Page 155 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

“Lang? Sounds like you’re out of the office. You okay?”

“As my mother used to say, ‘Finer than frog’s hair and only half as jumpy.’ ” A voice called to Overholt in the background and he took a moment to reply.

“Is that Burmese I’m hearing?”

“Perceptive as always. Delivering some aid here. But off the record, of course.”

“Of course.” Cabrillo knew the American government was providing humanitarian aid to the pro-democracy rebels battling the rulingjunta in Myanmar. It didn’t surprise him to learn that the CIA was providing other kinds of support, nor that Overholt was on-site taking a personal interest in the deliveries. If his black budget was involved, he wanted to know where every penny was spent.

“How can I help you?” Juan asked.

“I’m only calling to congratulate you.”

“You already did.” Juan pulled open a drawer. “Your bank transfer cleared last night, including Callie’s reimbursement for the loss of theSpook Fish. Thanks for that.”

“It was the least I could do. But I’m calling in regard to the latest developments.”

A truck passed by and Overholt lowered his voice. “Your idea to issue an automated recall for all of the Vendor’s drone vessels worked perfectly. We’ve recovered all eighteen of his manufacturing vessels as well as three automated submarines. The cargo on board each of those ships alone is priceless. Whatever AI technology we can’t press into immediate service will be reverse engineered and incorporated into our future designs.”

“Glad it worked out.” Cabrillo set a stack of neatly folded underwear into his travel bag.

“Thanks to the data you recovered from Pau Rangi, we’ve also begun rolling up his human networks inside allied governments. The others we’ll turn and use as spies. For all intents and purposes, the Vendor’s organization is destroyed.”

“Fantastic. What about your mole?”

“Erin Banfield? A sad story that. I knew Banfield years ago. Brilliant in her day, though somewhat untethered. She was dedicated to her own ambition, and nothing else.”

“I know the type.”

“Banfield fled under an alias, of course. We lost her scent until an Interpol notification alerted the FBI office in Lisbon. They picked her up on an unrelated charge and are holding her in Portugal.”

“Lucky break.”

“Yes. She was charged with assaulting a local in Algarve. The manwas living with another woman in a property she owned there under the same alias. Some sort of love triangle, apparently.”

Another Burmese voice interrupted Overholt in a hurried tone. The old spymaster calmly answered him in the same tongue. Apparently satisfied, the other voice disappeared.

“Sorry about that, Juan. Where was I?”

“Love triangle.” Cabrillo laid two pairs of linen pants into his satchel.

“Oh, yes. Miss Banfield will be extradited tomorrow morning and punished to the fullest extent of the law. Unless, of course, some untoward accident were to occur in transit.”

Juan glanced up at the speakers. Despite the old spymaster’s gentlemanly demeanor, when it came to treason, the unforgiving Overholt took no prisoners.

“Thanks for the update.”

“What are your plans now?”

“Like theOregon, I’m heading for dry dock and a retrofit.”

“You both deserve it. Well, I’ve got another delivery to make and need to run. Take care, my boy.”

“You, too, Lang.” Cabrillo darkened with concern. “And head on a swivel, okay?”

Overholt laughed. “Of course! Just like I taught you.”

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