"You said the idea behind the attack was to motivate sympathy for the South African whites and provoke American anger against the black revolutionaries," Pitt continued. "What more perfect day than today?"
"It is now five minutes past twelve on Wednesday morning." Jarvis's voice was tense. "I make nothing eventful out of that."
"The originators of Operation Wild Rose have a superb sense of timing," said Pitt in a dry, ironic tone. "Today is also December the seventh, the anniversary of Pearl Harbor."
5
The IOWA
52
Pretoria, South Africa-December 7, 1988
Pieter De Vaal sat alone and read a book in his office at the Defence Ministry. It was early evening and the summer light filtered through the arched windows. A soft rap came at the door.
De Vaal spoke without looking up from his reading.
"Yes?"
Zeegler entered. "We've been alerted that Fawkes has launched the operation."
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De Vaal's face showed no trace of interest as he laid aside the book and handed Zeegler a piece of paper. "See that the communications officer on duty personally sends this message to the American State Department."
It is my duty to warn your government of an impending attack on your shore by African Army of Revolution terrorists under the command of Captain Patrick Fawkes, Royal Navy retired. I deeply regret any inadvertent rdle my cabinet has played in this grave infamy.
ERIC KOERTSMANN Prime Minister
"You have admitted guilt in the name of our Prime Minister, who is totally ignorant of Operation Wild Rose," said an astonished Zeegler. "May I ask why?"
De Vaal clasped his hands in front of him and peered at Zeegler. "I see no reason to discuss the details."
"Then may I ask why you have thrown Fawkes to the wolves?"
The Minister went back to his book with a dismissive gesture. "See to it that the message is sent. Your questions will be answered at the appropriate moment."
"We promised Fawkes to attempt his rescue," Zeegler persisted.
De Vaal sighed with impatience. "Fawkes knew he was a dead man the instant he accepted command of the raid."
"If he survives and talks to the American authorities, his confession would prove disastrous to our government."
"Rest easy, Colonel," De Vaal said with a crooked smile. "Fawkes will not live to talk."
"You seem quite certain, Minister."
"I am," De Vaal said calmly. "I am indeed."
Deep inside the bowels of the Iowa a figure dressed in greasy coveralls and a heavy wool jacket stepped from a passageway into what had been the ship's sick bay. He closed the door behind him and was enveloped in a smothering blackness. He aimed the flashlight and played its beam about the gutted room. Several of the bulkheads had been cut away and it seemed as though he were standing in an immense cavern.
Satisfied he was quite alone, he knelt on the deck and removed a small gun from inside his jacket. Then he attached a silencer to the end of the barrel and inserted a twenty-shot clip into the handgrip.
He pointed the 27.5 Hocker-Rodine automatic into the darkness and squeezed the trigger. An almost indistinguishable piff was followed by two faint thuds as the bullet ricocheted off unseen bulkheads.
Pleased with the results, he taped the gun to his right calf. After a few steps to make sure it was comfortably snug, Emma switched off the flashlight, slipped back into the passageway, and made his way toward the ship's engine room.
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