Page 63 of Enemy Within

“I need to talk to her, too. We need an update on the situation in Canada, and General Moroshkin’s movements.”

“Shooting has stopped for now, but the Chinese are sending a fleet across the Pacific. We ran beneath them on the way.” Captain Anderson frowned, deep lines furrowing his lean face. “Things are changing by the minute.”

“And only getting worse.” Jack held his hand out to Ethan, beckoning him down to join them on the pier. “Captain, may I introduce Ethan Reichenbach, director of the black team assigned to take out Madigan.” He watched Anderson carefully as Ethan joined them.

Captain Anderson smiled wide and gripped Ethan’s hand. “Mr. First Gentleman, it’s an honor.”

Ethan nodded, and Jack spotted a hint of a flush above the growth of his scraggly facial hair. He still wasn’t comfortable with compliments, with any kind of attention paid to him. “We’re putting a bunch of pieces together for this mission, Captain. My team, your subs, Russian intelligence. It’s going to be a patchwork.”

“We’ll make it work.” Captain Anderson shook Scott’s hand and then introduced his own executive officer and the head of his security detachment.

As he spoke, Jack spotted Sergey scowling and looking around, searching for someone. “Where is Sasha? We need him,” Sergey grumbled. He lifted his radio, snapping in Russian. Sasha’s voice came back, and in a minute, he appeared at the beach, jogging from the direction the rest of the convoy had disappeared to, searching for supplies.

“Where have you been?” Sergey grunted, looking past Sasha as he fisted his hands in his pants pockets. “We need you.”

Sasha stared at Sergey. “I did not want to intrude.”

“You have the intelligence, no? You flew that damn mission.” Sergey walked away, heading for Jack, Ethan, and Captain Anderson.

Jack and Ethan shared a long look as Sergey introduced himself to Anderson and his men. Anderson’s executive officer had wide, saucer eyes, and he fumbled his greeting as he shook Sergey’s hand. The shock of finding two world leaders—one supposedly dead—on an island in the middle of nowhere had yet to wear off.

“President Wall is waiting.” Anderson hesitated, and then frowned at Jack.

“Sheisthe sitting president,” he said, answering the question in Anderson’s eyes. “The world needs to think I’m down and out. I’m a ghost, Captain.”

Anderson nodded and smiled tightly. “Mr. President,” he still said. “It would be my privilege to take you aboardHonolulu.”

Ethan and Scott followed Jack into the boat, and then Sergey and Sasha squeezed on board as well. With everyone, it was a tight fit, and Sergey ended up mashed beside Sasha and leaning against the inflatable sidewall.

They took off with a roar, the motor carving a deep wake behind their fast boat. Freezing spray blew over the bow, splashing their faces and wetting their lips. Next to Ethan, Jack turned his face into the wind and closed his eyes. He could taste the sea, smell the weight of salt in the ocean. Simushir was colder than the mainland had been, and even though the wind was cutting and frigid, the sea-salt air was like ambrosia, honey-sweet to his soul. They’d made it. They’d made it to the rendezvous. One step closer to taking out Madigan.

Ethan wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him from behind, and Jack leaned into him. He watched the dark, fin-like sail of theUSS Honoluludraw closer, rising out of the ocean like a sea monster from legends of old. Sailors stood on the bridge at the top of the sail, watching their approach. BeyondHonolulu, three more dark towers rose from the churning waves, a triangle of submarine sails, deadly and dangerous. Elizabeth’s fleet, as promised.

Beside them, Sergey shuffled closer to Sasha, his hand jerking back and forth as if he didn’t know if he should reach out or not. Finally, he rested his hand on Sasha’s back. “You are not all right?”

Sasha looked grim. His lips were pressed in a hard line, and he gripped the rounded edge of the boat. “I am a pilot,” he said. “Not sailor. Boats make me…” He trailed off, but the hard swallow he gave conveyed the message.

Sighing, Sergey rubbed his hand up and down Sasha’s back. He frowned and looked away, over the ocean’s swells, and missed it when Sasha turned his wide, confused eyes toward him.

Ethan spoke into Jack’s ear, softly. “They haven’t figured anything out, have they?”

Jack shook his head.

And then, they pulled up alongside the submarine. Their little boat maneuvered next to the huge, rounded black hull, sliding right alongside a set of bouncing buoys. Long and narrow, the sleek curve of the submarine looked like a whale hovering on the surface of the ocean before diving back down. The sail rose high on the forward section, and down the spine of the sub, sailors scurried along a narrow walkway, catching and throwing lines back and forth from their fast boat. Low waves broke over the back of the sub, washing the hull with frothy sea water.

Two sailors lowered a rope ladder to the boat and the captain went up first.

“Captain on deck!” one of the sailors shouted. Anderson turned around and helped Jack out of the boat first, followed by the others.

Jaws dropped as the sailors recognized Jack. Anderson gave them a heavy look, the full weight of his authority in his glare, and they snapped back to their duties in an instant.

“Mr. President, welcome aboard theUSS Honolulu.”

THEY MADE THEIR WAY to the captain’s cabin quickly, crowding the five of them, plus Anderson and his executive officer, into the cramped space. Along one wall, six display screens showed the status of the ship and her departments, their position, and data from all the sensors on board. A narrow desk squatted between two built-in chairs, and above the desk, the captain’s bunk was stowed and folded against the wall. Three red phones, the ship’s radio, and a dizzying array of communications switches sat on the wall above the desk. Even with everyone shoved into every possible space—Ethan and Jack sitting at the desk, Sasha and Sergey huddled against the wall, Scott leaning on the cabin’s door, arms crossed—it was a tight fit.

Anderson called to the radio room for a secured signal to the White House Situation Room. Minutes later, one of his screens flickered, and then the White House seal flashed. Anderson swung the screen out in front of Jack, and in an inset video, Jack’s filthy, bedraggled image appeared, staring back at the screen.

A moment later, the image flickered. Elizabeth sat at the head of the table in the Situation Room, her hands clasped in front of her. Her jaw clenched hard, like she was bracing for terrible news.