Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(23)
Gravois continued. “In any event, your tenacity and industry in the face of such adversity”—he paused, smiling slightly at his choice of words—“proves we should’ve pursued amity between our peoples from the beginning, and”—he waved again at the bay—“even depleted as you are, and confident of victory as I would be, I must concede that full-scale hostilities between us—which we do not desire—could weaken the League at a time it can ill afford it. Even if destroying you only required the redeployment of sufficient assets to accomplish the task.”
“I guarantee a fight with us’ll take more than just a redeployment,” Matt said with complete conviction, leveling a piercing gaze on Leopardo’s captain. “And USS Walker has accounted for more enemy tonnage that we can calculate, including a Kagero class destroyer and a forty-odd-thousand-ton battle cruiser, either of which could’ve turned your ‘little’ ship to scrap. So I wouldn’t go looking for distinction at her expense, if I were you.” A predatory grin slashed his face. “I can’t deny Walker may need a touch of paint and a bolt tightened here and there, but she and her people know how to take down heavyweights. They’ve had a lot of practice. Have you?”
It was Ciano’s turn to bristle, but Gravois touched his arm. “Nothing could be farther from our intent than a confrontation of any sort, I assure you.”
“Good,” Matt replied. “Because we’ll be watching. You and your oiler will have safe passage down the Mozambique—I mean, Go Away Strait—and around the cape.” He paused. “And I wouldn’t expect a friendly welcome at Alex-aandra, if I were you, after the way Savoie behaved there. If you’ve got the fuel, I’d highly recommend you just keep going.” His expression went blank. “But if you deviate in any way from a least-time course to the Atlantic, you’ll think you kicked a hornet’s nest. You might knock down a few of our planes,” he conceded, “but the rest’ll shred your ships. Our pilots’ve had a lot of practice too.” He glared at Gravois. “And the same goes for the Kraut U-boat you’ve got sneaking around. When we find it, we’ll sink it on sight. Period.”
For the first time, Matt appeared to have broken Gravois’s self-possession, but the Frenchman quickly recovered. “I have no idea what you mean,” he said, eyes narrowing, suddenly darting, searching. “Even if the League had a submersible in these waters, how would we supply it?” He waved at the Spanish oiler. “We’re taking everything away—that is in our power. And speaking of what is in whose power, where is my pilot? Oberleuitnant Fiedler?”
“Just now worried about him?” Matt asked dryly.
“Maybe Chiss-maas Island wasn’t the only base they had in this ocean,” Chack said aside to Safir Maraan, speaking for the first time, and Gravois goggled at him.
“Yeah, our people out of Ja-vaa found it,” Matt told him, “while searching for survivors from Amerika. So now we know at least one of the ways you’ve been spying on us for Kurokawa. The base was abandoned, but it’s clear it was recently occupied by your League. It’s ours now, including the intact fuel-oil tank batteries you were kind enough to leave behind. But if we find another—and we’ll be looking now—whoever’s there will get just one chance to surrender before we bomb it out. Clear?”
“Of course,” Gravois answered distractedly. “But where is Fiedler?”
Hardly noticed until then, except for appraising glances when he and Lawrence—and Petey—joined the group, Silva suddenly slapped his own face. “Goddamn it! There’s a bug in my eye!”
Nearly everyone jumped, but Matt kept watching Gravois. His reaction to the fact they knew about the submarine had been revealing, for a number of reasons. “Shit!” Silva cursed, bending low, and mashing around his eye with a finger.
“Shit!” Petey shrieked in alarm, spewing sticky, chitinous fragments. Disturbed from his perch by Silva’s antics, he launched himself at the nearest person—Gravois—who frantically twisted away, swatting with his hands, terror rising on his face. Petey landed on the dock, glaring at Gravois for refusing him refuge, and then quickly scampered up Chack’s leg, over his rhino-pig armor, and settled on his shoulder.
“Bastard’s kickin’ an’ floppin’ all around!” Dennis snapped. “Damn it! He just took a plug outa my eyeball!”
“Here, let I see,” Lawrence said solicitously, trying to pry Silva’s hands away.
“The hell with that! Get your damn, poky claws away from my one damn eye! Are you nuts?”
To his credit, Gravois quickly collected himself. Straightening his tunic beneath his belt, he smirked. “Ah. The inestimable Mr. Silva!” he said, his tone ironic. “Brought low by a meager insect!”
Silva slowly straightened, still pawing at his eyelid, but the eye inside was steady—and hard. “An’ you nearly pissed yerself at the sight of a little lizard, no more dangerous than a mouse. You ask where’s Fiedler. I’ll ask one more time where’s Lady Sandra an’ the rest. They better be safe.”
Gravois’s smirk disappeared and he took a step back. “I have done—and will continue to do—all I can, by radio, to our, ah, embassy at Zanzibar, to ensure she and the others remain unharmed.” He turned to Matt. “You must trust me, Captain Reddy, in this above all else.” His voice had taken on a tone of pleading sincerity. “If in nothing else,” he added bleakly, then shook his head. “But Kurokawa is mad. There is no telling what he might do.”