The gate arm lifted, and we drove onto the tarmac.

A Gulfstream C-37 sat waiting, its engines already whining.

The smell of jet fuel filled the cold air as I stepped out of the car.

A young lieutenant in service dress stood at the foot of the airstair.

He saluted me.

“Admiral Hart, we are ready for you,” he said.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” I said, returning the salute.

I walked up the metal steps, the wind tugging at my coat.

The interior of the plane was quiet and smelled of leather and fresh coffee.

I sat in the forward cabin at the conference table.

A flat-screen monitor mounted on the bulkhead flickered to life.

Miller sat across from me and opened his laptop.

“The secure link with the *Donald Cook* is established, ma’am,” Miller said.

He handed me a lightweight headset.

I slipped it on and pressed the button.

“Captain Vance, this is Admiral Hart,” I said.

“Admiral,” a deep voice responded through the static. “Good evening, ma’am.”

“Give me the picture, Captain,” I said.

“The target vessel is a mid-sized freighter flying a flag of convenience,” Vance said.