MacD popped the hatch and looked outside. When he came back in, he wore a grim expression.

“We’ve got something of a problem,” he said.

Linda leaned forward and peered up through the mini-sub’s front viewport. She immediately saw what MacD meant.

They were expecting the Sorocaima to be dark except for its running lights, the cloud cover allowing Mike and MacD plenty of pitch-black areas of the deck to move through unnoticed. That would be impossible now. From stem to stern, the tanker was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Red battle station lighting bathed the bridge of the frigate Mariscal Sucre in a hellish splendor that Admiral Dayana Ruiz relished. She had risen to her position as the top-ranking woman in the Venezuelan military not only because of her refusal to accept anything less than perfection from her subordinates but also because of her ability to command a ship in battle. She had never lost a war game exercise, and now she had the opportunity to show off her skills in actual combat.

She only hoped that the ship called Dolos was as formidable as the stories had claimed. The tip she’d received about the tramp freighter and its captain had come from an officer in the Libyan Navy she had met at an arms bazaar in Dubai. He told her that he had experienced the mythical ship’s capabilities firsthand when it had nearly destroyed his frigate, the Khalij Surt—the Gulf of Sidra. Although she’d heard secondhand tales of such a covert ship, she had previously dismissed them as fantasy. But the officer’s eyewitness account was compelling. She spread word throughout the naval community that she would be happy to bag the mystery ship as a prize.

Then Gao Wangshu of the Chinese Navy had come to Ruiz with a story similar to the Libyan’s. He had intelligence that the ship would be coming to Venezuela, although he thought the port of call would be Puerto Cabello. At the last minute, he gave word that La Guanta was where it would dock, and she sent him to the harbormaster there to get confirmation it was the right ship.

Now it seemed like she had even more reason to believe the Dolos was a spy ship. The call from Lieutenant Dominguez about the two impostors who had tied him up couldn’t be a coincidence.

Ruiz finished her black coffee as she angrily waited for the phone call from Puerto La Cruz. She wanted to fling the mug against the window, but the rigid reflection staring back at her made her stop. Her short raven hair, tan angular face, and tall, ramrod-straight frame under an immaculately pressed uniform, projected the reputation she had as an ice-cold commander, ready to sacrifice anyone or anything for victory. Any histrionics would dispel that image and allow the macho Latin American men under her command an opportunity to question her ability. She would not let that happen, but these latest developments were testing her stoicism.

Lieutenant Dominguez was one of her brightest pupils and she had trusted him with some of the most valuable information about her operations that would propel her planned rise to power in the Venezuelan government. There had already been a female defense minister, but her ambitions were much higher than that. Hugo Chávez had been her idol and she foresaw following in his footsteps.

But Dominguez had let her down and her empire was threatening to crumble.

She had called him to check on the status of her arms smuggling operation. When he didn’t answer, she had called the guardhouse at the warehouse to check on him. Soon after the guards arrived at the security office, they found Dominguez and another man tied up in the bathroom. She immediately ordered the entire facility locked down so they could find the impostors who had sneaked in. She was now awaiting news that they had been found since no one had seen them leave the base.

The phone rang and she snatched up the receiver.

“Report,” she snapped.

“Dominguez here, Admiral,” he said. “We have them cornered.”

“Where?”

He cleared his throat. “On the ship. They’re in the cargo bay. They knocked one of my men unconscious and locked themselves inside.”

Ruiz had to find out who they were, how they’d discovered her operation, and whether any other part of it was in jeopardy.

“I want them captured alive,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. We have all the exits covered.”

“What about the cargo door?”

“We’ve cut power to that part of the ship. There’s no way they can lower it. I have fifty additional men on the way. There’s no way they can escape.”

“Do you know what they were after?”

Another hesitation.

“Don’t lie to me, Lieutenant. I will find out.”

“They took the laptop and my phone.” He added quickly, “The computer is encrypted and I destroyed the phone, so they won’t be able to transmit any information from inside the ship.”

Ruiz’s hand tightened on the mug until it seemed in danger of shattering.

“You had better be right, Dominguez, or I’ll use you for target practice.”

She could hear him gulp. “Aye, Admiral.”

“Describe these men.”

“Both were dressed in Navy uniforms. One was a large black man. The second . . . well, I could have sworn he was Captain Ortega. But, then, he thought you were a man. I was about to arrest him, but he and the other impostor were so quick—”

“Enough. I’ll read about it in your report later. Call me the moment you have them in custody.”

She hung up without waiting for acknowledgment.

The news that they’d gotten hold of the computer and phone was the most disturbing part of Dominguez’s report. She could survive the discovery of her arms smuggling operation, but if anyone outside her inner circle found out about the second aspect of her illicit activities her standing in Venezuela would be destroyed. She’d be executed as a traitor.

She retreated to her cabin. The next calls required more privacy.

Ruiz dialed a number that she had memorized. She erased the number after every call.

On the second ring, a clipped voice answered. “What?”

“We’ve had an incident, Doctor,” she said in fluent English using the only name she knew him by.

“So?”

“I want to make sure it doesn’t jeopardize my plans. Is the Ciudad Bolívar on schedule?” she asked.

“It will be in position in thirty-six hours just like I said it would.”

“Have you detected any interest in our activities?”

“No,” the man replied. “I expect the final payment to come through as soon as the Bolívar goes down.”

“And in exchange you will hand over the encrypted software code for controlling the drones as we agreed?”

“Yes,” the Doctor said.

“Then we’ll proceed. Dominguez will report when the Ciudad Bolívar is sunk. Make sure the drones are ready by tomorrow night.”

“Of course. That’s why you’re paying me.”

He hung up. Ruiz wasn’t used to being treated with such disrespect, but the Doctor’s special skills demanded that she tolerate insubordination that would get a sailor sent to the brig.

Her next call was to the harbormaster, Manuel Lozada. She was afraid that the Dolos would cast off early and leave the spies behind if they knew they were cornered and would eventually confess to the covert ship’s true nature.

“A pleasure to hear from you, Admiral,” he said upon answering. “I was just about to—”

“Lozada, I want you to raid the Dolos. I will have thirty soldiers there in ten minutes to assist the police.” She would redirect some of Dominguez’s reinforcements to La Guanta Harbor.