walls and workstations. Diodes blinked all around him.
“I’m going to presume that you know how to operate Skype.” Raggedy Ass’s Southern drawl turned Skype into a four-syllable word, kind of like what crackers do to “shit”: she-ee-ee-t.
Birk nodded. “It’s pretty easy.”
“I want you to set it up so we can talk directly to your network. You called them out on the dock, so you can call them now.”
“I’ll be glad to.” They’re going to love this, Birk thought.
“This,” Raggedy Ass said, pointing to the tiny lens in the middle of the ship’s impressive computer center, “is going to be the pool camera.”
Pool camera? How the hell does some jihadist know about a goddamn pool camera? Birk wondered if his personal Omar Hammami had worked at a network. Al Jazeera, maybe. The fucker was definitely starting to sound like a few of the producers Birk had run through over the years.
“And if your government doesn’t agree to start shutting down coal-fired power plants,” Raggedy Ass pulled a list of the plants and a pair of blood-encrusted wire cutters from his pocket, “I’ll cut off your fingers one by one till they do. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.” What the hell else could Birk say? But Christ, there was no way the United States was going to close down any power plants for Al Qaeda.
* * *
Jenna quickly hung up her clothes and put away her bags. Long stay or short, she hated living out of a suitcase.
Before showering, she tried reaching Senator Gayle Higgens through the hotel operator, having learned from Nicci that Higgens had taken one of the suites on the top floor of the Golden Crescent. Jenna’s room sat considerably lower than the senator’s, in both elevation and price.
Higgens shocked her by answering her own phone. No mistaking that Texas twang.
“It’s Jenna Withers from the task force. How are you, Senator?”
“Happy as an old armadillo chowing down on an anthill, but I’m guessing that you’re not exactly popping corks on my behalf,” Higgens said with what sounded like genuine humor. “I’ve been getting the nastiest e-mails from some of our fellow task forcers.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jenna said. The words immediately made Jenna feel like a fraud: in short, a reporter. Total chameleon.
“Sorry? Are you now?” the senator said. “You’re one of the greenies, as I recall from my supersecret USEI fact sheet.” She was laughing again. “Isn’t that right?”
“I would never put it that way, Senator.”
“’Course not, ’cause you’re trying to ingratiate yourself with me. Well, least you’re smart enough to try to lie. But you’re terrible at it, gal. You need some practice. Try saying, ‘I really admire what you’re doing here in the Maldives, Senator.’”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“I knew it! You can’t say it ’cause you can’t lie. You sure you’re a reporter?”
“I’m a meteorologist, and I’m just trying to get a handle on what we’re looking at with the hijacked tanker.”
“I remember now. Well, that explains it. You actually studied something in school other than how to become a professional liar. I might like you ’cause I like people I can see right through. Saves time. You just hold on.”
Jenna heard clicks that sounded like they came from a keyboard. The senator still sounded amused when she spoke up again. “You’re not one of the scolds, from what I can see. Or at least you got enough brain power to know how to keep your powder dry. You want to hear the truth, gal?” Higgens didn’t wait for an answer. “You look totally inoffensive. You are white bread, gal. White bread. I’ve always admired that in a woman, seeing as I’ve never been able to manage it myself. So you want to know what we’re dealing with, do you? Try a sack of snakes at a Sunday school picnic, stuffed with the biggest goddamn diamondbacks you’ve ever seen. And it’s just busted wide open.”
“Senator Higgens, I’m just downstairs and—”
“You’re here? In the Maldives?”
“Yes. I’m in the same hotel you’re in.”
“Anyone else from your tribe arrived yet?”
“My producer and—”
“Let’s have us a drink. It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“Do you want to meet in the lounge downstairs?”
“Hell, no. You get your cute little carcass up here, Miss Stormy Weather. I’ve got a bar stocked with the finest libations in the world. And this way I don’t have to worry about anyone listening in.”
“Do you mind if I bring along my producer?”
“No, you bring yourself. No cameras. No producers. No recorders. No nothing on the record. If you’re