“Susan Donleavy mentioned him by name as well as his Congolese Army of Revolution. It’s a straight pay-to-fight deal. Makambo has no political stake in any of this. For few million of Singer’s dollars Makambo’s willing to send in some cannon fodder.”
“Nice guy,” Linc said sarcastically. “His men follow him because of their political beliefs and he hires them out to die for someone else’s. I hate Africa.”
“I don’t blame you,” Eddie agreed. “But can you see our problem? We supplied him with enough AK-47s, RPGs, and ammunition to outfit a couple hundred men.”
Juan understood immediately. “The Oregon has the firepower to take on half the navies in the world, but it won’t do us much good against individual terrorists aboard oil rigs who are using workers as shields.”
“Precisely.” Eddie leaned forward. “Retaking the production platforms is going to require individual combat. Everyone on this crew is a capable fighter, but if Makambo takes over just five rigs and puts a hundred men on each we’re not going to take them back without losing at least two thirds to three quarters of our own people.
“And don’t think Angola’s army or police force is going to be much help,” he added. “It’ll take them a couple of days just to get organized. By that time Singer will have turned the entire Congo Delta into a stinking oil slick and sabotaged the rigs so the flow may never be shut off. If we can’t prevent him from storming the platforms then we have a day at most to take them back.”
Eddie’s sober assessment hung in the air because no one in the boardroom could refute it.
There came a quiet knock on the open boardroom door. Juan turned and was delighted to see Sloane Macintyre standing at the entrance. She wore a pair of baggy shorts and a plain white T-shirt. Her arm was in a sling across her abdomen. Her coppery hair fell in waves past her shoulders. It was the first time he had seen her wearing makeup. The mascara and shadow brought out the depths of her gray eyes and the artful strokes of blush hid the pallor of her still-recovering body. Her lips were full and shining.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” she said with a smile that said she knew she was.
Juan got to his feet. “No, not at all. How are you feeling?”
“Fine, thanks. Doctor Huxley says I’ll be good as new in a couple of weeks if I stick to the physical therapy regimen she laid out. The whole crew’s talking about the rescue you pulled off and how you not only saved your men and rescued Geoffrey Merrick but also freed some leader from Zimbabwe.”
“Believe me, it was a team effort.”
“I just heard voices and wanted to say hello.” She gave Juan a look. “You still owe me an explanation about what it is you all do and where you got this incredible ship.”
“And I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
“You’d better.” She glanced over at Linda. “I’ll see you back in your cabin.”
“See you, Sloane.”
“So what the hell are we going to do?” Max asked bluntly to get the conversation back on track.
“Obviously, we can contact Langston,” Linda said. “If he can’t clear the way for a rapid reaction force to be sent here, at least he can warn the governments of Angola and the Congo about a credible terrorist threat.”
“What are our relations like with those countries?” Linc asked.
“No idea.”
“What about getting in touch with some of our people who’ve left the Corporation, like Dick Truitt, Carl Gannon, and Bob Meadows,” Mike suggested. “I know Tom Reyes runs a bodyguard service in California.”
“Do the oil companies have their own security forces?” Max asked. “I assume they do. Juan?”
“Huh?”
“Are we boring you?”
“No.” Cabrillo got to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”
He was out the door before anyone could ask him where he was going. He stalked down the hallway, his broad shoulders bowed and his head down. Decisions had always come easy to him and this one was no different but he had to ask a question before he committed himself. He caught up to Sloane as she reached Linda Ross’s cabin.
“Juan,” she said, startled by his sudden appearance and his deadly serious look.
“How sure are you about the diamonds being aboard the Rove?” he asked brusquely. For what he intended even the considerable financial resources of the Corporation weren’t enough, and he doubted he could get the CIA to fund his plan appropriately.
“I’m sorry?”
“The Rove. How sure are you that the diamonds are aboard her?”