Tate — Sorrento, Italy
Bob Swatling fought down his mounting panic as he called Wayland Tate on one of the disposable encrypted phones. It was three o’clock in the morning in New York, nine o’clock on the Bacchus in the Bay of Sorrento.
Tate answered the phone from the upper deck where he was enjoying coffee with his lady friends. “What is it?” he asked, recognizing the emergency ID. He stood up and walked toward the ship’s stern.
“We just finished analyzing the telephone and video monitoring feeds after hacking into the Lake House security system. Fourteen hours ago, David Quinn met with Sam Wiseman, Deputy Director of the FBI, and Kirsten Kohl, head of the FBI’s corporate crime division. He spilled the beans on you and Kamin. Vargas was upstairs in the spa. She knows nothing about it.”
Tate’s body tensed, his mind immediately immersed in contingencies.
“Keep Vargas uninformed. I’ll contact Marco. You can advise Kamin. He’s in Rome. Tell him to switch identities and get lost for a few days. I’ll be doing the same,” Tate said decisively. “Double check the Musselman trading entities. Close down anything that won’t withstand an SEC inquisition. I’ll take care of the other partners. Call me again in two hours.”
“Will do,” Swatling said before clicking off.
Tate left straightaway for the ship’s bridge one deck below. He told the captain to raise anchor, display the yacht’s alternate identity, and chart a course for Monaco where he had full diplomatic immunity. Then he went to his private office off the master suite and opened the concealed vault. He withdrew two encrypted cell phones. His first call was to Diane Morita who was staying at the Quisiana on the island of Capri. He told her to begin executing emergency contingency plans and to advise key partners, the clandestine supplier network, and her staff-with the exception of Andrea Vargas. His second call was to Marco, notifying him to begin damage control immediately.