John Avery - Black Cobra

“The redhead,” Harness said. “What did she look like?”

“She was hot,” the bartender said.

“That’s it? A hundred bucks and I get ‘She was hot’?”

“What do you want from me?” the bartender said, annoyed now. “Beautiful face, long, flaming red hair, smokin’ body… You’re the detective… You describe her.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. She’s hot,” Harness said. “No need to get your panties in a bunch. Did they say anything about a day and time? For the assassination, I mean.”

The Bartender paused for a moment. “Friday night, I think.”

Harness turned to Holt. “What day is today?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Holt said.

“Today is Friday, come to think of it,” the bartender said.

“Damn it!” Harness said. “How long does it take to get from here to San Diego on a motor-yacht?”

“San Diego? Under power? Oh, I’d say two or three days tops — assuming the weather holds, and including stopping for fuel.”

Harness checked his watch and looked at Holt. “It’s 6:00 p.m. If they left here Tuesday, they could be there by now.”

He turned back to the bartender. “How long’s a flight from here to San Diego?”

“Two hours and ten minutes.”

Harness thought maybe he could get a call off to Naval Command in Point Loma. “Do cell phones work here?” he asked.

“Not necessarily. You’d have to arrange that with your provider, and the dialing out is different here. And you need to understand basic Spanish because the operator recordings are —”

“Do you have a house phone?” Harness demanded.

“Yes, but it’ll only handle local calls,” the bartender said.

Harness couldn’t believe his luck. Here he was, stuck down in Cabo San Lucas while Jason Souther attempted to bring America to its knees. He asked the bartender to call a taxi.

“Drink up, Holt,” he said, sliding his nearly full glass of beer in his direction. “I think our problems just got a lot more serious.”

Naval Base Point Loma

San Diego

The Executive Officer checked his watch. 7:00 p.m. The final security arrangements had been made, and now he had the privilege of escorting the President of the United States and his four secret servicemen on board the 362-foot nuclear submarine USS Hampton , joining its standard complement of 12 officers and 98 crewmen. He unhooked the maroon-velvet rope guarding the gangway.

“Are you ready, sir?” he asked.

“It’s that time already?” the President said.

“You seem nervous, sir,” the XO said.

The President was a bit apprehensive about riding along on the Emergency Nighttime Surface Drill, but he wasn’t sure why. “Just some pre-cruise jitters, is all,” he said.

“There’s no reason to worry, Mr. President,” the XO said. “Tonight’s is just a routine drill on board a technological marvel, commanded by one of the finest officers in the Navy.”

The agent with the carnation gave him a look that said, You better not be bullshitting, asshole…

“If you would follow me, gentlemen?” the XO said, and they proceeded up the gangway.

The captain of the submarine, Commander Adam Byrd, greeted the President on the bridge. “Welcome aboard, sir,” he said.

“Thank you, Commander,” the President said, shaking his hand. “I hear I’m in for quite a treat tonight.”

“That you are,” Commander Byrd said.

An ensign walked over holding a small bundle of nylon webbing. “The ride may be a little rough, Mr. President,” he said. “This is a safety harness for you to wear. I’ll let you know when it’s time to hook up.”

This didn’t exactly fill the President with confidence, but he did as requested and stepped into the rig.

The agent with the flower looked at the ensign indignantly, wondering why he and his Secret Service team didn’t rate safety gear of their own.

THE PARTY

San Diego Waterfront

Uri Ruden was first to arrive at the party. It had started to rain, and the framework holding the stretched plastic structure covering b-39 strained against an increasingly strong wind.

He ducked through the opening in the plastic and crossed the temporary wooden gangplank onto the submarine’s deck then he powered up a couple of the construction crew’s work lights to illuminate the area for the benefit of the other guests.

Uri was pleased to see that all of the safety handrails, walkways, ramps, and stairs that the museum had installed for visitors had been removed, and the holes repaired. He would perform a hull-pressure test later to confirm that the welds met his specifications.

He entered the submarine through the fin hatch and climbed down the ladder to the Control Room. It was from there in Compartment Three that they would be piloting the submarine. He went over the procedures in his mind and re-familiarized himself with the helm controls, and then he headed to the Forward Torpedo Room.

Uri Ruden inspected the torpedoes. The red and white one was on the rack, and the green one was still loaded into tube 5.

He reviewed the launch procedure in his mind. The shot would be at close range, so they would not be using the fire-control system. They would simply aim the sub straight at the target using the attack periscope, and fire the torpedo from the bow tube, hoping for the best.

Satisfied that everything was in order, he closed tube 5’s inner hatch cover and returned to the Control Room.

Next to arrive were Jason and Brandy. They met Uri Ruden in the Control Room, and Jason introduced him to Brandy.

“If I’d known there would be beautiful women at the party I would have dressed up a little,” Uri said.

Brandy noticed that Uri was in full dress uniform and she smiled. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“Why don’t we head down to the galley and make ourselves some drinks?” Uri said.

Brandy had no problem with that. She could use a stiff drink about now.

“Sounds good,” Jason said, and they ducked through the watertight hatch leading to Compartment Four.

Jason and Uri were too tall to stand comfortably in the tiny galley, so Brandy had the honor of mixing the drinks. When she was ready she joined them in the corridor and they touched paper cups, toasting nothing in particular.

Uri looked at his watch and said, “Will you excuse us, Brandy? I have something to discuss with Jason. If you need us, we’ll be two doors down, there in the Midshipmen’s Cabin, just beyond the pantry.”

“No problem,” Brandy said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

The men turned and walked down the corridor.

“Pour me another Scotch, will you, Brandy?” Jason said over his shoulder. “We’ll only be a minute.”

He followed Uri into the Midshipmen’s Cabin and closed the door.

Left with nothing to do, Brandy downed her drink, mixed two more, and then headed down the corridor toward the Engine Room to explore the rest of the sub.

A light rain continued to fall as Aaron dropped Katya off at the dock. She kissed him and then ran inside the gift shop to change. Aaron motored across to the Cayman Jewel to do the same.

They met back at the dock a few minutes later.

“You look amazing,” Aaron said, at the sight of Katya’s dress.

Katya beamed. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” She had never seen him in long pants before. She kissed him hard on the lips, and then hand in hand they walked down to the submarine.