Forty minutes of silent tension passed before Giordino entered the bridge to relieve Pitt. “Are we sailing happy seas tonight?”

“Cruising on waves of hysteria.”

Pitt, preparing to leave, quietly reported the earlier encounter with the ship. A new helmsman arrived to relieve the one on duty, but Gomez remained on watch. As Pitt turned to depart the bridge, he glanced once more at the radar screen. Something caught his eye, and he hesitated, studying the numbers. It was the course heading. The ship had suddenly changed from an east-northeast heading to east-southeast.

“Why are we running southeast?” Pitt asked.

“There is a strong head current at this latitude,” Gomez said. “We will drop below it for a day or two to maintain speed, then readjust our heading to Long Beach.”

Pitt’s recollection was that the north equatorial current ran some distance south of their position, but he didn’t argue. He turned and gave Giordino a skeptical look. “Guess I’ll turn in. See you on the next shift.”

Pitt finally exited the bridge and climbed down the companionway. Rather than exit on the second level to go to his stateroom, he continued down to the main deck to get some fresh air. Reaching it, he ran into Plugrad racing up the companionway. The Coast Guard lieutenant had an agitated look.

“You’re up early,” Pitt said.

“Trying to find two of my men who didn’t report for their watch. You didn’t see them up on the bridge?”

“No. I’d suggest the mess. They probably went for some coffee to stay awake.”

Plugrad grumbled an acknowledgment and trodded off toward the mess.

Out on deck, Pitt found the night cool, with a fresh breeze rippling over the port beam. After several hours on the unfriendly bridge, the air felt refreshing. Pitt stretched his legs by hiking across the long, open deck, stopping at the prow and gazing over the rail. A faint light appeared briefly ahead on the horizon, vanishing and reappearing as the Adelaide rose and fell with the sea. The mystery ship was still there, directly ahead, at the edge of visibility for both eye and radar.

Pitt watched for several minutes, confirming the other vessel was holding position, then ambled toward the deckhouse. He stopped as he passed the forward hold, noticing some debris on the deck. Part of the cargo of manganese had spilled near the hatch cover during loading. Pitt picked up a fist-sized chunk and held it under a nearby deck light. Silver in color, the ore appeared to be identical to the monazite he had found in Chile on board the Tasmanian Star.

Gomez was lying about the manganese, but why? Why also was the crew acting so strange? And what of the ship steaming ahead of them? An uneasy feeling suddenly struck Pitt square in the gut.

Plugrad. He had to alert Plugrad.

Pitt started aft but froze when several figures emerged from the deckhouse. Pitt ducked alongside the nearest hatch cover and watched two men drag a third man between them. They crossed the deck laterally, passing under a bright light. For a second, Pitt could see the two men walking were armed crewmen. The limp body between them was Plugrad, with a splatter of blood glistening on his forehead.

They dragged Plugrad to the port side of the deckhouse, where they unlocked a door and hauled him inside. Once they disappeared from view, Pitt crossed the deck and sprinted aft to the superstructure’s opposite side. Racing up the companionway, he exited onto the second level and rushed to the four cabins that housed the Coast Guard team.

He knocked on the first door and flung it open but found no one inside. When he found the second cabin empty, he began to fear the worst. The third and fourth cabins were also empty. The entire Coast Guard team had quietly been neutralized. Pitt was exiting the fourth cabin when he heard whispers in the corridor. He stepped back into the cabin and slipped behind its open door.

Through the crack, he watched as two armed crewmen crept down the hall and stopped in front of Pitt’s door. They readied their weapons, then one twisted the handle and both charged in. Finding the cabin empty, they returned to the corridor, speaking quietly to each other in Spanish. One stomped off toward the companionway while his partner lingered. Moving slowly, he stepped to the opposite end of the corridor and cautiously entered Giordino’s cabin. Finding no one there, he began working his way back, checking the other cabins.

Pitt held his breath when the gunman approached where he was hiding. The barrel of an assault rifle poked past the door as he took a step into the cabin. Pitt waited a second, then burst from his spot. Shoving the door with all his strength, he crushed the gunman against the bulkhead. Still clutching the chunk of ore, he clubbed the man in the side of the head with it. The man lost consciousness and collapsed to the deck before he could find the trigger on his weapon.

Pitt pulled the gunman all the way inside the cabin and listened for his partner. Hearing nothing, he took the man’s AK-47 and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. He reached the companionway and was about to move down the steps to release Plugrad when he heard a gunshot.

The shot seemed to come from above. If it had been fired from the bridge, then it meant one thing. Giordino.

Pitt reversed course and raced up the steps as silently as he could. At the bridge, he stopped and peered around the door. The lights had been dimmed for nighttime running, darkening the bridge except for the glow of a few monitors. A nearby console obstructed much of his view, but all seemed quiet. Perhaps the shot had originated elsewhere. Spotting only the helmsman, he quietly advanced into the bay.

“Mr. Pitt,” hailed the voice of Gomez. “I thought you would come for your friend.” The captain rose from a crouched position, firmly holding an outstretched pistol. It wasn’t aimed at Pitt, however, but at the floor. Pitt took a step closer to see that Gomez was aiming the weapon at Giordino, who lay on the floor, clutching his leg.

“Put down your weapon,” Gomez said, “or you both shall die.”

Pitt caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. The earlier gunman had materialized from behind another console, his AK-47 aimed at Pitt’s back.

As Pitt looked from his wounded friend to Gomez, his eyes flared with anger. Without a word, he let the gun fall to the deck.

39

THE PRESIDENT ROLLED AN UNLIT CIGAR BETWEEN his thumb and forefinger. “Why?” he asked in an irritated tone. “Why would the Chinese suddenly halt all exports of rare earth elements?”

An uncomfortable silence filled the Oval Office.

“I can only suspect it’s for leverage,” the Secretary of State said. “Something they can use as a bargaining chip to counter our pressure on their support of trade with Iran or their refusal to float the yuan.”

“Have they told you as much?”

“No, the Foreign Ministry has only indicated it was done out of ‘strategic necessity.’”

“Sure,” said Vice President Sandecker. “The necessity to torpedo our economy.” A cigar aficionado himself, he eyed the President’s stogie with envy.

“It is quite a bold move,” the Secretary of State said. “I would have expected some hint of negotiation over the matter, but the Chinese are playing it close to the vest.”

The President turned to his national security advisor, a raven-haired woman named Dietrich. “How bad is it going to hurt us?”

“Over ninety percent of our rare earth imports come from China,” she said. “Commercially, it will devastate a number of industries, particularly electronics and the alternative energy fields. Almost every high-tech industry in the country will be affected.”

“Are we just talking higher prices?” asked Tom Cerny.