"That's the interesting part," Hale said, cutting Kurt off. "The Ethernet is sitting on the bottom in one solid piece."

Kurt narrowed his gaze. He suddenly felt confused. He'd seen the sonar scan. The ship had come apart.

Hale explained what they'd learned. "The report you saw was doctored. Someone tapped into the South African Coast Guard database and changed it. The SACG sent you what they thought was a legitimate file, but you saw what someone wanted you to see."

"Why?"

"So you wouldn't dive the ship and find what your friends found," Hale said. He went on to explain that three bodies were recovered from the ship: two members of Westgate's crew and his personal bodyguard.

He also told Kurt what had happened to the Condor and the submersibles. "To hack both of those systems and gain such control is quite a feat," he said. "Especially considering NUMA has stringent safeguards in place."

"Obviously, not enough," Kurt said.

"We're not sure what is, these days," Hale replied.

"Which leads us to your main suspect," Col. Lee said. "Mr. Than Rang, head of the DaeShan Group, and a man with many sinister connections to generals in North Korea."

Kurt sat dumbfounded. "Are you trying to tell me Than Rang is a North Korean sleeper agent?"

"No," Lee said, "the other way around. Than Rang is interested in the inevitable day when North and South finally embrace in reunification. His corporation has spent years buying up ancient deeds to land in the North. The deeds are worthless of course, but if unification ever comes about, he will have some amount of standing to claim nearly one-third of the land in North Korea. To bolster his claims, he's spent years currying favor with the generals and others who float just below the level of the Glorious Leader, Kim Jong-un. If change ever comes, these friends of his will be the first to benefit, just as the ardent defenders of communism in the old Soviet Union awarded themselves the vast majority of state-run industries as soon as the country turned to capitalism."

"What does he give them?" Joe asked.

"Cold hard cash, high-tech machinery, and advanced software," Lee said.

"And possibly well-known programmers and hackers," Hale added.

"In exchange for nearly worthless land?" Kurt asked.

"Much of it lies above proven reserves of minerals," Col. Lee said. "And Than Rang has already shown a knack for taking played-out mines and increasing their production, in many cases to record levels. He would no doubt be very successful if his scheme ever came to pa.s.s."

Joe held his phone up, bringing it close to his mouth like a pocket recorder. "Note to self: Invest retirement nest egg in DaeShan Group."

"I wouldn't go that far," Hale said. "We don't see anything happening for a long, long time."

Joe brought the phone back up. "Cancel note to self."

Kurt laughed. "I get it. You want us to do some dirty work. The question is, can you get me into North Korea?"

"No," Hale said. "You wouldn't last five minutes there if we could."

"Then what?"

"Than Rang is having an elegant reception for his business partners," Col. Lee explained. "There will be wine, women, and song, as you Americans like to say. Most important, there will be a guest arriving and delivering a very important package. I believe you know the man. Fortunately, he doesn't know you. At least not by sight."

"Acosta," Kurt said with disgust.

"He's bringing the other hackers," Joe guessed.

"Exactly," Hale said. "He will exchange them for a large sum of diamonds and a painting by one of the masters."

Kurt's mind was running now. "For such an exchange to happen, both items would need to be verified."

Hale said, "Acosta isn't interested in getting a fake, and Than Rang isn't interested in delivering a couple of dupes to his friends in the North. They'll both need experts to make sure the goods are bona fide. Than Rang will use several techs from his company to give the prospective hackers a final exam of sorts. Most likely, they'll be given a complex code and asked to break it, and then perhaps a secondary task of inserting a program through a sophisticated firewall. In the meantime, Acosta will be examining the painting and that's where we get our chance. You see, Acosta holds himself out as a big-time collector, but he knows less about art than he pretends. Far less. To make sure he's not swindled, he's arranged for a legitimate expert named Solano to go with him. For a healthy fee, Solano will verify what is no doubt a stolen work of art to begin with. It's all a very sordid business."

"What do you want us to do?" Kurt asked.

"Mr. Zavala here will pose as our friend Solano, who hails from Madrid. They're the same build, almost the same height. With a little makeup and subtle lifts in his shoes, Joe will be the spitting image of the wayward art expert."

"What if Acosta figures it out?"

"He won't," Hale insisted. "He's never met Solano. Only talked to him on the phone. And they're arriving separately. Solano comes in tomorrow, Acosta will be here the day after."

Fortunate timing, Kurt thought. But there were problems. "What about his voice? If they've talked, Joe will have to sound like Solano."

"According to his file, Joe speaks fluent Spanish."

Joe nodded.

"The only concern is that this is Catalan Spanish," Hale said. "But we're going to take Solano out of circulation before he makes it to his hotel, get him to talk, and allow Joe to practice his voice."

Kurt didn't like his friend taking the risk, but he knew they weren't likely to get another chance at this.

"Should be a piece of cake," Joe said.

"I'm going in with him," Kurt insisted.

"Of course you are," Hale said. "Because your job is to place a transmitter on one of the hackers while Joe keeps Acosta and the others busy."

Kurt nodded. That sounded fair, but then what? "I think we can all picture the outcome if we fail. But what happens if we succeed? You can't get them out of the North any more than we can."

"The thing is," Hale said, "we're not sure where they are. Any of them. North Korea has a cyberforce known as Unit 121. We've confirmed that some of them operate in China, others have been tracked to sites in Russia, and some to sites right here in Seoul. You don't have to be at home to attack a country these days. You can launch your strike from anywhere you find a computer terminal and an Internet connection. If they like, these people can wage war in their pajamas."

Kurt understood, but something was missing. He studied Hale. Both he and Col. Lee were rather inscrutable. Maybe it was the nature of their occupations or the hangdog expressions that told him they'd been working the angles long and hard on this one. Either way, something didn't quite fit. Kurt couldn't begin to guess what it was, but he had a feeling he'd find out at the worst possible time.

NUMA Vessel Condor, Southwestern Indian Ocean The Condor drifted with the current all afternoon, and Paul Trout began to feel like a sailor on an old galleon, caught in the horse lat.i.tudes and going nowhere.

As dusk approached, the ship was enveloped in darkness. The chief and his men rigged up an auxiliary unit that brought power back to the desalinization and ventilation systems, but because the unit was relatively small compared to the need of the ship, most of the lights were kept off and the HVAC processors were run at the lowest settings. As a result, the interior of the ship was a sweatbox and those who didn't have to be inside congregated on various parts of the deck.

Paul considered himself fortunate to be on the bridge wing with Gamay.

"What a beautiful night," she said.

"It really is," he replied. There was a soft southerly breeze, just enough to keep the humidity from being oppressive.

"Maybe there's something to be said for the old ways," she added. "No hum of machinery. No annoying computers telling us a new message has arrived."

She put an arm around his waist and pulled closer. "I wouldn't mind a candlelight dinner, if you've got nothing else planned."

Paul c.o.c.ked his head at her. "Are you getting romantic on me?"

She huffed and pushed him away. "If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong."

He pulled her back to his side. "No, you're doing fine," he said. "Now, where were we?"

"Too late," she said. "The moment has pa.s.sed."

If it wasn't already gone, the appearance of a crewman sweating through his T-shirt sent it packing for good. "Sorry to interrupt but we're picking up something on radar."

"I thought the radar was out?" Gamay replied.

Paul shook his head. "Considering our predicament, I thought it would be wise to know what's going on around us. I had the chief power up the short-range unit."

"Do you want to take a look?" the crewman asked.

Paul nodded, and both he and Gamay entered the semidarkened bridge.

"Any chance it's the tug?" Gamay asked.

"No, ma'am," the crewman replied. "Target is to the east. Tug will be coming in from the west. By our estimates, she's a good four hours away."

Paul stepped over to the radarscope. "What's the range?"

"Forty-six miles. That's pretty much the maximum range of the system on this power setting."

"What's her course and speed? Maybe we can hail her?"

"That's just it," the crewman said, "she has no course and speed. The target has been intermittent, appearing and disappearing. For the last hour there was nothing there and we thought whoever it was had moved on, but then it came back in the same relative position."

"But we're drifting," Paul said. "Even if she was sitting still, her bearing should be changing unless she's drifting as well."

"Or it could be shadowing us at the very limit of our radar coverage," the crewman noted ominously.

"Has to be a pretty big target to show up that far off," Gamay added. "Maybe they're keeping their distance, hoping not to be seen."

It was all guesswork. But considering what they'd already been through, Paul was not interested in giving anyone or anything the benefit of the doubt. "When's the helicopter due back?"

"That's problem number two," the crewman said. "The pilot reported a mechanical failure shortly after leaving Durban. They've had to turn back. The last we heard, they were trying to scrounge up a spare part. But even if they found one right away, we won't have them back until tomorrow morning at the earliest."

"And the tug is four hours off?"

"At least."

Paul sighed. Alone on the darkening sea and being watched was not a position he liked being in. "Contact HQ on the satellite phone," Paul said. "Tell them we might have company."

"What do you think we should do in the meantime?" Gamay asked.

Paul was pragmatic. "Either hope it's nothing and enjoy the evening or prepare to repel borders."

Gamay folded her arms across her chest and offered a pout. "Guess I'll cancel my plans for a candlelight dinner and go scour the hold for a few rocks and a slingshot."

As the Condor continued to drift, dusk gave way to darkness and the lonely feeling of isolation. The ship, normally a hub of activity, was quiet as the crew prepared to fight if necessary. But the feared borders never materialized, and Paul began to wonder if they'd read suspicious intentions into a harmless situation.

"Any change?" he asked the radar operator as he stepped onto the bridge.

"No, sir," the crewman replied. "Whoever they are, they've drifted along with us for the past three hours."

Sensing the danger had pa.s.sed, especially with the tug only an hour away, Paul had a new idea. "We have a high-speed launch on this boat, don't we?"

"An FRC," the crewman replied. "Fast rescue craft."

"Good," Paul said. "Have it readied. I'm going to take it out and investigate our mystery contact."

"Not without me, you won't," a voice insisted from behind him.

Paul turned to see Gamay in the doorway. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said. "In fact, I think we should make it a double date. Bring Duke and Elena."

Shortly thereafter, the four of them were aboard the quickest of Condor's motorized launches, a sleek machine constructed by the Dutch Special Marine Group. In design, the thirty-foot boat looked like a police river cruiser on steroids, with a high bow, an open deck, and a centralized control console and navigation mast. Powered by a throaty Volvo water jet, it raced across the waves at forty knots.

Paul stood at the bow with Gamay while Duke handled the controls and Elena prepared a raft of weapons obtained from the Condor's arms locker just in case they were needed.

Navigating from dead reckoning, Duke offered an update. "We should be close enough to see the target in a few minutes," he said, "a.s.suming she has any sort of running lights on."

Peering through the darkness, Paul nodded. He saw nothing yet.

"What's our plan when we arrive?" Gamay asked.

"Plan?" Paul asked.

"Plan," Gamay repeated. "You know, that thing you come up with in advance so you can throw it out the window when everything goes haywire."

"Oh yeah," Paul said. "I figure we encircle the target and, should it be a threat, talk the captain into surrendering."

Gamay sighed. "Yep," she said, "that will go right out the window."

Paul chuckled at his wife's concern. "I don't think we're dealing with anything hostile," he said. "I think we're going to find another ship in distress like our own."

"Then why do we all have weapons?" Elena asked. She held a pistol. Two AR-15s rested on the deck. Paul and Gamay would carry the rifles.

"For the inevitable moment when my guess turns out to be wrong," Paul deadpanned.

As the FRC raced on through the darkness, the radio squawked with a barely audible signal as the chief called them.

"FRC, this is Condor. You've gone off the scope. We're not reading your signature anymore. Based on course and speed, you should be rounding third and heading for home."

The transmission was coded in simple terms in case anyone was listening. "Rounding third" told Paul they were about three miles from the target. He grabbed the microphone. "Are you holding us up or waving us on?"

"No sign of outfielders ready to throw home," the chief replied. "Keep on running."