Still, there was no doubt that this was the perfect command post for this operation. If he couldn’t be on the front lines with his boats, at least he would be at sea, and the Aegis CIC was the perfect place to gather information and direct his team. It was better than being aground in some stationary blockhouse back in Norfolk.

“Commodore, message from Toledo,” the watch officer said, breaking into Ward’s reverie. “They need a medevac. Got a crewman with a real bad internal problem. Gallbladder’s probably gone gangrenous, but the corpsman isn’t sure. Skipper reports he’s heading for Iceland at top speed.”

Ward nodded and took the sheet of yellow paper. He read the words. They were pretty much what the watch officer had said. Joe Glass had a seriously ill quartermaster and was afraid the guy wouldn’t make it if he didn’t get him to a hospital. Glass would not have diverted if the seaman’s condition had not been critical.

“What’s Toledo’s current position?” Ward asked. “Someone plot it?”

“It’s up on the center screen. Contact sierra one-eight-seven, the little blue inverted arc.”

Ward moved the pointer over to the position. It was a good four hundred miles to the Iceland coast.

“It’ll take him at least eight hours with that ASDV strapped to his back. Get me Keklivek on the phone.”

“Button six,” the watch officer said. “CO of the British air-sea rescue unit stationed there is already waiting to talk with you.”

Ward nodded acknowledgment with a slight wink as he punched the button. These skimmers were pretty good!

Catherine Goldman sat back, massaged the bridge of her nose, and stared at her notes. The sun outside was setting behind the OptiMarx building across the Hudson, but she hardly noticed. She had just spent twenty-four straight hours hammering away at the OptiMarx code, but the convoluted jigsaw puzzle had fallen into place. The picture was disgustingly clear.

It had been there all along. Her intuition had proved correct once again. As happy as she was that she had found it, she still mentally kicked herself for taking so long.

The key proved to be in the short sales, that unique Wall Street practice that allowed traders to sell stock they didn’t own. They borrowed it instead. Traders “shorted” stocks when they believed the security was going to fall in price. Then they could buy the stock later at a lower price to replace the shares they borrowed, pocketing the difference.