Patriot

CHAPTER 51

Thirty minutes later, Hawke’s mobile rang. He looked at the screen. It was area code 305, Miami, but routed through the primary switchboard at MI6 on the Albert Embankment in London.

“Commander Hawke,” he said, after punching the button.

“Commander, I have Sentient Stormchasers in London calling. I’m going to be putting the call through to you on a secure line. It’s a Miami call. CIA station there. All right if I put them through now?”

“Please.”

Hawke listened for the familiar yet still mysterious echoes of whizzes and clicks from far across the sea. And then a voice.

“Commander, this is Special Agent Sheffield, Miami station, calling you on a secure line.”

“Thank you. Go ahead, please, Agent Sheffield.”

“We are currently located at the Miami address in Coconut Grove. We’ve just completed evacuating the entire neighborhood. Bomb Squad is on-site for removal.”

Hawke said, “Have you found the two vodka bottles?”

“Two squad members completed a thorough search of the premises, sir. They are reporting a recent forced entry of Brock’s residence and a burglary. However, electronics, TVs, computers, et cetera, were left behind. So far, we can find no trace of the two bottles of German vodka, Commander. Is Agent Brock with you?”

“He is.”

“May I speak with him?”

“Certainly. Harry, here, take the phone.”

Harry took the phone.

“Hello? The vodka? Yeah, right, it’s there all right. Two bottles of German vodka. Has a red-and-black label with the German word Feuerwasser. I left them both on the stainless-steel counter next to the fridge in the kitchen. Just stuck them in among all the other hooch bottles, sir. What? Really?”

Harry handed the cell phone back to Hawke.

“He says they can’t find the vodka. Seriously? Why the hell would someone knock my door down to steal a couple of bottles of vodka?”

Hawke was about to reply. He looked around at the officers and crew now on the bridge. This was his yacht, and every last soul aboard it had been vetted and revetted with MI6 background checks that went back to birth certificates, and prior generations. For some reason, at that particular moment, all that just wasn’t enough.

He turned to Stokely and Brock and motioned to them to come closer. He said, “You two gents ever seen my ship’s library? No? Six thousand volumes. Knowing what a big reader you are, Harry, I should think you’d find it fascinating. Couple of Danielle Steels down there I think you’d enjoy.”

“Is that a slam? I am a reader. Huge fan of Danielle’s. Ever read her? Phenomenal. I’ve read every one of her books. Twice.”

Hawke just stared at him in disbelief. Nothing about the man could amaze him anymore.

“Inspector Walker, will you take my son down to the galley? The pastry chef promised to teach him how to make brownies today.”

On a lower deck, Hawke, Stoke, and Harry found big red leather chairs standing before the large, lozenge-shaped portholes in the library bulkheads. Hawke plucked a cigarette from the lacquered black holder on the coffee table and then offered one to Brock. A steward came by to see if he could get them anything and Hawke ordered coffee.

“So, Harry,” he said, lighting up a Morland’s and expelling a thick blue cloud, “this may surprise you, but I think I know who stole your hooch.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I don’t kid. How big a presence would you say the KGB have in South Florida today, Harry?”

“Hard to say. The Russian mob, as we all know, are huge in Miami these last few years. Megayacht millionaires, boy billionaires, you name it, buying up mansions everywhere. Mob’s wholly infiltrated with KGB officers, you can bet on it. You remember that Russkie birthday party we blew up in South Beach? The night we met Stoke’s friend ‘Urine Yurin’? That whole group was the tip of the iceberg. I’d say at any given moment we’ve got eight or nine senior KGB operatives under surveillance down here. Why do you ask?”

“When we’re done here, I want you to get your chief of station in Miami over here to the boat. Sheffield, that’s his name. He and I need to have a serious discussion about your robbery this morning, Harry.”

“What’s up, boss?” Stoke said, hooking his columnar left leg over the arm of the chair.

“It’s a long story, but I’ll make it short. Putin’s developed a powerful new explosive. Looks and tastes like vodka.”

“The Russians blew the FP&L station, am I right, boss? Cubans or Russians or both. Maybe using this untraceable vodka stuff to do it?”

“Yeah. Firewater,” Hawke said. “The name fits, all right.

“Okay,” he went on, getting to his feet and pacing back and forth in front of the small fireplace. “Putin demonstrated this new stuff to me. He wanted me to see Feuerwasser in action for a reason. He wanted me to see the full reach of his global power now. Why would he do that?”

Stoke said, “Because Congreve was right. Putin was setting you up in France, man! Hell, yes, he was! He’s got something major up his sleeve. He is getting ready to roll the planetary dice big-time and he sure doesn’t want the Americans getting all up in his face about it. That’s why. Florida Power was nothing but a threat. What he did here in Miami, he must be able to do anywhere in the world, what he’s saying. He’s probably already shipped out a few million cases by now. Pretty good threat.”

“A don’t-fuck-with-me message,” Brock said, getting into it now. “Of course! That’s exactly why Putin blew the power station. But this little pissant Miami explosion? Shit, ole Vladimir’s just getting warmed up! My bet is he’s getting ready to make his big moves in Europe. Probably moving troops across the bridge into Estonia or Poland or somewhere as we speak. Hell, he’s out to rule the world, we know that. Man like that? He needs distractions to cover his actions. He’s got to take the Pentagon and the White House’s eyes off the damn ball before he rolls tanks and heavy artillery across sovereign borders in Eastern Europe.”

Stoke said, “Yeah, blowing up Miami, London, or Los Angeles would be a pretty good distraction.”

Hawke nodded and got to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go back up to the bridge and have a word with the captain.”

“What’s up, boss?”

“I’m changing our travel plans, boys. All you buccaneers aboard this pirate ship just got a brand-new destination.”

“Cuba,” Harry said, giving a wolf whistle. “Setting sail for Spy Island! Hot diggity dog damn!”

Stoke said, “Calm down, Harry. We need you to get your CIA station chief’s ass over to this damn boat, right now. Boss is heading into dangerous waters here. I don’t want us getting in over our heads before we know what the hell we’re doing. Or informing CIA of our various theories and what the hell we plan to do about it.”

“Hooahhhh!” Brock shouted.

“Calm down, Harry,” Hawke said.

“Are you kidding? I love this shit,” Harry said. He was actually jumping up and down in his chair. “I mean I really love it!”

Hawke and Stoke just sat there looking at this wild man. Stoke said, “You’re something else, Harry. You’re like some caffeinated kid at a Midwest carny.”

Harry paused midjump, his arms supporting his weight.

“Really? Excuse me all to hell, Sir Stokely. You mean like all us plainspoken grassroots types unlike you who haven’t yet been knighted by the Queen?”

Stoke looked at Hawke and then back at Harry.

“Grassroots? That what you said, Harry? Yeah, the grass of ten thousand country clubs maybe.”

Hawke laughed.

“Too bad you didn’t get to drink that German hooch, Harry. You’d really have gotten a lot of bang for your buck there, soldier.”