by AJ Tata
Having relinquished his Predator-piloting duties to the admiral, Ballantine turned his head ever so slightly, wanting to watch.
Matt seized that moment to dive toward his rifle, sliding across the deck, feeling the rivets tear through his shirt. He felt the butt stock of his rifle and then lost his grip as Ballantine kicked it away, arching the knife downward into the steel next to his throat.
Ballantine held the knife against Matt’s neck, breathing hard.
“Garrett, you are a dead man. Just accept it. There is nothing you can do to save yourself, your brother, or your country. If I wanted, I could slice your jugular in half a second, and you would bleed out in two minutes right here. But I want your brother to watch. I want him to experience the horror and pain, if only for a short while.”
Ballantine lifted Matt to a standing position, the knife pressed against his neck, drawing a trickle of blood.
With his back to Ballantine’s side, Matt could sense that though Ballantine was a big man, he was about two inches shorter and a not as well built as Matt.
As they began walking toward a metal door, Matt saw a slight figure in the darkness, standing on the deck, holding a rifle, her hair blowing in the stiff bay wind.
It was Peyton O’Hara, watching the action unfold.
“Where have you been? I thought you’d never get here,” Ballantine said.
Matt’s heart clanked on the ship’s deck.
And for the first time he began to lose hope.
Chapter 55
MH-60 Blackhawk Command and Control Helicopter,
Above Chesapeake Bay
Colonel Jack Rampert looked over Chesapeake Bay from beneath his communications headset.
“Tomcat one six, this is Delta six,” Rampert said into the small mouthpiece. He could see the lights of the Bay Bridge-Tunnel and the dark mass that was the Fong Hou just to the east of the third island. Matt Garrett’s phone call had come at a time when the nation was at its highest state of alert. Rampert had contacted Meredith Morris, and she had described for him the most harrowing scenario he could ever imagine. He had thought he had seen it all.
But as he watched through his night-vision goggles, a Predator unmanned aerial vehicle glided effortlessly off the deck of the Fong Hou, and he became a believer. The curious events of the past week were culminating, not necessarily here, but perhaps primarily from this location. He was still thinking about how it would all play out when the voice came back to him through his headset.
“Delta six, this is Tomcat one six.”
Rampert shook his head. The pilot of the Navy F-14 Tomcat didn’t sound a day over twenty, and here he was flying an aircraft launched out of Oceana Naval Air Station. There were no flight wings present at the station as they were all on carriers around the world fighting the War on Terror. But two F-14s had been returned to Oceana for significant repairs in the last two months. When Rampert got the call from Matt, he ordered the commander at Oceana to launch what he had.
And this was it. One F-14 with four Maverick missiles and five hundred 20mm rounds. Pitiful.
“Tomcat, this is Delta. I’ve got visual on one Predator flying east over the bay toward Fort Story. We believe it is armed with a crude nuclear device and is preprogrammed for detonation at a high payoff target somewhere on the East Coast. I need you to shoot it down, avoiding the nose of the airplane and making sure it lands in the water.”
Rampert knew that he sounded like an over-controlling bureaucrat, but they had to get this one right. “And I think you’ve probably got about one minute before you lose the capability to destroy it over the water.”
“I don’t even see it yet, Colonel,” the pilot shot back.
“Well, find it, son, or lots of people are going to die.”
That was more like it. Mission orders were always best. Just give people a mission and let them do their job.
“Roger.”
Rampert continued to circle in his Blackhawk, wondering how many Predators had been launched. He called back to Oceana on his headset.
“Radar control, this is Delta six, over.”
“This is radar control, over.”
“Do you have any indications of aircraft flying anywhere in the area?”
“We have your aircraft and Tomcat one six. Nothing else. We do not, say again, do not observe on radar the Predator you see.”
“Okay, I need you to start searching a three-hundred-mile radius around this point and tweak your radar so that you can find slow-moving aircraft.”
“We can lower the resolution, but we’ll start to pick up birds and other ground clutter.”
“There will be a lot more ground clutter to pick up if you don’t find these Predators. Do what you have to do.”
“Roger.”
“Sir, Tomcat one six is calling you,” Hobart said. His most trusted operator was listening to the other radio net, tracking the F-14.
“This is Delta six,” Rampert said into the mouthpiece.
“This is Tomcat one six. I think I’ve got visual on a Predator. It’s actually banking to the north over the mouth of the bay. It’s heading up to the peninsula there. I’ve got a clean shot and just want you to confirm your authorization to shoot.”
“Guidance stands. Shoot it down. Avoid the nose. Observe its impact into the water and laser a grid coordinate. We have boat teams heading into the bay right now.”
“Roger. Be back in a second.”
“Roger. Just shoot it down. Now. Out.”
Rampart switched his intercom to internal. “Mike, can we get this thing turned so my window is facing the east by northeast?” he asked to his helicopter pilot, Mike Jamison.
The pilot turned the aircraft so that Rampert could observe the action. He slipped on his night-vision goggles again and peered through the large square window. He could see the afterburners of the F-14 glowing brightly in his goggles. He watched the jet aircraft maneuver as it pitched forward and leveled its nose at the target.
Rampert felt a surge of adrenaline as he watched bright green streaks of light cut across the black sky. He saw burst of 20mm chain-gun fire. Suddenly he could see the Predator, highlighted by a small fire on what he hoped was the tail section.
He watched as the Predator first angled toward the ocean and then began a slow spiral out of control. He saw the F-14 pilot pull up and bank so that he and his navigator could observe the impact. It fell into the ocean with an unceremonious splash. Rampert watched the laser from the F-14 immediately find what remained of the aircraft.
“Delta six, this is Tomcat one six,” the F-14 pilot said.
“Delta six, go ahead. Over.”
“Roger. Target destroyed. Impact observed. No detonation observed. Grid coordinate follows.”
Rampert wrote down the grid the pilot reported and then said, “Continue to loiter and watch the bow of the ship for other Predators.”
He then radioed the patrol boat captain, who had alerted his fleet of six harbor boats to move from Little Creek Amphibious Base into Chesapeake Bay toward the Fong Hou.
“Anchor six, this is Delta six. Precious cargo at the following grid coordinate. Move to that location immediately and recover Predator aircraft with possible rigged nuclear explosive device. Device could have timer.”
“This is Anchor six, wilco.”
Rampert switched his radio set back to the F-14 frequency.
“Tomcat six, this is Delta six. Prepare to destroy the ship, using Maverick missiles on my command.”
“This is Tomcat six, standing by for your command,” came the pilot’s more confident voice.
One battlefield kill against a drone with no pilot or weapons, and he thinks he’s the Red Baron, Rampert mused. But the weight of the task before him quickly took hold.
Rampert knew that Matt Garrett and Zachary Garrett were probably on that ship. It was quite a dilemma he was facing. He could solve a slew of problems with a couple of well-placed Maverick missiles. And he didn’t have much time to make his decision
.
Chapter 56
Northern Virginia
Francis “Trip” Hellerman III sat in the command bunker at the guest quarters with Jock Evans, Zeke Jeremiah, Stan Rockfish, and Ralph Smithers, all watching Fox News and monitoring reports coming in from Colonel Rampert. Hellerman was privately concerned about Rampert’s sudden appearance near the Fong Hou, but he watched and waited. This was a game of chess, and his sole drive now was to retain freedom of maneuver to avoid getting pinned.
“They turned a damned commercial ship into an aircraft carrier and used our UAV technology against us,” Jeremiah said, shaking his head at the enemy’s ingenuity. Though having sifted through Hellerman’s ingenious interception of the enemy’s plan, he had special insight into what was happening.
“If you thought someone’s legacy was in trouble before, how about now? With all his China links and the fact that we know China got these Predators at about the same time that administration got millions in campaign contributions, wow,” Evans said.
“Well, children, we can blame whoever we want, but we have a war to fight,” Hellerman said, his voice commanding and reassuring.
“Yes, sir,” Jeremiah said. Hellerman exchanged a knowing glance with him.
“Zeke, we’ve destroyed one Predator. We know he had at least eighteen. That leaves seventeen, and we don’t know if he launched any before this. We think he had one or two at Moncrief. These damn things are impossible to pick up on radar. Make sure we’re tracking what our air traffic controllers are reporting. We’ve got all air traffic shut down, correct?”
Jeremiah nodded. “Roger, sir. That and we’ve alerted the F-15 squadron at Langley, but the Air Force general there said they aren’t prepared to do anything for two hours.”
“This thing will be over in two hours. Who gave him the authorization to do a stand-down with our quick-response force?”
“I asked him that, and he said he thought another wing was covering the quick-response mission.”
“Keep working it,” Hellerman said, frustrated.
“Sir,” Jock Evans said, holding his hand over the phone, “it’s Agent Jessup.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking the phone.
“Mr. Vice President, if you could meet me in the big house, I’d appreciate it,” Jessup said.
“Be there in a minute,” Hellerman said.
He handed the phone to Evans and walked out the door. He called over his shoulder, “Be back in a minute. Keep tracking the situation, team. Zeke, join me in a few minutes.”
Walking across the driveway, Hellerman felt a renewed sense of purpose with the plan actually underway. The attacks on the civilian population had a large impact. Now that the Predators were on the way, the country was fighting back. Even if it was just one F-14, at least it was a start. He had never imagined that any of the Predators would reach their targets, anyway.
He walked up the steps and into the foyer of his mansion to find Jessup waiting for him in the living room.
“Sir, I don’t know what’s going on, but we tracked a cell phone call from Colonel Jack Rampert to Meredith Morris. We’ve got her location, and I sent one of my men out to get her and bring her here, just like you ordered.”
“Great,” Hellerman said. “When do you think she’ll be here?”
Jessup raised his eyebrows as only he could do. “Hopefully within the hour, but I have to ask you, sir, do you have anyone else looking for her?” He was a big man and very respectful of the friend he protected every day, but he would not let himself drift beyond a certain line, no matter how strong the tide.
“Alvin, why would I do that?” Hellerman said, acting curious.
“Sir, the nature of the phone conversation indicates to me that you might be concerned about something she might say. And you’re talking to me, not some green Secret Service agent. Sir.”
“Meredith may be involved in some bad stuff. She’s had some money problems and boyfriend problems that are pretty well known. We just need to get her and bring her here, that’s all.”
Jessup stared at his boss for a long moment. “Sir, I will do what you say, but I will not cross the line. I want to know if my agent is going into harm’s way when he gets to Meredith.”
“I would never expect you to cross any line,” Hellerman said. “And I would never have you send an agent into harm’s way unnecessarily.”
On that note, he turned and left Jessup standing in the foyer as he descended into the basement.
Jeremiah appeared a few minutes later.
“What have you found out? We’ve got Rampert up in a helicopter over this ship. Is he friend or foe?”
“Sir, then-Lieutenant Colonel Rampert was a Delta Force operator in the first Gulf War. Ballantine was interrogated by several different soldiers, but it appears that Lantini and Rampert were involved somehow.” Jeremiah looked away for a moment and then back at the vice president. “And you talked to Ballantine also.”
“Of course I did. I was in charge of that whole mess. Tens of thousands of enemy prisoners of war, and this hotshot lieutenant brings in a no-shit Republican Guard enemy commander. What else was I going to do?”
“The interrogation reports you gave me show that Ballantine proved of no significant intelligence value and with his French connections, he was released rather quickly. The reports show that Lantini interviewed him twice and that Rampert was responsible for releasing him into the wild, as they say.”
“So, you think Rampert and Lantini are triangulating with Ballantine now?”
“Seems plausible.”
“Pick up that phone over there and dial me in to Dave Palmer,” Hellerman directed. When Jeremiah picked up one phone, Hellerman said, “No, not that one, the other phone.” Jeremiah replaced the one in his hand in its cradle and picked up an identical looking cordless phone. Jeremiah punched in the numbers. “On second thought,” Hellerman said, “never mind.”
“Sir?”
“Let’s get back to the command center,” Hellerman said as he walked briskly out of the office and up the steps. He called over his shoulder, “Lock up when you come up. And shut down that laptop, will you.”
He watched as Jeremiah punched a few buttons on the laptop, closed the lid with his long fingers, then grabbed the keys, moved the plastic chair into place, pulled the door closed, fumbled with it, and pulled it shut again, moved the hasp into place, touching the metal, grasped the lock, inserted the key, snapped it shut, tugged on it, leaving fingerprints over every conceivable surface.
Exactly as Hellerman wished.
Hellerman looked over his shoulder as he ascended the stairway and watched as Jeremiah pocketed the keys to the makeshift bunker.
Hellerman. Moving the pawn when he has to. Freeing up the queen to slide across the board for checkmate.
Chapter 57
Northern Virginia
Meredith Morris sat cross-legged on Jacob Olney’s guest bed with her cell phone clutched in one hand. The phone call from Colonel Rampert was welcome, and now she was wondering how this scenario would develop.
She looked down at the pictures she had taken of Hellerman’s lair and knew instinctively that some very bad people were probably going to be coming after her. Having grown up in southwestern Virginia, she was no stranger to hard times or even dangerous times. But the thought of a nameless, faceless human being with a specific mission to find her, and possibly kill her, was extraordinarily unsettling.
Rampert had been all business and not the least bit concerned about finding out where she was located, which was a good sign. He wanted the information that Matt had told him about, and that was all. He had kept the conversation short and to the point, avoiding unnecessary air time. She knew that the longer the call, the easier she would be to track using the government’s CallScan cell phone monitoring system.
She unfolded her legs and stood from the bed, walking into the guest bathroom off of her room. She closed the door to the bedroom and the door that led to the hal
lway, placed the manila envelope with the pictures on the back of the toilet lid, and leaned against the counter top, staring at the mirror. She could see lines of worry etched across her once-smooth and beautiful face, a face that Matt Garrett used to softly stroke as they lay in bed, solving the world’s problems and building their dreams for the future. She had abandoned all of that because of her lack of discipline and inability to resist the power and seduction of the vice president of the United States.
Hellerman was attractive, successful, powerful, and magnetic . . . but so was Matt. Why, she wondered, had she been unable to resist the pull, despite so many evident reasons to avoid the man she now considered to be the devil?
She splashed some water on her face and decided a hot shower would do her some good. She stripped naked and cranked the shower to full blast, edging the selector knob toward the fat portion of the red line. She let the hot water build and stepped gingerly into the shower, recoiling at first at the searing heat but gradually accepting its cleansing effects.
As the hot rain bore down on her, she began to weep. It was impossible to feel any worse about herself than she already did. She had destroyed her relationship with a great guy, possibly the best guy she would ever meet, and had unknowingly helped to put him and the country in harm’s way. She was a good woman, and perhaps only she would ever fully understand what had happened.
These last few hours, her bravery in pulling away from the magnetic reach of Hellerman’s black hole, taking the pictures that helped break the case, and then vectoring Rampert to the right location, were personal salvation for her. But she knew that there were not many people who would see the big picture of what she had been trying to do versus what had actually happened.
She washed her hair and rinsed the soap from her now-bright red skin. She then sat for several minutes on the shower floor, tears mixing with the water and swirling down the drain.
How appropriate, she thought, as she watched the soapy water disappear beyond the metal sieve. My life has long since washed away, stolen by Hellerman. But she didn’t blame him, only herself. If she had been strong enough, she could have resisted and possibly even cracked the Predator case earlier, or figured out what was going on before thousands of Americans died. Now was as good a time as any to blame herself for everything that had happened in the past week.
