Piranha (Oregon Files 10)
After watching it, Ruiz growled, “I will hunt those spies down and vaporize them.”
“How? You have no idea where they are.”
“But you do?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I can’t just leave Venezuelan territorial waters with a frigate. I need a reason.”
“I know. In three days there will be a combined fleet exercise called UNITAS in the Bahamas.”
“I’m aware of it. Venezuela was not invited to participate.”
“Neither was Cuba,” Kensit said. “But both of you can send your own ships to observe their operations. When you are near Haiti, you will divert your vessel and sink the Oregon.”
“Why are you so eager to help me? What will this cost?”
“You have political ambitions. I’ll make sure you achieve them.”
“Why?”
“You’re my type of leader. Direct, action-oriented, a little emotional for my tastes, but I can live with that. Once I help you sink the Oregon, I expect the rest of my payment.”
“You’re insane!”
“No, that’s only fair. And if you don’t sink the Oregon, I will reveal that her captain outwitted you. Your credibility in the Venezuelan Navy would be shattered. Then once your reputation is destroyed, you’ll go to prison when I release details about your smuggling operation. Be there in three days.” He didn’t wait for a response before he hung up. Ruiz would come. She didn’t have a choice.
He put the phone away and saw Hector Bazin walking toward him.
“Doctor, Brian Washburn arrived as you instructed. I’ve got him in the car. Shall I bring him?”
“Yes. Once we’re on the boat, I need you to go to the United States. Captain Cabrillo is causing us more problems.”
“Kill him?”
“If you can. But now that he’s found out about the Piranha subs, the U.S. military may suspect that someone on my old weapons development program was responsible for selling the plans, so your highest priority is to eliminate any remaining links between me and the Sentinel project. I’ll brief you about the target once you’re in the air.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get the governor.”
Bazin returned with Washburn, who looked as if he didn’t want his six-hundred-dollar shoes to be exposed to the air here, let alone touching the dock. When he got close to Kensit, he stuck out a hand and turned on the charm.
“You must be the Doctor,” Washburn said with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“No, it’s not,” Kensit said, ignoring the hand. “I sent for you and you came. There is no power balance in this relationship. You’re used to being the one in charge. Not here. You work for me now.”
Washburn’s smile vanished, replaced by a sneer. “Who do you think you are, you little weasel?”
“I’ve been called every name possible during my life, so save the macho posturing. I have video of you murdering a man. You can leave now and face the death penalty or life in prison. You can try to kill me, and Bazin here will break your neck before you can reach me. Or you can do as I say and become president of the United States. Choose right now.”
Washburn looked at Bazin, then back at Kensit, and realized he was completely outmatched, both physically and mentally. The sneer dissolved.
“All right. But why have you brought me to this godforsaken place? It literally reeks.”
“That’s what happens when you have a city of three million people with no functional sewer system. You would not want to swim in the harbor. We’re going to take a ride on the Victoire over there.”
Kensit pointed at a white, hundred-foot-long Lürssen yacht with a satellite dish on the foredeck.