B00H242ZGY EBOK

by Unknown

  Hammond rubbed his eyes. He was losing too much sleep lately. He forced himself to remember that he had to be objective and forget that one of the people he was to save was his own wife. That was getting harder to do. He pulled out his wallet and looked at her picture. Yes, he was just old fashioned enough to keep her picture there like they did in the old days. There she was, smiling back at him like always. There was always that little twinkle in her eyes that he had found so attractive. It was almost like she was telling him she knew what he was up to. In a lot of cases she did.

  He sat back and chuckled over the roar of the engines. She would be waiting for him now. At least he hoped she knew he would be coming. He hadn’t let her down yet. He would always be there.

  The aircraft began to bank and Hammond came out of his thoughts to look out the side window. In the distance he caught sight of a large flat topped ship. It quickly passed from his view as did a smaller ship. The crewman motioned for him to buckle up. Hammond nodded and gave a tug on the seatbelt reassuring the crewman and himself. Turning his gaze back out of the window he noticed that the propellers had begun to tilt from horizontal toward the vertical. He could feel the speed drain off the aircraft. Then he noticed what looked like a wake passing along their port side.

  The aircraft slowed almost to a stop, matching the speed of the ship, then eased over the after deck and gently set down almost dead center of a large white circle with a line through it. Once stopped, men on the deck rushed out to chock the wheels and stabilize the aircraft. The rear hatch opened and after waiving thanks to the crew, Hammond stepped off the aircraft. He walked over to one man, in khaki’s and shook his hand. Within a few minutes, the Osprey lifted back into the air and began making its way to the USS Wasp just a few miles distant.

  Walking up to his stateroom, Hammond was greeted by many of the crew. There were a few new faces, since many were reservists on their ‘two week’ training cruise, but everyone knew who he was. Heading up the port side, Hammond made his way to the ladder just aft of the wardroom pantry. Just a few steps later and he was in his quarters. Captain Rhodes, who had met him on deck, welcomed him back.

  “Any new word from on high?” asked Rhodes.

  “Not yet,” said Hammond. “Other than the fact that someone leaked that our team was on the way. But I have some ideas to get them in and get them out. Where is the North Carolina?”

  “One day out. The State Department got all the permissions and they should have a great time,” Rhodes said. “Oh, and your staff should get here in about an hour. They flew into Pensacola and were picked up from there. They’re coming in the second special Osprey.”

  Hammond nodded. “Good. You have their spaces ready?”

  “All set. Captain Moyseowicz will be one level up and the others we are spreading out along the O-2 level aft near the staff spaces. The comm gear is set up and operating. The equipment you brought in will have them set up nicely. Anything left out we can handle. Strike has been set up to be your command post.”

  “Not the flag plot?”

  “Too small,” Rhodes said. “Besides, we aren’t actually going into battle. But if we do, I am assured it’s just the flick of a switch. CIC will take over most functions unless we need the space. One thing I’m also doing, and I hope you don’t mind, I’m having the gunners do pre-fire checks every day so we will be ready for anything. I know we’re just supposed to be decoys, but somehow I don’t want to take that chance,” he said.

  Hammond looked approvingly at Rhodes. He liked a guy who took no chances. “How many guns will be available?” he asked.

  “Turrets one and three and all the five-inch. We had the gunshot while you were in DC. We’re ready in case this all goes to hell and a handbag. Just thought you’d like to know,” Rhodes said.

  “Good work. Keep thinking that way and I’ll feel a lot better. Let me know when the staff gets here. I tasked the Chief of Staff with working up a plan to retrieve and deliver the team. The main thing is to be ready when the ‘go’ signal is issued. The first part of my plan is with the North Carolina, then we send a little message. I even have something up my sleeve for the Freedom and the Cochrane. I think it’s time to scare the hell out of someone,” Hammond said.

  Rhodes tilted his head and smiled. “No arguments from me.”

  Hammond walked forward and looked out of one of the portholes. USS Freedom was on station just ahead of Iowa on her port side. He wished he could be aboard when she opened it up.

  Chapter 11

  Data

  NSA, Washington, DC

  It didn’t take long. The NSA analyst began pulling up the data. For several years they had watched who had made phone calls and from where, especially calls to or from outside the United States. The laws strictly prohibited listening in without a judge’s permission. But knowing the call was made, what lines were used, the time the calls were made and the duration were fair game. The NSA had amassed tons of digital data, just waiting for the right request. Since the analyst had the date and time and phone number used, it was simple to pull up the records.

  The 202 area code number actually went to what some called a processing facility where numbers were redirected as needed. These were used often to follow business leaders and their staff when traveling. But this year, the largest users were political candidates. Long ago the NSA had learned to follow that routing to get to the real source. In this case, the number was routed to the campaign headquarters of Gregory Foster, a Congressman currently running for President of the United States. The analyst blinked. “Oh shit,” he said out loud. He saw the one outgoing call to Venezuela and the return call. He also saw a call from another 202 area code to that number just fifteen minutes before the first call to Venezuela was made. Checking the records, it led to one of the few operating pay phones still left in Washington. This one was in the Pentagon. After a quick phone call, all the video monitoring data was being gathered for analysis. In this case, they already knew the day and time. It wouldn’t take long. His briefing and the evidence so far was turned over to his superiors. The revelation of who might be involved worried all of them, but for the analyst, it made no difference. Someone at the headquarters of a presidential candidate had just violated Title 18, U.S.C.

  An hour later, after scanning the video from the security cameras, there was a face and a name to go with the telephone call.

  The Pentagon

  “Do you recognize this young man?” asked one of the FBI agents assigned to the case. General Richardson looked hard at the image on the screen. “I’ve seen him. I’m not sure which office, but in my travels around I’ve seen that face. Hang on a sec,” she said as she called in her aide. “Captain Ramos, you know that guy?” she asked.

  “Yes Ma’am. That’s Captain David Ferrell. He works in the communications section. I know him because he’s usually the one to come get messages from this office,” said Ramos. “He heads up one of the teams down there.”

  The two agents looked at each other. “Is he on duty?” asked one of the men.

  “I’ll check,” said Ramos walking over to the computer on his desk. In just a second, he looked up. “Yes, sir, he’s working today.”

  By now, Richardson had a concerned look on her face. “Mind telling me what the problem is?”

  Agent Kelly came a little closer. “General, we need to get him up here without anyone noticing. Is there a way out of this place without being seen?”

  Now Richardson had alarm bells ringing in her head. “There’s an emergency exit across the hall. People might see you going in, but it is usually deserted from there on. Only our own security will be watching.”

  Kelly nodded. “It will have to do. General, it appears this man is your leak. We need to get him up here and get him out so we can talk to him without anyone knowing about it. We have a whole lot of questions to ask this young man.”

  Richardson’s face turned red. For a moment she appeared ready to explode. She turned to Ramos. “Captain,
give him a call and tell him there is a flash message I need to get out that’s top secret. Tell him it will be ready when he gets up here,” she said. Ramos turned and made the call.

  Richardson turned to the two agents. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  Kelly nodded, “About as sure as it gets.”

  Richardson slowly shook her head. “I don’t know how you guys do this, but if he is the one, I don’t care what it takes. You find out who he’s working with and where it leads. Even if you can’t prosecute, get the information. Then give what you have to me. Under the UCMJ, I can make that bastard wish he had never been born.”

  Kelly grinned. “Don’t worry Ma’am. We’re going to get him, and get him legally. Once we’re done with him, you are welcome to what’s left.”

  Richardson smiled. “Then he’s all yours,” she said.

  A few minutes later Captain Ferrell entered the outer office and was then sent to Richardson’s personal office. She was seated at her desk writing when he entered the room and came to attention. He didn’t notice the outer office door close.

  “Captain Ferrell, Ma’am. You have a flash priority message to go out?”

  She looked up from her desk. “Oh, I have a message alright,” she said.

  From behind him the two FBI agents stepped into the office.

  “Captain Ferrell, I am agent Kelly of the FBI. You are under arrest for violation of Title 18, U.S. Code. You have the right to remain silent,” said Kelly as he pulled the young man’s arms behind him and locked a set of handcuffs on his wrists.

  A look a horror swept across the man’s face. “What do you mean? I haven’t done anything,” Ferrell sputtered.

  As the other agent held him by the arm, Kelly walked in front of him. “Oh no? Let’s see, area code 202,” Kelly began as he recited the phone number Ferrell had called. “You also made the call from the pay phone near the men’s john on the food court. Thanks for turning toward the cameras for us,” he said.

  The revelation that he had been caught swept over Ferrell like a thick blanket. All his political dreams and aspirations had now evaporated and he suddenly saw himself breaking rocks in a penitentiary. He seemed to deflate before their eyes. He looked up with fearful eyes. “I want a lawyer,” he said.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get one,” said Kelly.

  Richardson walked from behind her desk. Her eyes were shooting flames at the young man as she walked directly in front of him and glared into him. “I suggest you cooperate fully with these men, Captain,” she said. “You have now become what we call a terrorist. What’s more, you have harmed both this nation and one of this nation’s heroes. More still, you have harmed a friend of mine. If you don’t give these men everything they need, you not only will piss off me, but every Marine and sailor in this nation.” Her face turned into an evil looking grin. “Now, you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?” she asked.

  Two near growls came from the outer office as the aide and secretary reacted to her words. It was too much. Ferrell suddenly went limp as he fainted dead away. The second agent caught him as he fell.

  Richardson turned and smiled at Kelly. “It seems our Captain is ill. I suggest you call an ambulance,” she said. “That should be inconspicuous enough.”

  Kelly’s face widened into a smile. “Remind me never to piss you off, General.”

  Within a few minutes a medical team entered the office and wheeled out a person covered in a white sheet. There was an oxygen mask over his face and tape over his forehead. The combination made Ferrell unrecognizable. He was quickly wheeled to the ambulance and taken to FBI headquarters.

  USS North Carolina

  The Immortal Showboat slowly made her way to her anchorage in Aruba’s harbor. Sailors dressed in summer white uniforms lined her decks outlining the ship’s lines and giving a crisp, clean appearance. Taking a tip from the Iowa, the Navy had sent along a Navy Band to play for the port visits. The musical theme to “The Showboat” blared from her deck as her huge anchor was freed and splashed into the water. Thousands of tourists and islanders watched in awe as she lowered her boats and prepared to open her decks for tours. The passengers aboard the two cruise ships docked at the piers waved and snapped photos of the magnificent sight. The North Carolina was the first battleship to ever pull into the Dutch port. It wasn’t long before she was surrounded with pleasure boats, their occupants waiving at the sailors from their decks.

  One of the spectators could not believe what he saw. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. “An American battleship just pulled into Aruba,” he said nervously. He listened to the reply and then stared at the receiver in his hand. “Of course I know what a battleship is. Do you think I am stupid? It’s one of the biggest ships I have ever seen, with huge guns on both ends. The paper said an American ship would pull in today but it said nothing about this. They said it would be here for two days,” he said. The reply was short. “Yes, I will watch the ship, but there are hundreds of sailors aboard. I can’t watch them too.” The response seemed to sicken the man. He snapped the cell phone shut and cursed. “Idiots,” he said aloud as he began his way to the waterfront.

  Caracas

  The first game of the season was going well for Messina’s team. He was standing at the sidelines calling out his support for the boys like most other fathers. Rojas watched with the coach and offered his support for the boys, suggesting little changes which helped them more easily move around the field.

  Angela Harrison had showed up early with some sports drinks which they put on ice. During the effort, she leaned in to Messina and pointed out an old man with a Chevy pickup, selling things out of the back along the sideline. During the game, several people had gathered around the truck and she later commented that Messina or Rojas might want to get something for their families. “His prices seem very reasonable,” she said with a stare that told Messina it wasn’t a suggestion.

  “I may check out what he has later on,” Messina had said. As the game wore on, he made his way to Rojas and he relayed the information. At half time, while the boys were with their families, Rojas made his way to the truck and began looking at the colorfully decorated garments and wares. Two others were there rummaging through the items. Eventually Rojas and the old man were alone.

  “How can I help you, Señor,” asked Carlos Verdes making his way around to where Rojas was standing. It was clear Rojas was being very careful about something. On several occasions while waiting, Rojas had scanned the crowd to see if he was being watched.

  “I’m just looking,” said Rojas giving the old man a frightened stare.

  Verdes smiled and picked up several items. “Well, I have this pottery, some clay pipes and here are some ponchos. All of these were made by native Venezuelans living in the mountains. Is there something in particular that you wanted?” he asked in a friendly manner. Carlos could read all the signs. They were typical of the people, especially in the cities. Fear of talking to someone they did not know and what someone might infer. But it was also obvious that this man wanted something and was afraid to act. He looked Rojas in the eye. “Perhaps you have something for me as well?”

  Rojas stopped in his tracks. There it was. But he was still unsure what to do. It could still be a trap. “I do not know you.”

  Verdes laughed, and then holding up a small bowl he said in English, “But I know you, Colonel Rojas. How may I be of service?”

  Rojas almost let out a sigh of relief, then glanced around once again. Rojas reached for the bowl and appeared to study it. “You need to understand that I am doing this because I cannot let something like this destroy my country. This must come to an end,” he said.

  Verdes nodded. It seemed like all people who provide information wanted you to know why they did it. The reasons vary, but somehow they need to justify it in their own minds. In this case, the information this man had was sorely needed. “Of course. I understand. What we must do is for the common good. It will save lives,” Verdes said
softly.

  Rojas picked up another bowl as if comparing the two. “You must get this information to your government very quickly. Your mayors are in danger. Parente is obviously insane and I cannot guarantee their safety,” he said very quietly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Fishing for some money, he pulled out some bills. There was a white sheet mixed in with them.

  Verdes took the money and shoved it into the small metal box he was using for a cashbox. He also inserted the white sheet into a place under the coin bin where it could be hidden. As he counted out some change, Rojas pointed toward one of the ponchos. It was large and very ornate. “How much is that one?” he asked.

  Verdes smiled again and lifted up the poncho, unfolding it and displaying it for him to see. “Very inexpensive, Señor,” Verdes said as he appeared to barter to the man. Then he leaned forward. While seemingly pointing out things on the poncho, he asked, “Is anything getting ready to happen which might distract his attention?”

  “ Five Bolivars,” said Rojas, holding out five fingers. Verdes appeared to think a moment, then shook his head. “Ten,” he said.

  Rojas took the time to appear to think. He placed his hand over his mouth. “Presidente Castro is coming on the 12th. I don’t know of anything else but this,” he said quietly. Then he called out “Seven.”

  “Anything else?” asked Verdes.

  “Not that I know of,” said Rojas, almost too loud to be natural.

  Verdes smiled. “Seven,” he said, handing the poncho over.

  Rojas paid the man. “What if I need to return this?” he asked.

  Verdes smiled, “I will be in touch. But I roam the streets near here. If there is a problem, you can find me,” he said.