"Show me where the bastard is," Balkan growled impatiently.

In a secret observation center outside the Dulles corridor, Balkan stood facing a digital map of the Northern Hemisphere. Two men were with him, the Imaging Supervisor and Director Oliver. The session was not logged and the controller held to secrecy.

On a nod from Oliver, the controller zoomed the screen and centered on North America. The focus then panned south over a black unmarked topography -- the Gulf of Mexico.

"What is that?" Balkan asked, pointing at a pulsing dot.

"A ship," Oliver said.

"With Lockheart aboard?"

"High probability."

Balkan piqued, eyes narrowed. "How is it he knows how to move around undetected in the age of Atlas?"

"The Agency trained him. Indeed, he's gone dark -- no RFID echo," Oliver said.

"Then how did you find him?" Balkan demanded.

"Your rabbit's clever." The tech pointed at a flat signal meter and beamed proudly. "But so am I -- picked up his voice pattern and zeroed him yesterday. Today, he and his men took a ride down to the Big Easy, then a ferry and ended up right there -- near the shipping lines where there are baffles and interference. Smart cookie."

"How wide did you cast the net?" Balkan asked, impressed.

"Lemme see, North America?"

"What ship is that?" Balkan shifted his weight from side to side. His blood was racing.

"Luxury Yacht, a hundred fifty footer." The tech whistled. "Twenty cabins jet-cruiser with helipads and sat-arrays. It can do eighty knots easy in open ocean. The only thing faster is a Go-boat."

"Well," Oliver said. "The ship is a big problem."

"Problem?"

"The Lady Celeste is flagged in Panama under North Star Dry Shipping, a company belonging to the Gulf-Con paramountcy. Worse of all, she sits in international waters which means I can't even get the Coast Guard to board her for inspection."

"And you know for sure Lockheart's aboard?"

"Show him," Oliver instructed the camera tech.

"Hold your horses, gents." The operator pulled up an image of the ship's deck, his mannerism bold and flippant. "Alright, here we are -- what do you see? That ain't no bikinis."

Balkan squinted his eyes at the screen.

"Notice how many people are on deck and what they're carrying?" Oliver said.

Balkan squinted. "They're armed security -- every fief employs them. That's hardly curious."

"There's got to be fifty men easy. The question is -- why would you have so much firepower on a leisure ship? Certainly not for a pleasure cruise."

Balkan considered. "But you haven't shown me Lockheart yet."

"The ship has three levels," the tech said with a shrug. "He's in there. We have imaging from this afternoon."

"Show me."

The tech pulled up a set of digital photographs, but the angle was shot from above.

"This is no good. I want visual confirmation, dammit," Balkan barked at the cameraman. "You can do that, can't you?"

"Yes, sir. The best way is to get a miniature aerial vehicle in there, look just like birds, except they're all wires and actuators. And cameras."

"Don't you have robo-porpoises?" Oliver asked. "I'm thinking we're dealing with a watery environment, no?"

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"Sure do. Navy uses them all the time."

"Good."

"Except it will take longer."

"How much longer?"

"You have to requisition one, then unpack it, then get a Coast Guard corvette close enough to launch. There's approach time and . . ."

The tech knew to stop as Balkan grimaced and rubbed his temple.

"Recommendation?"

"I'd use a MAV -- it's the quickest way in my opinion."

Balkan made an inquisitive scowl.

"Miniature Aerial Vehicle," the tech explained with an exhale. "We pack one in a weather rocket and shoot it high over the ship. The canister pops out and the bird vectors itself to target on its own. Black to full visibility, three hours tops."

"No other choice?" Balkan asked.

Oliver shook his head.

"Get it done."

"See to it," Oliver said to the technician.

The Imaging man went into active mode pushing buttons and relaying requests.

"Say, we confirm Lockheart is there, what are you thinking?" Oliver pulled Balkan aside.

"We snatch the chip. Torch everything else."

"And risk all kinds of violations, including paramountcy and UN laws?"

"Give me another option?" Balkan rubbed his temples. "Lockheart's there to make an illicit deal. We have the right to retrieve our property."

"That's for the lawyers to hash out," Oliver said. "Look, I can get a team there in no time. But we have to be sure, else we'll have a domestic incident on our hands. And we don't need another one right on top of Caracas."

"It's on me, okay?"

"Reckless, Victor. Forget the White House, Dallas-Austin would crucify you."

"The alternative is to let Carnivora go to a hostile party. Yes, Dallas-Austin would have something to say then. You're damned either way."

"Okay, okay," Oliver agreed. "I'll pull an extraction team together."

"Are they good?"

"Tier-One, they don't get better."

"How fast can you get them there?"

"Closest team is in Panama," Oliver continued, "They can high-tail there before sunrise and take the ship, once it's confirmed."

"Then, spin them up, Charles. And stay frosty. I'll let you know once I know."

"Where would you be?"

"Right here with him." Balkan thumbed at the tech, then slumped in the chair. There won't be any peaceful sleep tonight.

* * *

"Heads up, we have contact." The Imaging man tapped the FLIR monitor with his index finger, waking Balkan. "First customer."

"What time is it?" Balkan jolted up, rubbing his eyes.

"Time log 0242 hours."

"I told you to wake me when the MAV is operational."

"We're jacked in," the tech announced, his fingers dancing on the holo-board, sounding like raindrops on foam. "RedEye is open."

"So what do we have?" Balkan ignored the insolence, leaned forward and blinked several times to wet his eyeballs.

"Angle of approach good, strong easterly," the man at the controls said.

LIDAR beams ranged out from the drone's cranium while micro actuators powered up, fluttering its wings in a whisper blur, much like a real hummingbird.

The avian drone fell from the night sky and flared its wings, catching the strong wind. It hovered at first to get a bearing.

"RedEye is active. Telemetry strong. Visuals good. We have flight dynamics. I'm enhancing No. 1. Standby."

Camera 1 zoomed in on the sprawling deck as the drone caught lift, rising higher with each flap and pull.

"You see, no worries," the tech said. "They're the Cadillac of MAVs. Very stable. They could fly in thirty-mile crosswinds, no problemo. Ten-hour battery. Excellent cameras array and collision radars."

The bird soon picked up a pair of armed guards walking the upper deck and fluttered back over dark waters.

Balkan watched the streamed images from RedEye, its dual cameras overlapped to offer a 360 viewpoint in stark black and white -- thermal differentiation.

The fake bird hovered outside a window and alighted on a ledge, getting a view of the interior. With insulated glass filled with silver chloride gas, it could only make out blurred silhouettes.

"We have only visual packets . . . No audio at present," the controller reported.

Balkan leaned closer to the screen. "Find him."

"No RFID reading from inside anywhere. They're covering up. That's a good sign."

"Good?" Balkan remarked sourly. "How so?"

"They got signal baffles all around the ship. It means whoever's aboard doesn't want to be found."

"I don't care if you have to crash that thing in there, if they're taking a leak, I wanna see it zipped up. And continue to take that flippant tone with me and I'll throw you in Oz, get me?"

Beads of sweat formed on the tech's brow. His voice skipped a beat. "Yes sir, I'll spin up RedEye and scan along the port side. There's bound to be someplace I can make entry."

A few minutes later, the bird disappeared through a porthole into the galley.

"We're in," the controller whispered as if that mattered.

RedEye hovered and settled onto an exposed pipe running along the ceiling. It perched high in the darkened corner, its cranial cameras rotating independently like the eyes of a chameleon.

Data poured out from RedEye as it tracked the figures walking below it. From its angle, capturing their faces for a full biometric scan proved difficult.

Balkan waited.

"Zoom in on that one," said Balkan, tapping on the monitor.

"Copy," the camera geek obeyed.

A kitchen staffer in white uniform roamed the kitchen, making a sandwich late at night, arranging delicacies on a porcelain plate. The food was for someone else.

"Stay on him," Balkan insisted. "I want a usable profile."

RedEye shifted position and flapped its wings, disturbing the air ever so slightly as it followed the kitchen-hand, hopping in spurts down the corridor to the guest cabin.

The staffer knocked. The door opened.

The biometric sensors started to beep. Balkan didn't need their algorithm to recognize the man. Lockheart stood in the doorway without a shirt as he accepted the covered tray. Farther inside the cabin, a slender arm reached up from under his covers.