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
- What’s next onyour reading list?
ATHENA WAS STANDING on the dock, facing the sailboats in the harbor. She’d just deleted the phone call to Thanya and was speaking to her office voice mail account about a fictitious deal with an American oil company when she felt a tug at her elbow.
It was the agent.
TWENTY-SEVEN
JAKE ARRIVED AT the Romanos estate around ten the next morning.
It was the weekend and Athena met him at the front door, wearing a tailored pantsuit with low heels and her hair pulled back. Jake was wearing the same clothes he’d had on the night before and his wavy brown hair was completely disheveled.
She gave him a quick once-over and frowned.
“Busy night with Thanya?”
“Yes.”
“She’s cute.”
“She’s good at her job.”
They walked to the glass-walled living room where Athena could keep an eye on her father. He was on the terrace, huddled comfortably under a blanket, watching a sailboat heeling under a gusty, gray sky.
“I didn’t realize the U.S. State Department broke into people’s offices and hacked their phones,” she said.
“We discovered a link to Somalia in the agent’s contacts late last night . . . while we were working.”
“Is it the man you’ve been searching for?”
“Probably just an intermediary. It’s a Swiss national who has regular contact with a banker in Mogadishu.”
“So the banker is the pirate leader?”
“No—just another cutout. He doesn’t fit the profile of the man we’re looking for.”
“Which means you don’t want me to bring the Symi back to port . . .”
Jake shook his head. “Not until we’ve found the man calling the shots.”
Athena stood. “Then I won’t keep you, because you obviously have a lot of work to do in the next three days.”
“You’re still planning to turn your ship around before it reaches the Arabian Gulf?”
“My crews won’t sail there as long as the pirate is free.”
—
JAKE WAS WHEELS-DOWN in Mogadishu just after midnight. Given the late hour, the G550’s aircrew had radioed ahead to request that a Somali customs agent be available to clear them into the country. The officer walked out to the plane wearing a Kevlar vest and a sidearm over his uniform.
Most of the Somali underworld, and nearly everyone who worked at the airport, knew that U.S. intelligence was running a detention center on the premises. The big Gulfstream often arrived and departed in the middle of the night with no flight plan and no manifest, but those were joint operations with Somali intelligence and not subject to customs oversight.
This was the first time the customs officer had been aboard the big jet.
The Agency pilot pulled out his wallet.
It was always a tricky decision, deciding how much to bribe someone. Too little and he might be insulted, but too much could make him wonder what you were hiding.