Free Black Horizon by James Grippando Page A

Jack, turning back to his iPad, “there are good reasons for this court to allow me to seize a supertanker. The latest projections from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration have oil landing on Florida’s beaches within the next four to five days if the spill is not shut off at the faucet. My understanding is that the consortium is still waiting around for a capping stack from Scotland. Seizure of a Venezuelan supertanker might give Mr. Candela’s client just enough incentive to get things under control before disaster strikes.”
    Candela quickly conferred with his co-counsel, urgent whispers flying back and forth at their table. The entire team appeared anxious to shut down Jack’s pipeline to the press. Candela faced the judge and cleared his throat, the words not coming easy.
    “Your Honor, a ten-million-dollar bond in the wrongful death suit will be fine.”
    “So ordered,” said the judge. “I will defer ruling in the property claim cases.”
    “Defer ruling?” said Candela. “But our supertankers—”
    “The matter is deferred,” the judge said firmly.
    Candela shot a quick but angry glare at Jack. It was obvious that Jack’s final point—his mere suggestion that the court had the power to push the consortium to expedite containment efforts—made it impossible for a judge who was elected by the citizens of Key West to side with a Venezuelan oil company.
    “Judge,” said Candela, “Venezuela is this country’s fourth-largest supplier. The United States depends on Venezuelan crude for heating oil and—”
    “That will do, Mr. Candela. We are adjourned.”
    The judge ended it with a bang of her gavel. The crowd rose upon the bailiff’s command, the judge exited through the side door to her chambers, and the courtroom was immediately abuzz. Reporters leaned over the rail, calling Jack’s name, peppering him with questions about a lawsuit that, until Freddy’s ambush in open court, had managed to slide into the courthouse without notice.
    “Who is Bianca Lopez?”
    “Where does she live?”
    “When can we talk to her, please?”
    Jack did not respond. He grabbed his iPad and pushed through the crowd toward the rear exit, not so much as glancing in Freddy’s direction on his way down the center aisle.

Chapter 12
    A ndie took the Red Line into Washington, D.C., exited the Metro at the Judiciary Square Station, and walked three blocks to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. She was alone. And she was at that early stage of an assignment where she needed to remind herself every now and then that her name was Viola.
    Viola , she thought, noting another wave of “morning” sickness, even though it was five o’clock in the afternoon. How do you like that name, baby?
    Her meeting at FBI headquarters was in a windowless room below ground level. The entire undercover team had been summoned for an update on Operation Big Dredge. Three months before, when Andie had signed on to the operation, she was told that it was an investigation into organized crime and business cheats from south Florida to Guangdong who were making billions on the smuggling and sale of counterfeit goods. But that evening, at their first official meeting since Andie’s deployment into the field, the team leader’s welcome made it clear that “smuggling” and “counterfeiting” had never been the real targets of the investigation.
    “Say good-bye to Big Dredge,” he said to a roomful of agents, “and welcome to Operation Black Horizon.”
    Andie was seated in the front row of metal folding chairs as the lights dimmed and, with the hum of an electric motor, a projection screen descended from a slot in the ceiling. Andie had seen enough television news coverage about the spill to recognize the image immediately: the Scarborough 8 oil rig floating in blue waters—before the explosion.
    Agent Anthony Douglas was a Gulf War veteran and former Marine officer, the quintessential team leader. He walked slowly up and down