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I sat opposite Anastasia on a kitchen stool, nodding and comparing notes while we jointly scanned copies of invoice documents Rania had dropped off at breakfast. I had already paid the security company running our DRC mission, so a cursory audit was a matter of curiosity and understanding costs.
I anticipated our mission budget would be blown, and it was. Most basic hostage rescue services cost one hundred thousand dollars per day, but we had rented a private navy, army, and air force using an aircraft carrier as their base of operations.
“How do you hire an Aircraft Carrier, Rania?”
“This one is ancient but well-maintained. It was delivered to the British Royal Navy in 1945, sold to the Brazilian Navy in 1960, and then to private owners in 2002. It is two hundred and eleven meters long, has a full-blown surgery and medical team on board, galley, cinema, and comfortable accommodation for up to three hundred souls plus crew.”
“Does the aircraft carrier have a name?”
“Vengeance.”
“Aren’t there rules about having privately owned weapons like this aircraft carrier floating on the high seas?”
“The gun and missile systems were decommissioned before private owners took control. It’s just a big gray ship with a flat deck until they turn it into a battleship for as long as you need it to be one.”
“It’s very ingenious. I’m guessing the big gray ship with a flat deck was hired by several governments that wanted to keep their missions off their own vessels.”
“Mostly, that’s our alphabet agencies, Amy.”