Weapons of Mass Deception

CHAPTER 31

“It’s happening again!”

Dot’s excited voice filtered up from the cabin. Brendan grunted in reply, loud enough for her to hear him. She’d been analyzing the Israeli signal for the last two hours and was over the moon about it, claiming this was “major SIG” material — whatever that meant.

He uncrossed and recrossed his ankles, keeping his attention on the spectacular sunset off the starboard beam. The weather in the eastern Med had been nothing short of phenomenal: a steady light breeze to keep the sails full, but not enough force to disturb the electronics in the mast.

Brendan dropped his gaze to his knees and looked away immediately. His left knee, perfectly smooth tanned skin, contrasted with his right, which was a mess of lumps and twisted scars that would never tan over. The more his tan deepened, the more his damaged limb stood out.

“They shut down.” Dot’s head appeared in the cabin entrance. She gripped the rails and vaulted herself up the stairs, landing on the deck with a thud. A wide smile creased her narrow face and a few strands of frizzy gray-blonde hair escaped the messy bun at the nape of her neck. Dorothy “Dot” Pendergrass looked like a mild-mannered geek — which she was — but Brendan knew firsthand that she was more than able to take care of herself in any situation. During their work-up phase for deployment, Brendan had insisted they all take a self-defense refresher. He’d chosen Dot as his partner and had ended up face-first on the mat in an armlock before he even knew what hit him. She finally shared with the team that she was a third-degree black belt in aikido. More than a little embarrassing for a SEAL, and a good reminder that looks could be deceiving.

Dot’s wiry frame quivered with excitement as she sat on the gunwale, blocking his view of the sunset. “It was spectacular! We didn’t even know the Israelis had that kind of low-energy phased array radar. This has major SIG written all over it.” Her voice was thin, and she had a habit of halting her speech in odd places, as if the words were getting stuck between her brain and her mouth. “These sailboats are pure genius, Brendan. Genius.”

Brendan had his doubts that the Israelis would share her enthusiasm, but he had to admit their trip through the Med proved the premise of the Feisty Minnow intel-gathering program. The working theory that Baxter had sold to ONI was that all countries, friend, foe, or anyone in between, held back on their use of specialized comms and other electronic signatures when US Navy vessels were in the vicinity. But would the same restrictions apply when they thought a pleasure craft was off their coast? Apparently not, from the material they had gathered just from sailing down the southern Med coastline. From Gibraltar, they’d been able to capture signals from Spain, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, Jordan, and of course Israel, all of which were sent back to NSA for processing.

That was when Brendan first heard the term major SIG, a subjective grade given to field data that “connected the dots” for the analysts. In this case, the signal was a new Israeli capability that showed the US ally had been very busy developing their own sensors — and not sharing their progress with their American friends.

Tomorrow they’d enter the Suez Canal and head for the Indian Ocean, where the real work would begin. He stood and hauled down the flag of the Maldives from the jack staff. For security reasons, the boat was registered in the Maldives, but it still bothered him not to have the stars and stripes flying over his command.

He grinned at Dot. “What do you say, Dot? Major SIG or not? I have a reputation as a spy boat captain to uphold here.”

“Give me another hour and I’ll let you know.” She stood abruptly and disappeared down into the cabin. Brendan shook his head. That was Dot for you: the Energizer Bunny of signals intelligence. Baxter had told him she was the best at what she did, and Brendan believed him.

“More coffee, skipper?”

The voice that floated up from the cabin was the polar opposite of Dot. Whereas Dot was all chaotic energy and abrupt conversations, Gabrielle Marchese lived her life slowly, as if she meant to linger over the enjoyment of every moment. She extended a half-full mug to Brendan, allowing her fingers to linger on his wrist when he accepted the cup. Her touch was deliberate — and electric. Gabby waved her hands for him to move his legs so that she could sit down.

She settled into the bench seat, turning to face him. Gabby was a beautiful girl, there was no doubt about that. Her soft, languorous speech betrayed her New Orleans origins, and in the light of the dying sunset her impossibly large brown eyes were fastened on him. Tendrils of dark hair framed her face, the rest cascading over the caramel-colored skin of her shoulders.

“Penny for your thoughts, skipper,” she said softly.

Oh, and she’d made it very clear that she was willing to sleep with him, so there was that. He mentally listed the reasons why this was a bad idea: she was nearly ten years younger than him, it was bad for crew morale, he would get fired, she reminded him of Liz…

The last one stopped him. He’d never really thought about it in those terms before, but it was true: Gabby was a softer, sultrier version of Liz.

Gabby, a civilian, had been a replacement for the Intelligence Specialist who had been diagnosed with jaundice a week before their departure. Due to her last-minute arrival on the boat, she’d only been on two shakedown cruises before they’d left Annapolis, and had been seasick both times — really seasick. But she’d gutted it out and followed through on every single duty assigned, even managing to cook a fabulous jambalaya in heavy seas. Eventually, her seasickness receded.

She kicked him playfully, and Brendan shifted his legs out of range. “Any of those biscuits left from dinner?” he asked.

“Sure.” When she got to her feet, her sundress clung to her hips. Underneath the thin material, he could see the outline of the bikini she’d worn topside that afternoon. Brendan caught his breath. Many more afternoons like that and his resolve about not sleeping with Gabby would be worn paper-thin.

To put his mind on more appropriate matters, Brendan checked his heading and made a minor adjustment to the mainsail. He laughed to himself. It was the kind of adjustment that he’d always teased Liz about on the sailing team, the kind of niggling change you made just to have something to do. He wondered what she thought of him after his sudden departure from Marjorie’s house after Thanksgiving dinner. It had certainly seemed like she was sending him signals — but she was married, for God’s sake.

Brendan gritted his teeth. He was better than that. Even if he did have feelings for Liz, she’d made a commitment to another man, and he wasn’t going to be the cause of a breakup.

The clock chimed eight times, the cheery tones ringing in the night air. The handsome brass chronometer, mounted next to the ladder in the cabin, had been a ship-christening gift from Baxter.

Scottie’s tousled head poked up from the cabin. “You ready, skipper?”

“C’mon up, Scottie. I’ll sit a minute more, but you can take the watch.”

Scottie scrambled up the steps, and made his way forward for a pre-watch inspection. Even though they were undercover and flying the flag of a foreign country, they were still a US naval vessel, and Brendan insisted they run watches according to Navy traditions.

He was pretty sure that Scottie and Maggie, the other analyst besides Dot, were sleeping together. Brendan didn’t actually have any evidence, just a feeling. Besides, was it really against regs? Scottie was in the Navy, but Maggie was a civilian now, a GS-11. He sighed. Add crew fraternization policy to the long list of things he should have asked Baxter about before they’d left on deployment.

As if on cue, Gabby’s sleek form glided up the stairs, shadowy in the darkness. She held out a plate, a disc of ghostly white in the dark. “One biscuit, sir. Buttered just the way you like it.” Her hand grazed his knee as she leaned over, and he felt his breath quicken.

“Can I get you anything else?”