Chapters (96)
- Cover
- Berkley titles by David Ricciardi
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHARACTER LIST
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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The warlord thumbed through the package, doing some arithmetic in his head. He would need to get his crew assembled, practice a few dry runs on land, and put the mothership to sea in four days to intercept the fishing boat before it entered the heavily patrolled Gulf of Aden. It could be done.
He nodded once.
“It needs to disappear without a trace,” Jake said. “No distress call, no survivors, no sign of the cargo—just like the tanker.”
The warlord’s face was an expressionless mask. Disappearing a ship and its crew he could handle.
“What is it carrying?”
“Not important,” Jake said. “It’s the ship itself that needs to be taken out.”
Jake raised his window and the Americans pulled away.
—
THE WARLORD SAT in the armored Range Rover for a few more seconds while his gunmen climbed back into their pickups. It didn’t require a great feat of reason to conclude that the American was lying, and Yaxaas didn’t know precisely what his men would find aboard the fishing boat, but he knew it wouldn’t be fish.
The warlord smiled as the Range Rover pulled away from the curb. He’d finally figured out how the Americans were going to help him defeat Badeed.
FORTY-SIX
THE MOTHERSHIP WAS two hundred miles off the coast of Oman, chugging east at six knots. It was on a reciprocal course for the fishing boat and had deployed its drone countless times over the past seven hours to investigate every westbound radar contact within a ten-mile radius. The drone operators were routinely swapping out battery packs and even had a spare aircraft ready to launch in case of an equipment failure or if the need arose to investigate two targets simultaneously.
The plan was to intercept the Iranian vessel before it entered the Gulf of Aden, where the coasts of Africa and Asia compressed the shipping traffic heading toward the Suez Canal into a narrow space. While the Gulf had been the traditional haunt of the Somali pirates, who preyed on targets of opportunity, the increased density of ships would work against Yaxaas’s team, who valued secrecy above all else.
They wanted to intercept the Saviz while it was off on its own.
Separated from the pack.
Lagging the herd.
—
IT WAS JUST past 17:00 hours when the drone operator radioed the bridge.
“Positive contact, bearing 343 degrees, range eight point seven miles.”
Nacay glanced at a live video feed from the drone, which was being broadcast on a twenty-four-inch video monitor on the mothership’s bridge. The ship’s profile and coloring matched the photos he’d been given.
“Show me the stern,” he said.
The drone pilot flew a thousand meters behind the fishing vessel and used a high-magnification daylight camera to zoom in on the ship’s name.
Saviz.
Written in English and Farsi.
They had their target.