“We don’t have much. The three Americans who stayed behind looked up only when the container was swung aboard, but they were in pretty deep shadow. Plus the hats and shades. Facial recognition might not even be possible. They never got close enough to Eddie for a decent pic.”

“I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. What about the gunny?”

“Plenty of good snaps as he came aboard and was given the nickel tour of his cabin, the mess, and the door to the hold.”

“Have they come up with a name yet?”

“Pentagon is going through their database as we speak. Once we have his ID, they’ll go through all his duty stations and former COs, and then we start looking up the pecking order. Do you give any credence to Overholt’s idea that the American Mr. Big will meet the ship in Indonesia?”

“He wasn’t here, that’s for sure. Mr. Big wouldn’t know a gunny from a hole in the ground. He’s too high up for that. I’m guessing one of the guys here today was a major who served over the gunnery sergeant and the other is a mutual friend of both Mr. Big and the major.”

Max thought about this. “Ages seem right. Gunny and the major worked together, became friendly. They hatch the plot, take it to Mr. Big’s buddy to give them protection from above, and all of a sudden we’ve lost a billion in Benjamins. They’d still need a lot of help just to move that much cash.”

“Most certainly. That’s where the Iraqis come in. They supply the labor while our little cabal of traitors supplies access to the money.”

“I should tell Langston to have the Pentagon concentrate on majors once we have the gunny’s name.”

Just then, the harbor pilot returned from the head. “Ah, and who is this, Captain Mohamed?”

“My chief engineer, Fritz Zoeller.”

Max greeted the man, using an outrageous German accent, before insisting that he had to return to his engine room as the loading was about complete.

An hour later, the ship reached open water, and the pilot transferred to a small boat to return to port. There was a full moon, so only the brightest stars shown from the cloudless sky. As usual, the waters of the sheltered Persian Gulf were as calm and as warm as bathwater. The radar plot showed plenty of activity. The big returns were tankers, ferrying oil out of the Gulf or heading north to have their monstrous hulls filled with crude. Other, smaller blips were the countless fishing vessels that plied these waters. Most now were modern craft, but a few lateen-rigged dhows still roamed the Gulf as they had for hundreds of years.