Patriot

CHAPTER 64

Hawke couldn’t sleep.

He was tossing and turning again, chasing sleep. A bad habit of his that only made the nightmare worse. He cursed aloud, rolled over, and squinted one-eyed at the little red Hermès travel clock he always packed when traveling. Just gone five. He turned over on his back, placed his hands behind his head, and tried the meditative breathing exercise: three in, three out. A little trick his darling Nell Spooner had taught him once when he first began battling insomnia.

He pressed a button on the overhead. A flatscreen monitor that mirrored the instrument panel up at the ship’s helm station slid down. He tapped the touchscreen and it flared into life. He angled it toward him for a closer look. All systems looked good: propulsion, weaponry, ship’s comms, air and sea defenses.

The big boat was currently making twenty-two knots over the bottom, holding true on a corrected course of 188 degrees, SSE. To the casual observer, or even the not-so-casual one, she was on a line drive for the southwest coast of Cuba.

Hawke stared at the dim bulbs glowing softly in the overhead. He turned his thoughts to the impending sea battle. The owner’s stateroom was dark. Faint pink light was showing through the large oval port lights on the eastern side of the cabin. Far below and aft, the engines were throbbing away, a deep, rumbling rhythm present as always. He tried an old trick, trying to put his body’s machinery in sync with his big diesel engines.

Breathe in… hold… exhale. Breathe in… hold… exhale. Breathe in… hold—hold on.

Someone was rapping at the door.

Hawke got up, grabbed his navy blue dressing gown off the bedpost, and went to see who the hell it was. He pulled the door open.

It was Stokely. He said, “Hey, it’s me.”

“Stoke, right? Thought I recognized you.”

“I come in?”

“Yeah, what’s up, man? Have a seat.”

“I know it’s early. I know how much you hate somebody waking you up when it’s still dark. But this is important.”

“Come on, Stoke, no worries. I was already awake, man. Never can sleep on the eve of battle. Sit down over there by my desk and I’ll get us some coffee.”

Hawke walked over to the small bar where a Nespresso coffeemaker stood. “Coffee?”

“You got a Diet Coke in the fridge somewhere? Don’t bother, man, I know where the damn fridge is.”

Hawke sipped his coffee and stepped into his all stainless-steel head. He stared at his bleary blue eyes in the mirror over the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. It was beginning. He could tell by the look on Stoke’s face that whatever it was he had to say, it was serious business.

He went back into his stateroom and dropped down into the upholstered chair opposite his old friend. “Tell me this is good news, Stoke.”

“It’s just news, bossman. I’ll leave it to you to decide.”

“Fair and balanced.”

“I was up on the bridge, talking to the skipper about what she could expect in the way of, uh, excitement when we get near the island later on today. Death-from-above kind of conversation, you know how that goes. Geneva King is one cool dude, though. Not her first rodeo.”

“Why I hired her. Decorated naval combat veteran, first in her class at Annapolis. So what’s up?”

Stoke could tell the boss had gone into full attack mode now, had the bone in his teeth again and didn’t want to waste any damn words.

“Brick Kelly called the boat earlier. Comms guy tossed it to me. Brick said you needed your sleep, he could tell me what he had to say. Here’s what went down in Cuba last night. Two Puerto Rican CIA guys, posing undercover as construction workers on ‘Spy Island,’ inspected the three big waterfront warehouses on the port. They got caught, unfortunately, and there was gunfire exchanged. One guy didn’t make it. Head shot. The other guy managed to get outside with a couple of bullets in his shoulder, dove into the harbor, hid under the dock for a while, and then swam to safety. When Brick called me, he put the guy who’d made it out on the line.”

“And?”

“I talked to him. Guy said they found vodka. I mean, cases of that damn vodka in the warehouses. It was that German vodka, the one Harry took off the Russian spy ship. Stuff was stacked up to the rafters in those warehouses. CIA guy said he estimated the total count at over ten thousand cases, twelve per. So over a hundred thousand bottles with those Feuerwasser labels. I made the CIA guy describe them in detail.”

“Warehouses full of vodka.”

“What the man said.”

“Logistics operation,” Hawke said. “Okay, this is good stuff. That Russian spy ship offloaded its shipment at Isla de Pinos. The enemy is obviously going to be mounting all sabotage attacks on the eastern U.S. from that port. Meaning there are more attacks already in the works. Hell, they’ve got enough firewater ninety miles from America to take down the whole state of Florida. But here’s where it gets really good. We can now tie the power grid sabotage in Miami right back to Cuba, Stoke. That’s very good news. Because that means we’ll have conclusive evidence of Russian complicity in an unprovoked attack on U.S. soil.”

“Which means?”

“It means Putin can’t weasel out of this one. We pin the Miami sabotage directly on Putin and he goes from offense to defense overnight.”

“Putin. He’s everywhere we look. Getting in people’s shit.”

“Yeah. Which is good because it’ll make it easy for me to find him when I go looking.”

“What do we do about all that hooch in the harbor at Isla de Pinos? Stuff is dangerous to deal with, man.”

“Destroy all three warehouses,” Hawke said. “Need to figure out a sensible way to do that. By that, I mean without blowing up Cuba and the state of Florida. I’m glad you got that former navy UDT explosives team guy along for the ride. What’s the kid’s name again?”

“Gator Luttier.”

“Yeah, Luttier. We’re going to need Mr. Luttier to level that installation in a controlled detonation. Do me a favor, Stoke. Go aft to crew quarters. Wake up Gator and the SEAL team captain. Tell him you and I need a little powwow with both of them at 0800. In the ship’s wardroom. Got it?”

“I guess it was good news.”

“You bet, Stoke. Thanks. Anything else?”

“Two things. Ambrose has decided to go trekking in Siberia. And—”

“Wait — What did you just say?”

“Brick says Ambrose is in Siberia. He and that Cambridge pal of yours, Halter. Two of them didn’t bother to tell anybody at the CIA or MI6. Just took off. Trying to find some secret KGB base out in the middle of nowhere, Brick says.”

“What the hell, Stoke? Ambrose is in no shape to do anything like that. Siberia? I can’t believe he wouldn’t talk to me first. I would never have let him go.”

“Probably why he didn’t talk to you first.”

“Damn it to hell. He’ll get himself killed. Does his wife know about this?”

“I couldn’t say, boss.”

“All right. I’ll call her. What else?”

“Big storm brewing. On a collision course with us, blowing up from south of Jamaica. Could be the first hurricane of the season. Tropical storm Annabel. This rain and wind we’ve seen the last six hours is the leading edge. NOAA Key West is watching it for us. They’re saying it may veer northwest and head for the Gulf of Mexico, but nobody’s calling it yet.”

“We’ll deal with it. We always do. You and Gator better be on top of this explosive situation. Dig huge holes in the floors of the warehouses and let all that stuff run into the ground before they light any fuses. I don’t know. Whatever.”

“On it,” Stoke said, realizing the boss had just solved a huge problem for him.

Hawke had the phone in his hand, putting through a call to Lady Mars. He’d try to assure her about Ambrose although he felt like he could use a little assurance himself. What the hell had gotten into Ambrose? Whatever it was, it was likely to get him killed and — Hawke had to do something and do it fast — the call was going through.

“Hullo?”

“Diana, it’s me, Alex.”

“Oh, God, Alex, I’ve been so terrified. Thank you for calling. I didn’t know where to turn.”

“Where is he, Diana?”

“Russia, I guess. I’ve no idea. Three days ago he left for Russia with a knapsack slung over his shoulder and a lilt in his step. Your friend the professor told him about some kind of secret KGB base in Siberia. Next thing I knew, he was gone. The two of them.”

“Did he say why? What did he think he was going to do about it?”

“He said they were training a non-Russian army there. Foreign troops and weapons to give Putin plausible deniability for his imminent invasion of sovereign NATO countries. He and Halter planned to expose the whole thing before war started.”

“Ambrose planned to stop an entire army? God save us all.”

“That was his idea when he walked out the door seventy-two hours ago, Alex. Off to save the world, he said.”

“Good Lord, Diana.”

“Can you help him, Alex? You have to do something!”

“I’ll do whatever I can, I promise you. I’ll start our people looking right away.”

“Move heaven and earth if you have to. If I lose him… sorry… I… I’ve lost everything.”

“So have I. You have my private number. Call me the second you hear from him. Try not to worry, he’s incredibly resourceful.”