by Unknown
Pegram was visibly upset, but he was a professional soldier and that just wouldn’t do. “Carry on Captain,” he said. The two saluted and Special Team Five moved out with their rescued hostage. After they had moved off a few yards Pegram turned to his men, still covered in yellow splotches. “Alright, ladies, this is one we aren’t going to live down. Looks like we need some more training ourselves. Sergeant, pack it up. We move out in five,” he ordered. The Major turned and watched as the team melded into the surrounding swamp. “How the hell did they do that,” he asked himself.
Interstate 5
Lieutenant Junior Grade Jacob Stark was getting to like the big Oldsmobile. As the Commissary Officer aboard the Kings Mountain he wasn’t really needed for the short trip back to San Diego, so he had been chosen to drive the Admiral’s car back. He was used to a quick little Honda Civic. The big Olds with its 455 cubic inch engine made him feel like he was riding a thoroughbred. Just the slightest tough of the accelerator and the car instantly responded, pressing him firmly back into the bench seat. He had actually spun the rear wheels as he left the parking lot.
Now Stark was a little concerned. He knew what had happened to the Admiral’s wife. About half way back to San Diego he noticed the older white car in his rear view window. It seemed to stay about two cars behind. Every time he passed a car, the other one kept up. One time, he hit the accelerator and made a dash down the road. The other car followed suit. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the San Diego base operator.
“Give me the Naval Investigative Service,” he said quickly. Two rings later he was connected. “This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Jacob Stark. I’m on Interstate Five heading south nearing San Diego. I’m driving Vice Admiral Hammond’s yellow Oldsmobile back from San Pedro, and I believe I’m being followed.”
The agent didn’t make the connection. “Well, lieutenant, what does that have to do with us?”
Stark actually looked down and stared at the phone with disbelief. Shaking his head, he continued, “Well, considering his wife was one of the people kidnapped in Colombia last night, don’t you think it’s a little strange?”
The agent sat up straight. Until now he hadn’t made the connection. He motioned for others to pick up. “Okay, what makes you think you’re being followed,” he asked.
“There’s a small, older white Nissan that I’ve been watching for the last thirty minutes. He stays about 100 yards or so back. But every time I move, he moves. When I speed up or slow down, he does too. He’s just not acting like the rest of the drivers. With all that’s happened, I thought you might want to know.”
There was another voice on the line. “Lieutenant, this is Agent Carlson. Can you read the plates?”
“No sir, he stays just far back enough that I can’t. I can see that it’s like an older Nissan Altima and there appears to be a dent in his front bumper, like he’s hit a pole or something. I’m driving the admiral’s yellow Oldsmobile convertible. I think he said it was a 1968 model. The base should have the tag number since he has a sticker on the windshield. What should I do?”
Smart kid, Agent Carlson thought. “Alright Lieutenant, here’s what we do. You just keep on driving normal. I want you to come straight back to the base and come through the main gate like there’s nothing wrong. Where did they tell you to take the car?”
“Pier seven is where the Kings Mountain should come back to. I was told to take the car there and wait for the ship,” Stark said.
Thinking quickly, Carlson shook his head. “I have a better idea. There’s a small office building with a big parking lot just inside the gate to the left. I want you to pull around, park the car where it can easily be see from across the train tracks. Then quickly go inside the building. Just wait there until I come get you. You have that?”
“Yes sir,” said Stark.
“Good. We’ll take it from here. If it is someone following you, we’ll take care of it,” Carlson said.
Stark glanced at his watch. “I should be entering the main gate in about 20 minutes.”
“We’ll be waiting. Good job lieutenant,” Carlson said as he hung up the phone. “Okay people, let’s get in some cars. I want to get eyes on this guy in the white Nissan and keep them there. I don’t want him knowing we’re onto him just yet. Let’s give him some rope to hang himself. Get another car in the parking lot outside the gate. He’ll probably park somewhere nearby to keep an eye on the Admiral’s car. We keep our distance and watch. If it’s a false alarm, no harm done. If not, we catch him and find out what he’s up to. Let’s move people.” As half a dozen agents left the office, Carlson picked up the phone and dialed the Secret Service field office.
Interstate 5, 100 yards back
Juan Ricardo felt out of his league. He had been in the United States with a work visa for the past three years working to promote Venezuelan agricultural products. But his paycheck was for his other job – to gather information on certain aviation activities at several of the bases in Southern California. It was an easy job. With hills surrounding most installations, it was no problem watching any newly developed aircraft, how they handled and what they looked like. Boeing, Northrop-Grumman, General Dynamics, all of them had facilities in the area. He could sit in his car and watch, take photos and pass the word back to his superiors. But following people was not his expertise. His instructions were to follow this man and his car wherever he went and report in. So far, there hadn’t been a problem. The yellow Olds was easy to see and despite some erratic driving, he was able to keep up. His problem would be if the car went inside one of the naval bases. He couldn’t go in there. It meant he would have to wait outside until this guy left. Oh well, this is keeping my family living well, he thought to himself.
As they entered heavier traffic, he got closer to his charge. After a few minutes he watched as the Oldsmobile entered the main gate of the San Diego Naval Base. The car disappeared from his view. He pulled into a parking lot off McCandless Boulevard to wait. Ricardo couldn’t believe his luck when the yellow car pulled into a large parking lot across the highway and parked almost at the fence. He saw the occupant, in his white uniform, get out of the car and go in a small building. Shutting off the engine, he sat back in his seat and relaxed. No problem, he thought to himself.
One row back, a silver Dodge Charger eased into a spot facing the rear of the white Nissan. The darkened windows kept anyone from seeing the two agents inside. They radioed their fellow agents in a blue Ford Mustang sitting just inside the lot. Now they would wait.
The White House
“What do you mean he’s being followed?” the President asked.
“We have two cars with eyeballs on the person right now,” Kurt West said. “When a young officer was detailed to take Hammond’s car back to San Diego, he noticed it and called in. He’s sitting in an old Nissan across from the Naval Station gate watching the car like a hawk.”
“What about the other families? Are they being tailed too?” the President asked.
West shook his head. “Not as far as I can tell so far. It’s a little soon, but we immediately sent people out to check. The first indications are that he’s the only one.”
The President sat back and thought a minute. “Any idea who this guy is yet?”
“Not yet. We have good photos and we’re running his face through the system. I even have people checking with Immigration in case he’s come in from outside. I should have something tomorrow morning,” West said.
“Okay, now the big question – why Roger?”
West shrugged. “Whoever it is, they’re afraid of him or what he might do. He’s the only military man in the bunch. My guess is they think he might just be able to do them some harm. Why else would you keep tabs on a guy?”
The President chuckled. “Whoever it is has that right. Roger could put a hurt on just about anyone if he put his mind to it. Just looking at what he did during the last war.” The President stopped and his eyes widened a bit. He looked at West, who
had the same expression on his face.
“But why him instead of people in the Pentagon? It’s not a U.S. retaliation they’re afraid of, it’s him,” said West as he thought it through.
The President sat a moment in thought, then a smile appeared on his face. “Of course it’s him. Either this is a retaliation against him for the war – which is a little unlikely, or they found out they had his wife and are taking some precautions. Remember what he did with the Iowa? He dashed in and wiped out dozens of enemy positions along the coast. When he had a task force full of battleships he did even more damage. I bet they think he might just get in his old ship and try something,” the President said with some excitement.
“Yea, but no one man can take something like a battleship and act on his own,” said West.
The President nodded. “To us that’s true, but to someone who considers himself all powerful, who has people jumping at his command, it’s another story.”
West nodded. It made sense. “Looks like I need to get people looking at each of the battleship sites as well. If some people are watching those, we may have something to go on,” he said.
“Good enough. Now what about this guy watching Hammond?”
West smiled. “I want to trail him along a bit. Let him think he’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to do, then when the time is right, we nail him and get a little information. If there are people watching those ships or any of the other families, we’ll nail them at the same time. By then, we may know who they are reporting to.”
“You’re a sneaky SOB when you want to be, Kurt. Let’s get these guys,” the President said with a grin.
West gave a wink. “Yes sir, Mister President,” he said as he turned and left the room.
The President chuckled and turned to his secure phone. After a hit on his speed dial someone answered immediately. “This is the President, let me speak to Admiral Johnson,” he said. It only took a moment before Admiral Johnson came on the line. “Admiral, I’d like to know when the next two battleships are scheduled for their underway periods.”
“No problem, sir, as I recall the North Carolina is scheduled for later this month and the Iowa is just after the election in November. Missouri is next after that out in Pearl. Is something up?” Johnson asked.
“Maybe. Kurt West just handed me some information that could be interesting. Didn’t you tell me that those crewmen were still aboard Iowa?”
The Chief of Naval Operations chuckled, “Yes sir. They refuse to leave until their mayor’s back.”
“Bless their hearts. I’m thinking about making their dreams come true. How quick could we get a reserve crew onboard?” the President asked.
“Less than a week if we push it. You need me to come over?”
“No, but you might have your staff take a look at both ships getting underway a little early. We’ll talk in the morning at the briefing.”
“Boss, I’m sensing the devious side in you. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll have some answers for you,” Johnson said.
“Thanks, Perry. It could be fun. Good night,” the President said as he hung up the phone.
In the Pentagon, Perry Johnson sat back in his chair. Something was cooking and his boss needed some answers. He smiled. The President was right. It could be fun. Two calls later and the halls on the Navy side of the Pentagon began to churn.
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
Dale Ricks sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi-like hot tub, adjusted the rubber feet over the stumps of his legs and swung himself over the side and into the warm, bubbly water. He immediately let out an audible sigh. After four days in the swamps, his muscles ached and the water caressed every part of him. At the debrief, there wasn’t a single fault found in his team’s execution. The hostage had been rescued and the bad guys eliminated. Not a bad end to any situation, he thought to himself. But the hours required to remain unmoving, or only slightly moving, through the warm infested, murky waters, had left his body stiff and sore. Even when the water moccasin had decided to perch itself on his camouflaged helmet, he had been unable to react to it. Only when he had slowly submerged his head under the water did the snake finally swim away. That alone had taken ten minutes. Such was the price to pay for being stealthy. Ricks slowly turned his body in the roiling water to stretch his tired muscles and let the tension drain away.
As Ricks finally sat back and let the bubbles do their work, one of the staff plopped down beside him in the water. Staff Sergeant Stan Whitman was a part of the training staff at the school. As another Army member, he and Ricks had hit it off over a beer the night Ricks pulled in. Whitman was tall and lanky, but he could throw a 200 pound man through a brick wall whenever he liked.
“Damn, Ricks, did you have to embarrass the Major that bad? He’s going to be after the rest of us for weeks,” Whitman said with a grin.
Ricks shrugged. “If he wants to play with the big guys, he needs to bone up a little,” he said without opening his eyes.
Whitman chuckled. “I just wish I could have been there to see the look in his face. He walks around here like he’s a gift from the gods. This should knock him down a peg or two. He’s been saying for a long time that his team was the best. Then you made him eat those words. You being an Army puke made it even worse,” he said.
“Well, you can tell that Marine that I got my training in the wilds of Korea. Spent over a month behind enemy lines. When the Marines needed help, they called on me,” Ricks said with a grin. “I even have a Navy Cross to prove it.”
“Not to mention the big one,” said Whitman, referring to his Medal of Honor. “You did real good out there, man. Your team is top notch. Who knows, you might even get called in for the latest,” he said.
Ricks and his team had been out for days and hadn’t heard of anything in the outside world. He got a puzzled look on his face as he turned his head toward Whitman. “Haven’t heard. What’s happened?”
“Seems like somebody decided they didn’t like us again. They kidnapped over a dozen of our mayors at some conference down in Colombia,” Whitman said.
“Any ideas who did it?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Ricks grunted. “Why is it some of these guys think they can get away with this shit,” he said disgustedly.
“Same old thing. We’re the big bad Americans. ‘I’ll get you,’ and all that. They really aren’t too smart,” said Whitman.
“Ain’t that the truth. And as usual, we get to clean up their mess. Anybody special we might have heard of?”
“Not really, but it turns out one of the mayors is married to some navy admiral. The news has made a little fuss over it. Other than that…”
Ricks sat up and looked hard at Whitman. “You know the name?”
Whitman was a little surprised. Suddenly the water had turned really cold. “I think it was something like Hammer or Hanley, or something.”
“Roger Hammond?”
“Yea, that was it. Why?”
Ricks pulled himself quickly out of the water and grabbed his towel.
“What’s the matter, Dale? You know this guy or something?”
Ricks turned and looked at Whitman. To Whitman, Ricks face had changed from its normal easy going look to one that made him shiver. It was a face you didn’t want to see on a dark night. “He’s a friend of mine,” said Ricks.
Whitman was about to say something when a young Private came into the gym shouting Ricks’ name.
“Master Sergeant Ricks, the CO wants to see you and your team ASAP,” the young man said.
Ricks glanced at Whitman. “I guess you were right,” he said as he headed for the dressing room.
Chapter 6
Assembling Assets
American Flight 497Enroute to Washington, DC
The red-eye flight from San Diego to Washington was not Hammond’s favorite, but it was the quickest way to get involved that he knew of. The minute he got off the Kings Mountain in San Diego, he had been surrounded by
security. Back in his office, they briefed him on the man following his car and a plan was hatched. A senior officer in the security detail was given the keys to his car and his home. While everything was getting set up, Hammond got a briefing from his staff on all that was known about the incident so far. The CNO’s office had personally made sure they were in the loop for anything that came up. Hammond was told that his boss, the Commander in Chief, Pacific, had ordered him to temporary duty in the office of the Chief of Naval Operations until the situation was over. He was also given a reservation for the evening flight leaving San Diego at 8 pm. By 5 pm, a bag had been brought from his home back to the office. The senior officer, a Navy Commander, was now dressed in a vice admiral’s uniform, and went out of the building. He climbed into Hammond’s car and drove back to his home. Just as expected, the tail followed him. Hammond, now in civilian clothes, was placed in the back of one of the security cars and driven to the airport. There was a two hour delay in Los Angeles, but finally he was in the air headed toward Washington.
Hammond tried to sleep, but the events were too much to handle. He was still trying to run things through his mind, going through details over and over again. The movie was some comedy about college teens which usually ended with a prank played on some unsuspecting character. Searching through the seatback pocket, he pulled out a magazine and began leafing through it. He was interrupted by someone kneeling beside his seat.
