out of line, stray bullets be damned. They have the frisking process down to a science. They will detect any weapons on you immediately—and when they do, they will kill you instantly, and not later on. I’m sure of it.”
A silence descended on the room. Nolan thought for a few moments, then asked: “Are there any Americans aboard the ship?”
“No.”
He turned to the man in the bad suit and sunglasses. “Then why is the ONI here?”
The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The team knew he was an agent from the U.S. Navy’s Office of Naval Intelligence—his cheap suit gave him away. ONI was basically the CIA of the seas, and because of Team Whiskey’s ex-Delta, expatriate status, the little-known agency had been a thorn in their side since they’d started their maritime security business. This also explained the presence of the shadowy USS Messia nearby.
“We are here on an unofficial basis,” the ONI man said finally. “Purely in an advisory capacity.”
“Put that through the bullshit meter, please?” said Nolan.
The agent’s face turned crimson. “We’re here because the gas in that carrier came from Qatar; Qatar’s export partner is ExxonMobil,” he admitted. “And we want to protect their interests. As well as those of the Saudis and, of course, the prince himself. But, for the record, the ONI feels it’s an impossible situation we have here and, again for the record, we recommend you don’t go through with it.”
Nolan just rolled his eyes and turned back to the prince. “You expect to pay us for this job, right?” he asked.
“Ten million dollars if your efforts are successful,” the Prince replied somberly.
Nolan thought about this, then said: “What if the ransom gets delivered, but we still get popped? We’re just, what? ‘Collateral damage?’ Is that it?”
Again, the prince just nodded. “It is a truly impossible mission,” he said. “And I can understand every reason you would want to turn it down. It seems lose-lose no matter how one looks at it. But I felt I owed it to you to ask.”
Nolan looked at the rest of the team. Each man tapped his own ear twice.
Finally Nolan asked, “Can my associates and I have a few minutes to talk?”
* * *
THE TEAM WALKED toward the front of the boat, emerging onto the bow.
Zamal followed and kept an eye on them from a respectful distance. The five Americans were soon locked in an intense discussion.
The Saudi intelligence officer couldn’t imagine what they were talking about. They were being offered a job that could only result in their deaths. What was there to discuss?
Yet, ten minutes later, they were back in the captain’s galley.
“Twelve million,” Nolan told el Saud.
The prince was shocked. “Are you certain?” he asked. “The chances you’ll survive are almost nil.”
“Then make it fifteen,” Nolan said. “You’ll only have to pay us if we succeed, so what difference does it make?”
The Prince thought a moment, then asked: “Seriously?”
Nolan looked at his colleagues. Each man touched his chin.
“Seriously,” Nolan replied. “We’ll take the job.”
Once again silence descended over the galley. The prince and the ONI man plainly were shocked the team was going ahead with it. Even Dr. Bobol looked incredulous.
Again, Zamal broke the tension. “What do you need from us then?” he asked Nolan.
The Team Whiskey leader thought a moment, then said: “First of all, Doctor, please draw us a diagram of exactly where the pirates stood when you went aboard and while you were being searched.”
“And second?” Zamal asked.
Nolan indicated the four large bundles of money. “We’ve got to put that into a few wooden crates and nail them tight,” he said. “We know what it’s like to carry loose bills on a helicopter.”
* * *
WHILE THE OTHER team members visited various cabins within the yacht in preparation for the mission, Nolan climbed up to the bridge and got on the radio.
He called the pirates on the LNG carrier ten miles away. The gang’s leader answered.
Nolan’s first words were: “We’ve got a problem.”
“Who is this?” the pirate asked in heavily accented English.
“The people you insisted deliver the ransom to you.”
“You are the Americans? The Whiskey people?”
“Yes.”
The pirate leader said something to someone off the mic. Nolan heard muffled laughter in the background.
“They have the ransom,” Nolan told him. “I just saw them count it. Two hundred million in five-hundred-dollar bills.”
More laughter.
“So—what is this problem?” the pirate leader asked.
“That much money weighs almost a half a ton,” Nolan replied. “And we have only a small utility helicopter. Yet delivering it that