female voice that sounded familiar.  She added, “I don’t know what you did, buddy, but you sure pissed a lot of people off.”
“Let me explain the situation,” I said.  “I’ve committed no crimes, but certain people are mad at me, and they really want to get their hands on this boat.  Sorry, but I’m not coming back.”
“We could blow you right out of the water.”  The pilot sounded angry.
“They want the boat back.  You aren’t going to get orders to fire.”
The Hornets circled the boat for a few more minutes.  On the radio, I asked, “Would your name happen to be Rainbow Dash?”
“Captain Rainbow Dash,” she corrected.  “And what’s it to you?”
“From one pegasus to another, I admire how much you’ve accomplished.”  I threw a little awe into my voice.
“All it takes is hard work and determination,” she said.  As the first native Equestrian to join the US Navy and to go to outer space, she would know.  Rainbow Dash was a name that was well regarded in both dimensions.
“I don’t know much about hard work,” I said.  “I own one of the largest shipbuilding companies on the east coast, and the money just pours in.  If I wanted, I could buy that Hornet out from under you.  Heck, I could even afford an F-35 if I liquidated some assets.”
The remark was intended to piss her off, and it worked.  Captain Dash quit talking to me.
We waited a little more before I saw a set of slower moving aircraft lights approaching.  It was a helicopter.  The pilot brought it in for a smooth landing on the foredeck.  As it touched down, I stepped out to meet the guests, squinting in the rotor wash.  The side door slid open and half a dozen armed men jumped out.  Carl Hanley got out after them.
“We were worried that the boat had been hijacked,” he shouted over the helicopter noise.  I motioned for him to step inside the superstructure where it was quieter.  A few of the men came in with us.
“It was hijacked,” I said.  “By me.”
Hanley nodded.  “Trust me, we really can protect you.  You don’t have to do this on your own.”
“You don’t get it,” I said.  “I’m not running for my life.  I’m taking this boat.”
Hanley’s face slowly changed as realization came over him.  “What makes you think you can do that?”
“I’ve been collecting information about what you’ve had me doing.  I think it’s the kind of thing that you wouldn’t want me to release to some newspaper reporter.”
He glared at me.  “Tell me why we can’t just kill you and dump you out here.”
“I’ve got things set up to work without me.  As long as I get what I want, the public doesn’t need to know.”
Hanley crossed his arms.  “So you’re blackmailing us.”
I shrugged.  “I’d really like to get back to a working relationship with you.  I’m willing to keep doing what I’ve been doing, on the condition that you pay me on a freelance basis.”
“So you have the choice to turn jobs down?” he said.
“And take jobs with other countries,” I added.
He shook his head.  “We can’t have you out there like some kind of mercenary.”
“I don’t like that term, but don’t worry.  I’m still a patriot, I just don’t like you.”
Hanley gritted his teeth.  “Prove to me that you have damaging information.”
I led him down through the ship to one of the piles the stuff from my house had been left in.  Nika and I hadn’t had time to put it all away.
I found the file I was looking for and showed it to him.  It was filled with pages and pages of text and a few pictures.  His face went through a couple shades of red as he read it.
“There’s more where that came from,” I said.  “Some audio and video.”
“There are national security leaks in here.”
“Not big ones.  I made sure it would be more embarrassing than damaging.”
“What if we decide to just not pay you?” he asked.
“Then I’ll sell the boat and the information to the highest bidder.  Let’s face it; you have more to lose on this than I do.”
He stared daggers at me for several seconds and then turned and walked out, taking the file with him.  All the CIA people got back on the helicopter and left.  Shortly after, the jets also departed.  One of them passed overhead at low altitude and high afterburner.
I went back up to the bridge where Nika was holding the wheel.
“Did it work?” she asked.
“Yes, it did.”
She let go of the wheel and turned to me.  The boat tracked straight and true without any steering input.  “We should celebrate.”
“I forgot to bring any alcohol.”
“Shame.” 
	
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The next day, we arrived in Virginia Beach.  Despite standing up to Hanley, I wanted to spend as little time on shore as possible.  We were just going to meet a friend, and then leave.
I had known that we might have to take the boat before it was finished, so I had drawn up a list of electronic equipment that we needed to complete the plans.  I had gotten in contact with an electronics supplier and got everything I wanted.
The dry dock workers had managed to get the missile control computer installed.  Because it was the same as used on Navy ships, the company had an extra lying around.  Unfortunately, almost everything else was missing.
We left the boat in a temporary mooring at the marina and I called the shipyard to arrange a delivery of some things that we would need.  I also called my friend, Andy Newhart.
Andy had been holding some of the sophisticated equipment for me.  We hired a truck to bring it to the boat.  Andy helped Nika and I get everything inside and set up in the Combat Information Center.
The CIC was modeled after the compartment of the same name on warships.  All the weapon system controls, radar, and sonar systems were handled from there.  Information was fed back to the bridge and to the weapons to make everything run.  Around the compartment there were metal cabinets to keep all the gear secured in rough seas.  
We loaded the rest of the electronics while Andy went to get his personal things.  He was a college professor, gamer, and all-around nerd.  Also, he was dating a British porn star named Hawker Hurricane.  She was currently engaged in some kind of litigation as a witness.
Eventually the truck from the shipyard arrived.  We unloaded a few buckets of paint from it as well as miscellaneous items that had been left at the dry dock.
While Andy got to work on the equipment, I got the marina workers to help me top off the fuel tanks.  I didn’t know where we were going, but I wanted to have the fuel to get there.  We were just about ready to get underway when Hanley showed up.
He must have left Langley the moment we docked to have gotten there when he did.  I wondered if there was some kind of GPS tracker on the boat.  Perhaps he’d hidden it when he’d come aboard the first time.
Hanley stepped aboard without asking permission.  I met him on deck.  I didn’t have any specific reason for not wanting him to meet Andy, but I figured the less he knew the better.
“You work fast,” I said.
“Well, since the boat wasn’t expected to be ready for another week or two, we were going to put this job on someone else, but I think it’ll make a good first trial.”
“What did you have in mind?”
He handed me a slip of paper with coordinates and a date and time.  There were codes written beneath the numbers.
“Be there,” he said, and walked away.
I studied the information.  The coordinates listed were for somewhere in the Caribbean.  We had plenty of time to get there.  The codes were used to establish radio contact and to show that we were who we said we were when it came time to meet whoever was waiting for us.
I cast off the lines and Nika steered us away from the pier.  She was a little clumsy with it but learning fast.  On our way south, we passed within sight of the Hatteras light.  It was shrinking in the distance when I made my scheduled phone call to my therapist.
Dr. Mind Games had been counseling me for a while now.  I wasn’t sure if it was completely necessary, but every time I thought about ending our correspondence something crazy would happen to me and I felt like I needed somepony to talk with.
In traveling all over the world, I couldn’t exactly make it in for regular visits.  We had arranged for me to call at ten a.m. on Tuesdays, Norfolk time.  That sometimes led to difficulties in time conversion, but I managed.
“Hello Sail.  Where are you today?” she asked.  I pictured her in my thoughts, an older mare with glasses and a brain for a cutie mark.
Sometimes I couldn’t tell her where I was.  Today I didn’t think it mattered.  “Off the Carolina coast.  Not too far.”
“What’s happened in the past week?”
Where did I begin?  I managed to tell her the whole story.  She was a good listener and only interrupted with questions a few times.
“You seem to be taking a lot of risks,” Dr. Games observed.
“Nothing new.”
“Did you say you’re traveling with a female friend?  What does she think?”
“A female human friend.  Don’t think she’s anything more.  Anyway, half of this trip was her idea.”
“I’m glad you’ve found a friend.  You could always use more.”  Dr. Games had a point.
“Looks like the hour is up.  Talk to you next week.”  I ended the call.  It wasn’t a normal phone, of course.  To get coverage all over the world, you need a satellite phone.  The phones themselves aren’t that expensive, but the monthly service bills are killer.
I went back to painting the boat, hovering beside and dodging waves as I worked with the brush.  After a couple of days, I had gotten it mostly covered.  The waves kept me from getting down low on the hull, but that was something that could be taken care of at our next port call.
The boat had never been officially registered, so I sent the information to my lawyer so he could take care of it.  
We finally got around to christening the boat.  There was no champagne on board, so we used vodka and called it good enough.  On the stern I painted: 

Corsair
Norfolk, VA


Andy had done wonders in the CIC, and we had working radios and even internet.  He could multitask like no one I’d ever met before, fighting on a virtual battlefield with one hand and plotting a real GPS course with the other.  If he’d had a third hand, he would have been holding a coffee cup.  Caffeine was very important to him.
We’d installed a massive satellite data link, so despite Andy’s games the rest of us still had fast internet.  It was just one feature among many aboard Corsair that made it a very nice place to live and work.  I congratulated myself on making several smart decisions when drawing up the plans for the boat.
Not everything was sunny, though.  In the first few days, I had noticed some shake from the port side propulsion.  The problem gradually got worse to the point that I could feel a vibration when standing on deck.
We eventually figured out that the port-side propeller shaft was warped.  Maybe the metallurgy was incorrect, or maybe it had been damaged during installation.  Whatever the reason, if we continued using it, it could cause a bigger problem.  If we’d had a proper shakedown cruise before putting the boat to use, we might have found the problem and gotten it fixed.
We had been cruising along at a modest pace, but now forced to put one screw out of commission, we had to run the remaining propeller at full speed to get to the rendezvous point on time.
We were now down in the Gulf of Darién, bordered by Colombia to the east and Panama to the west.  Despite being low on power, we made it to where we needed to be twelve hours early.
I took some time to figure out exactly where we were.  The point was located outside the territorial waters of either country, but we could make landfall within a day’s sail.  The scheduled meeting time was well into the night.
As the hours passed until the meeting, Andy seemed to grow more and more excited.
“So we’re going to meet some people.  Then what?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“No.”
“What if it’s some kind of double cross?”
“They could have done it without making us come all the way down here.”
“Should I have my gun, just in case?”
I laughed.  Andy owned a small pistol, but that would be next to useless in any kind of real fight.
The three of us were ready to go as the time approached.  Nika and I were up on the bridge.  I had turned down the lights to a dim red glow to help our night vision, although light amplifying goggles were close at hand.  Andy called out that he had picked up an aircraft on radar.
I checked the screen in the bridge.  Based on the size of the return and the speed of the target, I figured it was probably a cargo plane.
Two minutes early, the radio came to life.
“One-eight-two-zero.”  The voice was quiet and sounded like it had been through a synthesizer, which it kind of had.  Secure communication required that voice be scrambled by the transmitter and reassembled into words by the receiver.  The paper Hanley had given me contained the information I needed to set up an encrypted channel.  The encryption process made things sound different.  The voice also barely moved the needle on the signal meter, which measured the strength of the incoming radio waves.  The transmitter was using low power to limit the distance the signal would travel.  Encrypted or not, we wouldn’t want anyone else to hear it.
I keyed the microphone and spoke the code I had been given..  “One-one-three-seven.”
There was no reply but the airplane continued on, passing straight over the top of us at twenty thousand feet.
It was very faint, but several small blips separated from the airplane.  The radar wouldn’t have caught it if we weren’t so close.  They quickly dropped through the sky.  At a thousand feet, the radar returns suddenly increased in size.  I grabbed one of the night vision scopes and saw six parachutes open and drift down to the ocean.
Because of wind, they didn’t land directly on us.  We had to move about a quarter of a mile.  We found four men and two floating watertight containers.
Corsair’s twin engines were positioned forward of the usual design to accommodate a well deck.  There was a door on the stern that could be opened and small watercraft could be driven inside.  I brought the boat around and dropped the tailgate.
The men swam in with their equipment.  The containers floated low in the water.  When they were all inside, I went down to meet them.
The four of them were dressed in wet suits and they all looked like professionals.  The one who appeared to be in charge handed me a waterproof map.  “This is where we’re going.”
It was a map of the coast of Colombia.  A mark was drawn on it, with the exact coordinates written.  I handed it to Andy, who had come down to the well deck.
“Get us there,” I said.  He nodded and took a last look at the men before heading back to the CIC.
“Where can we sleep?” asked one of the visitors.
I showed them to the block of staterooms.  They seemed to approve of the accommodations, despite the fact that there were no mattresses besides the one in my room that I had brought from home.  None of them were interested in small talk and they disappeared into their rooms.
We had six rooms, four guests and three of us in the crew.  We could have asked a couple of the men to share a room, but instead Nika volunteered to stay with me.  Really, I think she just wanted to take advantage of my king-size bed.  There was enough room for both of us.
The men were on the boat for perhaps twenty four hours.  They had their own food, but accepted coffee from us.  The leader was unhappy to learn of our mechanical difficulties, and advised us to push as hard as we could for the destination.  I calculated a speed that would allow us to arrive on time and use the warped shaft as little as possible.  Despite that, the vibrations got worse.
It was night again as we got near the spot.  The men went down to the well deck.  From the two containers, they took scuba equipment and guns.
The air tanks were small, so I figured they would only need them for the short trip to shore.  They also had battery powered scooters to pull them though the water faster.
They asked us to punch holes in the containers and let them sink.  Then they left.
Traveling slowly on one screw, we headed for Panama.  When morning came, I called Hanley on the encrypted satellite phone to discuss payment.  It probably would have been better business practice to agree on a price beforehand, but this way allowed us to compensate if anything unexpected happened.
I got him to agree to send a new propeller shaft and a crew with the proper security clearance to install it.  He also made arrangements to borrow a dry dock in the shipping facilities around the Panama Canal.
By the time the sun was up, we were far away from where we’d dropped the men, and in much deeper water.  It was time to get rid of the containers.
They were made of high density plastic and when empty they floated high in the water.  I pushed them out from the well deck and asked Nika to bring the boat around to where the containers bobbed in the waves.  On my way down to the deck, I stopped by the CIC.  “Come on, Andy.”
He grabbed a shotgun and followed me.  I had managed to get the helicopter deck covered with nonskid paint, but the markings to help pilots land weren’t applied yet.  We walked to the edge of the deck and I pointed out the containers floating below us. 
“Work the action and chamber a round,” I said.
Everyone who has ever seen an action movie knows how to use a shotgun.  Andy racked the foregrip.  Clack-clack
He grinned.  “That’s the greatest sound ever.”
I agreed, it was one of the best cues to tell someone that you meant business.  “Most shotguns don’t have effective sights, so just line the barrel up with your eyes.”  Andy stepped to the edge of the deck and aimed down.
The first shot made him lose his grip on the shotgun and almost drop it into two thousand feet of water.  If he had, I probably would have sent him in after it.
I walked over to survey the results.  The heavy lead slug had no trouble tearing through the container and it was beginning to fill with water.
I nodded.  “Do the other one.”  Andy racked the action again, ejecting the empty shell and loading a fresh one.  Another shot, and the second container was soon sinking.
I swept the empty shells over the side with my hoof and we walked back in.  Andy said, “Thanks for this.”  
“I just don’t want you to be useless in a gunfight.”  I was only half joking.  I didn’t plan on getting us into any shootouts, but it never hurt to be prepared.
We spent a few days in Panama while the boat was being fixed.  Nika insisted on going to the beach .  Andy was content to sit in front of his computer and work on his anti-tan.
Most of the people at the seashore were tourists.  I looked around but didn’t see anyone suspicious.  I would have liked to be able to relax completely, but I doubted that I would be able to do that ever again.  Part of the job, I guess.
Even Nika in her bikini didn’t seem relaxed, but that could have been because of all the men stealing glances at her.  I thought it was hilarious.
While the boat was out of the water, I finished the painting the hull.  Before leaving, we bought a lot of things to finish fitting out the boat.  First among them were mattresses.
Hanley contacted us with the news that the British wanted to hire someone discrete to transport a VIP from The Bahamas to England.  He didn’t give further details, and we didn’t ask.
When we arrived in Nassau, we called the man Hanley had put us in contact with.  His name was A. J. Stuart.  On the phone, he sounded very British.
He told us to wait, and he would come to us.  After that, we needed to be ready to leave.  I went to work filling the boat with fuel while Nika went ashore to buy food.  We’d nearly run out and it wouldn’t do to have our guests eating military surplus MREs.  She was nice enough to find some animal crackers to replace my dwindling stock.
Nika had returned and I had just begun to get restless when a car pulled up and three men and a woman got out.
I pressed the button for the intercom to the CIC.  “They’re here.”
Nika and I walked down to the main deck.  Andy joined us shortly.  His eyes went wide.  “Oh my God, that’s Hawker!”
I swung my eyes back to the woman.  When she had gotten out of the car, she’d been covered up with a head scarf and a long coat, despite the warm weather.  As she came aboard, she shed the outside layers of clothing she was wearing.
In my limited study of human anatomy, I knew that Hawker’s face and body were on the upper edge of believability, but not overdone like some porn stars.
One of the men offered his fist to me.  “I’m Stuart; we talked earlier.  I’m with the United Kingdom’s Serious Organized Crime Agency.  I’m escorting this young lady home.  Are we ready to leave yet?”
I gave him a hoof bump and told him that we ready to go.  The two men who had come with them brought his and Hawker’s luggage to the boat before leaving in the car.
Nika and Andy went back inside to prepare to get underway.  I showed our guests to their staterooms.  They each deposited their things.  Since they were going to be aboard for almost a week, I gave them a short tour.  
I left them at the bridge and went to slip the mooring lines.  When the boat floated freely, I waved to Nika, who stood at the wheel.  From where I stood, I could see the three of them standing there around the controls.  Stuart looked bored.  Hawker seemed excited.  Nika didn’t seem pleased to be stuck on a boat with a porn star.
When the sun came up the next morning, I got up with it and went to the galley to get some coffee.  The coffee maker had apparently been running all night.  The pot was several cups low, and I assumed Andy drank it.
I went up to the bridge and found him there.  We made small talk and he got up from his seat behind the wheel.  “I’m going to go down to the CIC.”
Stuart came up the stairs.  “Good morning gentleman.  Is there a place to exercise on board?”
We didn’t have any exercise equipment.  I made a mental note to get some at the next opportunity.  “Not really.”
“The deck is too small to run on,” said Stuart.
“Well, so is anything short of an aircraft carrier.”
Stuart went down to the foredeck and did calisthenics.  He looked like he was in excellent shape.  On impulse, I used the intercom to call Andy.
“What do you know about Stuart?”
“Not much.  He’s not very pleasant.”
I laughed.  “See what you can find out about him.  Be discreet.”
Andy said he would, and I left him to it.
Later in the day, Nika brought me a sandwich.  I muttered thanks between bites.  I hadn’t asked her to do it, but I was kind of hungry.  When she relieved me, I went down to the CIC.
When I got there, Hawker and Andy were gathered around his computer.  The screen showed a website with a lot of pink and some pictures of her.
“Hey boss,” said Andy.  “Hawker wanted to put a notice on her website that she won’t be available to work for a while.  While we were at it, we decided to update the site and freshen it up a little.”
He handed me a plain folder.  “This is what you asked for earlier.”
I turned to go back to the bridge, looking at the folder.  It was a brief report on Stuart. It looked as if Andy was still able to effectively multitask even with his girlfriend around.
I dug into the report.  Ambrosius Jamieson Stuart.  I could see why he preferred A.J.  He had been with the Special Air Service before joining the Serious Organized Crime Agency.  That would explain why he was in good shape.  The SAS was a special unit of the United Kingdom Army.  They were about as badass as British people got.
Andy also found out that there was nothing suspicious about his finances or anything else to indicate he was into shady business.  He concluded the report by stating that while Stuart might have been unlikeable, he was committed to his job.
I gave Nika the report.  She used to work in the intelligence business and was impressed by what Andy had been able to dig up.  We were talking it over when Andy came over the intercom to say that he’d just gotten an email from Hanley.
Hanley usually called, so this was something new.  I went down to look at it.  It was a change in plans.  The British decided we should change course for Monaco to pick up some information that went along with the trial that Hawker was being sent home to testify at.  I figured that it must be a really high profile crime. 
The message had been sent in email form to better convince Stuart that things had changed.  I pressed the button for the ship-wide intercom.  “Mr. Stuart to the CIC, please.”
Andy worked out a new course for Monaco and sent the information up to the bridge.  I went up and informed Nika what we were going to do.  She shrugged and said, “As long as we are getting paid.”
After passing through the Strait of Gibraltar, we had to make an emergency stop in Morocco.  The primary hydraulic control for the rudder sprang a leak.  There was a backup system, so it wasn’t a problem that hurt the boat’s functionality, but it still needed to be fixed.
I first discovered the problem when I noticed the hydraulic oil was low.  Because the backup system had taken over and everything still worked, it was hard to find the problem.  Finally, after several hours, I emerged from the bilge sweating and covered in oil, dragging a broken hydraulic line with me.  Once again, it was something a proper shakedown cruise would have caught.
I didn’t figure the CIA would be too keen on allowing shipyard workers from a third world country to inspect the boat too closely, so I had to bring the hose ashore and find an identical one.
We stayed tied up to the pier for two more days.  The first replacement hose I had gotten wouldn’t fit, despite the claims of the man who had sold it to me.  Rather than try him again, I called Norfolk and had the company send one overnight by airplane.
While we waited for it, I began to notice some people hanging around the dock.  Sure, the boat stuck out, but it couldn’t be the first yacht the people had ever seen.  Even if it was, it would just be cause for some rubbernecking and then they would move on.  I didn’t like it.  I called Stuart and had him come take a look.  “I think we’re under surveillance.”
“How do you know?”
“For the past day I’ve been watching the shipyard workers.  Every time I’ve glanced around, there’s always one who isn’t doing anything.  It’s not always the same man, and he’s not always in the same place, but there’s always one acting suspicious.”
“What do you think; they’ve set up a rotating watch on us?” Stuart asked.
“Yeah.”
He thought for a moment.  As a former soldier, I figured he had more experience with this type of thing, which is why I asked him about it.
“As long as they’re just observing, I don’t think we have a problem.  To be on the safe side, I think we should set up a rotating watch of our own.  If they try anything, we’ll want to have warning.”
I nodded.  “What did Hawker get involved in, anyway?  Are they willing to track her all the way here?”
Stuart shook his head.  “I didn’t think the man Ms. Hurricane is going to testify against had the resources to have underlings working here.  I was also sure she left the Bahamas under total secrecy.  That was the whole point of using your boat.”  He paused.  “Unless they’re here about you?”
I had to admit, that was probably a likely scenario.  The northern coast of Morocco where we had stopped wasn’t that far from Libya.  It was possible that someone connected to Ali Al-Azhem knew we were here.  Whether we had an intelligence leak or it was just pure dumb luck, I didn’t know.  In the meantime, setting up a watch like Stuart suggested was smart.
We kept an eye out during the rest of the day.  As I had observed earlier, there was always someone watching us.  That night, I volunteered to stay awake.
I sat up in the bridge with all the lights off, occasionally eating animal crackers.  I had night vision binoculars and a pistol.
I’d grown fond of the FN Five-seveN semiautomatic in the time that I’d owned it.  It was able to carry twenty armor piercing rounds in the magazine, yet it was accurate and low recoil.
Yes, trying to figure out how to shoot a gun while not being equipped with fingers was difficult.  Luckily, I had the resources to figure it out.  A bracket that fitted to my hoof was connected to the grip.  A piece of high strength synthetic twine was tied to the trigger.  I had to pull it with my teeth.  Overall, it was a terribly complicated system, but when was the last time you saw a non-unicorn with a gun?
I didn’t have to use the Five-seveN that night.  When I carried it with me, I usually concealed it inside a vest I wore.  Nika thought it looked rather stylish.
As I sat there on the bridge, I made a slow sweep with the night vision every so often.  Each time, I was able to pick out a watcher.  I wondered if they knew we were on to them.  If they did, it didn’t look like they cared.
In the morning, our new hydraulic line arrived and we made ready to sail once I got everything put back together.
I had a shower to clean off all the dirt and oil, paying special attention to keep my feathers clumping.  Afterwards, I joined Nika on the bridge.  I called the CIC to check if Andy was ready to go.  He was.  The two Brits were in their respective staterooms.
After casting off the lines and getting the bow pointed out to sea, I looked back.  The man who was watching us had a cell phone to his ear.
About half an hour after leaving the pier, Andy called from the CIC.  “We’ve got two contacts almost directly behind us, traveling fast.  They’re probably small boats.”
If someone was after us, I wondered why they didn’t try an assault while we were in port.  Maybe they were trying to stay out of the public eye by attacking us on the open sea.  To be on the safe side, I cranked the boat up to its maximum speed.
I lifted a pair of high powered binoculars and looked aft.  The radar had picked them up about twelve miles away.  Because of the curvature of the Earth, I couldn’t see them yet.
For the second time in as many days, I called Stuart.  When he arrived in the bridge, he listened carefully to my description of the situation and studied the radar display.
“I think we should prepare,” he said, “but we aren’t in any danger yet.”
That was true.  They had cut into the twelve mile lead a little, but since we had increased our speed, they closed on us more slowly.  Doing some quick math, I figured that we had almost two hours before they were on us.
If we’d had more weapons aboard, I would have turned the boat around and gone on the offensive.  As it was, we had only what I had scavenged.
Almost exactly two hours and more than sixty miles later, one of the boats appeared to drop back, as if it had run out of fuel.  Through the binoculars, I studied the remaining boat.  It had closed to within a quarter of a mile and I could see four men in it.  They appeared to be armed.
Stuart appeared, holding a MP5K submachine gun.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“I brought it along just in case.  It’s small enough to fit in my baggage.”  I started to like the man a little more.
The men on the boat began firing.  Their aim was being upset by how much the waves rocked the smaller vessel, but I distinctly heard the sounds of bullet ricochets off the stern of my boat.
I ducked inside the bridge, protected by the bulletproof glass.  Stuart had the binoculars to his eyes.  The pursing boat had closed to no more than two hundred yards away.  I’m not sure if it was because he was British or if it was because he was a trained special operations soldier, but Stuart looked unruffled.  He stepped out, unfolding the compact stock of his weapon.  He put it to his shoulder and calmly fired several short bursts into the boat even as bullets whizzed around us.  When he was finished, no one fired back.
Crewed only by dead men, the boat continued to speed along.  It passed us and we kept it on radar.  About half an hour later, we found it drifting, out of fuel.
If someone found the boat, they would ask questions.  Sure, we’d acted in self defense, but questions were something we didn’t need.  I swung the wheel and Corsair’s bow plowed through the thin sheet metal skin of the smaller boat, sending it to the bottom.
Andy came up from the CIC.  “Interesting day,” he commented, sounding casual.  We’d both had half an hour since the shooting had stopped to calm down.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Is this going to become a habit?”
I shrugged.  “You never know.”
He paused a moment.  “Can I paint a kill on the side of the bridge?”
He meant a battle record, something warships sometimes did.
“Sure.”
Andy went to get a fine brush and carefully illustrated a silhouette of a small boat on the superstructure.  When he was finished, he stepped back to admire his work.
“That’s one,” he said.
> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Nika made some kind of soup for dinner.  Russian cuisine, to my taste at least, is kind of hit or miss.  Luckily, this was one of the better ones.
Andy quizzed me about the shootout.  He said that he would have come to help if Nika hadn’t told him he would be of more assistance if he stayed in the CIC.  Across the table, she nodded in confirmation.
Hawker asked what all the shooting was about, and Stuart took her aside and talked to her for a few minutes.  By the sound of it, he told her that she didn’t really want or need to know.
It was amazing how much could change so quickly.  What should have been a simple transatlantic cruise had turned into something else that I didn’t know what to call.  A porn star in the middle of some kind of organized crime trial, emergency stops in foreign ports and meeting terrorists who wanted us all dead all in the same trip defied description.
We were originally supposed to be in England by now.  I would make sure Hanley negotiated with the Brits to get us a larger payment.
It was also time to call Dr. Games.  I wasn’t looking forward to the call.  I didn’t like to talk about getting people killed.
Later that night, Andy was on the bridge again.  I decided to talk with Nika about the gunfight earlier in the day.  Dr. Games had reminded me that it had been in self defense, so I felt justified.  It’s still a load on your mind.  As a business partner, I thought Nika should know that I was thinking about it.  Andy wasn’t really a partner, just a temp for the summer before he went back to teaching.
Nika calmed me down.  “We both knew something like this might happen when we started.”
“I suppose.”
She put her hand on my head and rubbed me behind the ears.  It made me feel like a dog, but it was pleasant.  I hated to think about it, but Andy might have a competitor for title of Sail’s best friend.
After a long trip up the coasts of Spain and France, we arrived at Monaco.  It was possibly the one place on earth where my boat would be amongst a crowd.
Monaco was a tiny country located between France and the Mediterranean Sea, with Italy nearby.  It had Monte Carlo and a host of other world-class casinos.  Rich people from around the world came because of its great weather and lenient tax laws.
The Serious Organized Crime Agency had contracted with an Italian private investigator to obtain information about the case that Hawker was a witness to.  Stuart still hadn’t told us anything about that.
Hawker wanted to explore Monaco, but Stuart said absolutely not.  Not only would getting her out on the streets make her an easier target, but neither of them happened to be carrying the kind of cash that it took to do literally anything in high-rolling Monaco.  At the same time, Stuart didn’t trust us to keep her safe.  I had hinted that we would take her out to party the moment his back was turned.  
Regardless of who the gunmen from Morocco had belonged to, Stuart knew that someone wanted everyone on the boat dead.  In the end, he decided to send Nika and I to meet the investigator while he stayed with Hawker.  Andy said he would stay and keep the boat ready to go, just in case.
I had been to Monaco once before and remembered how much money I had lost gambling.  Not that I couldn’t afford to play a little now and then, but it was an experience I didn’t wish to repeat.  Nika, who had grown up with the memory of the old Soviet Union, was naturally frugal with money, and we agreed to stay away from casinos.
The details of the meeting with the investigator were hurriedly changed.  I hoped that that wouldn’t spook the guy and make him skip the meeting.  We left a little early so we had time for dinner.
Not that I minded Nika’s cooking, but it was nice to eat something once in a while that hadn’t come out of the boat’s galley.  The restaurant was expensive, everything in Monaco was, but unlike gambling you were guaranteed to get something in return for the money.
We were probably overdressed for a covert meeting with a private investigator, but the restaurant wouldn’t have let us in dressed more casually.  Nika wore a silky red dress.  I had begrudgingly put on a jacket and tie.  Luckily, everyone else seemed to think they were extras in the casino scene in a James Bond movie, so we didn’t stick out.  
Calling last minute to tell the investigator that someone else would be coming to meet him had thrown all the carefully laid plans out the window.  He insisted on changing the location and details.  Luckily, it only takes about half an hour to walk from one end of Monaco to the other, so we didn’t have any trouble getting there.
The instructions from the man were clear.  Arrive promptly at the appointed time.  If he was satisfied that we were alone, he would show himself.
We sat on the bench for almost ten minutes before a short, trim man with a briefcase appeared and sat down as well.
“You must be Sail Canvas,” he said.  His English was very good.
“That’s right.”
“You’re Americans.”
Apparently he’d looked up my citizenship.  Nika corrected him, however.  “I’m not.”
“Pardon me, madam.  I did not mean to presume.  You sound…Russian?  Prijatno poznakomit’sa.”
She answered him in kind.  I was impressed.  The man had an ear for language.
“If I may ask,” he said, “what is one American pony and one Russian woman doing here on behalf of the British government?”
“It’s complicated,” I said.
“Confidential, then.  Very well.  I am Mario Rossi, investigator for hire.  I have information for you.”  He presented the briefcase.
Nika took it from him.  I said, “I’ve been told that your fee has already been paid.”
“Yes, Mr. Canvas.”  He stood up.  “I’ll be going now.  I hope you’ll find all the information to your liking.”  He walked away.
“Mr. Stuart told us that we should bring this straight back to the boat,” said Nika.
“It’s almost like he was daring us to take a look.”
Nika smiled, obviously liking my idea.  She popped open the latches on the briefcase.  Inside was an assortment of documents and photographs, with a few computer disks mixed in.  We quickly decided that we had five minutes to look before Stuart would get suspicious.
It quickly became apparent that everything pertained to a Mr. James Winfield Herrington, a British businessman who had fled the country ahead of several embezzlement charges.  He had turned up in The Bahamas where he had partied with Hawker Hurricane and gone a little too far.  She didn’t respond well to unpaid sexual activities.  She would be testifying that he had been in The Bahamas during a certain time period.  There might be something else that she knew, but Mario Rossi’s notes only speculated as to what.
Most of the pictures were of people who pertained to the information, like James Herrington or Hawker Hurricane.  We didn’t have time or equipment to look at the disks.
When we returned to the boat, Stuart looked at us suspiciously but didn’t say anything.  I told Andy to get us moving.
A quick internet search revealed that “Mario Rossi” was the Italian equivalent of “John Smith.”  Given the level of security the man had insisted on, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a fake name.
I decided to tell Hanley.  I got the impression the Brits were keeping him in the dark about our current operation, too.  I understood that the reason for that was probably to preserve security, but I trusted Hanley not to tell anyone else and I figured that if I was volunteering information it might help get me on his good side.
On the phone, Hanley listened without interruption.  When I finished, he said that he would look into Rossi.  I knew that most law enforcement people had a distrust of private investigators.
“Oh, and while we’re talking,” said Hanley, “that dustup you got into in Morocco was in fact linked to Al-Azhem’s old group.”
“See?  They’re still after me.  This is why I need heavier weapons and the ammunition to get the CIWS working.”
“You did all right without them.”  I think we both knew that I wouldn’t hesitate to get things using unofficial methods if I had to.  I was just trying to get stuff from him for free.
Hanley said he might get back to me with more information about Rossi, and we broke the connection.  I went to find Nika.
“I think it’s time we got the CIWS loaded up,” I said.  “We could use some other things, too.  In your time investigating black market affairs, I’m sure you know how we could get some.”
Nika smiled.  “I will make arrangements.”
A few days later, off the coast of Spain, we were waiting for a rendezvous.  Our weapons dealers were a little late.
I punched the intercom button and asked for Andy.
“He’s busy.  What can I do for you?”
I stared at the speaker Hawker’s voice had come from, not expecting her to respond.  “I’d like a little more return on the radar.  Maybe widen the beam and increase emission power.”
Five seconds later, she said, “Okay, done.”  I saw the picture on the radar screen in the bridge change a little.
I wondered if Andy had actually taught her to use the controls, or if he had simply adjusted them for her.  I shrugged it off and waited.
When the radar contact eventually came, we steered that way.  It turned out to be an old rusty fishing trawler flying a Russian flag.  The crew looked tough and almost as weather beaten as the boat.  We had told Stuart that it was a scheduled meeting with a government weapons supplier.  I doubt he believed us, but he didn’t ask questions.
The men greeted Nika warmly.  Evidently, news of her desertion from the FSB had spread widely and was well received by weapons dealers.  I went with her aboard the boat to see what they had available.
The cargo hold was crammed with weapons, stacked in piles.  All of them looked pre-owned.  We picked through them, occasionally getting advice from the arms dealers.
We decided on three AK-47s with a dozen magazines and a couple of thousand cartridges for them, a couple of RPGs, and some twenty millimeter ammunition.
I was worried that Russian twenty-mil might not work with our weapon, until I noticed that the markings on the crate indicated that it was property of the U.S. military.  I wondered where they had gotten it, but didn’t inquire because that’s one question you just don’t ask black market arms dealers.
I called my lawyer on the satellite phone and gave him instructions for moving a sum of money into a bank account that the men told me about.  They called someone of their own to confirm that the money had arrived.  
They helped carry our purchases back to our boat and after handshakes and hoof bumps they left.  Stuart watched as Nika and I hauled the boxes and containers to the center of the foredeck.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that we had just made a weapons deal.
There was a cargo elevator placed in the center of the flight deck.  It was square and when not in use sat flush with the deck.  Once our new guns and ammo were on it, I signaled for Andy to actuate it, and it took us below.  When the elevator stopped, we got our things off and sent it back up, while holding down an inconspicuous button the side of the shaft. As the elevator rose, the CIWS beneath it was revealed.
The Close In Weapons System was a six barreled gatling gun controlled by a computer connected to radar.  It was a deadly combination.  It could hit air and sea targets with a barrage of 4,500 rounds per minute.  It was standard issue aboard Navy ships for defense from missiles, small boats, and everything in between.  Ours had been modified with a surrounding cage.  The top of the cage formed the floor of the elevator.  When we wanted to kill something, the CIWS would be pushed up out of the elevator shaft.
Nika and I loaded a fifteen hundred round belt of twenty millimeter ammunition into the CIWS.  It could fire the whole belt in twenty seconds, so it was good that we had some more to reload with.
At some point, Stuart walked by.  The elevator doors were about halfway closed, concealing most of the weapon, but the multi barreled gun was unmistakable.  He stared for several seconds before moving on, shaking his head.
We continued on towards jolly old England.  We expected to meet people from the Serious Organized Crime Agency on the docks, but the day before we were scheduled to arrive, plans changed.
A call for Stuart came on my satellite phone.  I found him and handed it over, listening while he spoke.  It sounded like someone was giving him a change of orders.  I was a little concerned that such things were being conducted over an unsecured line. 
When he hung up, he told me that a helicopter would be arriving soon to take Hawker away.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I wasn’t specifically told that I would also be boarding the helicopter, but I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t.”  He handed the sat phone back to me.  “I really want to get back on dry land.”
He and Hawker began gathering their belongings.  Ten minutes later, a target appeared on radar, and I watched as it resolved itself in to a medium sized passenger helicopter.  The pilot called us and we arranged for him to land on our deck.
Andy came up to the bridge to watch the landing.  He whistled.  “A Eurocopter Dauphin.  Those aren’t cheap.”  
After the helo touched down, the pilot and copilot kept the engine running while a man in a flight suit got out of the back and came to the superstructure.  He was a big guy, and had a pistol holstered by his side.
“We’re here to take her home,” he said, nodding at Hawker.  He noticed Stuart also standing there with his luggage.  “Who’re you?”
“I’m A.J. Stuart.  I’ve escorted her from The Bahamas.”
The helicopter crewman looked surprised.  “I wasn’t told anything about that.”
“I’m coming with her.”
“No way.”
“Do you want me to call my boss and have him explain to you just who the hell I am?”
The crewman instantly backed off.  “No, don’t do that, you can hitch a ride.”
“I’m coming too,” said Andy.
“What?” said Stuart and I simultaneously.
“I want him to come,” said Hawker.  “He knows enough about electronic security that I think he can help set up protection for me until the trial.”  Stuart looked like he doubted that, but didn’t say anything.
“You’ll be arriving tomorrow,” said Andy, looking at me.  “You don’t need me to run the boat.”
I shrugged.  “I guess not.  Have fun.”
The three of them followed the crewman out to the helicopter and boarded.  Nika and I went up to the bridge to watch them take off, and then set a course for land.
About half an hour later, the helicopter was back.  It wobbled in the air and didn’t respond to radio calls.  There was something wrong.
We brought the boat to a halt to make the landing as easy as possible for the pilot.  It took a couple of tries to get the helo lined up correctly, but it was eventually hovering a few feet off the deck.  The landing was rough, the helicopter smacking the deck so hard it almost bounced.
If they were in trouble, the helicopter wasn’t going to be taking off again.  I ran out with tie down straps to secure it to the deck.  I noticed what looked like a bullet hole in the window nearest to me.
The door slid open and Andy stumbled out.  He helped Hawker out the door and Stuart followed.  All of them had blood on their clothes.  Stuart closed the door behind him.
“It was a setup,” he said.  “I should have called my boss.  They weren’t from the Agency.”
I finished with the straps and crawled out from under the helicopter.  I had a look through the windows and soon realized why Stuart had closed the door.  All three of the crew members were dead.
The helicopter’s engines finished spooling down and we went inside.  Stuart decided to let a shower wait while he grabbed a phone and chewed out someone on the other end for quite a while.  I could see why he would be angry.
He finished with, “Confirmation?  How’s this?  If you don’t send either someone I know personally or the queen herself to pick Hurricane up, I’m not letting her out of my sight!”  Yeah, he was definitely angry.
I made coffee and waited for everyone to calm down.  When they were all in clean clothes, I got them all to come to the galley so I could figure out what the heck happened on the helicopter.
Andy had some coffee and explained that the helicopter crewmen had been using the intercom to talk amongst themselves.  They appeared to reach some kind of decision, and that’s when the man in the back with them drew his pistol and prepared to kill Stuart and then presumably Andy, too.
Stuart added that he had been suspicious of the helicopter crew ever since they had arrived.  I thought that he must have really been taught some good stuff by the SAS, because he was able to get the gun away from the man.  In the process, a bullet went through the window.
Stuart had then put two bullets in the man’s chest before advancing into the cockpit.  He killed the copilot for trying to pull a gun.  After that, he held the pistol on the pilot and told him to turn the helicopter around.
The pilot jerked the control stick hard to the side.  Stuart reflexively shot him as he was thrown off his feet.
Hawker broke in, saying that Andy had jumped into the cockpit, grabbing the control stick as the helicopter tumbled out of control.  He had shouted, “Everybody chill out!  I got this!”
Andy went bright red.  “Well,” he muttered, “I once read the flight manual for the Dauphin helicopter.  I felt that I was the most qualified to fly it.”  He brightened.  “Can we paint this on like we did with that boat?”
“You managed to fly it back,” I said.  “It’s not destroyed.”
“Yeah, but we captured it.  That counts for something, right?”
“Close enough, I guess.”
I found out that Stuart had broken his fall with the radio.  That explained the lack of communication.  Changing subjects from the confrontation aboard the helicopter, he said that it would be nice to have some weapons handy, in case things got ugly again when we made landfall.
“Like that cannon you have downstairs,” he said.
The technical term was “below decks” and we wouldn’t be able to raise the CIWS into firing position with the helicopter sitting on the flight deck anyway, but it was nice that he was acknowledging what we were capable of.
It was at that moment that Nika came in, one of the AK-47s slung on her back.  It was one we’d gotten that had a folding stock.  The dirt it had accumulated sitting in the pile aboard the dealers’ boat hadn’t been cleaned off yet, but there’s something comforting about a friend with a gun.
We spent some time talking in the dwindling hours before we reached the shore of England.  Andy was able to find the registration of the helicopter linked to one of James Herrington’s satellite companies.  He printed the information off and added it to the briefcase of information Rossi had provided.
Speaking of Rossi, how did Herrington’s men know what boat we were on?  The easiest explanation was a leak in the Serious Organized Crime Agency, but I personally preferred the theory that Rossi was playing both side of the game, and had sold us out.  There was nothing we could do about it now.
At the docks, Stuart met up with several agents that he knew.  They took Hawker away in a convoy of government sedans.  Andy was not allowed to go along.
Stuart had said that it could be anywhere from weeks to years before the trial was over.  She was going to be kept under protection for as long as it took.  I asked Andy how she was going to work.
He shrugged.  “We both doubt they would allow a camera crew into the safe house.  She was thinking of moving into the live webcam show business.”
Lovely.  At any rate, we didn’t have months or years to wait, so Andy was aboard when we departed.
Hanley had been silent for a while.  When we called him looking for something to do, he said he would get back to us.  We’d managed to negotiate a nice payment for the last job due to all the unforeseen circumstances that had popped up, so we had some money to burn.  
The temptation to go back to Monaco and try to shake something out of Rossi was strong.  Sure, he might not have anything to do with our troubles at all, but we didn’t have anything else to go on.  Plus, Rossi seemed like a smart guy who would find ways to protect himself.
Instead, after a crane arrived and lifted the helicopter off the deck, we headed for Madeira to go diving.  It wasn’t exactly tropical, but the weather at the island off the coast of Portugal was decent enough.  Andy said he had no interest in being underwater with nothing but a tank of air to breathe, but Nika was up for it.
I’m no certified diving instructor, but felt confident in teaching her the basics of shallow water diving.  The water was clear and the coral reefs were plentiful.
On the second day in Madeira, the call from Hanley finally came.  He said, “You’re not going to believe who I have sitting across from me right now.”
“Try me.”
“Nevis.”
Admiral Benjamin Nevis was the man who, arguably, had set me on the path I was now on.  If I hadn’t owed him a favor, he wouldn’t have mentioned to the CIA what a nice candidate I would be for them to kidnap.  Even before that, I had shared a mutual dislike with Nevis, but we were usually able to do business.
“Speakerphone is on,” said Hanley.
“Admiral, what can I do for you?” I said.
“We’d like you to run your boat over a particular patch of ocean.”
“That’s it?  No getting shot at?”  It sounded too easy.
“That’s it.  Just show up, and then you can go on your way.”
“Why do you want me to do that?”
“Why are you asking questions?”
“I can think of several reasons,” I said.  “Most of them end with me getting shot at anyway.”
“It’s nothing like that.”
“Then tell me.”
“You may have heard of the new BBQ-76 sonar.”
“Yeah, it’s the new submarine sound system,” I remembered.  “I’m guessing you want to use my boat so your sub drivers can calibrate it.”
“Essentially, yes.”
“All right.”
“Was that so hard?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Hanley cut in.  “The Admiral gave me coordinates.”  He read them off to me.  “Get going.”
We got our gear secured and headed out.  After a couple of days, we’d reached point in the mid Atlantic where the water was two miles deep.  Military submarines couldn’t dive that deep, but at least you didn’t have to worry about scraping the bottom.
I figured that the submarine we were working with was already there, waiting.  I intended to give their new sonar a full workout.
As we arrived at the location, I throttled back and then turned the engines off.  The boat had batteries to handle electrical power, but they wouldn’t last forever.  Andy seemed sad to shut down all his computers to conserve energy, but that was replaced by excitement as he powered up the equipment for our own sonar.
The system had been designed by my company for small patrol craft.  It wasn’t too big or complicated, and it wasn’t the greatest quality, either.  It had a few hydrophones embedded in the lower hull, and a small active sonar unit.  
The active sonar was basically a big fish finder, only the fish we were after were man-made.  It was tied into the rest of the system so a target’s range and direction could be determined.  The towed-array sonar consisted of a hydrophone on the end of long cable to allow our boat to hear the area behind us, a place that the noise from the engines normally covered up.  It didn’t work when we were stationary, though.
For a while, nothing happened.  We were no stealth ship, but with no sound going into the water other than the waves lapping the hull, the boat was pretty quiet.  They’d probably heard us arrive and were now trying to locate us.
It was like a contest of wills.  If the sub captain got tired of waiting, he might make a move that would give himself away.  Since we were getting paid to sit still, we were only limited by how long the battery power lasted.
The sub broke first.  After almost half an hour, Andy said quietly over the intercom, “I think I hear air blowing.”
That meant the sub was forcing air into its ballast tanks to push water out and come up to a shallower depth.  We had the radar on, which ate at the battery, but it paid off when it caught a periscope breaking the surface a quarter of a mile away.
“Andy,” I called, “turn on active sonar and concentrate on that bearing.”  I cranked up the engines and we headed directly at where the periscope had popped up.
The submarine captain, realizing his mistake, sent the sub on a crash dive.  We were closing too fast, though, and our active sonar followed the sub down, blasting ping after ping of sound at it.
The sub tried all kinds of tricks to break away.  It turned around and went behind us.  It changed depth, sometimes going as deep as a thousand feet.  It even released some noisemakers to distract us, but we’d gotten too close and there was no way to shake us off.
Finally, the captain gave up and sent the sub off at forty miles per hour on a straight line back towards the United States.  We could have kept up, albeit just barely, but I didn’t see any point in rubbing it in.
It hadn’t been a thorough test of the new sub sonar, but Nevis had just said we should show up for the test, not that we should be sitting ducks.
Later that day, Andy painted a silhouette of a submarine on the side of the superstructure.
> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	We arrived in Panama again.  With nothing else to do, we left the boat at a marina with high fences and security officers.  We had earned a little shore time.
We were drawn to drinks like moths to a flame.  There was alcohol to be had aboard the boat, but I think that all of us wanted some social drinking.  At the tail end of summer, there were still parties to be had.  College students celebrated in bars, having one last drink before heading back to class.  Older couples could be seen occasionally, but mostly it was kids.
In some countries, walking around with an assault rifle hanging on your back is perfectly normal.  Panama is not one of them.  Nika had taken to carrying one of the AK-47s with her, but left it on the boat this time, somewhat reluctantly I thought.
At a drinking establishment, Nika grabbed Andy and pulled him over to a table.  She said she was going to teach him how to really drink.  I stayed at the bar, happy that the two of them were getting along.  While the title of best friend was an intangible concept, I’d rather not have to pick and get one or the other mad at me.  Jeeze, and I thought I had left this childish stuff in childhood.
When a man walked up to me, I was just starting to feel buzzed from the effect of a couple of drinks.  He was dressed up in a lightweight suit for the warm Panamanian weather.
“You’re Sail Canvas, right?” he said.  I turned to face him.
“Maybe.”  I usually don’t like to play coy, but the intoxication and the memories of recent events changed things.
“My name’s Greg Silverstone.  I work for James Herrington.”
“That supposed to mean something to me?”  I was a little panicked that someone was able to find me so easily.  I glanced over my shoulder to check on Nika and Andy, who were pounding shots of something.
“It should,” Silverstone continued.  “If you’re willing to drop everything you have on Mr. Herrington, we’ll see to it that you get information that could be very valuable to you.”
“For example?” I said.  His comment showed that he thought I was either working with the Serious Organized Crimes Agency or someone else that was a threat to Herrington.  I didn’t correct him.
“We know that Mario Rossi sold you out to someone.  We know who, and we know where he is now.”
“So do I,” I lied.  I had suspected Rossi was crooked.  I didn’t know, of course, who he had talked to, but I had a pretty good guess.  Besides, how had Herrington’s man found me?
Silverstone was taken aback.  He might not have fully believed that I already knew about Rossi, but the fact that I said so gave him pause.
I took another sip of my drink.  “Anything else you’d like to discuss?”
“No.”  He took out a business card and laid it on the bar.  “But I’m available if you reconsider.”  He walked away.
I went to join Nika and Andy.  The three of us were mostly plastered by the end of the night.  With all the people out there trying to kill us, it was completely irresponsible, but if it weren’t for times like that we would never get a chance to relax.
When we left, I was drunk but still probably the most sober of the three of us.  Andy didn’t drink all that often and could barely walk.
Back on the boat, Nika and I helped him to his bed and rolled him facedown in case he threw up.  I didn’t feel like I was in any danger of doing so myself, but I could tell I was heading for a hangover in the morning.
I unloaded the shotgun.  Andy, figuring that if Nika had her AK, he should have a gun handy, too, had taken to keeping the weapon on a shelf above his computer equipment.  I didn’t know what kind of drunk he might turn out to be, and didn’t want to take chances.   I left a box of shells inside one of the equipment cabinets, figuring that he would find them eventually when he was sober.
I was disturbed by meeting Greg Silverstone, but since he had given me his card I doubted I was in any immediate danger of attack from Herrington’s people.
Al-Azhem’s people, on the other hand, worried me.  If they were willing to invade my house in Norfolk and follow me all the way to Morocco, then I was definitely not safe in Panama.  Still, this was a designated do-not-give-a-care day, so I went to sleep.
The satellite phone woke me in the morning.  I found myself staring at Nika, who occupied the other side of the bed.  We blinked at each other for a few seconds before she let me out to answer the phone.
“Is this a good time?” asked Hanley.  “You sound like you went a couple of rounds with a truck and lost every one.”
I don’t know about the rest of me, but my head ached like that was true.  “It’s nothing.  What do you have for me?”
“Admiral Nevis told me what he asked you to do.  How did that play out?”
“Tell him I’m sorry for embarrassing that submarine crew,” I replied.
“Right.”  Switching to other news, he said, “You should probably know that he court date is approaching for James Herrington’s case.”
“A man talked to me last night.  He suggested I stay away from that.”  I gave him the information on Silverstone’s card to see if he would be able to track anything down.
“Anything else?”
“How’s that investigation of Mario Rossi I asked you to do?” I asked.
“Do you have any idea how many guys named Mario Rossi there are in the world?”
“That’s what I thought.”  I other words, we still didn’t have anything on him.
“I’ve got a new job for you,” said Hanley.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Nauru.”  He spelled it for me.  “Look it up.  I’ll call back in a few days with more.”  He disconnected the call.
Nika was fully awake and had listened to my side of the conversation.  She didn’t appear to have much hangover.
“Vodka is a very pure drink,” she said, as explanation.
“Why were we in bed together?” I asked.  “I remember falling asleep alone.”
“It put me one room further from Andy,” she explained.  “Apparently, he snores when drunk.”
We went to wake him up.  There wasn’t any vomit on the bed, but he was in no mood to face the day.  We got him out of bed and put a cup of coffee in his hand.  Within minutes after he started his computer up, he got for us everything we needed to know about Nauru.
After waiting our turn to pass through the Panama Canal, we arrived in the Pacific Ocean.  Due to the geography, the canal had been built in such a way that the Pacific entrance was actually farther east than the Atlantic entrance.  It was still a lot faster than going down around Tierra del Fuego at the southern tip of the continent.
I made sure to get animal crackers before we crossed the Pacific.  West of Panama, there’s a whole lot of nothing for a couple of thousand miles.  The Galapagos Islands, stretching out from the coast of South America, stay with you for a while, but after that it’s just open ocean.
We traveled in the Doldrums.  It’s an old sailor term for the area around the equator, particularly in the Pacific.  I’m no meteorologist, but something about the way the climate from the northern and southern hemispheres comes together over the equator causes the weather to do odd things.  It can be very calm with almost no wind or it can violently storm, both of which are problems for older ships with sails.
Fortunately, we used diesel power.  In fact, the engines made the trip without a single hiccup.  It looked like we might have finally solved all the “new boat” problems.
When we neared American Samoa, intending to stop and refuel, Hanley called.  It made me think again that he might have planted some kind of GPS tracker onboard.
“We’re conducting a field training exercise with the South Korean National Intelligence Service.”  By we I assumed he meant the CIA.  “Nauru has allowed us to use their island.”
I remembered what Andy had found about Nauru.  At just eight square miles, it was the smallest island nation in the world and the third smallest country overall.  It was located very near the equator, west of Kiribati, east of Micronesia, north of the Solomon Islands and south of the Marshalls.  The nearest inhabited island was almost two hundred miles away.
“Why Nauru? And why the NIS?” I asked.
“We needed a place to go, and they had one.  Don’t trouble yourself with other details.”  I suspected that the reason was political, and a fair sum of money had probably changed hands.
“So once we get there, we’re meeting with the Koreans?”
“No, you’re meeting with me,” he corrected.  “I’m running this myself.”
Well, that was surprising.  I always figured Hanley was a desk jockey.  Maybe it had something to do with visiting a tropical island.
“We’ve hired another group of mercenaries to act as the opposing force,” Hanley said.  I didn’t like the feeling that he had just labeled me a mercenary, but I wasn’t able to think of a quick retort so I let him go on.
“They’ve worked for us before, and they’re very good.  They can be trusted to keep things quiet so no one finds out about our training methods.”
I caught the subtle poke at me, but let it go.  “Speaking of finding things out, did you track down that guy I met?”
“Greg Silverstone?  He’s got ties to Herrington.  We think he runs Herrington’s business interests in South America.”
“That’s it?”
“You met some random guy in a foreign country and you want me to get one of my people to dig up something on him in just a couple of days?  I’d don’t get why you’re complaining.  If you could have done it yourself, you’d have done it.”
“Forget it,” I said.  “I’ll see you when we get to Nauru.”  I hung up on him.
After a stopover to get fuel, we continued west.  I got docking information from Hanley and pulled in with three other boats at the Nauru port.  One looked like a fishing boat, but I thought that it had too many antennas on it to be what it seemed.  It was flagged from South Korea.
The other two boats flew the United States ensign.  One was a utility boat that was perhaps one hundred twenty feet long.  Profit was the name painted on the stern.  It looked to be in functioning shape, but needed some paint.  The other was a World War Two-vintage Higgins torpedo boat that looked like it had been well taken care of.  It was named Glory.
The Higgins was seventy-eight feet long, I remembered from a technical manual I had read once.  They had seen extensive action during the war.  They were fast and maneuverable and could be mounted with all kinds of weapons.  Judging by the suspicious looking shapes wrapped in tarps on deck, it looked like this one had never been disarmed.
In comparison to the three other boats, and indeed, all the boats at the docks, Corsair looked about as expensive as all of them put together.  It didn’t take long for word to spread among the locals that someone out of the ordinary had showed up.  Groups of people came down to the water to have a look. 
Hanley and three other men waited for us.  One was Asian, with wise-looking eyes and a slight build.  The other two were white and very large.
“Let me introduce Chang-he Soo of NIS, Mark Wilson: President of First Strike, and Vic Colton: Vice President.”
I guessed First Strike was the mercenary group.  I hoof bumped with the three of them, Wilson put a little extra force into the gesture.
“What’s the plan?” I asked Hanley.
“Let’s go aboard your boat and discuss it.”
It made sense to keep away from the curious public, so I led them aboard.  There was no way I was letting them see all of Corsair’s tricks, though, so I only took them as far as the bridge.  Nika was there.  I figured Andy was probably in the CIC.
Hanley began describing the exercise.  First Strike would simulate an attack on the Nauru parliament house, and then escape in their boats.  The Korean intelligence ship and our boat would cooperate to track them to South Korea.  It would help the CIA and NIS develop plans to work together in the future.
I saw Wilson and Colton looking over the bridge electronics.  Wilson’s face showed a trace of surprise when he spotted the CIWS controls.  Chang-he Soo, too, kept his eyes moving around during the conversation.  Despite the friendly cooperation, I suspected that everyone on the bridge was working for their own purposes.
With details finalized, Soo and the two men from First Strike went back to their own boats.  We had a few hours before night fell so the operation could commence.  To help communicate while we tracked the First Strike boats, the Koreans sent over a young man named Park to stay with us.
I showed him to the stateroom next to the one Hanley was staying in.  Later on as it was getting dark, I went down to talk to Andy and found Park there, talking to Andy in Korean about video games.  His grasp of the language didn’t seem as good as Japanese, but then he didn’t teach Korean.
“What can I do for you?” asked Andy as I came in.
“Just a suggestion for you to have some caffeine.  It’s dark now, but if they’re smart they’ll wait until the middle of the night to get started.”
“Right,” he agreed.  “You want some coffee, Park?”
I left and went to see if Nika was still sleeping.  She had decided to take a nap in the evening to prepare.  She agreed to watch the bridge while I slept.  
Andy awoke me with the intercom at about four in the morning.  A “bomb” had “exploded” at the parliament building.  We waited and watched, expecting the First Strike team to come running back to their boats at any time.  Instead, the two boats started their engines and got underway.
“Could they be back aboard already?” I radioed to the Korean boat.
“Impossible.”  It sounded like Soo’s voice.  “We have done surveillance and would have seen them.”
“We should probably get going and keep the boats in sight.”
Soo agreed and our respective vessels pulled away from the docks a few minutes later.  The two First Strike boats were following the edge of the island, opposite of the direction that would have taken them towards Korea.
As we followed them around the island, radar showed the two boats meeting with another, smaller one.  First Strike had planned the subterfuge all along and had a small boat waiting on the other side of the island to take them away.  Pulling out from the docks early had given them a head start on us.
After picking up the small boat, Profit and Glory went to maximum speed and headed northwest.  It seemed that we would be able to keep up with the slower utility boat, but the old torpedo boat was going to outrun us by quite a margin.
The Korean intelligence vessel was slower, and wouldn’t be able to participate in an actual chase.  To make matters more difficult, Glory changed course to the west, while Profit went north, rather than take the direct course to Korea,.
Quickly coming up with a plan, Soo agreed to take his intel boat back to Korea as quickly as possible in hopes of intercepting either of the two First Strike boats before they got there.  I would follow the slower Profit and hope that we could somehow find a way to track the speedy Glory.
At maximum speed, having enough fuel to make it to South Korea was uncertain.  I figured the same was true of the First Strike boat we followed.  I was fairly sure that the smaller Higgins boat wouldn’t be able to make the trip without refueling, so that gave us opportunities to find it.
The utility boat eventually did slow down to cruising speed, and we dutifully tracked it, watching for any tricks.  It looked like it was going to be a long chase.
In the morning, Hanley woke up, surprised to be on the open sea.  I explained the situation to him, and he contacted Soo to discuss it.  We still had no idea where the torpedo boat had gone to, but everyone seemed confident that it was only a matter of time until it was found.
Hanley called a few people and arranged for a satellite feed to be downlinked to the CIC.  He, Andy, Park and I crowded around the computer, which showed a live picture of the Pacific Ocean.  I wasn’t exactly comfortable showing Park that we had that kind of capability, but Hanley seemed okay with it, and he was usually the security-conscious one.
There was a gap in the satellite coverage during the early morning, but by replaying some footage of the night before, and calculating the approximate direction the torpedo boat had traveled in, we were able to figure out where it should be.  The trouble was, factoring in speed or course changes made it a big area to search.
In a few hours, Andy picked through the satellite imagery and managed to locate Glory.  Hanley called someone else at the CIA and ordered them to keep a tab on it.
We called the Koreans and told them that we had found the boat.  With the locations of both boats pinned down, it was only a matter of finishing the trip to Korea.
For the next few days, all we did was wait and watch.  Our route took us through Micronesia and the Marianas.  The spy satellites didn’t have continuous coverage, and we only got an overhead shot every so often. It wasn’t a problem, though, because once we knew the torpedo boat’s approximate course, picking it up again wasn’t a problem.
We kept the other First Strike boat on radar the whole way.  The autopilot could be slaved to the radar to keep us at a certain following distance, which I used to keep us as far away as possible from the boat.
I didn’t know if they had radar detection equipment on board or if their radar could detect us as far away as we were.  I guessed probably not on both counts.
Hanley didn’t seem to like being shipboard.  He wasn’t getting seasick, but the longest distance you could walk on the boat—bow to stern—was only one hundred sixty feet, and I think he felt a little claustrophobic.
Park and Andy divided their attention between monitoring the First Strike boats and playing Starcraft.  Apparently, it’s big in Korea.  They looked like they were getting along well.
The job was easy, but with Park and Hanley aboard, Nika and I barely had to work at all.  We had time to work on the small arms together.  Nika knew all about AK-47s, but we used instruction manuals Andy downloaded for us for the RPGs.  Most of the instructions were written in the Cyrillic alphabet, but I needed to practice my Russian anyway.
With its superior speed, the torpedo boat was going to reach the Korean port of Pusan before the NIS boat got there.  We passed this information along and continued to follow the utility boat.
A few days later, we arrived in Pusan twenty miles behind Profit.  The intelligence boat was there, but the torpedo boat was nowhere to be seen.  Hanley had disabled the satellite feed when we got into port, so after we were refueled and resupplied, I asked Mark Wilson about it.
“I told them to go up north a ways to work on a contract,” he said.  I figured that meant someone had hired First Strike, but it was a small job that didn’t require the whole crew.
Park was dismissed and Soo came aboard for the end of mission debriefing.  Nika, Hanley, Wilson, three of his men, and myself were also present.  Again, to keep them from seeing anything they shouldn’t, we stayed in the bridge.
We brought up chairs and coffee from the galley.  Night had fallen by the time we were done with the debriefing.  Wilson seemed surprised that we had been able to track his boats so easily.  The operation had shown that the joint capabilities of the CIA and NIS were able to deal with small groups of fugitives, and it was declared a success.
After Soo left, Wilson and his men hung around.  “This sounds like a complicated setup you have here.  How many people are aboard to make this boat run?”
“Just three.”
He seemed impressed.  “Do you mind if we take a look around?”
“Sorry.  CIA secrets.”
“That’s too bad.”  Wilson and his three companions got to their feet, each drawing a concealed handgun.
“First Strike could use a new boat,” Wilson said.
“I’ll say,” agreed one of his men.
“What the hell?” said Hanley.  He took a step towards Wilson, who pressed his gun against Hanley’s chest.  The agent stopped.
“Change of ownership,” said Wilson.
“Are you crazy?” said Hanley.  “You can’t do this to me, I’m with the CIA!”
Wilson shrugged.  “We’re holding the guns here, and we have backup waiting nearby.  You don’t have much choice.”  He looked at his men.  “Take them outside.”
While Wilson’s head was turned, Hanley grabbed for the gun, twisting it downwards.
I heard two shots.  Wilson just barely held onto the gun, but Hanley crumpled to the floor with wounds in his chest and thigh.
I almost made a move myself, but the man pointing a gun in my direction must have trusted Wilson to deal with Hanley, because he never shifted his eyes away from me.
Wilson took a second to recover from the attack.  He straightened up, pointing his gun at Nika and I.  “Outside, now!”
“Drop it, motherfucker!” screamed Andy from the stairs.  Wilson turned towards the sound of his voice, gun coming up.  The blast from the shotgun caught him square in the chest and he fell to the floor.
That hadn’t been part of First Strike’s plan, and the man holding a gun on me finally flinched.  It was all the chance I needed and I tried to knock his weapon aside.
The gun had just barely shifted away from my face when he pulled the trigger.  I’d never had a close up look at a pistol being fired, and it seemed to occur in slow motion.  I threw a hoof into his face and flew into the air, kicking both rear legs at his chest.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Nika kick one of the chairs into the knee of the man closest to her.  He doubled over in pain and she struck at his eyes with her fingers.  The third man was just behind him, gun almost in position to fire.
I was on him in an instant, driving my hooves forward.  Humans have nothing on ponies when it comes to punching.  He went down.
Andy came in, shotgun at the ready.  Nika kicked away the gun of the man she’d attacked.  Andy covered him and the men I’d put down.
Nika went to check on Hanley.  On her way past me, she looked at my face and seemed concerned.  That’s when I started to feel the pain.
The side of my face felt like it was on fire.  I wanted to touch it, but was afraid of what I’d find.  I told Andy to get help.
He apparently knew the number for the Korean version of 911, because police cars and ambulances appeared quickly.  I didn’t take my eyes off of the three men who were still alive until they were securely in handcuffs.
Wilson had probably died instantly.  The shotgun had left a nearly fist-sized hole in his chest.  Hanley had been hit in his upper chest, near the shoulder, and through the thick part of his thigh.  He was conscious when they loaded him into the ambulance.
One of the policemen took the guns and bagged them as evidence.  I made sure Andy told them we were working with the NIS.  That appeared to raise some eyebrows, and shortly thereafter, Chang-he Soo came back.
A team from the NIS gradually replaced the police until the ship was locked down from prying eyes.  I still wasn’t comfortable with foreign intelligence agents aboard, but I figured it was better than civilians.
I stepped out and went down to the deck for a breath of fresh air.  Andy was out there, leaning over the railing.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”  I stepped up next to him and caught a faint whiff of vomit.  So that was it.  I couldn’t blame him.  That was not a pretty scene in the bridge.  My hooves were shaking just thinking about it.  I pressed them to the railing to stop it.
“So, did the First Strike guys just assume that Hanley was the third crew member you mentioned and not check to see if there was anyone else aboard?” he asked.
“Maybe.  Either way, thanks for getting us out of that.”
We were silent for a few moments.  Andy turned, looking at something.  “What are they doing in the bridge?”
I turned, following his gaze.  Someone was using disinfectant to clean blood off the inside of the windows.
I jumped back to the railing and threw up over the side.
After getting off the phone with Dr. Games, I called Soo and offered whatever help I could give.  He told me that the utility boat had been seized by harbor police before it had made it to the open ocean.  The crew played it smart, and claimed no knowledge of what Wilson and the other men had done.  The boat was impounded, but there wasn’t enough evidence to hold the crew, and they were released.  I hoped they weren’t feeling vengeful.
No one had seen the torpedo boat.  Satellite photos showed that it had once been in the area, but after Hanley had disconnected the link, we had no way of tracking it.  It may never have entered Pusan harbor at all.
There was a hospital not far from the docks at Pusan.  I went with Andy to see Hanley.  He talked us through the crowd of Korean doctors and nurses to arrive at Hanley’s door.
We then had to deal with CIA security, backed up by people from the NIS.  Chang-he Soo almost had to come to the hospital to verify us, when Hanley woke up and told them to let us in.  He didn’t look good, but he was alive.
“What happened to you?” he asked me.
When the gun had gone off near my face, the side of my head had been singed by the burning gunpowder.  My ears were still ringing, too.  It wasn’t pretty, but shouldn’t take too long to heal.
“I tried the same trick you did,” I told him.  “I was a little more successful.”
“Was there anyone else hurt?”
“Wilson’s dead.  The other three were arrested.”
Hanley nodded.  “What happened to the rest?”
I told him the story about their run-in with the harbor patrol.  He asked about the other boat.  I said, “Still no sign of it.  I think we should go looking for it before it comes looking for us.”
“I’ll pass that along.  It’ll be up to your new case officer, Agent Jones.”
“Is this temporary, or are you going to be back?”
He shrugged.  “Hard to say.  The doctors tell me that I’ve got about a fifty percent chance of being able to walk.  I don’t suppose that matters much, because I am not setting foot on your boat ever again.  I’ll do all my work from a desk if I have to.”  
We said goodbye to him and went back to the boat.
> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	A few days later, we went to meet Agent Jones.  Hanley gave us the address of a restaurant nearby.  Once again, I took Andy along to translate Korean.
It was supposed to be a lunch meeting.  Hanley had said noon, but Jones was late, so we ordered.  I left to use the restroom before the food arrived.
As I approached the table on my way back, I saw a woman walking up to Andy.  She had medium brown hair, cut to shoulder length, and was of average height and build.  She wore a modest business suit and there was a briefcase in her hand.
“Mr. Canvas?” she said.
Andy looked up in surprise, having not seen her approach.
“Uh…” he fumbled.
Her face flashed with anger.  “What, didn’t expect a woman?”
“No, that’s not—”
“Can it.  I’m still an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency, and that means you take orders from me.”
“Hello,” I said as I reached the table.  “I’m Sail Canvas.”
She looked between the two of us in confusion.  “That’s what I was trying to tell her,” said Andy.  “Then she went off on some feminist rant before I could explain that I’m not a pony.”
“Feminist rant!  Is it really too much for me to ask you to treat me with respect?”
I sat down.  “So act like you deserve it.  There wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t started one.”  I kept my voice quiet and reasonable.  “Have a seat.  The entire restaurant is staring at you.  I would have thought the CIA taught all its agents to have some emotional control.”
Face red again, Agent Jones sat down.  “You’re making a glorious first impression, Mr. Canvas.”
“So are you,” said Andy.
“Shut up.”
“You sound like my mom,” Andy shot back.
“Mr. Canvas, exercise some control over your employee.”  Jones was nearly speaking through gritted teeth.
“Why?” I said.  “I think it’s kind of funny.”
“Let me remind you that I am your case officer!”
“It’s a fancy title,” I said, “but what authority does it give you?  You don’t own me, and you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.  I put up with Carl Hanley because he put up with me.  You and I don’t have to like each other, but if we’re going to work together there needs to be some mutual respect.”
She sat there steaming for several seconds before responding.  “Make room on your boat, Mr. Canvas.  I’ll be coming along to keep an eye on you.”
“Traveling with us was what got your predecessor shot,” I pointed out.
“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” she said, getting up and storming out of the restaurant.
Across the table, Andy grinned.  “Nika’s going to love this.”
“Yeah,” I laughed.  Just then, our lunch arrived.
Outside the restaurant later, I called the hospital and managed to get put through to Hanley’s room.  He answered the phone.
“I met Agent Jones.”
“I heard.  She called me a little while ago.  She’s a real take-charge kind of woman, isn’t she?”
“Was she planned to be your successor, or did you pick her out special for me?”
Hanley laughed and hung up before I could ask if he’d intentionally forgotten to tell her to expect a pony.  Perhaps I wasn’t the only one he was punishing.
We refueled and resupplied that night.  Jones hadn’t given us a time for pulling out in the morning, so I couldn’t really say that she was late when she showed up a little after ten o’clock, but by that point the rest of us had been ready to go for a few hours.  At least she traveled light, bringing only one suitcase.  I showed her to her stateroom.  
“Head for the Yellow Sea,” she said.  “I’ll tell you about the job when we get there.”  She shut the door.
Jones spent most of the time alone in her room.  She didn’t usually eat with us, didn’t drink coffee or alcohol, and didn’t speak unless she had something to say.  It was almost like she wasn’t there at all, and I appreciated that.
We traveled south and went around the Korean peninsula to arrive in the Yellow Sea.  Jones told us to head for the Chinese coast.
“One of our intelligence vessels sank about fifteen miles away from land,” Jones said, in a rare meeting with all three members of Corsair’s permanent crew.  We stood around in the bridge.
“How?” I asked.
“We don’t know.  The crew was able to get off and flag down a passing ship.  To conceal the location of the sinking, they told the Chinese that they sank somewhere else and drifted to the place where they were found.”
“That was probably a smart thing to do,” I said, “but going back to my question, how do you not know why the boat sank?  It filled up with water, obviously, but how did the water get in?”
“I don’t have anyone from the crew here to ask,” said Jones, a little anger rising in her voice.  “In any case, how it sank is not nearly as important as figuring out whether the Chinese have found out about it.”
“What’s the big deal?  You said they were fifteen miles out.  That’s outside the twelve-mile territorial boundary, so it sank in international waters.”
“It was a special purpose electronic signals gathering submarine.  If the Chinese find it, they’re going to want to know why it was there.”
The way she had talked about it early on, I had assumed it was a ship disguised as a fishing boat or something, not a submarine.  I was surprised.
“I assume you have the coordinates where it sank?” I asked.
She nodded.  “We need to get there and determine if anything has been taken from the site.  We also need to determine the submarine’s orientation on the bottom for future salvage operations. ”
“How deep is the water?”
“What do you mean?”
I threw my hooves up.  “You didn’t stop and think how we’re going to take a look at this thing?”
Jones turned her head away and shuffled her paperwork.  She told me which coordinates to steer for before going back to her room.
Andy found the place in a Chinese oceanographic chart he found online, informing me that the depth of the water was only about one hundred ten feet.  That was good; it was shallow enough to dive in.
The next problem: it was located only fifteen miles from China.  Sure, it was international waters, but they would be suspicious of anyone hanging around that close to their shores.  There was only a small city nearby, so I hoped there wouldn’t be much of a harbor patrol or security force.
We arrived at the target coordinates about midday.  The sun was out, and the water was very clear.  China has the reputation of being a mass polluter, but this spot was still clean.
Neither Nika nor I was comfortable with her making such a deep dive with relatively little experience.  Breaking the first rule of safe diving—never go alone—I strapped on my gear and jumped over the side.
I wore my rebreather.  It’s used similar to a scuba system to breathe underwater, but rather than using compressed air, it scrubbed the carbon dioxide from expelled breath and recycled it into breathable air.  It emitted no bubbles and gave you more time underwater than a scuba tank.  The rest of my equipment consisted of an underwater camera, a lightweight titanium pry bar, a dive computer, a light, and a knife.
The camera was the whole point of the dive.  Jones wanted her pictures, and frankly, I did too.  It was always interesting to take a look at a secret spy ship.  The pry bar was useful in getting into, or out of, the wreck.  The dive computer could tell me the depth, time, air remaining, and a host of other functions.  The light was for inside the submarine, assuming I managed to get inside.  The knife was useful for a lot of things, most of them you hoped you never had to do.
At one hundred ten feet, I still had a ways to go.  I doubted that Andy had made a mistake.  The problem was most likely with the Chinese oceanographic survey.  I rolled over to take a look back at the surface to try and judge how much farther I had to go.
Deciding I could make it, I started back down.  Deep skindives are possible, but difficult and dangerous.  The first problem is time.  You have to come up from depth very slowly to avoid getting the bends, a condition where nitrogen bubbles form in your blood.  The second problem is conditions.  It gets very dark and very cold only a few hundred feet down.
I made it to the wreck at just less than one hundred sixty feet.  It was already difficult to see, so I turned on my light to pick my way over the hull of the submarine.  I wondered how the sinking had happened.  If the crew had been rescued, they had either been on the surface or had escaped using specialized escape equipment.  I’d have to see the hatches to decide for sure.
I made my way around the sub, figuring it to be about forty feet long.  There was no way something like that could have gotten there on its own.  That meant the CIA had a tender ship for it, sending the submarine from the ship to get up close to the coast to gather intel.
It sat at nearly upright on the seabed, with only a slight angle.  From my inspection of the hull, there was nothing that looked amiss.  Of course, there could be a big hole in the bottom and I would never see it because of the soft mud the sub sat in.
I made my way up to the topside.  The sub had no proper sail, just a slightly raised area where the main hatch was.  I noted that it was open, and moved on, making a slow trip over the top.  I was searching for another hatch, and I found it towards the bow.  It was closed.
I went back to the main hatch.  It looked a little small, so I took the rebreather unit off my back and pushed it ahead of me down through the hatch while keeping the mouthpiece in.  The inside of the sub was surprisingly roomy.  Only a few air bubbles were trapped along the ceiling, indicating that no one wearing scuba gear had been there before me. 
I photographed as much of the interior as I could.  There were three compartments in the submarine.  One appeared to be for the propulsion, one for control and data gathering, and one for crew accommodations.  I didn’t find any empty gaps or tool marks where equipment might have been removed.  I didn’t see anything that might indicate a problem leading to sinking, either.
The design of the sub left something to be desired.  It appeared a little antiquated, and while I was no submarine mechanic, there were some things that I would improve if given the chance.  I’d have to find a set of blueprints and figure out if there was a flaw in the design that could have sank it.
The closed hatch I found near the bow opened into the crew compartment.  It was an airlock, for escaping the submarine from underwater.  Since it hadn’t been used, I had to assume the crew had gotten off when the submarine was surfaced.
It left the question of why.  If the submarine was surfaced enough for the crew to escape, then the main hatch had to be out of the water.  If it was able to come to the surface like that, then it hadn’t had very much water leaking in.  Maybe it was a slow leak.
I decided that it was a question for someone else, and headed for the surface.  The dive computer calculated my ascent, advising me when to stop and wait, and for how long.  Coming up from one hundred sixty feet took almost as long as I had spent looking at the sub.
When I climbed aboard the boat, Andy was there to meet me.
“We have a problem,” he said.  “While we were here, we had to make way for a survey ship.  I plugged in our passive sonar, and found out that they were using a mapping system to chart the seafloor.”  The mapping sonar used active pulses to make a picture of the bottom.
“They needed it.  That submarine was actually about fifty feet deeper than the map said.”  Something else occurred to me.  “You don’t think they might have been looking for the sub, do you?”
“I don’t know, but even if they weren’t, they’ll probably find it when they process the data.”
I told Andy that I would go deal with Jones, and gave him the camera.  I sketched out a quick drawing to show how the sub sat on the bottom and noted no obvious damage.  He took that too, and went to send a scan of it and all the pictures to the CIA.
I knocked on Jones’s door.  When she opened it, I asked if she knew about the survey ship.  She said that Andy had told her his fears about it.  She’d been in contact with the Agency, and the salvage ship to take the submarine away would arrive in a week.
“It’s possible that the Chinese will look at their map and discover it before then,” I said.
“Then you need to destroy that survey ship,” she said icily.
“Wait a minute, I’m not blowing up an unarmed ship full of civilians just for some cheapshit spy sub.”
“The Central Intelligence Agency does not do things cheapshit!”
“Lady, I know what I saw.  My shipyard could have built something better than that for Whale Watchers.”
I could see that Jones was thinking of slamming the door in my face, but restrained herself to say, “I don’t care what you do, but make sure the Chinese don’t learn about that submarine.”
I nodded and said, “I’ll think of something.”
I met Andy out on the deck as night was falling.  As we leaned on the rail, I explained to him what I was thinking.  The survey ship had continued on after passing over the sub, making me think that instead of someone watching the readout from the mapping sonar, it was being recorded.  To tie in water depth and bottom contour with GPS coordinates to make a map, you needed a computer.  That gave us a place to start looking once we got aboard.
“Unfortunately,” I said to Andy, “we don’t really know what we’re dealing with.  We’re going to just have to send in the Marines and improvise from there.”
“Who are the Marines?”
“You and me.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“I’d really like to do this with the minimum of casualties, both ours and theirs.  I think we should pull the hard drives from the computers and then maybe sink the boat to cover it up.”
“What if they downloaded the data already?” he asked.
“Not much we can do about that.”
We made a few more plans.  It would be nice to have more people along, but I suspected that Jones would either be useless or refuse to go, and Nika had to watch the boat.
Andy and I went down to the well deck and inflated a collapsible life raft.  Life rafts are orange for high visibility, but that was exactly what we didn’t need.   We improvised a black paint job with spray paint.
Checking for active radar and security patrols, Nika maneuvered us to within a mile and a half of the coast.  Picking us up afterwards would be more difficult, but we still had the job to do before we could think about that.
It was a small city we were sneaking into.  I hadn’t bothered to learn the name, but there was enough light pollution to guide us in without the need for night vision enhancement.  Andy and I both wore all black and hoped nobody was expecting a sea invasion.
The port was relatively small, and we found the survey ship easily.  Stashing the inflatable under the rickety wooden pier, we crept aboard.
There was a light on inside the superstructure.  I slid over to a porthole and had a look inside, keeping my eyes squinted to protect my night vision.
Two men were looking at one of the computers.  It was fairly modern hardware.  One of the men disconnected a portable hard drive from the computer’s USB port.  They talked for a little bit and the man with the hard drive left the ship.  The other man turned off the computer and lights, leaving the compartment.  I relayed all this to Andy.  We quickly made the decision to follow the man with the hard drive.  
We hadn’t noticed the guard patrolling the pier until it was almost too late.  There were a few other boats tied up to it, none looking too important, so he was probably only the Chinese equivalent of rent-a-cop, but he would probably ask questions if he saw a white guy and a pony dressed all in black.
We dropped down to the life raft and paddled it as slowly and quietly as possible under the pier.  Ahead of us, I could hear footsteps of the hard drive man, and a muted greeting to the guard.  We followed the footsteps to the shore.
Andy tied off the boat while I popped my head up.  There was some kind of road running parallel to the water.  The man we were following crossed it and only went a few buildings down before unlocking the door to a shabby looking one and going inside.  There was some kind of sign above the door in faded Chinese characters.
We checked both ways and quickly crossed the street.  Keeping to the shadows, we made it to the corner of the building that the man had gone into.  We had just barely gotten there when he came back out without the hard drive.
After locking the door, he left in another direction, maybe going home for the night.  We waited for a few more minutes, before going over to the door.
“Got to love the Communists,” said Andy, inspecting the door.  “Shoddy building, top of the line lock.”  We went around to the side of the building and climbed in through a window we smashed.  Luckily, there didn’t appear to be an alarm.  
Inside, the building was dark.  Andy chanced turning on a small flashlight he had brought along.  There was paperwork and maps everywhere.  Modern computer equipment, similar to that on the survey ship, was also present.
Andy quickly checked near the front door to make sure there was no alarm.  I went to work trying to find the portable hard drive.  It was on a stack of charts near a couple of computers.  I checked to make sure that I had the right one, and that there weren’t more like it.  I didn’t find any, so I gave the hard drive to Andy to pocket.
Next, we had to decide what to do.  When someone came in to the building in the morning, they would find the broken window and the missing hard drive.  If we also removed some computer equipment, they might assume it had been a burglary.  If we burned the place down, probably no one would notice anything missing.
Unfortunately, however we handled the building, there might be a copy of the data stored on the boat’s computers.  Something happening to both the building and the boat on the same night would look suspicious.  At least the Chinese wouldn’t have the data, though.
We didn’t have time to come up with a better plan, so Andy and I agreed to cause the maximum destruction to ensure the data wouldn’t be used.  We started in the building.
In a utility closet in the back room, I found a container of something that smelled like acetone.  It was a cleaning agent typically used in nail polish remover, and it was very flammable.
I poured it on a pile of papers on the desks out front, spreading the puddle out to ensure the fire caught on to other things.  Next, I switched a desk lamp on, turned it over, and smashed the light bulb in a pool of acetone on the desk.  In the instant before the white-hot light filament burned out, it started the fire.
Andy and I went back out through the broken window.  He checked to see if the coast was clear, paying special attention to the pier guard, before waving to me.  We sprinted back to the lifeboat.
About halfway along the pier back to the survey ship, we heard the guard’s running feet pass over us, heading for the shore.  I stuck my head out for a look, seeing that the fire we’d set had grown to engulf the building.  Good.
With the guard gone, we paddled faster until we reached the end of the pier.  Once we were back aboard the survey ship, we had to quickly make a new plan.  We set off to check the boat for people.  
In a room near where we had seen the computers, we found a dozen or so bunks, half of them occupied by sleeping men.  There were too many to capture quietly, and they would without a doubt see our faces.  No need for that.
We left them for the moment, checking the rest of the vessel.  All the while, I let my inner engineer have free rein to examine everything for the possibility that we could use it to destroy the ship.  We checked the engine room last.  There, Andy and I stopped to figure out what we were going to do.
“Ideas?” I asked him.
“The only thing I can think of would be to set the fuel on fire.”
That was true.  On a commercial ship like it was, there was very little flammable material just lying around.  “We have to have some way to get it out of the tanks,” I observed.
“There’s the fuel pump on the engine.  Can we run it without starting the engine?  Can we somehow redirect the fuel to where we want it to go?”
I walked over to the engine and had a look.  The fuel pump was a big piece of equipment powered by an electric motor.  It was a design I hadn’t seen before.
Andy walked over.  “This ship has batteries to start the engines with, right?  If we can run the pump with that power supply, it should work.”
“A couple of problems,” I said.  I pointed out how it would require tools to unhook the pump power cable and to remove the pipe leading to the engine’s fuel rail.
“I saw a toolbox over there,” said Andy.  He went and grabbed it.  Working with the wrenches inside, we got everything disconnected.  Then came the problem of what to power the pump with.
With a pair of bolt cutters, we quickly snipped the protective wire cage from an overhead light bulb.  Unscrewing the bulb, we managed to get the connector on the end of the fuel pump cable to jam in the socket.  When I turned the light switch on, the pump sputtered and came to life.
The pump had been designed to produce high pressures, and was out of its element just pumping fuel out onto the deck of the engine room.  Still, it seemed to move a lot of diesel.
We searched for a sprinkler system.  It was there, but instead of being automatic, it had to be turned on by a valve located near the entranceway.  We used a wrench to take the handle off the valve, making it impossible to use.
Andy found a bucket and caught a few gallons of fuel.  We took it back up to the computer room and doused everything, paying extra attention to the computer we’d seen in operation earlier.  We searched for maps and other pieces of paper, piling them up ready to burn.
On the bridge earlier, we’d found some flares and we now returned to get them.  A few of them were stick-type, sometimes called road flares.  
We found the fire extinguishers and tossed them overboard.  We also threw out a hose attached to a spigot on deck.  Back down in the engine room, the fuel had covered the deck and was beginning to creep up the walls.  Andy grabbed another bucketful, and I readied a flare.
I nodded to him, and he left.  I stepped out of the compartment and set the flare alight, tossing it back through the door.  The light was nearly blinding and the heat instantly set the pool of diesel on fire.  Had it been gasoline, the vapor might have exploded.  Lucky for me, diesel didn’t flash like that. 
As the fuel pump continued to run, I ran for the computer room.  I paused to toss another flare into the diesel-soaked paperwork we had collected before running outside.
Andy had poured out his bucket on the old wooden pier.  He lit it up with a flare as several people burst out of the superstructure of the ship, flames right behind them.
I grabbed Andy and pulled him off the pier with me.  We may have overdone it with the fuel, and the boat was going fast.  Besides, if we hung around much longer, someone might see us.
I grabbed my knife in my teeth and cut the knot holding the lifeboat rather than taking the time to untie it.  We began paddled as hard as we could, noise be damned.
In the next few minutes, there were plenty of sirens, people shouting and other noises.  None of it seemed to be directed at us, so we kept paddling.
Quite a while later, as morning began to break on the horizon; we still hadn’t been picked up.  I told Andy to ease up a little.  I could see the blisters on his hands that he had gotten from his paddle.
Glancing back, I couldn’t tell if both fires were out or if we had traveled far enough that they were over the horizon and out of sight.  I could still see the columns of smoke, though.
I thought a little about how far we must be from shore.  It had been several hours of paddling, and the tide had been with us.  I figured somewhere between four and six miles.  That might have been too far.  It probably wasn’t where we were expected to be, because it was much farther out than where we had been dropped off.
I stopped thinking about the distance, though, when I realized what kind of situation we were in.  The two of us wearing combat gear in a black-painted life raft off the coast right after two fires had been set the night before looked suspicious as heck.
I didn’t know if the hard drive would still be readable after dunking it in salt water.  I didn’t think that it mattered much, because the CIA didn’t really need to see what was on it, they just needed the Chinese not to see it.
With no better plan, Andy and I just let the boat drift while we lay on our backs in the bottom of it.  As the sun continued to rise, I could tell that it was going to be a hot day.  My throat was dry, reminding me that we didn’t have any water.  I could really use some animal crackers, too.
“Answer me a question,” said Andy.
“Sure.”
“Can things get worse?”
“Probably.  There could be a Chinese gunboat pulling up to us right now.”
Andy sat up.  “Oh crap...”
“What?”  I followed his gaze to a place near where the smoke that still rose into the air.  There was a ship moving in our direction.
For several tense minutes, we waited while it drew closer.  I thought that it seemed to be pulling slightly to the south of us.  It slowly dawned on me that it was too big to be a patrol boat.  It was also painted white.
As the boat drew nearer, it adjusted course to steer directly for us.  As it got closer and closer, my hopes grew until I was sure that it was our ride.  Several minutes later, Nika maneuvered into position to let us into the well deck.
She came down to meet us.  “I looked for you all night.”  She looked like it, although I wouldn’t say it to her face.
I shrugged nonchalantly.  “Small boat, big ocean.”  The three of us walked back to the bridge.
“You guys get some sleep,” said Andy.  “If I get some coffee in me, I’ll be good to watch the bridge for a while.”
“For that, I’m promoting you to First Officer,” I said.  
Nika and I left.  Out of sight of Andy, she put her arms around me for a quick hug.  “I was worried.”
“Me too.  I think we need to get a motorboat.”
“We searched for two hours after we saw the fires start.  After that, Agent Jones wanted to leave you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“We fought about it.”
“I’m guessing you won.  What happened to her?”
“I hit her in the head with the butt of my rifle.”
I nodded and smiled.  “Well, if it makes her nervous to be so close to shore, we might as well go out to the submarine site and guard it until the salvage ship arrives.”
I pushed the intercom button and told Andy which way to steer.
	
> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	When I got up in the morning, I saw Andy had added a building and a boat to the war record painted on the side of the bridge.  I remembered a story about a World War Two submarine crew who had blown up a train, but a building was something new.
I sent Andy to get some sleep.  I sat down in the captain’s chair on the bridge with a cup of coffee.  The GPS showed us to be drifting right over the submarine.  One engine was idling quietly to give us electricity, but other than that everything was still.
I talked with Dr. Games about the moral complications of destroying civilian property.  I didn’t tell her which country they were from.  She asked me if anyone had been hurt.  I said I didn’t think so.  
Everything was placid and relaxed for a few days.  Jones didn’t leave her room very much.  From what I could see, though, her bruises seemed to be healing nicely.  She finally emerged and got to work when the salvage ship arrived.
It was a medium-sized utility vessel that may have started off life as a drilling ship.  It had hoists and a moon pool in the center of the hull to drag objects up out of the water.  It didn’t conceal the fact that we were pulling something up.
It would take a day or two to get lifting straps under the sub and then haul it to the surface.  Jones coordinated with the salvage crew, slipping into a professional manner on the radio.  They assured us that the Chinese wouldn’t interfere with a perfectly legal salvage operation in international waters, and that we could go home.  Jones wished them luck.  She told us that we should be getting back to Korea.  This time, it sounded almost like she was asking us, not ordering us.
The night after we left the site of the salvage operation, Andy was standing watch.  He called me on the intercom, staying he had something he wanted me to check.  Andy had the normal lights turned down and the bridge was lit with a soft red glow when I got there.  
“I noticed this a few minutes ago,” he said, indicating the radar screen.  The radar picture wasn’t very clean, as random bits of noise flashed across it, probably faint returns off the tops of waves.  Andy’s finger pointed to a small, faint return almost directly behind us.  As soon as it came, it was gone.  I watched intently, and after a few moments, it made another brief appearance.
“Whatever this is has been appearing steadily for a while now.  I first noticed it about five minutes ago.”
It was good of him to notice it, but I wasn’t convinced.  “There’s a lot of crap cluttering the screen right now,” I said.  “How do you know it isn’t a false contact?”
“It’s the only return that keeps appearing in exactly the same place.  I had to turn the gain up to get it at all, that’s why we’re getting the clutter.”
“How do you know it isn’t an error in the radar?”
“That’s part of why I called you.  If we change course, the contact should stay directly behind us if it’s an error.”
I nodded my approval.  “Go ahead.”
We were heading east.  Andy swung the wheel to take us on a course thirty degrees further north.  I watched for a few minutes.  The contact now seemed to be appearing off our port quarter.
“Earlier, I got the radar to give me a range to target,” he said.  “It was about sixteen point two nautical miles.  That’s almost exactly thirty kilometers.  That sounds like they’re holding at a fixed distance to try to follow us without being detected.”
“Right, and if it was the U.S. Navy, the following distance would probably be a nice round number measured in miles,” I said.  “So, you came up with this idea; follow it through.  What do you think we’re dealing with?”
“A Chinese stealth ship.  That would explain the small radar return.”
“I didn’t think they had such a thing.”
“Well, I didn’t either, but other than maybe the United States or Russia, who has the technology to build something like that?  And whose turf are we on right now?”
I nodded.  He had made his point.  “How are they following us?  Are they using radar?”
“No.  He showed me the display for incoming radar signals.  It was blank.  “They’re probably just detecting ours and homing in on them.”
“All right.  Keep on this bearing for another hour to keep them from getting suspicious and then return to the original course.  Call me if they get any closer.”
On impulse, I went down to the CIC and picked up the encrypted satellite phone, dialing the number Hanley had usually called me from.
I don’t know if I expected anyone to answer, as Hanley was probably still in a hospital in Pusan.  There should still be someone there, as it was the afternoon in Langley.  The phone rang four times, skipped a beat as it redirected, and then rang again.  It was picked up by a man who sounded bored.  “Directory.”
“I know Carl Hanley isn’t there,” I said, “so I need to speak with whoever is filling in for him.”
“Who are you?”
“Sail Canvas.”
“I don’t find anyone named Carl Hanley in the office phone book.”  I wondered if he’d even bothered to check.
“I called his office, and was redirected to you when nobody picked up.”  I gave him Hanley’s number.
He grumbled a little bit, but eventually decided that if I had Hanley’s number it was probably worth the effort to connect me.  The phone rang a few times.
“Jones,” said a sleepy female voice.
“Ponyfeathers.”  I slammed the phone down and went to talk to her face-to-face.  I apologized sincerely for waking her up and the unexpected profanity before quickly explaining the situation.
“I thought that a possible Chinese stealth ship was something that you might want to get a satellite to take a look at,” I said.
She nodded.  “I’ll see what I can do.  It does sound interesting.  Thank you.”
I went back to the CIC and got on the phone to Nevis’s office.  Chief Stanton, his assistant, answered.  I didn’t get along with him very well—or most of the people on the base at Norfolk, for that matter—but he understood that I didn’t usually call on a whim.
He transferred me to Nevis.  “What is it, Canvas?”
“I think I’ve got a Chinese stealth boat following me.”
“I didn’t know they had any of those.  What do you think I can do about it?”
“I’m not asking for help, I’m trying to help you.  I talked to the CIA about it, and they might pull up a satellite to have a look.  If I were you, I’d go talk to the guys at Langley and see if they get anything.  We both know that intelligence agencies are notoriously tight-lipped, even to each other.”
“I’m just a lowly base commander,” he said.  “What am I supposed to do with this information?”
“Use your imagination.”  I hung up.  I didn’t know if I would get any kind of reward for telling Nevis, but I figured that news of a Chinese stealth ship was more important to the Navy than the CIA.  Besides, if Nevis was able to get his hands on something he might make a copy for me. 
I was back in bed before I realized that a few minutes ago had been the first time Jones had ever thanked me for anything. 
Andy told me the next day that the mysterious radar contact had stayed with us for most of the night before breaking off shortly before dawn.  Since they hadn’t come any closer and didn’t appear to realize that we had tracked them, I decided that I didn’t need to spend too much time thinking about it.  If Nevis or someone got me some information, then maybe I would be interested.
We arrived back in Korea.  The plan was to resupply and then head south for Singapore to do some radio testing.
The marina didn’t have enough space for us to edge up close to shore.  We were limited to a concrete island out in the center of the cove.  The island was supplied with diesel from pipes buried under the seafloor, but we had to come up with another way of getting everything else.
We would need as much food as we could carry plus a few items of electronics that Andy requested.  We probably could have transported everything from the shore to the island using the life boat, but I had something easier in mind.
Andy found a helicopter for hire.  A man who sounded like a native of the United States answered the phone.  We told him what we needed and when.  He said he would be ready.
Nika, Andy, and I paddled to shore.  Nika was not impressed with Korean food, so she took the life boat back to the island while Andy and I went to find something to eat.  We had been told that the helicopter wouldn’t be ready for a while.
We found a promising-looking restaurant near the marina.  Unfortunately, when we walked in I saw Vic Colton.  He was sitting at a table by himself and he had seen us, too.
There was no use in pretending not to notice him.  I glanced around, looking for other First Strike men, but didn’t see any.  I led Andy over to his table.
We sat down.  Colton asked, “How’d you find me?”
“We didn’t, actually,” I said.  “I’m as surprised to see you as you are to see us.”
“I need you to know that I didn’t have anything to do with what happened in Pusan.”  I wasn’t sure whether he was genuinely regretful, or seeing what had happened to Wilson and the others made him think that we were tougher than we looked.
“I don’t know if I believe you,” I said.  Granted, he hadn’t been holding a gun on me, but he had tried to flee on the utility boat after their plan fell apart.
“Look, shooting a CIA agent is just bad business.  With Wilson gone, rather than step up and run the company myself, I decided to take my money and run.  I haven’t seen anyone from First Strike since then.”
“Who’s running it now?”
He shrugged.  “Don’t know, don’t care.”
I figured the utility boat was still in impounded.  “Do you know where the Higgins is?”
“No.”
We left the restaurant without eating, and called the helicopter company to pick us up.  A short while later a beat-up van appeared.  It had “Helicopters” and a phone number painted on the side, along with the Korean-language equivalent.  The man driving was older, maybe fifty, with grey hair and mustache.  He said his name was Leslie Shepherd, but he preferred Shep.
We climbed into the van and made our way to an electronics store Andy had found.  Looking at the quality of the van, I was a little perturbed about the quality of the rest of Shep’s business.
“Do you do many landings on ships?” I asked.
“Not so much anymore, although I did plenty in the twenty years I spent in the Navy.”
I figured that qualified him as experienced enough, but I would wait until I saw the helicopter to make final judgments.
After loading the electronics into the back of the van, we went to a market.  We bought so much that the merchant threw in a free pallet to hold it all.  After that, Shep drove us to the airport.
His hangar was small and a little dingy.  The name of his business used the word helicopters but I saw that he only had one.  It was an old Huey that looked like it may have been left over from the Vietnam War, despite the newer coat of blue paint.
After paying Shep his fee, we strapped the pallet down in the back of the helicopter with a cargo net.  Shep handed us each a headset with an intercom connection and pointed us to two seats against the cockpit bulkhead.
“Aren’t we going to take it out of the hangar first?” I asked.
Shep shrugged.  “I’ve never had any problems starting it up in here before.”  He strapped in to the pilot’s seat.  Reluctantly, I sat down and belted in to reverse-facing seat.  The helicopter was equipped with skids instead of wheels, so he would actually have to fly out of the hangar.
“Engines on,” said Shep over the intercom.  Overhead, the turbines began to whine as they started.  After warming them up for a few minutes, Shep said, “Moving out,” and the helicopter slowly rose off the ground.
He made it hover about a foot off the floor of the hangar.  He maintained that altitude as he maneuvered the helicopter out the door and paused to receive permission to takeoff from the airport control tower.  When he got it, he said, “Takeoff,” and gave the engines more fuel.
Once we were in the air, I began to calm down.  I was probably the least-flying pegasus I had ever met, but being aloft was comforting.  Shep told us before he did anything, and the flight was so gentle that we could have gotten away without strapping the pallet down.
Back at the marina, Shep commented, “Nice boat you’ve got there,” as he brought us in for a hover off the bow.
“Thank you,” I replied.
“Do you think you could use a full time pilot?” he joked.  “How do you want to do this?  Is that an elevator you’ve got in the center of the deck?”
“Yes, it is.  Just drop us off and we’ll drag the pallet over to the elevator once you leave.”
“No need.”  He pivoted the helo and moved in.  I felt a light tap as one skid touched the deck.
“You should be good to go now,” said Shep.
I slid the door open.  The skid underneath me was on the deck.  The other hovered over the sea, yet Shep held the helicopter steady.  The elevator was clear.
Andy and I pulled the pallet out and set it on the elevator.  We returned our headsets to the now unoccupied seats.  Before I closed the door, I put my business card inside one of the earphones.
Shep waved and took off again.  Andy and I rode the elevator down with our purchases.  
It was getting towards evening when we pulled out.  There was still plenty of light left, but it wouldn’t last for too many more hours.
We were just clearing Korean waters when Andy called out from the CIC.  “We’ve got a surface contact dead astern that’s coming like a bat out of hell.”
“Hostile?”
“I think we’d better assume yes.  I’m detecting their radar, and they probably have a return on us.”
I was getting tired of people coming up on us from behind.  I swore my next boat would have nasty aft-facing weapons to deal with the problem.
Making a quick decision, I swung the wheel around, reversing our course and throttled back a little to a slow cruise.  If we were going to meet them, they might as well have to come to us.  I knew that the Higgins could make more than forty knots, which fit the description of our pursuing radar contact.  We wouldn’t have long to wait.
Jones came up to the bridge.  “Why did you just turn around?”
“We might be about to meet what’s left of First Strike.”
“Are they going to shoot at us?”  She looked worried.
“Maybe.  Actually, probably.”
“Hang on, this isn’t my fight.  I’m not with you!”
“Well, I doubt they know that you’re aboard.  Even if they do, they’ve already shown that they don’t have any qualms about shooting a CIA agent.”
“Have you tried…talking to them?”
I picked up the radio mic and dialed up the frequency.  “Corsair for Glory.  First Strike, are you there?”  I waited thirty seconds.  There was no reply.
I put the microphone down and turned to Jones.  Her face had gone a little pale.  Nika came up the stairs with her rifle just then, elbowing the CIA agent aside.  “Andy told me that First Strike may be on their way.”
“Right.”
“What weapons might they have?”  Nika asked.
“Small arms, I’d guess.  They might have a heavy machine gun or RPGs.”
Speaking of, we should be concerned about our own weapons.  I touched the intercom button.  “Andy, is the CIWS ready to go?”
“As far as I know.  I’ll go check.”
I picked up the big binoculars that were kept on the bridge and looked out.  Several miles away, I spotted the low-slung shape of the Higgins.  It was coming fast.
Meeting Vic Colton had been a coincidence, but I was willing to bet that he was lying through his teeth when he told us that he wasn’t with First Strike anymore.  They shouldn’t have found us otherwise. 
I went back to the radio, although I didn’t expect that it would change anything.  “First Strike, we want to talk.”
A voice growled back, “Too late for that.”  About the same time, four shells lanced past our boat, landing somewhere behind us.  Jones ducked.
I threw the wheel hard over and slammed the throttles to the stops.  Grabbing the binoculars again, I took another look at the First Strike boat.
On the front part of the boat, four men were crewing a weapon mounted to the deck.  It quickly fired four more times, the shells going wide.
Based on the look of it and the unique four-shot loading system, I thought that it must be a Bofors forty millimeter cannon.  It had probably been mounted on the Higgins since the war.  They were aiming it using the old iron sights attached to it.  It wasn’t very accurate, but it had a longer range than the CIWS and the shells hit harder.
I hit the ship-wide intercom.  “Andy, is the CIWS ready?”  No reply.  He either didn’t hear it or wasn’t near an intercom terminal.
“Go find him,” I said to Jones.  She still looked shocked.  She looked at me, obviously hearing, but too wrapped up in being terrified to understand.  I was terrified too, but damned if I was going down without a fight.
Nika shook her head at Jones and dashed for the stairs.  Through the binoculars, I saw the loader shove another four rounds into the Bofors.  I cranked the wheel back the other way and the shells missed again.  Jones lost her balance and fell.
“What the hell are you doing?” I screamed at her in frustration.  “If you’re not helping save our asses, then get off my bridge!”
She still may not have fully comprehended what I was saying, but the anger in my shouting got to her and she scrambled away.  I turned back to the windshield.  Behind me, there was the sound of a collision and someone fell down the stairs.
Seconds later, Nika and Andy made it up to the bridge, presumably after climbing over Jones.  Both were breathing heavily.  “We’re good to go,” gasped Andy.  He activated the CIWS controls and the elevator rose to reveal the weapon.
“Short bursts,” I reminded him.  “We won’t have time to reload.”
The CIWS’s integral radar lit up and tracked the torpedo boat.  “It’s a little far for a sure hit,” Andy said.
“Just get it done.”
Andy took a deep breath and fired.  At 4,500 rounds per minute, the CIWS sounded less like a conventional machine gun and more like a chainsaw.  A short one-second volley of bullets flew over the Higgins, and suddenly they were the ones running to get out of the way, not us.
Andy adjusted slightly and the next burst hit.  The wooden hull of the Higgins didn’t stand a chance against the armor piercing twenty millimeter ammunition.  He continued to rake the boat bow to stern until the CIWS finally ran out of ammo.
With hundreds of holes in it, the torpedo boat began to sink almost immediately.  I was a little sad to see an irreplaceable veteran boat destroyed, but I was very happy to be alive.  I slowed the engines and turned back to our original course.
Maybe we should have looked for survivors.  I dismissed the idea.  If there were any, they would be hostile and we didn’t have enough crew to keep them under control.  And they had tried to kill us.  What goes around comes around, suckers.
We cleaned up the CIWS and replaced the ammunition belt.  Andy got some paint and went topside to add to our record.   I didn’t see Jones.
The time it took us to travel from Korea down to Singapore almost felt like a pleasure cruise.  There were no jobs, no shootouts, just blissful nothing.
The South China Sea is the shallow end of the Pacific Ocean.  I’m no geologist, but something the Earth did caused that to happen and also shoved up all the islands that made up the Philippines and Malaysia.
In Singapore, we were supposed to meet up with the British who would be testing their radio encryption equipment with us while we traveled to Diego Garcia.  To rendezvous to with them, though, we needed information from Jones.
I hadn’t seen her since the battle with First Strike, but since food kept disappearing from the galley, I assumed that she was still on board.  I knocked on her door.
She opened it a crack.  “We’re in Singapore,” I said.  “I need to know how to contact the British.”
“They sent one man.  He’ll be flying in to Singapore Changi International tonight.  His name is A.J. Stuart.”
“You don’t say.”  That didn’t make sense.  Stuart was in law enforcement, not military research.
“You know him?”
“We’ve met.  Maybe they sent him so we know who to look for at the airport.”  I turned to go.
“Mr. Canvas?”
“Yeah?”  I stopped.  She had opened the door wider so I could see her face.
“I’m sorry for what happened during the shootout.  I feel useless.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being scared,” I said.  “You just can’t let it hold you back.  You can be as afraid as you want, and as long as you’re never willing roll over and surrender, you’ll be all right.”
I hadn’t intended to get so philosophical, but hopefully I had made my point.  Going topside, I went with Nika to find a taxi to take us to the airport.
The cab driver didn’t actually know the way to the airport, which seemed like a serious handicap in his line of work.  When we eventually got there, we found a bored-looking A.J. Stuart waiting for us.  Hawker Hurricane was with him.
“Is the trial over?” I asked.
“No,” said Stuart.  “They took a hiatus to gather more evidence.  The protection detail asked me how I’d kept her so safe when she was in my custody.  I told them about sailing the high seas, and they thought that it was a marvelous idea.”  He cracked a hint of a smile.  “So here we are.  Much as I need a vacation, I trust you to see that she’s well taken care of.”
“Thank you, father,” said Hawker, rolling her eyes.
“Did Andy know you were coming?” I asked her.
“I told him I was going somewhere else.  Until I got here, I didn’t even know about this meeting.”
“Confidentiality has sometimes been a problem,” Stuart admitted.  “If I ever find a rat in the Serious Organized Crime Agency, I’ll wring his neck with my bare hands.”
“We’re always available,” I said.  “If you think of anything we can do.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”  He left.
We’d told the taxi to stay, and I think the driver’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw Hawker.  He either recognized her, or the dressed-down travel clothes she wore weren’t dressed-down enough.  Perhaps both.
The car pulled into the marina.  We’d managed to secure a berth right along the seawall and the taxi was able to pull up near the boat.
Singapore has some draconian laws.  It’s not the kind of place where people just walk around with assault rifles, so when I saw a group of four men step out from cover pointing weapons at us, I had reason to be concerned.
Nika and I pulled Hawker out of the car and shoved her towards the boat.  The cab driver took off as fast as he could, not waiting to be paid.  That was just as well, because I had other things on my mind.  I wasn’t surprised to see Nika holding her SR-1 Vektor pistol.  Better safe than sorry, and I was reminded once again why she was such a good friend.
Andy must have been on the bridge and paying attention because the engines were already started by the time we got aboard.  He stepped out on the bridge wing with his shotgun and covered Nika and I as we untied the boat.
We didn’t have any trouble after that.  Whoever it was that attacked us vanished after their ambush failed and the sounds of sirens began to get close to the marina.  We left at full throttle, breaking several maritime laws.  If we could get out of sight, then by the time the authorities realized we had been there it would be too late to intercept us.  Once again, it was just easier to duck the police rather than explain to them exactly how we had gotten into a gunfight.
When I stepped back into the superstructure, I found Andy helping Hawker unpack.  Nika came in behind me.  It took me a second, but I realized that I didn’t know who was driving.  Nika and I went up to the bridge.  Jones was there.
“After we were away from shore, Andy told me to keep the wheel steady and then he left,” she said.
“Are you familiar with Hawker Hurricane?” I asked.
“I’ve heard the name.  She was aboard some time before I replaced Hanley,” Jones answered.  “That’s all I know.”
“She’s back again and will be traveling with us for a while.”
Jones got up, offering me the controls.
“You can have it for a few more minutes,” I said.  “We’ll be back.”
Nika and I went down to the galley.  I’m not a freak about gun maintenance, but since there had been shooting, we should do some cleaning.  The two of us worked over Nika’s gun until we were satisfied before going back and relieving Jones.
Having no other orders, we set course for the Indian Ocean.
> Chapter 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The first meeting between Hawker and Jones was an entertaining thing to watch.  Andy was on the bridge while the rest of us lounged in the galley.
“I hear you’re with the CIA,” said Hawker.
“That’s right.  You make films, right?”  Jones must have read the file on Hawker.
“Yes, ‘films.’  Believe it or not, I never had that career path in mind.  You start out modeling and somebody offers you heaps of money to take your clothes off, and things just continue on from there.”
“I see,” said Jones politely.
“How did you start work with the CIA?” asked Hawker.
“I dropped out of medical school because I thought it wasn’t challenging enough.”  It sounded like Jones may have been just a bit of an overachiever.
Just then, my phone rang.  I excused myself to answer it.  It was Nevis calling.  “I need you to come to Norfolk, Canvas.”
“Why?”
“I’d tell you, but this isn’t a secure line.  Navy encryption equipment doesn’t play nice with CIA gear.”
“Can you give me a hint?”
“No, but trust me, it’ll be worth your while.  How fast can you get here?”
We weren’t that far from India.  I figured the time it would take to get there and find travel arrangements.  “Soon.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Well, if Nevis was calling me, I would bet that he wanted something.  He did say it would be worth it, though.
I stepped back into the galley and explained the phone call.  We weren’t currently on a job, so no one was too upset about changing course.  I went up to the bridge and talked to Andy.  He swung the wheel over.
I spent quite a while figuring how I was going to get back to Norfolk.  I made a mental note to get Nevis to give us some Navy communication gear so I wouldn’t have to do this again.
When I eventually showed up at the base, Nevis’s office looked a little barren.  There were some boxes that looked like they were full of personal items.
“You look like you’re moving,” I said.
“I’m putting on another star and going to chair the Procurement Committee.”
I whistled.  “Not bad.  I don’t think you dragged me all the way here just to tell me about your promotion, though.”
“No.  I was already a good candidate for the choice, although I think your tip about the Chinese stealth boat helped.”
“How did that turn out, by the way?”
“Well, it was evidentially something interesting.  A pencil pusher at Langley told me to go fly a kite when I asked.  Normally they’re thrilled to be getting someone from the outside visiting them.”
“So you don’t have the information?”
“No, but I told someone about it who is more important than I, and they were probably able to wrangle the satellite photos out of the CIA.”  While Nevis was an Admiral, there were still plenty of people he reported to, some of whom had impressive clout indeed. 
I held up a hoof and ticked on it as if I were counting fingers.  “You didn’t call me all the way to Norfolk to talk about your new position.  You could have told me that I was right about the stealth boat over the phone.  So what am I here for?”
“As Chairman of the Procurement Committee, I have to inspect various Naval Warfare production centers.  I thought you might want to come along.  If you want, you can call it thanks for giving me that tip about the stealth ship.”
“So, you get me tours of production facilities so I can figure out what my company should make and sell to the Navy.”
“You know me too well.”
“Yeah, and I know you wouldn’t do something like that without some kind of kickback.  What’s in it for you?”
“I look good for finding the latest products for the Procurement Committee, which I’ll get you to agree to sell at reasonable prices.” 
“Why should I agree to less money?”
“Because I’ll make sure you make it up on volume.”
I considered it.  It had become increasingly clear to me over the time I’d known Nevis that he had bigger goals in mind than simply being in charge at Norfolk.  
For whatever reason, Nevis and I worked well together.  I knew he would screw me given the opportunity, and I would probably do the same to him.  Still, we respected each other enough to attempt to make this joint venture work.  I might as well.  The company could use the extra income, as we were the little guy and General Dynamics and Lockheed-Martin needed more competition.  It was none of my business how Nevis rationalized his actions.
“All right,” I said.  “I can’t come on your trip, though.  I’d feel bad if I spent too much time away from the boat.”
“I was just about to leave,” he said.  “First stop is Crane.”
Crane Naval Surface Weapons Center was the Navy’s largest base.  It was located in Indiana, for some reason.  I had taken the public tour once, but going with Nevis was sure to be more in-depth.
“All right,” I said.  “I’ll go to Crane, but after that I really have to get back.”
Traveling only halfway across the country, we were there later that day.  Nevis had apparently never been to Crane before, so they showed us around.  I was introduced as a civilian advisor.  Having me along was an unusual practice, but nobody said anything.
We toured the various departments at Crane with a guide.  Crane worked on ship parts and weapons, missiles, and small arms, among other things.  The very first dimensional doorway had been opened there, in the research division.
We left the warehouse where old ship guns were kept and entered the facility that produced man-portable weapons.  Since most weapons issued to sailors were just run-of-the mill M16 rifles and M9 pistols, they could be produced by outside vendors.  Most small arms that came out of Crane were meant for SEALs.
“We’re getting a new batch of M416 experimental units ready to go out,” said the guide.  “We’ll need to do some field testing before cranking up production, though.”
The M416 was intended to replace the M4 assault rifle.  It had been improved, and was supposed to have less recoil and be more reliable.
“My company has a small arms testing program,” I said.  Nevis looked at me.  He knew it wasn’t true.
“Hang on, I’ll get the division head for you,” said the guide.  He returned a minute later with a beefy man who had the look of someone not to be trifled with.  It made sense that the head of the small arms division would likely be a former SEAL.  
I had to be careful.  The man would know firearms inside and out, and would be able to spot any bullshit I tried to feed him.  I had the advantage that he probably wouldn’t know as much about business.
“I’m President of Canvas Shipbuilding,” I said.  “We’ve been diversifying lately and getting into special warfare.  I’d like to offer our services for product testing your new M416s.”
“How much is it going to cost?”  The man clearly was no fool.
“I think we can make a reasonable deal.  After all, we’re new to the business.”
He thought for a moment.  “What kind of program do you have?”
“Our headquarters are in Virginia.  We have facility with access to forest, sand, grass, fresh water, salt water, just about anything.  We contract with facilities in Texas and Alaska for weather testing.  There are some retired operators working for us.”
“SEALs?” the man asked.
If I said yes, he’d probably ask their names.  “No, none of them.  We have some Marines from the Force Recon days, and a couple of Coast Guard drug interdiction boys.  There’s an Army Ranger or two.”
“I’ll talk to my people and see what happens.”  His tone was neutral.  He seemed wary that he hadn’t heard of our testing program before, but interested.
“I’ll talk to the Procurement Committee,” said Nevis.
All the way back to the boat, I was in negotiations for the deal.  I figured since I’d set it up, I might as well be handling it.  And with what I was planning, the fewer people that knew about the deal, the better.
I met the boat in Yemen with good news.  Crane would be sending us ten M416s and paying us $1.8 million to test them for two months.  There was nothing in the contract about the loss or theft of the weapons, and I was planning to make them disappear.
“How are we going to bring them aboard?” asked Andy as we sat around the galley table discussing it.  “Are we going to pull up to the dock, and start loading suspicious crates?”
He had a point.  “Maybe we could hire another helicopter.”
“Why don’t we get our own helicopter?” said Nika.  “If you keep getting government contracts, we can more than afford it.”
“Somebody would have to learn how to fly it.”
“Andy can do it,” said Hawker.
“That wasn’t really flying,” he said.  “More like a controlled crash.  What about that guy in Korea?  Think we can get him to come work with us?”
“Well, he was experienced with ships and it looked like he could use the money.  Trouble is, he’s in Korea.”
“I’m sure he would come if we bought him a nice new helicopter,” replied Andy.
“If we can wait for him to get his shipped here, it would probably be cheaper,” I said.  “And he won’t have to learn how to fly a new one.”
We found Shep’s information and contacted him.
“I’d like to hire you on a full-time basis,” I said on the phone.  “You’d have to pack up everything you own and meet us in Egypt.”
“Either you’re kidding or you’ve got deeper pockets than I originally thought.”
“How much will it take to get you there?  We can discuss salary after that.”
Shep thought about it for a moment, and gave me a number.
“Done.”
“Wha…okay.  Alright, I’m on my way.  One thing, do you need a mechanic?  I’ve got a guy who works on my bird.”
“Bring him along.”  We discussed a few more details and set up a time and place to meet.  After that, I had to set things up so the weapons and everything we would need for the helicopter would also be where they needed to be.
The Navy was sending the ten rifles in a crate to the company warehouse in Norfolk.  From there, they would be packed inside a larger, unmarked crate and sent to Italy.  An affiliate of Canvas Shipbuilding would receive the crate and label it as galley equipment.  It would be added it to other crates and placed in a container that would be transported to Egypt.  Bringing it all aboard wouldn’t look suspicious, but to be sure, the helicopter would carry it away from shore where there were fewer people to observe us.
To “lose” the guns, paperwork would be created in a few weeks that would show they were placed aboard a railcar in Norfolk for transit to our fictional testing range in Texas.  When nothing showed up at the other end, it would be assumed that the railroad either lost them or they were stolen.  We would act very apologetic.
Thanks to the Suez Canal, the trip from Yemen to Egypt was much shorter than the distances that Shep and the crate of guns had to travel.  We had a few days with nothing to do.  Jones asked why we were laying over, and the rest of us kept her guessing.  The CIA might balk at new people on board, and if she told anyone about the stolen guns, word might get back to the wrong people.
I got an acknowledgement from the shipping company that our package had arrived and a call from Shep on the same day.
“It took a Russian cargo plane, two solid days of mechanic work, and I don’t know how many bribed customs officials, but we’re here.  Give us another couple of hours and we’ll be ready to fly.”
I set up arrangements for the helicopter to land in the cargo yard where our crate had been brought in.  That was something that happened occasionally for shipments that had to be delivered as quickly as possible, and they had a helicopter pad for the purpose.
I took Andy and we got a taxi to the shipyard.  After waiting around for a bit, Shep’s blue Huey appeared.  He set down on the center of the pad.
Working together, Andy and I were able to get the crate in the back of the helicopter.  It wasn’t very heavy, but the repackaged crate was bulky.  There was already a lot of gear in the back of the helo.  All the spare parts and personal items Shep had brought with him, I guessed.
The two bulkhead seats were just like before, with headsets waiting for us.  Shep checked to make sure we were plugged into the intercom.  When we were ready to go, he gently lifted off and made for the boat.
“I’d like to introduce you to my mechanic and copilot,” said Shep.  “This is Jeff Douglas.”
The man sitting in the seat next to Shep turned and gave us a little wave.  He was dark haired and broad shouldered, but the helmet and flight suit obscured more details.  He appeared to be connected to the intercom, but didn’t say a word.
At the boat, Shep slipped the helicopter sideways and touched down delicately on the deck.  He and Jeff went over the shutdown checklist as Andy and I strapped the helicopter down.
Before bringing the helo aboard, we’d agreed to keep Shep and his mechanic in the dark for a while to decide if we really wanted them to join us.  It also gave us time to convince Jones to get background checks run on them.
We kept them away from secret equipment.  The engine room and the galley were probably safest for that.  Jeff seemed interested in the diesels, and Shep was content to drink coffee and read novels when he wasn’t flying.  
Jones, as we suspected, was not pleased with new people on board.  I reminded her that she was also our guest, and if she wanted to do background checks, she was welcome.
The results came back quickly.  Both were former Navy, with Shep putting in twenty years, Jeff only four.  Both had held security clearances.  Neither had any suspicious activities on their records.  Shep was divorced, Jeff unmarried.  Once we had our information, the rest of the crew and I sat down with them to talk it out.
“For lack of a better term, we’re guns for hire,” I explained.  “Most of our work is for the United States, specifically the CIA.”
“Black ops?” asked Shep.
I shrugged.  “Some.”
“Does it pay well?”
“What do you think?” I answered.
“Sorry, stupid question.  All right, so now that we’re here what comes next?”
“Well, since we’re in the Mediterranean right now, I thought we’d go over to Monaco to pay a visit to an old friend.”
The old Huey looked a little out of place among the sleek helicopters at the landing area in Monaco.  That was all right.  If everything went according to plan, we wouldn’t be there long.  Hawker, Nika, and I departed.  Shep stayed with the helo.  Andy, Jones, and Jeff were back at the boat, waiting on us.
Hanley had sent us a packet of information about Mario Rossi.  It included quite a few things we could use to find him.  His name actually turned out to be real.  I was impressed with the wealth of information.  They have their faults, but never underestimate the CIA.  
We tried his place, but he wasn’t home.  Next, we tried at his mistress’s apartment.  She answered the door after a minute dressed only in a robe.
“Allo?”
“English?” I asked.
“I speak it.  What do you want?”
“We’re looking for Mario.”
“Well…I don’t know where he is.”
Nika caught the lie, and grabbed the woman, pushing her back through the door.  I stepped in after them, drawing my pistol.
Rossi, hearing the commotion, appeared from a doorway.  He wasn’t wearing very much.  His eyes went wide when I pointed the gun at him.  Through a mouth full of trigger twine, I said, “Freeze.”
He raised his hands and stood still.  I glanced past him into the room he had come out of.  It looked like a bedroom, with no way to escape.  His only option for running was getting past me and out the front door.  I moved so I could block his path.  Behind me, Hawker shut the door so we wouldn’t attract a crowd.
Nika had his mistress immobilized and gagged with a hand towel.  I trusted her to keep the woman from interfering.  For extra security, I told Rossi to sit down.
He refused.  “You wouldn’t dare do anything here.  The noise of the gunshot would alert everyone around here.”
“So we’ll go to the kitchen and get a knife.  Maybe we’ll work on your girlfriend first.”  I didn’t think I actually would, but Rossi didn’t know that.  “Sit down.”
He didn’t, so Hawker walked up to him, careful to keep out of my line of fire, and kicked him in the nuts.  He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping.
“Been wanting to do that,” Hawker remarked to me.
“You’re lucky,” I said to Rossi.  “Men usually pay her to touch them.”
“Why are you here?” he said between gritted teeth.
“I think you know.”
“Please be more specific.”
“You sold us out to James Herrington.”  He nodded reluctantly.  I went on.  “Some of his men tried to kill Ms. Hurricane here, along with a few other people.”  He agreed with that, too.  I made a deliberate error.  “After that, you tipped off the Canadians about our operations in the north.  I want to know why.”
“I admit it.  Everyone pays me well.”
Caught him.  “Don’t try lying again.  I’m going to ask you some questions.  If I think you aren’t telling me the truth, bad things are going to happen to you.  Now, tell me everything you told Herrington.”
Rossi talked for a few minutes.  For a price, he’d sent every bit of incriminating evidence that he had to the man.  He’d also given them information about how Hawker was being transported, which included a lot about me.  It seemed like he didn’t know much about the rest of the crew.
“All right, who else did you sell information about us to?”
“The Germans.”
“Lie.”  I was taking a guess based on the fact that Germany had never given us trouble nor had any reason to.
Rossi cringed.  “China.”
“When?”
He told me a date shortly after we’d blown up things in the Chinese port.  That fit.
“Who else did you tell?”
“No one.”
“Get a knife,” I said to Hawker.  She nodded and went to search the apartment.
“I’m telling the truth!” said Rossi.
I shrugged.  “Maybe.  We still have to make sure you don’t do this to us again.”
“I can pay you.”
“You don’t have enough.”  He had to have money to be living in Monaco, but the bribe would have to been several million before I would even consider it.
“Please don’t kill me.”  His tone of voice had changed entirely.  I suddenly realized how much I had scared him.  There were tears forming in his eyes.  I felt a little uncomfortable, but did my best not to show it.  I couldn’t believe I could be so intimidating while speaking with a lisp caused by having the twine clenched in my teeth.
Hawker came back with a six inch chef’s knife.  Rossi’s eyes bugged out at the sight of it.
“Eyes over here,” I said.  “Look at me.  In exchange for your life, you’re not going to tell anyone anything about us again.  You’re going to help us with information if we ever need any.  If you ever screw us again, we’ll come back and torture you until you die, do you understand?”
I must have been able to come up with enough confidence to back my strong words.  Rossi agreed to the conditions earnestly.  We left.
Back at the helicopter pad, Shep asked if we had gotten what we came for.  I told him yes.  We climbed in and Shep started the engines.  All identification codes and markings on the helicopter had been altered before we arrived in Monaco.  I had figured that Rossi might come after us and observe the helicopter.  We might as well cover ourselves.
Back on the boat, we set a course out of the Mediterranean.  Jones hadn’t been briefed beforehand about our little excursion.  She learned about it soon enough.  Her opinion was that it was an unnecessary risk using illegal methods.  She also thought Rossi got what he deserved and that it was a smart move flipping him to work for us.
We stopped in Gibraltar for supplies.  While we were there, the CIA ordered us back to Norfolk.  It was an uneventful journey across the Atlantic.  Almost boring, really.  Andy and Hawker played more internet games.  Shep had carried aboard a bag full of novels, and spent his time going through them.  Jeff seemed to be spending a lot of time in the engine room, making me wonder just how interesting the diesels could be.  Nika experimented with cooking and had some decent success.  Jones seemed to do a lot of paperwork, perhaps catching up before we back stateside.  All of the people practiced with the new rifles.
Being a Brit, Hawker was unaccustomed to guns, however she was quick to learn.  Shep and Jeff were already reasonably competent due to their time in the military.  Surprisingly, the CIA had taken the trouble to weapons-train Jones, and she was nearly equal to Nika’s level of proficiency.  Andy wasn’t bad, but he claimed to prefer the old shotgun.
It was hard to miss the “Property of the US Navy” stamps on the rifles.  I told Jones that the Navy had asked me to test them, and I had made up some artificial paperwork to show her to make that story seem more plausible.  I didn’t need her asking questions.
We didn’t physically accomplish a whole lot by shooting at things we tossed over the side.  It did act as a kind of teambuilding group cohesion exercise, though.  That’s what it would have been called if it was a normal business I was running.
As things stood now, the boat was officially my private yacht.  Unofficially, it was a CIA special operations platform.  I was thinking about turning our little band of pirates into a legitimate business.  Dealing with us on a professional basis would force the CIA’s upper level bureaucracy to work with us, instead of Hanley’s group.  Putting us in front of more powerful people could get us more and better jobs.  It could also spread our name to other customers, perhaps other intelligence agencies or other countries.  I didn’t want to have to go through the CIA to get other jobs.   If my lawyer could find some way to make that work to our advantage for tax purposes, so much the better.
I had first gotten onto this idea when I heard who we would be meeting with upon our return to the states.  Nevis would be there, and at least one Army General.  We had worked jobs outside the CIA before, but hopefully this would help our publicity.  
It can be hard getting your name out there in the world of covert operations.  After all, your employer keeps insisting that you don’t exist.
	
> Chapter 8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	I had taken a tour of the Pentagon once, but they didn’t take the public as deep as I had to go to get to the meeting.  I was lost by the time the two uniformed escorts brought me to a nondescript conference room somewhere deep inside.
Hanley was there, looking pale and weak, but alert.  He had an electric wheelchair, as one leg and one arm were still bandaged up and immobilized.
Nevis was also present, and appeared to be comparatively drab next to the man who sat with him.  He had dressed to impress with four silver stars on his immaculate uniform and a whole lot of ribbons on his chest.  His nametag identified him as Baxter.
“This is Sail Canvas, the captain of the boat,” said Hanley by way of introduction.  I took it to mean that he had already told the General about Corsair.  I was curious to see why the Army cared.
I wore a suit, but neglected to put on a tie.  It was just enough to get Pentagon security to take me seriously.  General Baxter looked me up and down and didn’t appear to like what he saw.  He didn’t offer his hand.  “Admiral Nevis says you’re the best special operations contractor he’s ever seen.”
“Admittedly, it’s a small field,” I said.  “There aren’t a whole lot of people out there who have the capital to build a fighting yacht.”  I glanced at Hanley to see if he would say something about who actually paid for the boat, but he let it go.
“You do most of your work for the CIA.  Is there a reason for that?”
Mostly because I kept finding ways to screw them out of money and equipment.  Also, they could ruin me if I didn’t.  I said, “We’ve established a good relationship.  They seem to pay better than the military, too.”
“You’ve been given access to quite a bit of sensitive information.  What stops you from burning us with it?”
“I’d be out of a job if I did.”  Changing subjects, I said, “What’s with all the questions?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
“You think I have time to come in here and play games with you?  One of the plus sides to working for myself is that I don’t have to deal with bureaucratic bullshit.”  I got up to leave.
“Sit down,” said Baxter, sounding angry.
“Make me.  I’m a civilian.”
“Canvas,” said Nevis calmly, “the General wants a boat to test special forces amphibious landing equipment and tactics.”
I sat back down.  “All right.  Tell me more.”
Baxter shot a look at Nevis.  He didn’t appreciate a lower-ranking officer from another branch of the military undercutting him, but it had gotten me to stay.
“We need you to host about two dozen operators and observers for about five days.  We’ll be conducting operations at Aberdeen Proving Ground.”
We didn’t have berths for that many people, but I figured we could set up tents on the flight deck or something.
“Details aren’t quite finalized yet, but we’ll contact you when the operation is ready to commence,” said Baxter.  It seemed that he was finished talking to me.
I didn’t get a chance to speak with Nevis on my way out.  I walked beside Hanley as he rolled in his wheelchair.
“One of these days I’m going to be back on my feet,” he said.  I didn’t know if he was being overly optimistic or if he just looked worse than he actually was.  Regardless of his health, he seemed to have returned to his job.
“Are you going to do some more field work?” I asked.
“No.  The Agency probably wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to.  Just as well.  How is Agent Jones?”
I recounted a few things that we’d experienced while she had been with us.  Hanley had probably read the reports we’d sent, but a report is never quite the same thing as a face-to-face conversation.
Hanley seemed to be deep in thought.  “Well, I didn’t think you were going to get into any more trouble.  I suppose I should have expected it, given the line of work you’re in.  Jones was trained for basic field operations, but never did anything except desk jobs until now.”
“I think she came around,” I said.  “After a while, getting shot at becomes routine.”
“Was that supposed to be funny?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“Well, whatever you did, her whole attitude has changed.  We had to pull her out of her comfy office when I got shot, but when I talked to her a few days ago, it seemed like she was happy where she was.”
“Stockholm Syndrome, you think?”
He laughed, but stopped quickly when it caused his chest wound to hurt.  “We might eventually have to call her back, but for a while it’s nice to have someone aboard who takes orders instead of considering them suggestions.”
I talked with him for a few more minutes before heading back to the boat.  I was thinking hard about Jones.  By having the CIA communicate directly with her, and then having her pass data to us, the CIA was able to suppress information and keep us in the dark on some things.  I couldn’t forget that she was also a potential whistle-blower that kept watch over our shoulders.  It wasn’t even fun to antagonize her anymore.  I started forming a plan to get rid of Jones.
The cruise to Aberdeen Proving Ground was not long, at least not by our standards.  It was located in Maryland north of Baltimore.  We didn’t even have to leave Chesapeake Bay.
At Aberdeen, we brought aboard twenty four soldiers and four observers.  They were all dressed down, with no identification.  I only talked with one of them, who called himself Lieutenant Colonel Painter.
Painter looked a lot like his men–tough.  He was with the observers, and seemed to be in charge of the operation.  Figuring he could keep secrets, I gave him a tour of the boat.
“Interesting business you’ve got here,” Painter commented.  “I understand you work primarily for the CIA.”
A lot of military people don’t like intelligence spooks.  “It pays the bills,” I said, shrugging.  “We occasionally take other jobs.”
“For who?”
“The U.S. Navy’s always been good to us.  Not too long ago, we worked with the SAS.”  Stuart didn’t exactly represent the whole Special Air Service, but my comment seemed to impress Painter.
We anchored the boat in a branch of the Chesapeake that cut through Aberdeen.  It was away from the public, and would have been a nice quiet place to relax if it weren’t for the gunfire and signal flares continually popping along the shore.
Since we needed the flight deck, Shep and Jeff took Andy out in the helicopter so he could work on his piloting skills.  I told them to find a nice regional airport to stay at until we could bring them back aboard.
I kept careful track of everything that was going on.  There was a lot you could learn by watching.  Of course, I wasn’t in the same league as the professionals who were aboard, but maybe I could learn something from them.  Also, if I got the chance to start working with Baxter on a regular basis, maybe I could get some of the high-tech equipment they were using. 
Exercises ran round the clock.  There were mixed day and nighttime operations and the men appeared to be training for any eventuality that could ever happen.  Even in my stateroom at the other end of the boat, it was difficult to sleep with the constant sounds of weapons being loaded and orders being shouted combined with distant gunshots and other noise.
Nika stayed with me, freeing up a room to use for lodging the soldiers.  As the days went on, I noticed her creeping closer to the centerline of the bed.  Figuring she was just naturally gravitating towards my body heat, I got her another blanket.
Even if many of the soldiers were able to take naps between exercises, they had to be getting tired.  Late on the fourth day, one of them lost his focus and paid for it.
Hawker appeared on the flight deck wearing nothing but a bikini.  One of the men stopped what he was doing and stared openly.  Painter came up behind him and pushed the man overboard.
He leaned over the side and shouted, “No distractions!  If this was war, you’d be dead!”  He turned to Hawker.  “Thanks.”
She smiled.  “It was no trouble.”
The rest of the men pretended not to notice the exchange and did their best to hide grins.  Hawker left the deck and came up to the bridge, still not wearing much.  I didn’t know where Nika was or if she was armed, so I kept my eyes away from Hawker.
“Was that prearranged?” I asked.
She nodded.  “Mr. Painter talked to me about it yesterday.  Honestly, I almost turned him down.  Since meeting Andy and the rest of you, I’ve been thinking about a career change.”
“Really?”
“Well, I can’t exactly work when I’m aboard.  I’m also beginning to realize that I want something else.  Films were fun for a while, but I’d rather do something a bit more challenging.”
“What does Andy think?”
“He wants me to be a pirate like the rest of you.”  She laughed.
I tried to imagine Hawker aboard permanently.  She’d already spent enough time with us that it wasn’t too much of a stretch.  I decided that if she could persuade Nika to let her join, she would have earned it.
Painter told me that a few small boats had been turned away by security personnel while we had been at Aberdeen.  I asked if that was unusual.
“Civilians are always stumbling in where you don’t want them.  It was probably nothing,” he said.
I wasn’t so sure.  It had been a while since the terrorists had come after me.  They’d already shown that they could and would attack on U.S. territory.  Our little shootouts had happened too often to be random.  They obviously had some way of figuring out where I was.  I decided to play it safe and assume that I was being tracked.
We stayed in Norfolk for a few days.  Andy finally got the nerve to quit his professorship and come join us permanently.  Jones wasn’t pleased, but nobody besides her minded.
The boat underwent some routine maintenance.  While that was going on, I received a message from Hanley.  Stuart had apparently contacted some of his friends, and the SAS had a job for us.
It was nothing dangerous, surprisingly.  They wanted to test life jackets and survival gear.  I wondered why they couldn’t do that closer to the United Kingdom, but decided not to ask.  They were trying to keep the testing secret, obviously.  Maybe they were trying to hide some prohibitively expensive equipment from the accountants by testing it far away?  Stanger things had happened.
That may also have been why they sent it by ship.  A Royal Air Force plane could have had the gear across the ocean in a couple of hours, but instead they packed it into a container.
The shipyard crew rushed to get the maintenance finished in time to meet the ship carrying the container.  It would be simple to pull up at the wharf and have the container crane place it on the foredeck.  I felt a little bad about making the shipyard mechanics work so hard, though, because the container ship encountered engine trouble and was estimated to arrive two days late.
The shipping company was unapologetic.  Pissing off a customer who only wanted one container wouldn’t cost them much money.  However, they did let us tie up on the other side of the container yard near the rail terminal.
Even being anchored at Aberdeen with gunfire keeping me awake was better than waiting with nothing to do.  The SAS guys hadn’t even arrived yet.  Hanley was able to find out for me that they were waiting too, seeing no reason to show up until the container did.
I had gotten rid of most of the things I owned in Norfolk.  I didn’t have a house or a car anymore.  When I began going a little stir-crazy on the second night, Nika got a rental car and drove me to a nice restaurant.  I had heard that the ship was going to be delayed even more, so Nika  told the rental agency that we would bring the car back whenever we felt like it.
On the third day, Shep flew Hawker and Andy to New York to some adult film awards ceremony where she was planning to announce her retirement.  We needed the helicopter off the deck anyway to make room for the container, which was supposed to be coming soon.
Nika was still wearing her rifle, despite the new ones available and despite the fact that we were in a civilized part of the world.  I couldn’t blame her.  My pistol was always within reach.
“So, Hawker and Andy will be here on a permanent basis,” she said, as the two of us stood on the bridge.
“Both of them have skills that none of the rest of us have,” I said noncommittally.  Nika gave me a look.
“Okay, we’ll pay based on performance.  Fair?”
Nika rolled her eyes and headed for the stairs.  “I’m going to get something to drink.  Do you want anything?”  Her head turned back to hear my reply.  She didn’t know her foot went over the edge of the top step until she was already falling.
I rushed after Nika, finding her at the bottom of the stairs.  She lay on the deck with one leg twisted in an ugly way.  The first thing I thought was to ask if she was okay, but I let that idea go.  It was obvious that she wasn’t, and with her teeth gritted against the pain she couldn’t answer anyway.
I helped her sit up and shouted for Jones and Jeff.  Nika muttered, “Slomanny.”  Broken.
I certainly couldn’t disagree.  Her leg looked bad.  Not as bad as if bones were poking out, but bad enough.  
“What happened?” said Jones, arriving just then.
“She tripped.”
“Is there a hospital nearby?”
I knew where there was one.  Jeff showed up, and I briefly explained to him what had happened before asking him to watch the boat for a while.  
Jones and I helped Nika get up and carried her outside.  “Aren’t you medically trained?” I asked the CIA agent.
“I never got my M.D.  Besides, if I can’t charge what real doctors do, why should I bother?”  She laughed.  Nika didn’t.
Jones and I got Nika into the back seat of the rental car.  I pulled Nika’s rifle off of her and stowed it under the front passenger seat.  No need to scare some hospital people.
There were some railroad tracks we had to cross on our way out of the container yard.  Nika swore in Russian at every bump.
We wound up at De Paul Med Center.  Business was apparently slow that day, and Nika was admitted to the emergency room as soon as we got her there. 
Only a few short minutes later, a doctor came to talk to us.  It was a relatively clean break, he said.  Nika should be discharged within the day.
“Maybe we should get some surgery equipment,” I said to Jones, while we sat in the waiting room.  “In case anything like this ever happens when we aren’t conveniently at home.”
“I suppose you expect me to be the surgeon?”
“You’re better qualified than I am.”
We waited in silence for a few minutes.  There were magazines to read, but none that I was interested in.  I realized that in our hurry to get Nika to the hospital, I had forgotten my wallet with my driver’s license.  Oh well, I would just have to make sure I didn’t get pulled over.
I was thinking about going for a walk, when Jones’s phone rang.  She answered it and suddenly sat bolt upright and her eyes widened.  “Yes, Canvas’s with me,” she said.  “We’re at the hospital.  No, it’s close to the boat.”
It seemed like an emergency.  I wondered if it was a new job, although I doubted Jones would look so worried if it was.
“Isn’t there anyone else?” she asked.  “We aren’t prepared.”  She listened.  “I understand.  We’ll do what we can.”  She ended the call and stood up, heading for the door.  “Come on!” she called.
I followed her out, running after her towards the car.  “A railcar of nuclear waste was just hijacked,” she said.  “Hanley says it’s probably Al-Azhem’s guys.  They’re going to try and blow it up.”  She added, “You know the area better, you drive.”
“How is it that we know this, but we weren’t able to stop it?” I said angrily as I threw the car door open and jumped inside.  I jammed the keys in, trying to adjust my body to the human seat.
“The important thing is that we know now,” replied Jones, putting her seat belt on.  She told me where we were going.  I recognized it as a freight yard used by Norfolk Southern railway.
“How are they going to penetrate the containment flask?” I asked, gunning the car out of the hospital parking lot.  “Do you have any idea how tough those things are?”
“Yeah,” she said.  “I once saw a video where they put a test flask through an eighty mile per hour crash and it was basically unharmed.”
We were silent for a moment.  I ran a stoplight, and several drivers honked at us.  “What are we up against?” I asked quietly.  “How many bad guys?”
“Hanley didn’t know.”
“Did he at least warn the military?  How about the police?”
“I didn’t ask.  Look, if we show up and decide that we can’t deal with it on our own, we’ll call someone.  You know people in the Navy, right?”
“We don’t have time,” I spat.  “How long has it been since they grabbed the flask?  How long is it going to take to rig it with explosives?”
“Well, at least low-level waste won’t go off in a nuclear detonation.”
“That’s a minor upside!  Between Norfolk, the Navy base, Virginia Beach and everything else around here, there are a million and a half people living within fifty miles.  Even if it’s only a dirty bomb, there will still be radioactive cloud blanketing the area.”
I didn’t have time to talk further, because at that moment we came to the rail yard.  Without slowing down, I shot the car through the front gate, nearly running over a guard.  I had no idea where we would find the flask car, but I thought that it made sense that the terrorists would want to detonate it as close to the military base as possible, so I steered west.
Jones grabbed Nika’s rifle from under the seat and unfolded the stock.  I had kept my pistol concealed in the hospital, and I could feel it down, pressing into the car seat.  It was a small comfort in a desperate situation.
We raced past rows of train cars, looking for the right one.  Beside the rails, I saw two bodies wearing rail worker gear.  Apparently that meant that we were on the right track.  Wow, what a terrible time for puns.
I spotted a small black locomotive up ahead.  It looked like it was usually used for simple jobs in the yard, rather than the bigger engines that pulled trains across the country.  Ahead of it, it was pushing a boxcar and a containment flask.
I had the gas pedal jammed on the floor as hard as I could push it.  The locomotive was moving out of the yard, heading west.  The car was faster, but how long until the explosives went off?  We had to stop it as fast as possible.
In the mirror, I saw flashing lights.  Police cars, it looked like.  They were probably too far away to make a difference.  I concentrated on catching up to the train.
Outside the rail yard, the track continued straight.  Maybe we weren’t going to the Navy base after all.  I suddenly realized that the track was pointed almost directly at where we had left the boat.
I had a hard time believing that they were trying to put me dead-center of this attack, but these guys had surprised me more than once before.  I had been a thorn in their side for quite a while.
Outside the yard, there was no room for a car to drive beside the rails.  We crashed through a chain link fence and back out onto city streets, surprising several other motorists.  I kept my hoof planted on the gas pedal.
We went through the entrance to the container yard.  I thought that if we were able to get ahead of the train, we might have a better chance at stopping it.
I spotted the train, and found the tracks it was headed for.  We were nearly back to the boat by now, and I could see it off in the distance.  If they were planning to blow the flask when they got there, that meant we only had minutes, if that.
There was a switch where one set of rails went off in a different direction.  The rails had tight corners in the container yard, and I had seen numerous signs advising locomotive engineers that ten miles per hour was the speed limit.  The rails were simply set on the concrete, with little to hold them down.
I screeched the car to a halt and jumped out.  There was a lever that allowed the switch to be moved.  I grabbed it and changed the switch so the locomotive would be forced to turn instead of going straight.  I hoped it was going to be enough.
I ran back to the car just as the train was getting there.  Someone on board saw me and fired a few shots.  I ducked behind the car.  I heard a screech as the locomotive tried to stop, but it wasn’t enough.  The two cars upset going around the curve and the locomotive plowed into them, flipping onto its side.
I glanced at Jones, and we stepped out from behind the car, weapons up.  I heard a few shouts from behind the overturned locomotive.  A man stepped out from around it, raising an assault rifle.  He had blood on him, although I couldn’t tell if it was his or from someone injured in the crash.
I was closest and shot him in the upper chest.  He went down, and I stepped over to where he had been, facing a second man.  He saw me and began firing wildly while ducking behind the cab of the locomotive.  A bullet smacked off the pavement and hit me in the hip, turning me sideways.  I slumped against the locomotive, managing to keep my gun up.  I thought about taking to the air, but decided it would only make me an easier target.
The man took a quick look out from where he was hiding, and Jones fired a short burst at him.  I worked my way slowly down the length of the locomotive.  Jones was beside me, both of us waiting for the man to show himself again.  I don’t know which of us hit him when his face appeared again, but a large chunk of his head was torn off gruesomely.  
There was a third man pinned inside the cab of the locomotive.  He had apparently been caught in the crash, and lay in a pool of blood.  It didn’t look like he could get himself out, and there were no weapons available to him, so we went on.
We found the fourth and last man trying to get the boxcar open.  He turned suddenly as we approached and I pistol whipped him, although the mostly plastic Five-seveN didn’t do much.  Jones managed to hit him a little harder with the rifle.  He dropped to the ground and she aimed the rifle at him.
I managed to make my way to the containment flask.  I couldn’t see any obvious signs of tampering.  Maybe the explosives were in the boxcar.  I called Hanley.  I briefly explained to him what had happened and hung up.  I called Jeff.  “Get the boat moving and get out of here.”
“I heard shooting.  Was that you?” he said.
“Yes.  Just go, we’ll sort this out later.”  Once again, we didn’t want the boat to be found at the scene.
I went to assist Jones in watching the prisoner.  Admittedly, I wasn’t much help because I was beginning to lose too much blood.  I sat down against the axle of the overturned box car and used my feathers to try and stop the blood.
I heard sirens and the police arrived.  Rather than trying to distinguish the bad guys from the good, they disarmed us all and held us at gunpoint.  I couldn’t really blame them, as a nuclear disaster had almost happened right under their noses.
It seemed like a long time until the ambulance got there.  One of the officers had given me a little bit of help with my wound, and I actually managed to stay lucid all the way to the hospital.  Back to the hospital, that is.
After a couple of days, some surgery, and some really knockout painkillers, the police guarding my room left.  I assumed that I had been verified as a non-terrorist.  After that, people I knew began visiting.
Nika was first.  She thumped in on her leg cast.  Nobody besides Jones and I knew that she had gone to the hospital, so when they released her she had nowhere to go.  Luckily, she had kept a bank box in Norfolk from her FSB days, and had money and credit cards to get by on.  
When Shep, Jeff, Andy and Hawker came in, they found Nika in bed with me.  No, it wasn’t authorized by the hospital, but she explained that it was easier than finding a hotel room.  I thought I detected some embarrassment.  We had been a lot closer than when sharing a king-size. 
Shep, Hawker, and Andy had flown back from New York without knowing what was going on.  It was only a tip from Hanley that had gotten them to the hospital.  I told them all to take off for a while.  I would call them when I was ready to sail again.  They left me some animal crackers.
Jones and Hanley didn’t come for a while.  When they arrived, Jones wore a business suit the likes of which I hadn’t seen since we’d first met in Korea.
“I think you had it better than I did,” she said.  “I spent three days in solitary confinement before the Agency was finally able to convince Norfolk PD that I wasn’t in on the plot.”
Hanley was still in his wheelchair, and I thought that I actually looked better than he did.  The bullet I’d caught had lost most of its energy after bouncing off the concrete, and I had what amounted to just a flesh wound, albeit a deep one.  Hanley said that he could move his feet a little, and the doctors called that an encouraging sign.
“So what about the bomb?” I asked.
“The boxcar was loaded with a directed explosive with a kinetic penetrator,” Jones began.  “It was pretty powerful and may have actually succeeded in piercing the flask had it detonated.”
“I’ve got to say, Canvas,” added Hanley, “that was an impressive piece of work.”
“Don’t compliment me,” I said.  “Buy me a new boat.”
“What’s wrong with the old one?”
“Nothing, but I think it’s pretty clear that you owe me.  By the way,” I said to Jones, “what are they giving you?  Not only did you manage to not get shot, but you captured a prisoner.”
“We’ll make something of it,” said Hanley, answering for her.  “Good PR is always a plus.  Think about this: a girl from small-town Oklahoma joins the CIA and single-handedly saves over a million people from radioactive holocaust.  The public is going to go nuts over it.”
“Uh, single-handedly?” I asked.
“You’re a private contractor working from a black budget.  Technically, you don’t exist.”
“Thanks.”
Hanley checked his watch.  “Got to go.  Get well soon, Canvas.”  He rolled out.
I said to Jones, “So, you’re from Oklahoma?”
She gave me a look and followed Hanley.  
I was left alone in the hospital room.  Pretty much everyone I knew had come by to say hello.  Except Nevis.  I doubted I was going to get a visit from him, so I picked up the bedside phone.
I was expecting Chief Stanton, but to my surprise Nevis himself answered.  During his change in positions, he had given me a new phone number.  It must have been his personal one.  I appreciated it.
“You probably heard what happened,” I said.
“Tell it to me from your point of view.  This should be interesting.”
I gave him the story, knowing full well that I was probably violating national security.  The CIA wanted to make a hero out of Jones, so they would have to tell the public a little of what happened, but I was sure they would conceal just how close we came to a terrorist attack worse than 9/11.
“I might be able to wrangle a new boat out of the CIA,” I said.  “Although I’m sure it would help if the Navy was helping to pay some of it.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Nevis.
With some time before they would release me from the hospital, I decided to stop taking my pain pills, or at least as much as I could stand.  I figured a little pain would speed up the recovery time by keeping me from accidentally doing something to make the wound worse.
I could walk, although flying was easier.  Most of the time I didn’t feel like it, though.  I accepted the free wheelchair ride out of the hospital when it came time to leave.
Back on the boat, things seemed almost normal.  I had a couple of days to sit and recuperate because the SAS were kind enough to reschedule.  I noticed that Andy had painted a silhouette of a train on the side of the bridge.
Nika told me that while I was gone, the CIA had descended on the boat and picked through everything aboard.  Inside the lining of my wallet, they had found a tiny beacon.  I had forgotten my wallet when we went to the hospital, so whoever was tracking it had thought that I was still on the boat.  I realized that when my house had been broken into, the reason that nothing had been taken was because the trespassers had actually been there to leave something.
Andy came to me the day after I got out of the hospital.  “Look at this,” he said, handing me an article that he’d printed off a news website.

CIA Agent Awarded for Bravery During Hijacking

The terrifying news last week that a quantity of nuclear waste had been stolen sent shockwaves through National Security agencies across the country.  Fortunately, the confusion and panic felt by many did not affect one young woman.
Agent Cassandra Jones of the Central Intelligence Agency led a small team that successfully recaptured the missing nuclear material before any explosives could be rigged to detonate it.  During the operation, three terrorists were killed and a fourth was captured.
In a ceremony today, Agent Jones was awarded the Distinguished Intelligence Cross, the CIA’s highest award for heroism.  She is one of only a few dozen individuals in history to have received this award.
The Distinguished Intelligence Cross was equivalent to the military’s Medal of Honor.  Most of the recipients had been awarded posthumously.  Jones was now a bona-fide celebrity and every single person at Langley—not to mention the public—would know who she was.
There was a picture in the article of her with the director of the CIA.  She looked a little uncomfortable at all the attention she was getting.   I couldn’t blame her.  A little fame goes a long way.
We eventually did get around to helping out the SAS.  Stuart even dropped by to watch.  When they left, Hawker went back to the United Kingdom with them for a while to testify at Herrington’s trial.  She came back soon.
In relation to that, the CIA analysts had uncovered links between Greg Silverstone and First Strike.  It was hard to say whether Silverstone knew about our connection to the CIA and used it to get us in position to be a target for First Strike, or if the mercenaries had simply gotten lucky.  Either way, it was enough to bring Silverstone to the attention of both British and United States law enforcement.  If they were unable to locate him, I figured they would probably send us to do it.  We owed it to him.
China was still a concern.  If they hadn’t known about me before they contacted Rossi, they certainly knew now.  They also knew about our boat, as evidenced by the stealth ship that had followed us.  Hanley didn’t seem bothered, though, and merely explained that we wouldn’t do any jobs in Chinese waters for a while. 
I also worried about any remaining followers of Al-Azhem or members of First Strike.  A few well-placed nuts could cause us all kinds of problems, but it was a big world and the odds of running in to any of them again were slim.
We had stayed in Norfolk for a few weeks until General Baxter called us back for another job.  Painter and some of his crew came to stay with us, although not as many as before so the helicopter was allowed to remain on deck.  In contrast to our comfortable staterooms, the soldiers slept wherever we could find room for them.  A few openly displayed envy at our accommodations and relatively relaxed work environment, not to mention higher pay.  There are several reasons why it was a pirate’s life for me.
I lay in bed one night with Nika.  Once again, she’d cleared out of her room to make space for our guests.  She touched the scar on the left side of my hip.  The sailboat cutie mark had been demasted and resembled a motorboat now.
“That still hurts a little,” I said.
She took her hand away.  “Sorry.  I don’t really like seeing you in pain.”
I gestured to the cast on her leg.  “The feeling is mutual.”
“Do you know why I like you?” she asked.
“I’m rich and I love to blow things up?”
She smiled.  “You’re also decent.  I enjoy your company.”
I blinked.  This was delving a little further into touchy-feely stuff than I had anticipated.  “I suppose I feel the same way about you.”
Nika leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.
“What the ponyfeathers are you doing?”
She drew back quickly.  “Sorry.”
I stared at her.  “It’s…sudden.”
“You didn’t catch all the hints?” she asked.
“Well, I wasn’t looking for them.”
Nika sighed.  “Now it’s going to be awkward all night.”  She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
After a few minutes to consider it, I said, “Well, if you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t have to choose between you and Andy for the title of best friend.”
She looked at me.  “You honestly keep track of who is your overall best friend?”
“We all have our flaws.  You make passes at ponies.”
We looked at each other for a moment and kissed again, slower this time.  It was less awkward after that.
Jones showed on the day we were supposed to sail.  She appeared to be wearing the same dark suit from the picture Andy had showed me.  She had dark sunglasses, and her hair was pulled back into a businesslike bun.  She looked like a CIA agent from a movie.
“I brought my suitcase.  I’m ready to go again,” she said.
“I thought your bosses would want to parade you around and get everything they can from the media.”
“I told them that if they wanted to keep me, they would let me pick my own assignment.”  She shrugged.  “So I came back to the boat.”
“Is this going to be permanent?”  I thought again about how we didn’t need her looking over our shoulders.
“I don’t see why not.  Things are going to be different this time, though.”
“Oh?”
“I’d like to be more than a guest.  I may still get an Agency paycheck, but I want to feel like I belong on this boat.”
I grinned.  “So did the intrigue and romanticism of the high seas get to you?  You want to be a corsair like the rest of us?”
She rolled her eyes.  “Get out of my way.”  She strode up the gangplank with her suitcase and disappeared into the superstructure.
I laughed and went to cast off the lines. 


The End


Author note:  I’m so sorry for that romance.  If it’s not your cup of tea, the sequel won’t be for you.