End Game Read Online Free Page B

assisting managed to slip into the water without a splash or upsetting the raft.
    The men on the raft on the other side of him did not. The little boat capsized.
    Sattari picked up his paddle, as did the other man on his raft. They turned forty-five degrees, positioning themselvesto help if necessary. But the two men on the other boat recovered quickly; within seconds they had their vessel righted and were back aboard.
    â€œGood work,” Sattari told them.
    He turned back toward Ibn’s raft. The sergeant had gone below with the others, but one of the two men still aboard had a radio scanner, which he was using to monitor local broadcasts. As Sattari picked up his oar to get closer, the coxswain did the same. They pushed over silently.
    â€œAnything, Corporal?” Sattari asked the radioman.
    â€œAll quiet, Captain.”
    â€œThere was nothing from the Indian warship?”
    â€œNo, sir. Not a peep.”
    Sattari scanned the artificial island, roughly two miles away. Aside from a few dim warning lights on the seaward side, it was completely in shadow. It slumbered, unsuspecting.
    â€œWe will proceed,” Sattari said. “God is great.”
    Aboard the Abner Read ,
off the coast of Somalia
2340
    S TORM TOOK A DMIRAL J OHNSON ’ S COMMUNICATION IN HIS cabin. The admiral’s blotchy face was rendered even redder by the LCD screen. Johnson was aboard his flagship, the Nimitz, sailing in the waters north of Taiwan.
    â€œWhat’s going on out there, Storm?”
    â€œGood evening, Admiral. I’m about to send a boarding party over to a boat I suspect is a smuggler.”
    â€œThat’s what you called me about?”
    â€œNo,” said Storm. “About an hour ago we spotted four aircraft flying very low and fast toward northeastern Somalia. We were not able to identify the aircraft. Given the size of the force, they may have been terrorists going ashore to acamp we don’t know about. Since they were flying in the direction of Port Somalia, I tried to contact the Indian force there, but could not. I wanted to send—”
    â€œPort Somalia? The Indian tanker station? What is your exact location?”
    â€œWe’re about eighty nautical miles—”
    â€œ Exact location.”
    Storm looked over to the small computer screen near the video display, then read off the GPS coordinates.
    â€œWhat are you doing so close to that end of the gulf?” said Johnson. “You’re supposed to be chasing pirates.”
    â€œWith all due respect, Admiral, that’s what I’m doing. I have a smuggler in sight, and we’re preparing to board her. I called to alert you to these aircraft, so a message could be sent through the normal channels. I don’t know whether their radio—”
    â€œYou know as well as I do that you’re a good deal east of the area we discussed two days ago. A good deal east.”
    â€œI’m within the parameters of my patrol area. I’m not in coastal waters.”
    When Johnson was displeased—as he was just about every time Storm talked to him—his cheeks puffed slightly and his eyes narrowed at the corners, so that he looked like the mask of an Asian sea devil. When he became really angry—which happened often—his forehead grew red and he had difficulty speaking. Storm saw the space above his eyebrows tint, and decided it was time to return the conversation to its point.
    â€œShould I attempt to contact the Pentagon to alert the Indians at Port Somalia?” he asked.
    â€œNo, you should not.” Johnson scowled. “We’ll handle that here.”
    The screen blanked before Storm could respond.
    Off the coast of Somalia
2345
    C APTAIN S ATTARI FELT HIS GLOVED HAND SLIPPING FROM THE rope. Swinging his left arm forward, he managed to grab hold of the cross-hatched metal fencing at the side of the support pillar. For a moment he hung in midair five meters over the water and rocks,