Counter Poised

by John Spikenard

  “How many teams are leavin’ from here, George? You know we can get any number of guys and warheads into the U.S. from here. We’re flying to and from our rigs in the Gulf all the time. The air traffic controllers know us—we would never be stopped or searched within the timeframe it would take us to get them ashore and dispersed into the general population. Same thing goes for our crew boats. We’re running them back and forth all the time.”

  “We’re sending out twelve two-man teams from here—twenty-four crew members in all. Each team will take five nuclear warheads. That’s sixty warheads in all. We’re maintaining the two-man rule, so with each set of warheads we offload, two of our crewmembers go with them to blend into society, take up residence, and vigilantly wait for the day they are called into action. Three teams should be able to fly ashore to Mississippi in your GenCon helicopter, and four others can go back in your crew boat. From there, those seven teams can easily disperse and disappear into American society. Five other teams, fluent in Spanish, are going to take that disguised fishing trawler you promised me to the Mexican coast and disperse into Mexico.”

  “The trawler is coming in tonight, after dark,” said Dwight. “If it got here any sooner, it would raise suspicions.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Where are the teams going to go?” asked Dwight.

  “No one knows where any of the teams are headed, not even me. That way, if any team or individual is captured, only that set of warheads is possibly compromised. Each team is free to devise their own communication protocol for maintaining contact with each other and for signaling each other in case of emergency or capture. In that way, we don’t establish a predictable communication pattern, which could be used by intelligence analysts to identify and locate our teams around the world. In addition, if one team member is captured, the other team member may be alerted in time to escape and find a new hiding place for the warheads. We know from past experiences, when our fighting men have been tortured as prisoners of war, every man can be brought to the breaking point. It would only be a matter of time before one of our captured members gave up the identity of his teammate and the location of the warheads. We only ask our team members to hold out for twenty-four hours.”

  The captain continued, addressing both Dwight and Pappy. “You know, with all the publicity we’ve gotten, there’s not that many places around the world where a guy with an American accent can just show up out of the blue and take up residence without raising a lot of suspicions, right? Can you think of any place, XO, where that wouldn’t happen?”

  “Well, not really, Captain. In most other English-speaking countries, you need a British accent to go unnoticed.”

  “That’s right. But one place where you can get away with it is the good ol’ USA. As for getting the weapons into the country, it’s amazingly simple. After all the promises from the government and the Homeland Security Department to make the country safe after 9/11 and DC, the U.S. is still the easiest country in the world to smuggle a nuke into. We offload them into Mexico and carry them across the border into southern Arizona, New Mexico, or Texas. That border is like a sieve—anything can get through. Despite the fact that the Border Patrol made over a million apprehensions last year of illegal immigrants crossing into the U.S. from Mexico, millions of others made it unscathed.”

  Dwight looked skeptical. “I don’t know. If the Border Patrol is catching so many, that may not be the best way to go.”

  “Well, if you don’t like that way,” George continued, “all you have to do is hide the warhead in some legitimate cargo and ship it in through Long Beach or New Orleans. You’re going to be successful ninety-eight or ninety-nine times out of a hundred.”

  Dwight nodded, “That approach seems eminently logical to you and me, George, but if it’s that easy, why didn’t al-Qaeda smuggle the DC bomb in that way?”

  George shrugged. “I don’t know. Their mindset is so totally different that all their actions seem crazy to us. Just look at the War in Iraq. Hundreds of those guys blew themselves up in self-sacrificing homicides for no reason. Now that’s crazy.”

  “Why do you say they did it for no reason?” asked the XO.

  “Because they didn’t have to do it to get us out of there. We said all along that as soon as the country stabilized, we were leaving. All they had to do was wait a year or so, and we would have been gone.”

  “That’s true, it was pretty stupid,” the XO agreed. “But back to the subject of DC, how do you think they got the bomb in, Dwight?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s different from a bunch of illegals hoppin’ the Rio Grande. When you’re carryin’ a nuke, it’s a little different! If you’re a terrorist, that’s an asset you can’t afford to lose. So who knows, maybe they teamed up with a drug cartel, or they could have bribed some poor fisherman who thought they were using his boat to smuggle in people or other contraband. We’ll probably never know for sure.”

  “Gentlemen,” the captain interrupted, “I hate to interrupt this tantalizing conversation, but we’ve got work to do.” George was uneasy talking about this subject since the discussion would inevitably turn to the possible role of the Annapolis.

  “Okay,” said Dwight, “but one more thing about that trawler coming tonight. It’s also bringing you a full load of fresh produce, milk, and other consumables you’re going to need once you get underway. We also have a crew boat coming in from New Orleans with additional stores. We bought out all the MREs at several of the local Army-Navy Surplus stores along with all the frozen dinners at some of the grocery stores around New Orleans. We told them if anyone asked any questions about why they were buying so much food, to tell them they had been chartered by GenCon to supply one of our rigs.”

  “Oh boy! MREs—Meals Ready to Eat. I don’t think I’ve had one of those since I went to survival school as a midshipman!”

  “With your crew cut back to twenty-five people, you’re not going to have the luxury of having someone cook meals from scratch. Everyone is going to have to be able to grab a quick meal whenever they can.”

  “Good thinking, Dwight. I knew I could count on you.”

  George and Leona stood on the north side of Platform Alpha looking out in the direction of the Texas Gulf coast. Even in September, it could be sweltering hot on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. Today was nice, though. A steady breeze kept it quite pleasant in the shadow of the platform’s superstructure.

  The time was drawing nigh, and there would be no turning back. George turned to Leona. “You could still get out of this, you know. They probably haven’t even missed you yet. I wish…”

  George’s sentence was interrupted by Dwight yelling from the control shack, “George! Get up here now!”

  Hearing the urgency and stress in Dwight’s voice, George took the stairs three at a time with Leona close on his heels. They rushed into the control room.

  “What’s the problem?” George asked.

  “We got visitors.” Dwight’s voice was tight.

  “Visitors? Where?”

  “Check the screen. That blip is about six miles out and making a beeline straight for Platform Alpha.”

  George ran to the top of the ladder and yelled down to the XO who was on the deck of the Louisiana. “XO, we’ve got company coming. Take her down to a hundred feet! Leona and I will stay here with Dwight and maintain radio contact.”

  “Aye-aye, sir!”

  George returned to the control room and studied the radarscope. “Any ideas?”

  “During the time I’ve been out here, I’ve had Mexican Coast Guard, the U.S. Coast Guard, drug runners, pleasure boats…you name it, they have all stopped by for one reason or another. This one is going too slow for drug runners; it’s too small for Coast Guard, so my guess is it’s a pleasure boat or fisherman.”

  “I hope you’re right.” George felt, rather than heard, the Louisiana taking on ballast as it began to submerge underneath the platform. “With these GenCon coveralls and this gray bear
d I’ve been growing, they’ll never know who I am even though my picture has been plastered on the TV and newspapers for weeks. Leona’s still an unknown. So far, she’s just a petty officer who’s on emergency leave, although that status will soon change to UA when they discover her father is not dying and she’s not in Kansas!”

  “UA?” asked Dwight.

  “Unauthorized Absence. It’s the navy’s version of AWOL—Absent Without Official Leave.”

  The radio, which had been quiet, now came to life. “Oil platform…uh, four-one-three, I believe. This is the Dorothy out of Corpus Christi. Do you copy?”

  Dwight picked up the handset, “This is GenCon rig four-one-three. We copy. Go ahead, Dorothy.”

  “Hi, my name is Bill Tuohy. We are on our way back to Corpus, and we are running a little low on fuel. We were hoping you could spare about one hundred gallons.”

  “George?” Dwight said as he held his hand over the mike.

  “Can we direct him to another rig?”

  “Yeah, but we’re by far the farthest out. The nearest rig is about twenty miles north. If he needs fuel, we don’t want him calling the coast guard to come rescue his ass, and then telling them the assholes on four-one-three wouldn’t give him any gas. But it’s your call.”

  George thought about it. “Let ’em in. But, we’re going to have to keep them off your deck.”

  “Okay.” Dwight keyed the mike, “Bill, you can tie up at the northeast leg of the rig. But you have to be very careful. The rig was hit during Hurricane Alonzo and it’s somewhat unstable. We’re doing repairs now trying to make it safe.”

  “Copy that, rig four-one-three. We’re trying to get home, so as soon as you can load us up we will be on our way.”

  On the Dorothy, Bill turned from the radio and addressed a powerfully built man standing at the helm. “Tommy, I’m not so sure about taking on the rig. We don’t know how many men they have.”

  “You heard him, they’re working on repairs. That means they’ll only have a fraction of their normal crew onboard. And they aren’t expecting us.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. But—”

  “But nothin’,” interrupted Ronnie. Ronnie was Tommy’s executive assistant in his business. She worked as his Assistant Manager for Foreign Operations in his Houston office of Harrier International, a company ostensibly importing oil tools from China. Ronnie was a skilled horsewoman and a marksman with multiple weapons including the Glock 40 she had strapped to her inner left thigh. Most men who messed with Ronnie only did it once.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I guess I’m just jumpy now that we’re actually here.”

  “Dwight?” George’s voice was calm. Dressed in coveralls with a GenCon patch on the back, he looked just like a deck hand.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going out to brief Ramirez and Williams. I would like to be with you when you meet with the Dorothy and her captain.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Rig four-one-three,” the radio came to life again.

  Dwight keyed the mike, “This is rig four-one-three.”

  “This is Bill again. I really hope you guys have a medic on board!”

  “Bill, this is Dwight. What’s the problem?” he asked suspiciously.

  “My boss’s assistant is throwing up something awful, and she’s complaining of some serious pain in her right side. I think we’re about ten minutes out. Repeat. Do you have a medic?”

  Dwight looked at George and raised his eyebrows. George nodded and said, “Send him down to their boat.”

  “Sure. You will be tying up to the northeast leg where we have a ladder and a landing. I’ll send the medic down when you get here.”

  “Great. Dorothy out.”

  “Who’s your medic?” asked George. “We need to brief him on the need to keep our presence secret.”

  “His name’s Fred Wiland. We call him Freddy. He was a medic in the army. He got out about three months ago and was livin’ in Houston. He wanted to get away from all that big-city hustle and bustle, so he applied to GenCon to fill a position we had for a medic willin’ to spend extended periods on oil rigs.”

  “He’s a good guy?”

  “The best. Totally trustworthy.”

  “Let me go down to the boat with Freddy,” said Leona. “We shouldn’t send someone down alone.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t have a good explanation for why we’re sendin’ two people down,” said Dwight.

  “Sure you do—company policy: whenever the medic examines a woman or someone from off the rig, you need a witness. You know, insurance, lawyers, and all that.”

  “We don’t know anything about these people or what they’re up to. It might be dangerous,” said George.

  Leona laughed. “Listen to who’s talking, Mister Save-the-World. If I’m going to be on one of your teams for the rest of my life, hiding out from authorities and avoiding capture, I better get some training at handling difficult situations. Besides, my woman’s intuition is pretty good. I’m good at quickly sizing up people. That might come in handy down there.”

  “All right,” George conceded. Turning to Dwight, he said, “Let’s get Freddy up here.”

  Dwight got on the rig PA, “Freddy, get your med kit and meet me at the northeast ladder.”

  Dwight turned to Leona. “Let’s roll!”

  The Dorothy tied up to the northeast leg of Platform Alpha. She was a large oceangoing yacht. Dwight watched her pull up to the platform. “That’s at least a five million dollar yacht. Pretty strange they would run out of gas. Freddy, you and Leona go on down and check it out.”

  Tommy and Bill were waiting on the deck of the Dorothy as Freddy and Leona climbed down the ladder.

  Tommy was a good ol’ boy from Houston, Texas. Like his Mafia cousins in the Northeast, nobody in his Lakewood neighborhood in Houston suspected a thing. He went to church regularly; he gave to the right charities; and nobody was turned down for anything if they asked. Tommy liked being respected, but he liked the adrenaline-pumping danger and the income of the drug business even more. As the DEA, FBI, and CIA knew, but were unable prove in court yet, Tommy ran drugs from Mexico and South America in a five hundred million dollar a year operation.

  Tommy greeted them, “Two medics?”

  “No,” said Leona. “Freddy here’s the medic. I’m the witness required by company policy. Who’s your patient?”

  “It’s Ronnie. She’s in the cabin.”

  Freddy and Leona entered the cabin, where Ronnie was lying on a bed. Freddy sat down on the edge of the bed and began asking her where it hurt.

  “I feel a monster pain in my stomach,” she said, as she indicated her lower right abdomen. “It’s really bad, and I’m throwin’ up a lot.”

  “Could be appendicitis,” said Freddy. “Let me take a look.”

  Leona stood by the doorway with Tommy.

  “This must have come on all of a sudden,” said Leona.

  “Yeah, she was perfectly fine this morning, and now she’s in so much pain she can’t stand up.”

  “Where are you guys coming from?”

  “We’ve been over to Biloxi to do a little gambling, and now we’re headed back to Houston.”

  “Houston?”

  “Oh, I mean Corpus. Sorry, we…uh…hit Houston on the way over, but we’re taking a direct shot back. I thought we would have enough fuel to make it nonstop, but with this westerly wind, my latest calculations showed we wouldn’t make it.”

  “Yeah, funny thing about the weather.”

  Bill interrupted them and indicated to Leona that Dwight wanted to talk to her. Leona stepped back on the deck and looked up at the platform. Dwight indicated for her to come up.

  “Hell,” she said to Bill. “Up-down-up-down. I’ll be right back.”

  In her absence, Tommy turned to Bill. “Even if they’re armed, I think we can get the jump on ‘em while Ronnie does her act. This rig will be perfect for the shipment from Hugo
.” The shipment was twenty tons of cocaine coming in from Venezuela on a fishing trawler with Costa Rican registry.

  “But, what if we can’t take over the rig? And what if all the distributors don’t get here in time to make the transfer? The timing just seems too close.”

  The plan was to break up the shipment on the rig into five smaller shipments for moving into the U.S.

  “Bill, look, everybody knows when to be here. With Ronnie and Paulie’s help, we’ll easily be able to take this rig. We have the element of surprise and the beauty of Ronnie to make them hesitate. You know that works!”

  As Leona finished her climb back to the deck of Platform Alpha, Dwight asked her, “What do you think?”

  “They’re lying,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but it isn’t good.”

  George said, “Okay. Go tell Sergeant Ramirez and Corporal Williams to move into position. They’re waiting over on the west side of the control room.”

  Back on the Dorothy, Ronnie suddenly sat up on her sickbed and smiled. “Freddy, I would like to come up and see your rig. Is that okay with you?”

  Freddy was taken aback and a bit nonplussed. “Uh, I thought you couldn’t—”

  “Yes. Well, I lied. And now I want to see where you work, Freddy.”

  “I can’t take you up there.”

  Tommy interrupted “I think you will, Freddy.” Turning to the doorway, he said, “Bill, time to get Dwight down here.”

  Bill waved up at Dwight and motioned for him to come down.

  Dwight turned to George and said, “I’ll be back, but just in case, are you armed?”

  “Always.”

  “It’s probably nothing, but this is getting weirder by the minute. As a signal, if I call you Newt, like I did when we were kids, somethin’s wrong.” Dwight started down the ladder.