The Pirate Hunters (46 page)
“We’ll be back in business in less than a month,” Graves told the team members now. “And we’ll be richer for it, too.”
There were high fives all round, and then Graves said he’d meet them back in his room for some serious drinking. But first he wanted to go talk to Nolan.
He made his way down the corridor and up the stairs, finally arriving outside Nolan’s room. There was a long, narrow window on the door, and before knocking, Graves peeked in.
He saw Nolan, standing at the foot of his bed, his back partially turned to him. Oddly, Nolan had a typical household iron in his hand and a small ironing board set up in front of him.
Graves actually scratched his head. What the heck was he doing?
He watched his colleague for a few moments and then realized that Nolan was ironing an American flag. Graves recognized it as the same flag Nolan had given to Twitch to stem his bleeding that night over the Talua Tangs, the same one Nolan had waved from the mast of the DUS-7 to save them from getting sunk by the Navy fighter jets, the same one Nolan had been quietly carrying around with him ever since that fateful day at Tora Bora.
As Graves continued watching, Nolan pressed out the newly washed flag firm and square. Then, putting the iron aside, he meticulously folded the flag into a triangle, and finally sat on the edge of his bed. He started turning the folded flag over and over in his hands, stopping only occasionally to wipe his good eye.
Graves removed his hand from the doorknob and decided not to knock. He quietly walked away.
They could talk some other time.
A FEW MINUTES
later, Nolan carefully laid the flag on the table next to his bed. He walked out on the open balcony of his suite and sat in the padded chair there. From here he could look right out on the Mediterranean.
He could see all kinds of ships passing by: pleasure boats, commercial ships. Some military vessels. The afternoon was warm with only a slight breeze, but out on the water, several fog banks had emerged.
Nolan wiped his moist eye a few more times, then leaned back and eventually fell into a deep sleep, his first in a very long time.
Had he stayed awake, though, he would have seen an unusual vessel passing slowly out of one fog bank.
It was container ship, painted black with a white bridge—and to anyone paying attention, it looked curiously empty.
It was in sight for only a minute or so, before it slipped into another fog bank and vanished again.
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