Tropical Terror sts-12

by Keith Douglass

  The three civilians in the truck used a cell phone and made contact the way they had been instructed.

  “This is shit-kicking fun, outwitting the damn Navy,” the tallest of the three said. His name was Charley Blount. He was driving and in charge of the truck and cargo and getting it to the right spot at the right time.

  Charley checked his watch. Almost four in the afternoon. The rig was due near the front of the Ala Moana shopping center in downtown Honolulu at six P.M. sharp. The strange little man who had hired them had been precise. He had also been free with his money. He had given each of them five hundred dollars for the four days’ work. It had been in advance, and was only a third of what they would earn when the job was done.

  Charley drove at an even, legal speed. He’d been cautioned to obey every traffic law so he didn’t get stopped by police. From the shopping center he would get instructions where to go. It was an exciting operation, and would help improve the security at the base. He wasn’t sure just what being out here in the middle of Honolulu would prove, but it must fit in some way. The voice on the phone would have an explanation for the trip.

  Back at the base, the twenty-five trucks used to test for radiation were slowly being ticked off by their commander. He had eighteen inspected and six more on their way in to the shop. He was sure none of his men or equipment had been compromised, and the best way to show it was to have an all-present-or-accounted-for report. If one of his trucks had been hijacked and used for the Chinese bomb, he might as well turn in his request for retirement tomorrow.

  How in hell could the Chinese get a truck? How could they smuggle an active nuclear weapon into Hawaii and then get it on a truck? Questions he would probably never get answers for.

  Two more trucks rolled into the big garage, and he went out to check them over himself. Both were set up strictly according to regs. No deviations, and certainly no place to put a one-ton crude nuclear weapon. The commander grinned. Only six more trucks to go.

  Back at the SEALs’ official quarters, it had been a half hour after their questioning of the Chinese prisoner. He had been sent by security to the hospital clinic, treated, and returned to a security cell. No questions had been asked about how the man had been shot.

  Now Murdock told his fifteen men the update. He had ordered six vehicles, and put three men in three, two in the rest.

  “The brass will look in the usual spots for a truck,” he said. “We need to check out the long shots, where we would hide if we wanted to lose a truck. Work the boundary fences, the waterfront, anything or anywhere you can think of where you would want to hide a truck. Remember, this isn’t a big rig, like a one-ton with a van body on back. Let’s go.”

  Murdock and Dobler drove out in a new experimental rig called the Flyer. It looked a little like a World War II Jeep, but had only one seat for the driver in front and room for two men in back. In the center of it was a sturdy gun mount that would take a .50-caliber machine gun.

  It had no top and had an extremely low profile for better use in combat and for hiding in shallow gullies, then popping up and slamming .50-caliber rounds into the enemy.

  It also had a diesel engine that boomed the little crate along at sixty mph on an open road. It had full-time four-wheel drive and four disc brakes. The high road clearance meant it could drive over rough country and rubble and make it. Murdock had heard that the price on the skeletal little rig was a hundred thousand dollars. He hoped the price would come down if the military went for the little bouncer.

  Murdock drove as they headed for the air base at Hickam Field and began their prowl. All the SEALs had on their Motorolas, and they would check out just how far they would reach.

  Everywhere that Murdock drove he drew questions and admiring stares at the little Flyer. They prowled along the base fences, through an abandoned section, then past the Fort Kamehameha Military Reservation next door. Murdock stopped the Flyer and waved at some curious onlookers, then turned to Dobler.

  “If you were hiding this truck, where would you put it?”

  “Not out here in the open, for damn sure. I’d stash it in some trees or brush where nobody usually went. If there is any place like that on this reservation, or Hickam, or the Reserve area, or Pearl.”

  It was almost dark by the time they headed back. The radio call came through weak but readable.

  “Commander Murdock, I think we have something. This is Lam and Bradford. We’re on the south side of Camp Catlin, the Navy Reserve area. We’ve found what looks like stripped-off paint that shows nuclear danger signs. We even have three of the little triangular signs that warn of radiation. Looks like they used some kind of blasting power to peel the paint strips off the rig.”

  “Yeah, Lam. Get to a phone and call the admiral’s office and report what you’ve found and where you are. We’re on our way over there from Hickam.”

  By the time Murdock found his way off Hickam and to the south edge of Camp Catlin, there were three carloads of Shore Patrol and officers on the scene. A commander who looked like he was having a heart attack stood to one side.

  “The bastards! They painted a truck to look like one of mine. I can see it all here. It must have cruised all over the bases, the way my other rigs do. Logos and everything. So they stripped off the paint. What does the truck look like now?”

  “He probably went off-base,” one of the captains said. He used a radio to ask the various gates if a one-ton truck had checked out that afternoon.

  A NEST truck rolled up and six men came out in protective suits. They used sensors and began to scour the area, including the stripped-off paint and the ground where the truck must have parked.

  The civilian Murdock had seen at the admiral’s office flipped up a face mask and took off a head covering. He looked at a small meter and nodded.

  “Yeah, I get a point-four reading. Which means there is a little bit of radiation leakage on the bomb. Not unusual. Not dangerous. A point-four is like about three hundred wristwatch dials glowing all at once.”

  Admiral Bennington stepped up. “So the truck with the bomb inside was parked here. You’re sure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The admiral turned to one of his aides. “Any reports from the gates? Most interested in the closest one.”

  “Yes, sir. I have a report from gate five that would be nearest to this spot. A beer truck went through about two hours ago. Looked like one of the trucks that normally services the clubs in this area.”

  The admiral headed for his car. At the door he pointed to Murdock. “SEALs follow me. They are off-base now. We can really use your talents for this one.”

  At the gate the same man who had checked the truck through was still on duty. He dug out the paper. The truck was not one that usually supplied the base. It was the New Wave Brewery. There was no such name in the phone book or with information.

  Admiral Bennington leaned against his car and turned an unlit cigarette around and around with the fingers of one hand.

  “We have a live, armed nuclear bomb out there in the city streets of Honolulu. It could be set off accidentally or on purpose at any time. How the hell do we find it?”

  Three of his aides standing around simply shook their heads. The admiral looked over at the four SEALs.

  “Murdock, you’re the resident genius on this sort of chase. Just what the hell can we do next?”

  “The civilian police have to be in on it now, sir. They might be able to find that beer truck. Honolulu PD and the State Police can throw out a lot of eyes watching and they can get on it in twenty seconds. They have a lot of units out there. Get the best hard description we can on that truck from the gate guard. Now we have to think about the entire island as the target area.”

  “The second I call the police, the newspapers and TV get the story. There could be a horrendous panic.”

  “Don’t mention the Chinese or the bomb,” Murdock said. “This truck could contain some highly secret material. That should be enough to get the c
ops moving and not create a panic.”

  The admiral talked quietly to another aide, who left for the admiral’s car, where Murdock guessed there must be a radio or cell phone they could contact the police with.

  Admiral Bennington looked up. “Now, what the hell can we do next?”

  Nobody said a word. The admiral looked at the four SEALs.

  “Murdock, you’ve been our answer man so far. Any more suggestions?”

  “Yes, sir. If you haven’t already, stall the noon deadline tomorrow with the Chinese about this situation.”

  “Working on that.”

  Murdock watched the NEST team trying to track the truck from where it parked. The men moved out ten feet, then reworked the ground with their sensors. They tried it again, then gave up.

  The captain who had gone to the admiral’s car pushed out of it and hurried over to the admiral. They talked a moment. Then Admiral Bennington turned to the two dozen men around him.

  “You might as well know this up front. The State Department has just approved a request of the Chinese Navy. They have asked for safe passage for a Chinese cruiser and two destroyers to approach within a mile of Pearl and bring a cease-fire agreement. We don’t know what it is. We have been ordered to stand down any aggressive action against the Chinese troops on or near Hawaii, on the sea or in the air. The State Department, speaking for the President and the National Security Council, has ordered us to stand down. We’ll be notifying all of our commanders under fire of the order.

  “We still have to find that damned truck. It isn’t covered in any way by this order. Let’s get on it, people.”

  12

  Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

  The admiral headed for gate number five, and Murdock and his men drove back to their quarters on Pearl. They turned their cars and trucks in at the motor pool. The big search on Pearl was over.

  “Stand down,” Lam said back in their quarters. “That mean all the shooting has stopped?”

  “It’s supposed to,” DeWitt said. “Always hard to get the field units all to stop shooting at the same time.”

  “So where is the bomb being taken?” Ronson asked.

  “Where would you take it?” Murdock asked.

  “From that gate they could go north into Pearl City and up into the middle of the island. Or head for Honolulu and Waikiki Beach. Hell, I’d head for the beach.”

  “Hell, yes,” Holt said. “Them bastards who smuggled in the bomb want to go for a midnight swim on the beach down there.”

  Murdock went to a phone. He’d been feeling downright naked ever since they turned in the vehicles. So if some cop did pick up a sighting on that beer truck, what could the SEALs do about it? Nothing.

  “Admiral, thanks for taking my call. I have one more suggestion. How about my troops in a pair of Humvees with full arms and ammo ready to chase down that beer truck if the cops sight it anywhere? Be a hell of a lot better than to have the cops and their parabellums.”

  “You’d stay on-base?”

  “Thinking about putting one rig in Honolulu and the other one in Pearl City. We could be ready in case they went south or north. We have one SATCOM. We’d need another one so both rigs would have them for coordination.”

  “Do it, but keep the weapons out of sight until you need them. We’re supposed to stand down. I’ll have a SATCOM sent over to the motor pool. We’re on TAC Three at my HQ. Keep in touch there about your position.”

  “Thanks, Admiral. It would speed up things if one of your people could authorize the rigs from the motor pool.”

  “Done, SEAL, and good hunting.”

  An hour later they were rigged out and ready to go. In the bottom of the Humvee’s open space there were two leaded blankets folded and ready for action, courtesy of the NEST contingent.

  DeWitt took his pick of positions and chose to go north. Murdock took his squad south and worked the non-tourist streets near the Ala Moana Highway, which lanced through the heart of Honolulu. They had a generous supply of weapons, including the two EARs and all of their Bull Pups and MGs and sniper rifles.

  It was just after midnight when the first report came in. Holt had the SATCOM tuned to the CINCPAC frequency and heard transmissions most of the night. No one had spotted the beer truck.

  About 0030, he perked up and called to Murdock. He put the sound on the speaker.

  “That’s about it, Admiral. Unit 342 said he saw the beer truck and thought nothing about it. He had just come on duty and hadn’t checked out all the standing orders. He’s sure now it was the New Wave Brewery truck.”

  “His position and direction,” the crisp military voice asked.

  “He was on Kapiolani Boulevard and it looked like the truck was heading for the freeway.”

  “Thanks. Give a double alert for all your police units in that area and on the freeway to watch for the beer truck. A one-ton van with blue-and-red lettering and paint job.”

  Murdock told Ching to head for the freeway. It was in the center of town well north of the Ala Moana main drag. He made two turns and came out on the King Street on-ramp to the Lunalilo Freeway heading east.

  “DeWitt, did you get that trans from CINCPAC?”

  “We did. We’re working on the best route from here to your position. If he comes west on the freeway, we might spot him. We will close the gap toward you, so keep us informed where this cat might be prowling. Set up a meet if you get any solid info about the truck. We’re moving.”

  “That’s a Roger, DeWitt.”

  All Alpha Squad watched for the truck. Ching hugged the right-hand lane at fifty miles an hour and let the traffic slice past him. They were on Hawaii Highway 1 for only a few minutes when the radio came on again.

  “This is State Trooper Philbin. Saw your beer truck, it was in the slow lane on the other side, heading west. Not sure, but it probably was on the off-ramp to the Pali Highway Number 61. If so, he was heading north up the grade.”

  “Do it,” Murdock growled. “Let’s go north. The off-ramp is coming up.”

  Ching hit the cloverleaf off-ramp and nailed the Pali highway.

  “If that was the rig and it came this way, he couldn’t be more than a few miles ahead of us. Can you get any more speed out of this wreck?” Murdock asked.

  With the load of the lead blanket and the SEALs, the Humvee was straining to keep up with traffic up the Pali Highway. They couldn’t pass many cars, so Murdock wasn’t sure they could catch the truck ahead of them.

  He checked with DeWitt on the SATCOM. DeWitt had heard the transmissions and would turn north when he came to the Pali Highway. He figured he was still about six or seven miles from it. Murdock reported to CINCPAC that he and the other Humvee were heading up the Pali.

  This all might be a wild-goose chase, but it was their wild goose and the only one in town right now.

  At the first gas stop, they pulled in and Murdock talked to the attendant.

  “Beer truck?” the redheaded kid asked. “Hail, no, bro, I ain’t seen no beer truck up this way. Fact is, don’t ever remember seeing one. I think they go around the mountain.”

  The second gas stop, and then the third, proved to have the same message. If there had been a one-ton-sized beer truck, the attendants hadn’t seen it.

  They took the turn toward Kaneohe on the other side of Pali, and Murdock began thinking. The beer truck guys might be heading for the Chinese troops over there. It was a chance.

  Murdock talked to two more gas stations, and on the last one he hit gold.

  “Beer truck? Yeah, never heard of that brand of beer. I asked the guy about it. He said he was sold out on this run, but he’d drop me off a free bottle next time he came through. Looked like the rig was still heavily loaded, but I didn’t say nothing.”

  “Which way did they head when they left?”

  “Guy asked me how to get to the Valley of the Temples, so I told him. On up the coast. Highway Number 83. Can’t miss the signs to the left.”

  Murdock reported in t
o CINCPAC where he was and the first positive sighting of the beer truck and where it might be heading. Murdock grinned when he angled the Humvee back on the highway. “Oh, yeah, he’s heading for the Chinese invasion force up here that we and the Marines captured. Wonder if he thinks they are still here, or if we didn’t get all of them.”

  They drove.

  It was less than half an hour later that Murdock recognized the valley where the chopper had dropped them off before. “These guys weren’t looking for the Valley of the Temples, but the road this side of it,” Murdock told Ching.

  They pulled in a hundred yards and stopped. Murdock used the SATCOM and talked to DeWitt. He would be through Kaneohe in half an hour. Murdock decided to wait. He had the men check their equipment, reload their weapons, and get ready for some action.

  DeWitt turned up in twenty minutes. He and Murdock talked, and then they headed the two Humvees up the dirt road that led to the valley where they had found the Chinese invasion force before. It was a little spooky, Murdock admitted to himself. But if all the Chinese were gone from this area, why would they tell the truck driver to bring the bomb out here?

  A half mile up the road Murdock had Ching pull over. Lam checked the dirt and gravel road. There was almost no development up toward the hills here. No reason for a blacktopped road.

  Lam came back with a big grin.

  “Oh, yes, one set of fresh tire tracks. Soft place back there where I could make out the tire tread pattern. I’ll know it if I see it again. They’re moving up this road.”

  “Not far up here to the mountains,” Murdock said. “Not too far to where we took on that battalion. We cleaned up on them and the Marines mopped them up and took away the POWs. Why is the bomb coming up this way?”

  “Maybe we didn’t get all the guys who came ashore,” Lam said. “How about another battalion hiding in the trees and brush and laying still waiting for the Marines to go away?”

  “Could have happened,” Murdock admitted. “These guys are bringing the bomb up here for some reason. We better take it easy. Get Tran out there with you, Lam, and do point for us about a quarter of a mile ahead. Tell us if you run into anything that looks like a roadblock or an outpost.”