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CHAPTER 21

LIKE HIS GREAT-GRANDFATHER and namesake, Captain Cal Savage IV was slender and pale. In spite of his light complexion, he enjoyed taking the morning sun on the top deck. The crew knew not to disturb him during his quiet time.

Today, he was doing his best to put the Chicago failure out of his mind. A momentary setback, he kept telling himself, and the guilty had been punished. Far more important was the big picture—and how much he’d already accomplished.

It had been twenty-five years since he graduated from the secret school his ancestor cofounded. As a student, he’d been well trained in espionage, evasion, and assassination. Since then, he’d used his skills to accumulate a fortune from a variety of dark-side ventures—blood diamonds, smuggled fentanyl, bootlegged uranium. The bulk of his wealth was secured in masked accounts in Belize and Singapore. The onboard safe held a few million dollars in petty cash.

Over the years, he had assembled a tight crew, an elite band of young fellow graduates—expert navigators, skilled engineers, master chefs. And every one a trained killer.

The name of the ship was the Prizrak , Russian for ghost . It was Savage’s home and his base of operations. He had no passport. His name was not registered with any government or authority. For all practical purposes, he did not even exist, and neither did his ship. Which was exactly how he liked it.

Savage took special pride in the fact that he had not touched land in more than ten years. Helicopters ferried fuel, equipment, and supplies to the ship as she moved from sea to sea, never docking.

From his bridge, Savage directed a worldwide network of clandestine operatives, most of them fellow alumni. On his orders, they fomented chaos across the globe. Ethnic cleansing, civil wars, regime changes. Over the past few years alone, Savage had fanned conflicts in Myanmar, Darfur, Syria, Afghanistan, and a dozen other trouble spots. Trouble was his trade, and he was good at it.

But of course, it was all a means to an end. Eventually, when the world order was irretrievably broken down, Savage would step ashore to take over, with his own style of command and justice.

Until then, he would move silently across the seas—like a ghost.

“Captain, he’s here.”

Savage blinked and opened his eyes. A crew member hovered above him, casting a shadow over his face.

The 10 a.m. meeting. A bother, but necessary.

A Somali warlord needed to be brought into line.