Off the Chart. James Hall

came home to Miami expecting, by God, to be Daniel’s chief lieutenant, a role Anne was already filling.

      From their first meeting, when he realized the situation, Marty was bitterly polite, all smiles, ‘yes, ma’am, no, ma’am,’ but he was a lousy actor. He damn well wanted to claim his rightful place. To appease Marty, Daniel had assigned Messina the role of maintaining their foreign contacts and cultivating new ones. Though it was a crucial part of the operation, Marty didn’t seem particularly satisfied.

      Daniel studied the data on the Rainmaker, humming to himself.

      ‘She’s a quick study,’ said Sal.

      ‘Crude oil,’ Daniel said. ‘We’ll have to find a buyer right away.’

      ‘Guy in Buenos Aires,’ said Sal. ‘With the new refinery. Or the Texan.’

      ‘You want to make the call, Anne? Negotiate the numbers?’

      ‘That’s Marty’s job.’

      ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell Marty, have him look around, see who’s thirsty. We’ll have to off-load at sea.’

      ‘Still, it should be easier to get rid of than that damn flaxseed oil.’

      He paged through the printouts a moment more, then smiled at her.

      ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s the one. Excellent choice, Anne. The Rainmaker. Now, you know how it’s done. If something ever happens to me.’

      Daniel smiled, but there was a shadow lurking in the depths of his blue eyes as if he’d sensed already what no one else had, the gleaming missile on its downward arc.

      ‘Oh, come on,’ Anne said. ‘This is safer than waitressing. Restaurant work, there’s a truly perilous career. Never know what dangerous characters you’re going to run across.’

      Sal Gardino stood up, nodded his approval, and left.

      ‘One more year,’ Daniel said when Sal was gone. ‘Six months if we’re lucky. Then we call it a day.’

      ‘You’re worried about something?’

      ‘Not worried, no. It’s just that my perspective on risk and danger has changed lately. Having someone I care about.’

      ‘If you’re really worried, we could stop now.’

      ‘Do you want that, Anne?’

      ‘What do you want?’

      He looked at her for a moment, then turned back to the stack of papers.

      ‘Six more months, we’ll never have to dirty our hands again.’

      ‘And then?’

      ‘And then we can retire to this lovely spot.’

      ‘Live in the jungle.’

      ‘Build your dream house, a tropical bungalow, whatever you want. It’s perfect here. Wild parrots, fantastic fishing. Like the Keys, only more pristine. Not to mention excellent tax advantages.’

      ‘Live here and do what?’

      ‘You know what.’

      ‘I want to hear you say it.’

      ‘All right,’ Daniel said. ‘Raise our children in the Garden of Eden, start over, get it right.’

      ‘Keep them isolated? No cartoons, no computer games.’

      ‘We’d be great parents,’ he said.

      ‘What makes you think that?’

      ‘Because we love each other.’

      ‘That’s all it takes?’

      ‘It’s a damn good start,’ he said.

      For the next ten days, they followed the ship’s progress on the laptop.

      After taking on 840,000 barrels of North Slope crude, the Rainmaker departed from Berth 5 of the Alyeska Marine Terminal across the bay from Valdez, Alaska, on a blustery afternoon. All eleven of the Rainmaker’s tanks were full and she rode low and slow in the heavy seas of the northern Pacific. The ship was owned by TransOcean Shipping Lines, an American corporation based in San Francisco, although for tax purposes the Rainmaker was registered in Panama and flew the Panamanian flag of convenience. For the first few hundred miles the ship was battered by gales. She took eight days to steam down the coast of California and around the Baja Peninsula and across the eastern Pacific to the Panama Canal. For their purposes, the canal was an ideal choke point, funneling a huge percentage of the hemisphere’s traffic through a narrow band of sea.

      When the tanker passed through the Miraflores Lock on the Pacific side at four-thirty in the afternoon, the ship’s image was captured by a Web camera and a few seconds later the image was broadcast on the Internet Web site operated by the Panama Canal Authority. The Web camera was updated every few seconds and showed the constant stream of ships through the first Pacific lock. Sal monitored the Web site to double-check the data coming from the FROM system.

      ‘Headed our way,’ Sal said. ‘Right on schedule.’

      With Anne looking over his shoulder, Sal sat at their tiny desk and tapped out the code to slip into the FROM. From this point on, they’d camp inside the Web site for the moment-by-moment updates on the ship’s position.

      ‘Shit,’ Sal said. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

      Daniel set aside the Mac-10 he was cleaning and came over.

      ‘What?’

      ‘There’s a lag,’ Sal said. ‘Look.’

      Anne and Daniel leaned close to the computer. The stream of data that had always flowed smoothly across the screen, updated every two or three seconds, had slowed to a crawl.

      ‘What is that?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Sal said. ‘But it’s not right.’

      ‘Have they fingered us? They know we’re inside?’

      ‘Could be the satellite. Some kind of weather interference. But it’s never been this slow.’

      As they watched, the screen blinked as if the laptop were losing power; then the stream of numbers and coded letters resumed its normal flow.

      Daniel stepped back.

      ‘A hiccup in the transmission,’ Daniel said. ‘Nothing to worry about. A thunderstorm over the Pacific. Lightning in Guam. No big deal.’

      ‘Yeah,’ Sal said. ‘Could be.’

      Anne said, ‘They could do that, know we’re watching? Figure our location?’

      ‘If they had reason to be suspicious, yeah, top security people might be able to discover we’ve hacked the site,’ Sal said. ‘But track us back here? Not unless they’ve got the Pentagon in on it, a supercomputer doing the work. Not some piddling corporate security system. Or it could be the mercs.’

      Daniel shook his head at Sal, but Anne said, ‘Mercs? What’s that?’

      Turning away from her, Daniel said, ‘Mercenaries. Hired guns.’

      ‘First I’ve heard of that,’ she said.

      ‘There’ve been a couple of cases,’ said Daniel. ‘Both times in the China Sea. A gang of ex-soldiers hired by the shipping companies.’

      ‘And what? They arrested some pirates?’

      ‘Took them out is more like it,’ Sal said.

      ‘Took them out? Murdered them?’

      Daniel flashed a look at Sal and said to Anne, ‘The details are sketchy.’

      ‘But they’re out there,’ Anne said. ‘And that’s who this is?’

      ‘It’s