“I’m assuming that neither of you have heard from him?” Both men shook their heads. Carr walked to his desk, then turned a phone around. He dialed State.
“Yes, Mr. President?” Colonel James Maclin answered.
“Jim, has your man heard from Captain Stevens?”
“He hasn’t reported anything, sir. But let me check.” Maclin rested the receiver against his shoulder, while he dialed Mullins from another phone. The conversation was short, with Mullins confirming he hadn’t heard from Grant.
“Mr. President, Agent Mullins has not talked with Captain Stevens.”
“All right, Jim. Keep me posted.” Carr hung up, then remained by his desk. “Nothing. No word yet.” Holding up a hand, he said over his shoulder, “Be with you in a moment.” He dialed another number. “Secretary Daniels please. Tell him it’s the President.” Carr tapped a foot on the floor as he waited.
“Yes, Mr. President?” Daniels answered
“Jerry, listen. It’s urgent you have the Coral Sea put on alert.”
Daniels’ back straightened. “What’s happened, sir?”
“There isn’t time to fill you in on all the details, but communication from Team Alpha Tango should be expected. Grant Stevens is in charge.”
“That’s the team sent to find the two SEALs, correct?”
“Right, but I don’t have any definite proof they’ve succeeded, Jerry. TheCoral Sea must be ready in any case.”
“I’ll see that Captain Gregson is contacted immediately, Mr. President.”
Carr filled SECDEF in about the CIA operative, who seemed to be the last person in contact with the Team. Then he added, “One other matter to pass on to Captain Gregson, Jerry. It’s possible Stevens may have two small canisters of plutonium in his possession.”
Daniels exhaled a long breath. “Wow! I’ll pass that on, sir.”
“And, Jerry, I don’t care by what means they have to use to help those guys, even if it means a chopper or rescue craft has to accidentally ‘drift’ into Chinese waters. But I must be kept informed, especially if I end up talking with the Chairman. I don’t want to lose any men, Jerry. Am I clear?”
“Of course, Mr. President. I’ll make that call right now.”
Carr hung up the receiver, then walked back to the couch. He sat down, rubbing his palms together, questioning softly, “Where the hell could they be?”
“Is any of this going to have an impact on the Vice President’s upcoming visit to China?” Bancroft asked.
Carr leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. “Good question, Hank. Right now there are too many unanswered questions--for us and them. I’d be surprised, though, if they didn’t have their own investigation underway. Maybe I should give the Chairman a call. He should know what happened, what was planned, if he doesn’t know already.”
Bancroft threw out another scenario. “There’s always the possibility, Mr. President, the Chairman may not receive the same information we have.”
The intercom on Carr’s desk buzzed. He went to answer it. “Yes, Theresa.”
“Mr. President, there’s a call for Director Bancroft.”
“Put it through. Hank, line 3.”
While Bancroft took the call, Carr walked over to a white, French Provincial-style credenza, brought from his family’s home. He picked up a silver tray holding tall glasses and a pitcher of water, then carried it to the coffee table. He poured a glass and offered it to Prescott, who declined.
“Sir,” Bancroft said, as he approached the President, “my folks are picking up more chatter from the Chinese. I think I’d better go.”
“All right, Hank. I’ll be waiting for updates.”
Prescott stood. “Maybe I’d better go, too, sir.”
Prescott was about to leave the Oval Office, when the President called, “General! Have Hank come back in. You can go.”
Bancroft came in, closing the door behind him. “Yes, Mr. President?”
Carr had his back to Bancroft. With his arms folded tightly across his chest, Carr said, “Hank, when this incident is over, I want an investigation into why we didn’t know about that plutonium sooner.” He turned toward the director. “Somebody dropped the ball on this. Find out why.”
“I can assure you I will. Is that all, Mr. President?”
“Yes, Hank. That’s all.” Bancroft left.
President Andrew Carr stood alone, wondering what the hell was going on, and worrying about Team Alpha Tango, two Navy SEALs, and two canisters of plutonium.
He went to his desk and pressed the intercom switch. “Theresa, tell the Vice President I’d like to see him. Once he’s here, put a call through to Chairman Xiaoping.”
*
USS Coral Sea
Captain Gregson removed his cap, as he walked into the Wardroom, spotting Admiral Wade Larrimore seated in front of a television, watching a John Wayne movie. Larrimore was on board only in the capacity to see that the carrier and her task force completed its mission. It was his flag that flew on the Coral Sea.
“Excuse me, Admiral,” Gregson said as he stood behind Larrimore.
Gray-haired, blue eyed, Wade Larrimore swung his chair around. “Nat! What can I do for you?” He took a sip of coffee.
“Sir, I just got off the ‘horn’ with Washington.”
Larrimore pointed as he said, “Pull up a chair.”
Gregson put his cap on a nearby table, then sat down. “The Coral Sea’s been put on alert, Admiral.”
“What’s happening, Nat?” Larrimore asked, reaching toward the table to put his white coffee cup in its saucer.
“You know that a team was sent in to extract those two SEALs, sir.”
“Alpha Tango, right?”
“Affirmative, Admiral. No one’s heard from them yet, but we have orders to standby. The President’s gone so far as to say, if necessary, we have his permission to send a chopper or boat into Chinese waters--accidentally, of course.”
“Then, let’s go, Nat!” Larrimore exclaimed, as he stood abruptly, then headed for the door. “I want my ‘barge’ made ready. It might be faster than a chopper to get all those men aboard.” Stowed in the hangar bay, the Admiral’s forty-two foot motor boat was used for transporting him and officers whenever and wherever requested or required.
Gregson grabbed his cap from the table, then caught up to Larrimore.
Chapter 19
Shanghai
Approaching from the south, three Army trucks slowly drove through the outer rim of old Shanghai. Soldiers sat on both sides of the bed, holding their rifles, unsure of what to expect. Two major explosions had occurred in one day, and in less than two hours of each another. Incidents like this just didn’t happen here.
The trucks passed a two-story white building. The new American Consulate. It seemed to come through the explosion almost unscathed. What they couldn’t see was the roof, where flying debris had landed.
Nearing the north end of old town, the trucks stopped. An order was shouted. Men immediately jumped out of the beds, having to step over and around piles of rubble before forming two lines in front of the first truck.
Standing at attention, they dared not be obvious as they tried to view the devastation without turning their heads. Pieces of what were once structures, were now shattered. Wood, glass, doors, parts of bricks, even whole bricks were strewn everywhere.
Getting out of the lead truck with extra care, Colonel Tao Chiu adjusted his cap over the bandage wrapped around his head. A sharp pain shot through his hip when he stepped onto the pavement. But he was lucky. He was one of a few who survived the blast, one of three who were able to walk away.
There was little left here to give him any clue as to who did this, but his suspicions pointed to the Americans. What he was unable to answer, though, was why? And where were they now? How could they have left Shanghai without being recognized, or even seen? It was virtually impossible for them to escape by air, whether by helicopter or not. They could still be in hiding, wa
iting until dark. But then what? Drive? Possible. But where would that get them? Maybe as far as. . . He paused, then looked overhead in thought, before turning to the lieutenant standing near him. “You’ll be in charge. Keep all the men here. Set up a perimeter around this whole area.” The young officer saluted, then immediately carried out the order.
Chiu returned to the truck, got in, then ordered the driver to take him back to the garrison. His first priority was to respond to officials in Beijing. Priority two: alert naval gunboats. He was confident the Americans would attempt to escape by boat, as they had last time, but probably not in a simple rubber boat. The question was how and where could they get anything larger? They definitely had to find one with more power. He pressed his fingers against his eyes, trying to relieve the pain. Then, he slowly drew his fingers away, as a picture formed in his mind. Rows of fishing vessels in the Huangpu River.
*
Hundreds of fishing boats and commercial trawlers headed south along the last section of the Yangtze where it joined the East China Sea. More than just fishing vessels traveled this route. Barges carried coal, bricks, gravel, and sand. Some were headed to the Grand Canal, the longest canal in the world, at fourteen hundred miles long, ending north at Beijing.
Little by little, the sun’s rays began to break through the heavy cloud cover. The temperature was beginning to rise along with the humidity. The inside of the cramped cabin was already stifling. Sweat dripped from brows, stung eyes, ran down backs.
“Dao,” Grant called, “is it clear around us? Can we open the doors?”
Kwan leaned toward the window, doing a sweep with his eyes. “Clear, but keep out of sight. I can’t see what’s behind us.” He slid the port door back, while he tried to maintain a steady course, keeping an eye out for other craft.
Grant pointed to Novak, who opened the aft door not more than a couple of inches, then held onto it because of the boat swaying. “Don’t know if it’s gonna help much, Boss.”
“Better than nothing, Mike,” Grant answered.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Kwan announced. “There’s a gunboat heading north.”
“How far off our port?” Grant asked.
“A hundred yards or so.”
“What position?”
“Maybe eleven o’clock.”
“How about other fishing boats near us.”
“I’m trying to stay inside this fleet. They’re everywhere.”
“We should be okay then, but keep your eyes straight ahead. Ken, take a look with the glasses.”
Slade turned, got on his knees, then raised the binoculars until they were barely level with the bottom of the window.
“Anything?”
“Got him. He’s just passing our nine. Don’t see any ‘eyes’ on us, Boss. I’ll watch him as long as I can.”
Grant turned his attention to another possible problem. “Are we the only ones without deckhands?”
“They’re starting to come out,” Kwan responded. “I wouldn’t worry, though. We’re mostly surrounded by the commercial boats. Those men will start working hard from now until they dock again in Shanghai.” The commercial fishing boats were nearly twice as large, with twice the nets, some hanging from masts, draping on the decks.
“Still. . .” Grant mumbled. Then, his attention turned to the three prisoners. “Sure as hell would like to run a G2 on those bastards, Joe.”
“So, why don’t you?”
“Can’t take the chance right now.” He squeezed the back of his neck over and over in frustration. “Just can’t put my finger on it.”
“On what?”
“How they knew about the plutonium and where our guys were being held, especially since the five of them were from Taiwan.”
“Well, at least part of the puzzle’s been answered.”
“You mean their reason?”
“Uh-huh.”
Grant nodded. “Yeah. Being declared part of China, and having the U.S. government side with Beijing. A shitload of good reasons, Joe.”
“We’re coming up on the channel,” Kwan said, as he backed down the engine.
Grant and Adler raised their heads, trying to see out the windshield. “Any indication which way the main body’s going?” Grant asked.
“Looks like the commercial boats are taking the southern route.”
“Stay with the others,” Grant said.
“Whatcha thinking?” Adler asked.
“Debating whether or not to contact the carrier.”
“Think it’s too soon?”
“That’s the debate.” He blew out a breath, then said, “Have to let them know we’re on our way, and what we’re delivering. Maybe President Carr can run interference for us if we run into a shit-storm.”
“You planning on taking our ‘passengers’ home?”
“Yeah, unless the ‘Cowboys’ want to personally pick them up.” He looked at Kwan. “How many boats are out there, Dao?”
Kwan swiveled his head. “I’d say at least thirty. Once we’re out of the channel, though, they might scatter. But I can’t see how many are behind us.”
“Mike, take a look, then I suggest you set up your rifle.”
Novak laid on his belly, and pushed the door open. “Wow! There’s a helluva mess of boats, Boss.” He did a quick count. “Maybe twenty, twenty-five. Don’t see any commercial types.”
“Okay, Mike.”
Novak immediately crawled over to the port side then attached the scope to his rifle. He crawled back to the door, then laid on his belly, comfortable with his rifle in his hands.
Grant got everyone’s attention. “Listen up, folks. I’m going to try to contact the carrier. I know it’s taking a chance, especially in broad daylight, but this whole op’s been one big freakin’ chance.
“Keep your eyes open. And I know that means looking out windows, but. . . Just be careful.” He took a paper from his pocket, then crawled over to the wheel. “Joe, get the GPS,” he said before pulling down a hidden panel underneath, exposing the marine radio. He dialed the frequency, flipped the switch, then extended the cable for the mike. He leaned back against the forward bulkhead, then pressed the mike button.
*
Petty Officer Felix (Flex) Riley sat alone in the Radio Room. Headphones were on top of his head, with the left side pulled back from his ear. He was thumbing through a stack of back issues of Sports Illustrated magazines. Being a fanatical baseball fan, one issue in particular caught his attention, and he pulled it out. Nolan Ryan was on the cover. A small statement said he’d just missed pitching his fifth no-hitter. Riley flipped through the pages looking for the article, when he heard a voice in his headphones:
“Alpha Tango calling Ageless Warrior! Come in, Ageless Warrior! Over.”
Riley dropped the magazine on the counter and straightened his headphones. “Ageless Warrior. Go ahead Alpha Tango. Over.”
“Bringing home deuce SEALs. I say again. Bringing home deuce SEALs. Do you copy?”
“Copy that!”
“Urgent you notify POTUS! We are in transit with deuce canisters. I say again! Urgent you notify POTUS! In transit with deuce canisters. Do you copy?”
“Copy that, Alpha Tango!”
“Request your coordinates.”
“Wait one.”
Adler was ready with the GPS, punching in the numbers.
“Received, Ageless Warrior. Request you keep channel open.”
“Roger. Channel remains open.”
“Alpha Tango out.”
*
Bridge
USS Coral Sea
Captain Gregson sat in his thick, leather-covered swivel chair. Flight ops were underway. An F-14 was poised in front of JBDs (jet blast deflector doors) on Catapult 2. The pilot brought the engines up to full power, saluted, then he grabbed hold of the “towel” bar. The signal was given to launch. The Tomcat went from zero to one hundred sixty-five miles an hour in under two seconds.
Gregson continued watching
the Tomcat’s red-hot afterburners until he heard XO Dunham.
“Captain!”
He swiveled his chair around, seeing Dunham walking toward him, holding a piece of paper. “Captain! We received a message from Team Alpha Tango!”
Gregson took the message, nodding as he read it. “Steve, notify Air Boss and CAG. I’m canceling flight ops. Bring all the ‘birds’ back. I’ve gotta call Washington!”
Chapter 20
Fifteen minutes had passed since Grant contacted the carrier. The fishing boats were still ten miles from international waters when they began to head in different directions. Captains and deckhands hoped to find the perfect location that would fill the nets and their pockets.
Adler looked sideways, seeing Grant staring into the distance. The setting of the jaw, the narrowing of the eyes only proved Grant’s wheels were spinning.
“Care to tell me?” Adler asked quietly.
Grant glanced up at Kwan without responding, then lowered his head. Adler waited, knowing the thought process was drawing information from every corner of the brain.
Finally Grant whispered to himself, “That’s the only explanation.”
“Is this a guessing game, Skipper? You know I’m not good at guessing games.”
“What? Oh, sorry, Joe. Just thinking about one of our prisoners.”
“You figured it out, didn’t you?”
“Only thing I can come up with, and it isn’t a ‘pretty’ thought.”
Suddenly, there was a voice coming from the radio: “Ageless Warrior calling Alpha Tango. Come in Alpha Tango. Over.”
Grant grabbed the mike. “Alpha Tango. Go ahead Ageless Warrior. Over.”
“POTUS contacted. I say again. POTUS has been contacted. Do you copy? Over.”
Grant pounded a fist against nothing but air. “Copy that! Over.”
“Standing by for further instructions. Over.”
“Roger. Alpha Tango out.” Grant let go of the mike, letting it hang next to the bulkhead.
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