Read Online Sea of Fire by Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik, Jeff Rovin - Free Book Online
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supplies were kept. It was also where nonlethal contraband such as drugs or political refugees were kept.
The green-haired communications officer looked up from his cot. Marcus Darling was the chief’s twenty-five-year-old nephew. The heavyset young man had an advanced degree in electronics and the arrogance that comes from nepotism. Most of the time he lay here or on deck reading science fiction and fantasy novels or watching DVDs on his laptop. Occasionally, he took the flare guns from the compartment above his station and checked them. In case of an accident, he was in charge of all forms of rescue signaling. But what the kid really wanted to do was run one of the boss’s movie-special-effects facilities in Europe or the United States. Uncle Jervis told him that after he put in a year on the yacht, he would send Marcus wherever he wanted to go.
Marcus was the one who had built the Hosannah ’s secure radio system three years before. At the time, the young man was still in college, and Jervis Darling was just beginning to plan this operation. Marcus had hacked a classified NATO web site to get a list of components the organization used in their field-communications setup. The heart of the system was a digital encryption module that could be interfaced with analog radios. Run through a personal computer, the DM continually modulated the frequencies while communicating the changes to a computer on the receiving end. It was virtually impossible to decrypt the communication without the computer software.
Marcus set aside the science fiction novel he was reading. He rose from the cot as Kannaday shut the door. The radio operator was on call all day, every day, and this was where he slept. The room was a tight squeeze with the radar equipment where the porthole used to be and the radio gear on the wall across from the cot. Kannaday backed against the door while Marcus moved toward the desk. It was actually a wide shelf built directly into the wall. The desk ran the length of the cabin. The young man eased into the canvas director’s chair in front of the radio.
“I didn’t hear any shooting this time, Peter,” Marcus said.
“We get things right on occasion,” Kannaday replied. He had long ago given up explaining himself or trying to get the kid to refer to him as Captain Kannaday. Fortunately, Marcus did not do it when other crew members were around. This was just the young man’s private dig.
“Don’t be modest,” Marcus said. “You and your crew get things right most of the time.”
“There’s a ‘but’ in your voice,” Kannaday said.
“You’ve good ears,” Marcus said. “The ‘but’ you hear is that Uncle Salty likes things to be right all of the time. He doesn’t like movies that flop, magazines that don’t make a profit, and real estate that loses value.”
Salty was the Australian media’s nickname for Jervis Darling. It was inspired by the big, stealthy saltwater crocodile of the Northern Territory. Kannaday had no idea whether Darling liked the epithet or not.
“This is a different kind of business,” Kannaday said. “There has to be leeway for the unexpected.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Marcus said as he activated the system. He picked up the headset and hung the earpiece around his left ear. “Unfortunately, we can’t really afford that leeway, can we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Failure can result in more than a financial loss for everyone concerned,” Marcus said.
As much as Kannaday disliked giving Marcus his due, the kid was right. Failure in this enterprise could result in death or the kind of jail term that would make death the preferred option. On the other hand, like all the men on board, Kannaday obviously felt that the risk was worth it. Kannaday was earning 75,000 dollars a week. His men were taking in 6,000 each. Darling put the money in an escrow account in the Cayman Islands. At the end of each two-year stint, the money would be theirs. They had six
The green-haired communications officer looked up from his cot. Marcus Darling was the chief’s twenty-five-year-old nephew. The heavyset young man had an advanced degree in electronics and the arrogance that comes from nepotism. Most of the time he lay here or on deck reading science fiction and fantasy novels or watching DVDs on his laptop. Occasionally, he took the flare guns from the compartment above his station and checked them. In case of an accident, he was in charge of all forms of rescue signaling. But what the kid really wanted to do was run one of the boss’s movie-special-effects facilities in Europe or the United States. Uncle Jervis told him that after he put in a year on the yacht, he would send Marcus wherever he wanted to go.
Marcus was the one who had built the Hosannah ’s secure radio system three years before. At the time, the young man was still in college, and Jervis Darling was just beginning to plan this operation. Marcus had hacked a classified NATO web site to get a list of components the organization used in their field-communications setup. The heart of the system was a digital encryption module that could be interfaced with analog radios. Run through a personal computer, the DM continually modulated the frequencies while communicating the changes to a computer on the receiving end. It was virtually impossible to decrypt the communication without the computer software.
Marcus set aside the science fiction novel he was reading. He rose from the cot as Kannaday shut the door. The radio operator was on call all day, every day, and this was where he slept. The room was a tight squeeze with the radar equipment where the porthole used to be and the radio gear on the wall across from the cot. Kannaday backed against the door while Marcus moved toward the desk. It was actually a wide shelf built directly into the wall. The desk ran the length of the cabin. The young man eased into the canvas director’s chair in front of the radio.
“I didn’t hear any shooting this time, Peter,” Marcus said.
“We get things right on occasion,” Kannaday replied. He had long ago given up explaining himself or trying to get the kid to refer to him as Captain Kannaday. Fortunately, Marcus did not do it when other crew members were around. This was just the young man’s private dig.
“Don’t be modest,” Marcus said. “You and your crew get things right most of the time.”
“There’s a ‘but’ in your voice,” Kannaday said.
“You’ve good ears,” Marcus said. “The ‘but’ you hear is that Uncle Salty likes things to be right all of the time. He doesn’t like movies that flop, magazines that don’t make a profit, and real estate that loses value.”
Salty was the Australian media’s nickname for Jervis Darling. It was inspired by the big, stealthy saltwater crocodile of the Northern Territory. Kannaday had no idea whether Darling liked the epithet or not.
“This is a different kind of business,” Kannaday said. “There has to be leeway for the unexpected.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Marcus said as he activated the system. He picked up the headset and hung the earpiece around his left ear. “Unfortunately, we can’t really afford that leeway, can we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Failure can result in more than a financial loss for everyone concerned,” Marcus said.
As much as Kannaday disliked giving Marcus his due, the kid was right. Failure in this enterprise could result in death or the kind of jail term that would make death the preferred option. On the other hand, like all the men on board, Kannaday obviously felt that the risk was worth it. Kannaday was earning 75,000 dollars a week. His men were taking in 6,000 each. Darling put the money in an escrow account in the Cayman Islands. At the end of each two-year stint, the money would be theirs. They had six
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