Sandecker had been trying to guess what Piola’s game was all morning. He offered what he thought was the most likely conclusion. “He’s not dumb enough to ask for a vote on something that isn’t going to happen. He’s laying the groundwork and setting the stage for acceptance of something that already has happened.”
Carruthers pulled back, looking at the Vice President oddly. Then he seemed to understand. “You mean . . . ?”
“The Libyan government is a dead man walking,” Sandecker said. “And from the way he’s acting, Alberto Piola seems to have been expecting it.”
Carruthers nodded again. And then he took the initiative, a step that Sandecker was proud of. “I’ll contact the CIA and find out what they know about the elephant in this room.”
Sandecker grinned. “Good idea.”
42
Cairo
Kurt drove a rented black car through the crowded streets of Cairo while Joe sat in the back and Renata rode shotgun. An iPad, receiving data from a satellite, rested on her lap.
“He’s continuing on straight ahead,” she said.
“Or at least his phone is,” Kurt replied, pulling around some slower traffic and rumbling through a torn-up section of street filled with potholes that would be better described as moon craters.
They were following the signal from the satellite phone that had been used in Malta. They believed it was in Hassan’s possession, but they couldn’t be sure until they laid eyes on him.
“How are we getting this information anyway?” Joe asked from the backseat. “I thought satellite communications were secure.”
Renata explained. “The satellite in question is a joint Egyptian–Saudi communications unit, known to be used by the intelligence services of both countries. The European Space Agency launched it. Prior to launch, it sat in a special facility, where it was mounted on a rocket. And prior to that, agents of one European country, which shall remain nameless, made an unauthorized addition to the telemetry system.”
“All the more reason to launch your own satellites,” Joe said.
“Or use two cans and a string to share secrets,” Kurt said.
“Maybe we could just call him, tell him to pull over,” Joe suggested.
“Then we’ll never see where he’s going,” Renata said.
“Good point.”
“Next left,” Renata said, looking at the screen. “He’s slowing down.”
Kurt turned the corner and soon saw why. The street was lined with shops and restaurants. Pedestrians packed the sidewalks, spilling into the road. Traffic had slowed to a crawl.
They eased along this road, eyes drawn to flashing signs, overflowing fruit stands and kiosks full of gold jewelry, electronics and rugs. A few blocks later, they came to a marina set on the east bank of the Nile.
In one section, cranes were unloading grain from several barges while ferries were taking on cars and people. A slew of fishing boats and pleasure craft were tied to a dock farther down.
“Welcome to the river Nile,” Kurt said. “Where’s our target?”
Renata studied the display and zoomed in on the moving blip. It was superimposed on a map of the area. “Looks like he’s heading for the river.” She pointed to a walkway that led down to the shore via a flight of covered stairs.
Kurt pulled into a lot beside the marina and parked. “Let’s go,” he said.
They hopped out of the car and made their way on foot, with Renata still carrying the iPad. After taking the stairs quickly and pausing at the bottom, Kurt looked out across the narrow dock. “That’s him,” he said. “That’s Hassan all right.”
Hassan climbed aboard a charcoal gray powerboat like he hadn’t a care in the world and sat in the back as the lines were cast off and the boat moved away from the dock.
“I guess we’re going to need a boat of our own,” Renata said.
They made their way dockside, approaching a tourist boat with a colorful paint job, a water taxi logo on the side and the added bonus of a canvas Bimini top that stretched over a rickety framework of poles covering the aft section. The boat’s pilot stood beside it, enjoying a smoke.
Joe took the lead and, after establishing that the man spoke English, explained. “We need to charter a boat.”