by Cindy Dees
Wittenauer’s voice broke into her thoughts. “We’ve got precious little information on what the hell’s going on aboard her. We can’t mount a rescue until we know more. We need real-time intelligence on what’s happening. Where are the kids? Who are these assholes and what are they up to?”
“Can you get a satellite on it?” Aleesha asked.
The general shrugged. “Not much will be visible from the air. Whatever drama’s playing out on that ship is likely to be happening belowdecks.”
“What about parabolic microphones deployed from a submarine?” Bud Lipton asked. “Or microphones attached to her hull under the waterline?”
One of the civilians fielded the questions. “The Grand Adventure has the latest in collision avoidance technology. That includes underwater radar that can paint a foot-long fish in front of her. It’s improbable that a diver or a submarine could get close enough from below, without detection, to install such a device.”
Lipton retorted, “Then how are we supposed to get close enough to board her at all?”
The civilian replied patiently, “We wait until the seas are choppy and go in on the surface. A low-profile fast boat is extremely difficult to pick out on radar. Under the right conditions, it looks just like a wave top approaching the ship.”
“No kidding? Maybe the SEALs should give those a try.”
The civilian took Lipton’s rebuke gracefully, with a shrug and an apologetic look at the SEAL leader. Everyone was on edge. If—no—when they got called to action, this was one of those worst-case scenarios everyone dreaded. She didn’t know about the SEALs, but Aleesha could feel the worry mounting in her own teammates. It was time to move this meeting beyond passive collection of yet more bad news and into the realm of the proactive.
Aleesha looked over at Bud. “What do you guys need by way of intel before you go aboard?”
“Precise data on the location of the children, the number and deployment of the hijackers and what sort of heat they’re packing.”
That information was nearly impossible to collect from satellites and observation ships over twenty-five miles away. Jeez. What a mess.
Wittenauer tipped his chair back, leaning against the blackboard at his back. He laced his fingers across his belly, and his eyes blazed with the raw intelligence that had helped land him his job as commander of JSOC. “Thoughts?”
Lipton went first. “We’ve got to get someone aboard that ship to run surveillance for us.”
One of the civilians—who for all the world looked ex-military with a short crew cut and bulging muscles—dived in. “Ships are not built with tons of places to hide. Maintaining secrecy for forward observers is going to be a bitch.”
“Nonetheless,” Lipton said, “I can’t go in blind to an area that size and expect to shoot my way to the kids before they get slaughtered. These bastards have already killed the ship’s officers. They’ll kill the kids if it comes to a shoot-out.”
Vanessa leaned forward. “You’re talking about clearing what? A thousand state rooms and maybe a hundred public spaces? You’d have to send a battalion of operators to hit with enough force fast enough to get to the kids before they were shot. Do we even have that many trained counterterrorist operators?”
Wittenauer snorted. “Not sitting around with nothing to do, we don’t.”
Vanessa shrugged at the civilian. “Then Bud’s right. We’ve got to get eyes aboard that ship before we take it back.”
Aleesha watched with interest as Vanessa rounded on Wittenauer, her shoulders hunched with sudden tension. Whatever her team leader was about to say next was the real point. And an instant before Vanessa opened her mouth, Aleesha knew what was going to come out. Not that it should have been any surprise. It was perfectly obvious, in fact.
Vanessa stated with quiet certainty, “And that’s why the Medusas need to be the ones to board the Grand Adventure.”
Wittenauer didn’t react with nearly as much surprise as Aleesha expected. So. He’d been toying with the idea, too, had he? That was a heck of a vote of confidence for a bunch of relatively new trainees like the Medusas. The other men in the room reacted differently, however. The SEALs reared back from the table, violently displeased by the idea. Clearly, they’d expected to run the entire op, including the surveillance. The civilians collectively gasped in shock. The intelligence analysts for JSOC must not be up to speed on the full capabilities of the Medusas.
One of the white shirts said with thinly veiled indignance, “The CIA has several highly competent female agents who could infiltrate the ship with practically no risk of discovery.”
Well, that answered who he was the liaison for.
A second civilian chimed in. “Consular Ops also has several excellent female agents who’d be able to get aboard the ship and blend in with the passengers.”
Consular Ops, huh? They were the intelligence gathering arm of the State Department, a shadowy bunch who managed to stay out of the spotlight, unlike their brothers and sisters at the CIA. She probably shouldn’t be surprised that JSOC worked closely with that outfit.
“There are two vital pieces to this part of the mission,” Vanessa replied calmly. “One is getting aboard the ship and blending in with the passengers or hiding outright. The second part is doing the type of surveillance those guys—” she pointed with her pen across the table at the SEALs “—need to do their job. Do civilian spies know what to look for and how to report it for a counterterrorism strike force? Are they trained in hostage rescue, room clearing, target selection, and sniper tactics?”
The white shirts glared at her in silence.
That answered that.
“We may not have the same experience with infiltration as civilian spies, but we do have training to report exactly the information they’ll need.” Another stab at the SEALs with her pen. “My team is trained to do their job. We have to be the ones to go in.”
Lipton and his team’s expressions relaxed a bit. Despite the pranks and ribbing that had flown between the Medusas and their SEAL trainers for the past month, Aleesha’s impression was that, overall, the SEALs were damned impressed with the Medusas’skills and attitude. If they couldn’t do the surveillance, the guys liked the idea of using operators like themselves. Enough to take up the argument with the civilian contingent. The SEALs came out of their corner swinging in favor of sending in the Medusas with their limited infiltration training but extensive counterterrorism training, versus using civilian spies with loads of infiltration experience and not one bit of training in doing forward observation for Special Forces teams and missions.
A spirited argument ensued, mostly between the men. Vanessa threw in an occasional comment, but Viper knew the value of not overselling the Medusas’ case. Aleesha kept a keen eye on Wittenauer. After all, he would ultimately make the decision. He was definitely weighing the pros and cons, and he hadn’t made a decision by the time the next update was carried into the room.
Wittenauer read the single sheet of paper that an aide placed in front of him and lurched in his chair. “Jesus. The bastards have just thrown thirty-three bodies overboard.” He looked up at the lieutenant who’d delivered the message. “Tell the observation ship to move in as soon as possible and do everything in its power to recover those bodies. We need positive IDs, causes of death and, for God’s sake, decent burials for them.”
The aide nodded but didn’t leave the room. “There’s another problem, sir. As of now, all the male passengers and crew members have been transferred from the Japanese cargo vessel that picked them up to the U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt aircraft carrier. The Rosie’s crew is asking for directions on where to put the victims ashore.”
Aleesha blinked. That was fast. The U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt was an aircraft carrier based out of Norfolk. It must have already been cruising off the Atlantic coast to have sailed into the area so quickly. It would have a SEAL contingent aboard, plus a sizable Marine Recon Force. The Special Forces assets available for this situation
had just doubled.
Wittenauer leaned forward abruptly. “All of the male passengers and crew are in one place, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell Admiral Kelso to keep them all on the Roosevelt until further notice.”
“I beg your pardon?” the aide asked, startled.
“Tell the Roosevelt do not, under any circumstances, put them ashore yet. I don’t care if the ship has to sail around in circles. I need it to stay at sea. Tell Kelso not to let any of the passengers talk to anyone ashore, either. No phone calls, no e-mails. I want a total communications blackout. And while you’re at it, get me a comm line through to the captain of the Japanese vessel that picked up the lifeboats, pronto.”
The aide hustled out of the room. Aleesha frowned. What was the general up to?
Within a matter of minutes, a phone rang on the conference table in front of Wittenauer. He picked it up right away. “Captain Yakamoto?” he said loudly. “General Wittenauer here. I wanted to call you personally to say thank you for rescuing those folks last night.”
A pause while the container ship captain replied.
“Nonetheless,” Wittenauer responded warmly. “Those people owe you their lives. And speaking of lives saved, I have one more favor to ask of you. We need to keep the problem aboard the Grand Adventure quiet for a couple of days. I need you and your crew not to tell anyone about what has happened. Not your friends and family, and certainly not the press. There are still hostages aboard the Grand Adventure, and for their safety, your silence is vital.”
Another pause while Wittenauer listened to the captain. His shoulders visibly relaxed. The guy must have agreed.
“If it would help,” Wittenauer offered, “I can arrange to have a U.S. Navy tender ship rendezvous with you at sea to refuel you and resupply you. On Uncle Sam’s dime, of course,” he added delicately. “It’s the least we can do for you in return for keeping your ship at sea and your crew out of port for a few extra days.”
Another short pause, during which, Wittenauer gestured through the glass window to a Navy chief manning a phone position. The general pointed at the telephone at his own ear and mouthed, “Make it happen.”
The Navy man nodded. He’d make the arrangements for the container ship’s resupply cum bribe.
Wittenauer set down the phone gently. “Let the shit start rolling,” he muttered.
Vanessa quirked an eyebrow. “How’s that, sir?”
Wittenauer sighed. “I just detained over a thousand people aboard a U.S. naval vessel without asking for permission from a damned soul. If word of this gets out, my ass is going to be in a major sling.”
Aleesha couldn’t help but toss in lightly, “And that’s why we love you, sir.”
Everybody at the table grinned. The general had just put his career on the line to buy them a window of noninterference. He also might have saved a ton of lives by sticking his neck out like that.
“How’s jurisdiction on the op coming, sir?” Lipton asked.
“I’ve got my best man on it. No word yet, though.”
Aleesha caught the faint blush that jumped into Vanessa’s cheeks. Jack Scatalone must be working the Washington, D.C., end of things. A good man, Lieutenant Colonel Scatalone. He, too, had put his career on the line. His sacrifice had given the Medusas a chance to prove themselves and earn a place in the Special Ops community. Besides that, he made Vanessa happy. The two of them were good for each other. Too bad he couldn’t be here to fight for the Medusas’right to board that ship. He was a take-no-prisoners kind of guy, and would fight like a tiger for his girls, as he was fond of calling them. But the very fact that the Medusas were here and briefed was a clear statement that Wittenauer was considering using the Medusas.
Aleesha sighed and leaned forward. Time to take a page out of Scat’s playbook. “Look, gentlemen. We can argue all day and all night, and nothing’s going to change. Let’s cut to the chase. The Medusas are here. We’re briefed in on the mission. We have enough skill to get aboard the ship. We know exactly what information to collect for Lieutenant Lipton and his men, and furthermore, we’re women, just like the hostages. Lives are on the line, here. We don’t have time to pull in more experienced female agents from wherever they happen to be, brief them, and teach them how to do forward combat observation. You’re stuck with us. The Medusas are all you’ve got. So let’s quit wasting time and get busy planning the damn op.”
She looked Wittenauer dead in the eye, daring him to dispute her.
He replied slowly, “I need you ladies to be square with me. No repercussions to your answer, but I need the God’s honest truth out of you. Understood?”
She nodded and caught the nods of her teammates out of the corner of her eye.
“One of the reasons I supported the formation of your team is that you’re all women. Every now and then situations arise where females can accomplish a mission that men could not. This is one of them. It’s why I briefed you on this in the first place. You’ve heard some of what you’d be up against, you’ve heard what the experts have to say about this op. My question for all of you is this—are you trained enough to pull it off? Are the Medusas ready for this job or not?”
Chapter 7
Aleesha stared at him in dismay. Wittenauer’s question pierced her like an arrow to the heart. Was she capable of this mission? Could she potentially kill terrorists—Americans—in the name of rescuing children and/or stopping whatever else the hijackers had planned? In the medical field, every patient was treated the same, pauper or prince, criminal or victim. She never asked where the injury came from. Hers was only to do her best to save lives. Could she choose who was worthy to live and who was not?
Next to her, Vanessa snorted soundly, announcing in derision, “Of course we’re ready. We’ve trained for months, and this is exactly the sort of mission the Medusas were created to do. We can get aboard that ship and blend in with the female passengers, whereas a male team would be shot on sight.”
Wittenauer eyed Vanessa narrowly, clearly measuring the truth behind the bravado.
Of course Vanessa was right. Physically they were ready. They’d trained their butts off. While they had practically no operational experience at forward surveillance, their training had been as realistic as possible and they’d taken it seriously. They could handle this mission. After all, it wasn’t as if they’d have to take the ship back. They would only be the eyes and ears for the SEAL rescue team.
Vanessa leaned forward aggressively, and Aleesha was startled by her boss’s leashed intensity. “You need us, sir. Don’t even think about keeping us out of this op. We are the only ones who can get onto that ship and provide you with continuous, realtime, eyes-on-target surveillance, and you know it.”
Wittenauer nodded, then stabbed at a spot on the map in the eastern Caribbean. “Latest satellite pass puts the Grand Adventure here. Hails on all radio frequencies are still being met with silence. Whoever’s got her doesn’t want to talk yet.”
Bud Lipton interjected from down the table, “Probably still busy securing the ship. That’s a whole lot of real estate to clear.”
Wittenauer nodded again. “We just got the passenger manifest from the company and we’re looking at 875 adult female passengers and 515 children, plus 180 female crew members still aboard the ship.”
Aleesha shuddered. Dang, that was a lot of hostages. The good news was that it wouldn’t be hard to know who to shoot. If it was male, kill it.
One of the intelligence briefers sitting in the front corner of the room spoke up. “According to the passengers, one of the hijackers spoke over the PA with a British accent. Another one was reported to have a Spanish accent and a third perhaps a French accent. Since the passengers and crew were immediately separated into different groups, we’re unable to nail down exactly how many terrorists there are. Best guess right now says between sixteen and twenty. They’re mostly Caucasian, although at least three are described as olive-skinned or dark-complectioned, wh
ich could indicate Hispanic, Mediterranean or Middle-Eastern descent.”
“Anything more on their weapons?” Lipton asked.
The intelligence analyst glanced down at his notes. “Semi-automatic machine guns. Mostly MP-5s based on the descriptions the passengers are giving. A couple people report seeing sidearms. Nothing heavier duty than that.”
“And they took over a ship carrying more than three thousand people?” Lipton shook his head.
Wittenauer responded, “It’s not what they had but what they did with it. They marched into a kids’ area during a movie, pointed weapons at several hundred children and threatened to start shooting. The captain handed over the bridge without a fight.”
Aleesha winced. She understood the captain’s decision. He was responsible for the safety of every passenger. He couldn’t be expected to sacrifice the lives of hundreds of kids to save his vessel. He’d done what he had to do, and he’d paid the ultimate price.
Wittenauer continued, “After they killed the crew, a British-sounding guy gave a pleasant speech to the effect that they had no interest in hurting anyone else. As long as everyone did exactly as directed, everything would be fine.”
Aleesha frowned. Why would the hijackers display such utter disregard for life and then claim they didn’t want to hurt anybody? Her gut feeling was that the hijackers hadn’t revealed their true purpose yet. And until they did, it was impossible to guess how much danger the hostages were in.
Lipton leaned forward. “What do you need us to do?”
Aleesha didn’t miss the underlying meaning to his question. He was asking for permission to board that ship and kill the bastards.
Wittenauer looked around the room grimly. “Right now we’re still working on finalizing jurisdiction over this situation. However, I want you to start planning scenarios. Meanwhile, we sit tight and wait for orders and a green light.”
