Dana Stabenow - Blindfold Game

“What did this Rizk say?”

“He didn’t say anything. He got himself a smart lawyer who got him bail. He was in the wind by November.”

“What was his lawyer’s name?” Kyle said. “Just in case I ever decide to rob a bank in Italy.”

“That’s not the point, Kyle.”

“What is the point then, Hugh?” Kyle said, mimicking his tone.

“My point is, they’ve been practicing traveling in container ships,” Hugh said.

“Okay,” Kyle said, putting his mug down and placing both hands flat on his desk. “What the hell’s this about, Hugh? You hitch a ride from Tokyo on a cargo jet, you get me out of bed to come down here, and so far all I’m getting is a lecture on terrorism. A lecture I’ve already heard.”

Hugh held up a hand. “Bear with me, okay, Kyle? Please?”

Kyle took a deep breath, exhaled. “All right. Go ahead.”

“I don’t know about you, and I admit, maybe it has something to do with where I was born and where a lot of people I love still live, but I’ve never been as concerned over terrorists in the Middle East as I have been terrorists in Asia.”

“Like North Korea,” Kyle said. “It’s why you took your master’s in Asian studies. I know all this, Hugh.”

“What do you know about North Korea?”

Hugh hadn’t meant it to sound like a challenge, but Kyle responded as if it were. “Since the end of World War II, the Korean peninsula has been split into two, with the north under Chinese domination and the south under Western, uh, influence. South Korea has a stable government, a booming economy, and a well-armed and well-trained military. North Korea? North Korea is starving to death, mostly because instead of figuring out how to feed their people they’ve concentrated fifty years of gross national product on the development of long-range missiles and research into weapons, including chemical, biological, and, yes, nuclear.”

“Not bad,” Hugh said, complimentary, and Kyle gave a curt nod. “They know how to do it well enough that they’ve been exporting their expertise overseas, most recently to Iran. I’ve been to the Korean DMZ, Kyle, and it’s not a pretty sight. Every now and then North and South shoot at each other across the DMZ, air to air, ship to ship, whatever’s handy. The North has missiles in place targeting the South’s nuclear power plants. Instant dirty bomb.”

“Didn’t our going into Iraq tone down their rhetoric a little?”

Hugh’s short laugh was without humor. “They figure the only way to keep us from doing the same to them is to keep building bigger and better and more weapons. And they’ve been force-fed hatred of Americans with their mother’s milk for going on sixty years now.”

“I’ve read the reports, Hugh. I am the agent in charge of the Joint Terrorism Task Force in Alaska.”

“Yeah, well, I just read a news release from the Korean Central News Agency which said, in part, and I’m quoting verbatim here, that ‘the U.S. is restless with its ambition to conquer the world.”“

Kyle had to smile. “Funny. I don’t feel all that ambitious.”

Hugh shook his head. “Not so funny. That peninsula is a pile of kindling just waiting for a spark, and the first people who are going to have to respond to the fire are right now sitting up over there on Government Hill, warming up their F-15s.”

“Okay,” Kyle said, “they’re pissed and they’re motivated. What does that have to do with terrorism? Is Kim Jong II sponsoring state terrorism? What are we looking at here, another Lockerbie? Another Cole?. Another 9/11?”

Hugh drank the rest of his now tepid coffee and set the cup carefully on Kyle’s desk. “I think the men responsible for the Pattaya Beach bombing in October are planning to launch a Scud missile with a cesium-137 payload at a target somewhere on the western coast of North America. Do you know what cesium-137 is?”

Kyle’s voice failed him. He shook his head.

Hugh told him.

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle said, stunned. “Hugh, are you sure?”

He met Kyle’s eyes and said firmly, “I’m sure, Kyle.”

“Then I don’t get it.” He aimed an exaggerated look over Hugh’s shoulder. “Where are the marines? Why aren’t you out at Elmendorf briefing the pilots so they can take these guys out? Why come to me?”

“Do you know anyone at Kulis?”

“The Air National Guard base? Sure. Why?”

“Do you know where Sara’s ship is?”

Kyle’s expression changed. “Hugh.”

“I know she’s on the Sojourner Truth. I know the Sojourner Truth’s on patrol in the Bering Sea.”

“It was,” Kyle said.

Hugh looked at him.

“The Sojourner Truth interdicted a Russian processor fishing on our side of the Maritime Boundary Line. The Coasties boarded them, arrested the crew, confiscated the vessel, and are now on their way with it into Dutch Harbor to turn it over to the authorities.”

“You sound like you’re reading a press release.”

“I am. Actually”-Kyle looked at the clock on the wall-“they’ve probably been and gone by now. I read all about it on District 17’s Web site yesterday. Wanna see?”

“No time.” But for the first time that morning Hugh couldn’t stop a grin. “That’s my Sara.”

“Ride ‘em, cowgirl,” Kyle said, and sobered. “Seriously, Hugh, what are you going to do now?”

“I can’t get my boss off the dime,” Hugh said, his smile fading, too. “I’ve got to find that damn freighter before I take another run at him. When I do-”

“If you do. There’s the hell of a lot of water to look in, Hugh, and boats don’t exactly leave tracks.”

“It was scheduled to leave Petropavlovsk on the seventh-what day is it again?”

“The ninth. Was your source on the departure date reliable?”

Hugh thought of Noortman curled into a fetal position on his living room floor, his knee swollen up to the size of a basketball. “I don’t know. He would have said anything to make us stop.”

“Stop what? Hugh?”

“Can you check to see if Sara’s ship is in Dutch Harbor yet, and if not, where it is?”

Kyle gave Hugh a long look. “Sure. I can do that.”

“And then could you call your buddy at Kulis, see if they’ve got anything going in that direction, and ask if I can bum a ride?”

Kyle shook his head and reached for the phone. “Sure. I can do that, too.” He began to punch in a number and paused. “You know, Hugh, when I suggested you figure out a way to spend more time with Sara, I wasn’t suggesting professional suicide as a means of making that happen.”

Hugh looked back without smiling. “Where are Lilah and the kids?”

“At home. Lilah’ll just be getting them ready for-” Kyle stopped. “Yeah. I see what you mean.”

He hunched over the phone with a will. Hugh slid down to rest his head against the back of his chair and enjoyed the first slackening of tension in what felt like days.

KYLE WAITED UNTIL THEHercules C-130 was in the air before he drove back to his office. He hung up his parka and stewed around a while before calling his wife.

“Where’s Hugh?” she said when she heard his voice.

“Back on the road,” Kyle said. “Listen, Lilah, I want you to take Eli and Gloria down to Seldovia for the weekend.”

There was a brief silence. “Kyle. It’s Monday.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Well, then take the week.”

“I’ve got work, Kyle, as you well know.”

Lilah worked for the FBI, too. “Take some leave,” he said. “If I have to I’ll pull strings.”

“The kids have school.”

“I’ll call their teachers and tell them they’ll be back in a bit.”