by Tom Carroll
“You were lucky to be based in Seattle from the start.”
“Well, it wasn’t from the start. I was originally based in Salt Lake City, and I was climbing the seniority ladder when Delta established a major hub in Seattle. I jumped at the chance to transfer, and as a bonus, I get to be closer to my parents in Bellingham.”
“Do you like the life? Has to be tough on a relationship,” said Colt.
“You’re right about that. But fourteen years and a disastrous divorce later, I’m still flying. Delta has been good to me. The benefits are great, and I love the stand-by travel. Life’s actually pretty good.”
“Any kids from the marriage?” asked Colt.
“No. My ex was a pharmaceutical sales rep and constantly on the road, and my career was equally as unpredictable. I guess we were both just too into our careers, and that didn’t leave time for babies. Do you have a family?”
Colt replied, “My daughter Alexandra’s 29, married, and living near my wife in Olympia. She’s CEO of a network management firm I started many years ago. My son Dan is 26 and is a Navy pilot based on a carrier in the western Pacific. I hope to get a chance to see him on this trip.”
Ashley started brewing another pot of coffee. “You live in Olympia?”
“Not for the past three years, but my wife lives there. I work at the Pentagon and live nearby.”
Ashley wondered about a marriage separated by a continent and three time zones. At least she and her former husband had lived in the same house. Colt was quiet as another passenger entered the galley and poured a cup of coffee.
Colt placed his empty teacup on the counter. “Well, I think I’ll try to get some sleep before it’s time for breakfast.”
As he squeezed by Ashley to go back to his seat, she pressed against him and whispered, “I think Colt’s a cool name.”
Colt worked his way back to his seat and eased into his bed. He felt a little uncomfortable from the flirtation with the flight attendant, something he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. She was much too young for him, and besides, he was still married and hoped to remain so. He reached up, turned off the reading lamp, and closed his eyes. Not that he had any hope of getting back to sleep. Colt envied those who could sleep on a plane, a skill he couldn’t master. He wasn’t sure if it was the plane’s motion or the strange noises, but he knew from experience this was going to be another long night. He decided to think about the fact that he would get to see his son in a few days, and if he did, what would they say to one another?
Delta Airlines Flight 167 – Final Descent into Narita Airport, Tokyo
The plane’s cabin was back to normal: window screens raised, lights on, beds turned back into airline seats, passengers once again in their street attire. As Colt gathered his personal items and prepared for landing, flight attendants came down the aisles in unison, offering Delta credit card applications to passengers while the lead flight attendant read the benefits of card ownership into the microphone. Colt declined the card application when Ashley approached, but she smiled and handed him one anyway. “I do recommend you look this over carefully!” she teased.
Glancing up from her book as Colt opened the credit card application, Jennifer Abrams could see that a hand-written note had been tucked inside. “If you’re ever in Seattle and need a distraction,” it read, “give me a call!” Ten digits concluded the message.
“You seem to have had an eventful evening,” Jen commented. “I must be a pretty sound sleeper.”
Embarrassed a little by her comment, Colt quickly recovered and feigned smugness in his best Agent 007 style. “I tried to be discrete,” he replied.
They both laughed as the plane touched down. Colt noticed that the pilot had immediately applied reverse thrust, probably so he could take the high-speed runway exit and make the scheduled arrival time.
Colt exited the plane with the other business class passengers and waited at the jetway exit for his executive assistant, who had been flying in coach. A good-sized fellow, Lenny Wilson, had been Colt’s EA since accepting the president’s appointment. A native Bostonian and proud graduate of the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy, Lenny’s quick wit and irreverent sense of humor made him a perfect confidant and traveling companion. Colt trusted him implicitly, and Lenny had grown equally fond of his scholarly and insightful boss. If there were two things Lenny would change about Colt, they would be his lack of political awareness and his unshakable belief in always speaking the truth. The beltway was no place for people of integrity, he reasoned.
“Well, boss, how was your flight? Hope you got a good night’s rest. I know I sure did. Twenty-two inches of seat room is perfect for a man of my size! Plus, I had twin babies ten feet away who must’ve decided to cut some teeth during the night.”
Colt was prepared for Lenny’s complaints, which happened after every long flight. DOD policy permitted senior appointed officials to upgrade their tickets, allowing Colt to switch to first or business class, while poor Lenny was left to fly with the masses.
Colt’s mind wandered briefly as he remembered flying with his wife and kids to Disneyland many years earlier. Seven-year-old Dan, seated next to him in first class, had noticed and commented, “One of the coach people is using our bathroom.” Colt later agreed with his wife that it was time the family flew coach.
“Well, Lenny, next time we fly, I recommend you use those well-placed connections you’re always talking about to get yourself an upgrade and a bed! But for now, how about focusing on finding our luggage and getting us through customs?”
“Roger that, sir!”
Headquarters, Republic of Korea Marine Corps (ROKMC), Hwaseong, South Korea
Lieutenant General Cho Yeong-su had served his nation throughout his entire adult life, his constant adversary being the Korean People’s Army (KPA), the military forces of North Korea. For more than 30 years, he had been preparing for war with North Korea to ensure that the marines under his command would emerge victoriously. He considered it a sacred duty, one that required all of his attention, conviction, and commitment. The son of a rice farmer, he had been raised in South Korea on a small farm near the port city of Busan. He had done well in school and attracted the attention of local government officials, eventually attending the prestigious Korea Military Academy, South Korea’s equivalent to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. He excelled in the school’s four-year course of study, graduating at the top of his class. But rather than pursue a traditional career with the esteemed South Korean Army, he opted for the glamour and esprit de corps of the Republic of Korea Marine Corps, a world-class fighting force closely modeled after the U.S. Marines. Although technically a branch of the Korean Navy, most of his countrymen perceived the South Korean Marines as an independent service, a perspective still encouraged and actively promoted today by General Cho. As its commandant, he led an elite and highly motivated force of over 29,000 troops specializing in amphibious warfare and rapid reaction missions. The small yet highly trained force was organized into two divisions, two brigades, and a number of smaller, more specialized units.
For several years, North Korea had pointed to the accumulation of American weapons in South Korea as justification for not ratifying an arms reduction agreement with the United States Then, in the mid-1990s, the U.S. had announced its plan to remove chemical and biological weapons from all overseas locations, including 110 biological warheads, which had been stored for many years in South Korea. A removal operation had soon begun worldwide, and U.S. officials, working with host South Korean forces, had started processing the weapons for shipment from South Korea back to the States. These particular biological warheads contained Anthrax 455, a genetically-altered version of Anthrax with spores significantly decreased in size to facilitate enhanced airborne dispersal, and could be delivered to a target population via gravity bombs or cruise missiles. Bacillus anthracis, the bacteria that causes anthrax, had been used for over 100 years to sicken or kill livestock, crops or people.
> As the 110 biological warheads were being prepared for trans-Pacific transport, then-Major Cho Yeong-su had been responsible for physical security inside his country. As such, he was appointed to oversee the entire shipment process. Before loading the assembled weapons onto the train bound for Busan, Major Cho had reviewed the printed shipment manifest, not noticing that the document erroneously listed the quantity as 101, a potentially confusing error made by the simple inversion of the second and third digits.
After Cho’s security detail completed the loading, they had begun their rail journey to the port city. During the trip, Cho decided to check on the weapons again to be sure they were safe. This time, with little else to do on the train, he opted to personally count them, and something didn’t fit. After double- and triple-checking his count, he realized what had happened: He had signed a shipping manifest for 101 warheads, but actually had 110 of them in his custody, nine more than were documented. Immediately, a plan had begun to form in his mind.
Back in the 90s, most South Koreans had not been concerned with their government obtaining weapons of mass destruction. But now, but with the recent rhetoric coming from the North, public sentiment was shifting toward an internal force structure that didn’t depend upon the U.S. for defense. Cho knew his secret cache of nine small warheads could theoretically replace some of the warheads in the Hyunmoo family of cruise missiles used by the ROK forces. This would allow South Korea to threaten the North in the event of invasion. For many years, Cho had been secretly storing the nine warheads in scattered locations throughout South Korea. Now held on a remote island in the Sea of Japan, the warheads needed to be moved again to an even more secure location. And they could only be moved by someone Cho trusted. The Spartans would be perfect for the task.
Formed in 2016, the Spartan 3000 Regiment was Cho’s brainchild, and as such, reflected his personal warrior ethos. More than 3,000 of the most motivated and capable ROK marines had been selected, tested, and forged into this elite fighting force. Although the Spartan Regiment’s primary mission was to destroy an enemy’s key military facilities, it had also been trained to assist with domestic natural disasters. Able to deploy anywhere within 24 hours, the Spartan Regiment was Korea’s A-Team.
Serving as the first Spartan commander, Colonel Chang Min-su had been personally selected for the job by General Cho. The two marine officers had known one another for more than 20 years, and Chang worshiped General Cho as if Cho were his father.
The commandant always knew he could trust Colonel Chang with his most critical secrets. Now, sitting at his desk, Cho pressed a button on his phone. “Mrs. Han,” he said. “Please send in Colonel Chang.”
Hours later, Colonel Chang emerged from Cho’s office, feeling pleased and honored to have been selected for such a vital task by the commandant. He found it almost unbelievable how General Cho had the bravery and audacity to steal the Americans’ weapons. Even more astounding was the fact that he had kept their existence a secret from the entire South Korean military, including its commander in chief. Chang finished a few administrative tasks and then told his aide he was leaving for the day.
As he climbed the last steps to his apartment, Chang was delighted at the prospect of seeing his girlfriend. He had met Kang Ji-woo six months earlier while on vacation in Hawaii, and she had just recently moved into his apartment. The stunning 32-year-old, who worked as a respiratory therapist at nearby Sacred Heart Hospital, seemed to turn heads whenever they went out on the town. At 46, Chang suspected that his wealth and position actually had more than a little to do with her interest in him, but he didn’t care. Plus, she was the only woman he had ever spent time with who showed an interest in his work.
Ji-woo gasped with joyful surprise as Chang unlocked the door and entered into their apartment. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman with large, dark, mesmerizing eyes and shimmery black hair that flowed over her shoulders. She wore an exquisitely embroidered silk kimono Chang had bought for her on a recent trip to Tokyo, and he could see now that it was all she had on. “Now, tell me all about your day,” she purred softly as she untied the kimono’s belt and let the garment drop to the ground.
Later, after Chang was deep asleep, Ji-woo gathered up their clothes from the floor and added them to the black dry cleaning bag that hung on the back of the bedroom door. She had been using Mr. Yi’s Alterations and Dry Cleaning Service exclusively since moving in with Chang, dropping the couple’s clothes off at the shop every Friday like clockwork. Ji-woo selected a clean, blue-striped Ralph Lauren shirt from her closet and carefully buttoned the left cuff while making sure the right cuff was unbuttoned. She placed the shirt in the dry cleaning bag and returned to their bed, excited at the prospect of another covert rendezvous as well as the chance to impress her superiors in Pyongyang, North Korea.
Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS) Field Office, Yokosuka, Japan
Special Agent in Charge Tim Brannigan had a big job, and it had just gotten bigger. He was already responsible for all NCIS operations and investigations taking place in northeast Asia, and he managed satellite offices in Okinawa, Sasebo, Seoul, Yokosuka, Misawa, Chinhae, and Busan. This morning he had learned that he also would be providing a personal protection detail for the U.S. undersecretary of defense for policy, Colton Garrett. Garrett was scheduled to arrive that morning at Narita International Airport, and would then be driven to U.S. Fleet Activities Yokosuka to visit the Commander, U.S. 7th Fleet on board his flagship, USS Blue Ridge. The undersecretary would be remaining in theater for several weeks, visiting a variety of U.S. bases and ships. He would need to be assigned an NCIS special agent for his protection. Senior Field Agent Anna DeSantis was the obvious choice. She was one of Brannigan’s most capable agents and had recently completed the DOD executive protection course. Probably more important, she was currently unassigned. DeSantis was well known for her legendary sense of fairness, and Brannigan did not look forward to hearing her argue why she shouldn’t be assigned this “babysitting” duty. Nevertheless, he yelled to his assistant through the closed door, “Jerry! Find DeSantis and send her in here!”
USS Blue Ridge (LCC 19), Alpha Pier, Yokosuka, Japan
USS Blue Ridge was the lead ship of the Blue Ridge-class amphibious command ships of the U.S. Navy, and the flagship of the U.S. 7th Fleet. Forward-deployed to Yokosuka, Japan, it was the third U.S. Navy ship to be named for the Blue Ridge mountain range in the Appalachian Mountains. Its mission was to support the commander and staff of the U.S. 7th Fleet with state-of-the-art command, control, communications, computers, and intelligence services. Launched in 1969, Blue Ridge was the navy’s oldest active commissioned ship and had the distinction of flying the First Navy Jack at its bow. Displacing more than 19,000 tons, Blue Ridge was more than 630 feet long and had a beam of 110 feet. It was steam-powered and could sustain more than 20 knots over 10,000 nautical miles.
Vice Admiral Kurt Shaffer — callsign TEDDY — sat in the Blue Ridge’s flag cabin reflecting on his decades-long friendship with Colt Garrett. It had started years earlier when they were both stationed in Air Wing Seven onboard USS Dwight D. Eisenhower during a Mediterranean Sea deployment. Colt, a lieutenant then, was serving as an air intelligence officer for the Scorpions of VAQ-132, an EA-6B Prowler electronic warfare squadron. Kurt was a lieutenant junior grade aviator flying the Voight A-7D Corsair II for Attack Squadron 45. After getting to know one another, the two junior officers became fast friends, but not until after “the incident.”
Once, during battle group workups in the Caribbean Sea, Kurt had been flying back to the Eisenhower after a practice bombing run on a remote island range. He had spotted the aircraft carrier, joined the recovery pattern, and successfully landed. After climbing down the plane’s ladder, he was surprised to be abruptly escorted up several decks to meet with the carrier group’s admiral, a man who Kurt didn’t recognize. Had there been a change of command since he had launched only a few hours earlier? The “new admiral” wasted no
time in letting Kurt know that he had just made an egregious error in judgment and ship recognition. Instead of landing on the Eisenhower, Kurt had unwittingly landed on her sister ship, USS Theodore Roosevelt. Kurt still remembered the taunting chorus of jeers as he made his way back to his Corsair. Thinking things couldn’t get worse, he was horrified to see Roosevelt Sailors had repainted his jet with the Roosevelt’s insignia. Wonderful.
Upon his return to the Eisenhower, he immediately headed to the intel center for a mission debriefing session. Opening the door, Kurt found his skipper, Commander John Dickenson, and a handful of his fellow squadron pilots waiting for him, seated around the debriefing table. Since all the other aircraft that had flown that day had already debriefed, the room was uncharacteristically empty. Kurt sat down in front of air intelligence officer Colt Garrett, who asked, “Okay, Mr. Shaffer, what do you have for me?”
“I was a sole aircraft mission to Vieques, dropped four GBU-12 bombs, all safely on range.”
“Take any gas from the tanker?” asked Colt.
“Yep, I took 2.2 from Texaco,” Navy slang for a fuel tanker.
“Dump any gas?”
“Nope.”
“Okay,” Colt paused. “Anything, well, unusual to report?”
Kurt looked around the silent room to find everybody eagerly anticipating what he would say next. He thought for a long and uncomfortable ten seconds, and then finally uttered, “I decided to do a touch-and-go on the Teddy Roosevelt since it was on my way back to the Eisenhower.”
The room erupted into unbridled laughter, as a couple of pilots actually fell to the deck. Skipper Dickenson ordered, “Okay, knock it off, gentlemen. Lieutenant Garrett, please continue.”
Colt couldn’t resist. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You landed on the wrong boat, and now you’re giving me some B.S. story about a planned touch-and-go?”
