Trident Force

by Michael Howe

  “You were undoubtedly already on your way to us before Hensen disappeared.”

  “Yes, but our data searches had already turned him up. He had a drug conviction.”

  “You’ve got my attention, Captain, although I’m afraid a number of my crew have been in trouble from time to time. Are you really telling me we have terrorists aboard or an explosive device or some other such thing? If so, then I’m fully prepared to turn north immediately for Ushuaia to offload passengers. Or do you think this is all about drugs?”

  “I don’t know what it’s really about, and no, not yet. Unless you feel it best. I don’t think we have enough to abort the voyage.”

  “And I don’t particularly like jumping just because some terrorist bastard decides to amuse himself by dropping a few hints. What, then, do you have in mind?”

  “My people and I will search as much of your ship as we can, using your crew’s eyes and our sensors, and see if we can come up with anything. We plan to start with a list of likely locations along with a description of the work orders executed during your last overhaul.”

  “You’re starting with a damn long list.”

  “I know. We hope to shorten it by talking to some of your crew—and, I’m afraid, some of your passengers. The ones with either criminal records or radical political connections.”

  “All this without any real proof there’s anything to look for.”

  “I’m not going to say you can never be too careful, because it’s all too easy to go overboard. We’re working on a hunch, at the moment.”

  “We’ll be crossing the Antarctic Circle soon. Do you have any objection to our holding a Crossing the Line Ceremony?”

  “None whatsoever. It might help distract the passengers from us.”

  “We’re also scheduled to effect a landing a few hours later on the Antarctic Peninsula, to give the passengers a look at the local wildlife. May we do so, or do you wish to keep the ship in quarantine?”

  “Please follow your itinerary. In fact, if you’re anchoring, that will be an excellent chance for us to perform an external hull inspection. I’ll have our most experienced diver, Chief Andrews, do that with me. We’re a little more familiar with ship bottoms than the rest of the team.”

  Covington glanced at Chambers’s wedding band. “Does your wife know about this thing you have for boat bottoms?”

  “Yes, and it’s fine with her just as long as the kids don’t find out about it.”

  Covington chuckled, deciding that he and Chambers would probably get along. “I’d be more comfortable if you’d call me Art.”

  “Only if you’ll call me Mike.”

  “A pleasure.”

  “We’ve brought our cold water regulators and I understand you have a fairly extensive dive locker.”

  “We do. I’m sure Kim Ackerman, she’s the ship’s diver, can outfit you with everything you need. Now, how is that man of yours who was injured when he landed wrong?”

  “Fuentes? He has a badly sprained ankle, but your doctor seems to have wrapped him up pretty well.”

  “My hat’s off to the man who delivered you. The Argentines are good, damn good, if you ask me.”

  “That they are, Art.

  “About the media . . . ,” continued Chambers.

  “I’m in no position to confiscate any footage they took of your arrival. Greenpeace, the sponsor, is very touchy about censorship.”

  “I understand that. They’ve probably already transmitted it. I was hoping you might come up with a method of distracting them from my people. Even a little.”

  “The best I’ve been able to do is keep them out of the operating spaces and crew’s quarters. When do you want to meet with Congressman Evans?”

  “I was afraid of that. What about the senator?”

  “I don’t think he could care less. But the congressman wants to keep control of things and he wants everybody to know that he’s keeping control of things.”

  “I’ll meet with him in an hour. No media, if possible. May I use this room?”

  “My pleasure, just as long as I don’t have to be here. And at some point I’m sure Rod Johnson’s going to want to talk to you.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “The Greenpeace on-scene rep.”

  Marcello Cagayan found the arrival of what was clearly a military force of some sort as worrisome as did Jake Rounding. His first impulse was to detonate the charges right that very minute, before anybody could find them or take him. But this was the wrong place—too close to land. Omar had said to do it farther east, where the nearest help was thousands of miles away.

  As was so often the case, Cagayan’s head started to throb as he tried to think it all out. Did they know about the charges? Did they know where they were? Did they know about him? And how did they know? Had they taken Omar? Or whoever had placed the things if it hadn’t been Omar himself?

  He took a deep breath and patted the cell phone in his pocket. The contact made him calmer, made his thinking clearer. He had power now. He was in the big leagues. He no longer had to panic at the first sign of others who thought they had power too. Hadn’t Hensen proved that? These people who had come down from the sky were just part of the challenge now. If necessary, he could trigger the charges in five seconds, but in the meantime he had plans. Plans that went beyond those laid out by Omar.

  “What’s the plan, Boss?” asked Ray Fuentes, his damaged, grapefruit-sized ankle up on a chair, after Mike had assembled the team in one of the three large, surprisingly plush suites Captain Covington had assigned to them.

  “First, I want to remind you of the very delicate position we’re in. Many of the passengers are VIPs. Neither the ship nor the crew’s American, and we’re not even sure there’s a problem. On top of that, the video footage they got of our arrival has already hit prime time and some of the news commentators are already going into hysterics, which means some of the passengers may follow.”

  “What do we do about them?” asked Ted Anderson.

  “Who, the passengers or the media?”

  “The media.”

  “Avoid them the best you can. They’re prohibited from the ship’s operating areas, so try hiding there if they get too intense.”

  “What do we tell them?”

  “Nothing for the moment. Not even name, rank and serial number.”

  “What about the guy they lost overboard? You figure he was a terrorist or just some sort of druggie?”

  “Assume both, if that’s any help. How’s your arm?”

  “At least ninety-five percent, sir.”

  “Very well. I want you and Jerry to go to work with the crew searching. Work from those two lists Alex has generated. You’re looking for anything that doesn’t belong. The ship’s people should know very well what belongs and what doesn’t. You’re going to back them up if and when they find anything suspicious. Start in the engineering spaces and other working spaces, then the crew’s quarters and then the passenger accommodations.”

  “You think we can cover the whole ship, sir?”

  “No, of course not! We’re going to do our best. If there is a device and if there is somebody aboard controlling it, our searching may cause him to make a mistake.”

  “Like detonating it?”

  “We run that risk.”

  “Aye, sir,” replied Jerry after a brief—but pregnant—pause.

  “While you’re doing that, Ray and I will be talking to the crew members on Alex’s other list—the ones with sketchy pasts. Alex is going to go over the crew list again and also the passenger list.”

  “I’ve already made a preliminary run on them, Boss,” reported Alex.

  “And?”

  “Among the passengers we’ve got four with securities fraud convictions or prejudicial settlements; six who’ve made false statements; four tax evaders; six spouse abusers; ten convicted of possession of cocaine; twenty-five felony DUI convictions and three convicted of ecoterrorism.”

  “Along
with a congressman and a senator,” added Ray, trying to be helpful.

  “What about radical politics and questionable connections?”

  “Nothing obvious. The crew’s from all over, so some may be out of favor with their own governments, but we really have no way of knowing. Same for the passengers. None of them are on the Homeland Security Watch List.”

  “We’ll add the felons to our list.”

  “What do we ask them, sir?” asked Ray, grimacing slightly as he moved his foot.

  “How they like the trip so far. What they think of the ship and its crew. How they feel about the ship’s security. Have they seen anybody else behaving strangely. Use your imagination.”

  “And the crew?”

  “The same . . . but be sure to ask if they know or ever heard of Coccoli, Rojas or Omar.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “And one more thing. The ship’s scheduled to anchor to let the passengers go ashore. While she’s anchored, Jerry and I will conduct a bottom inspection. Alex will relieve Jerry on the search team.”

  The rest of the team, thinking of the bitterly cold water, smiled at Jerry. He gave them the thumbs-up sign.

  Mike knocked on the door to Linda Williams’s stateroom and waited. He knocked again, wondering if she’d decided to make him drag her out of the senator’s stateroom, where he’d finally managed to locate her by telephone a few minutes before. The door finally opened. “Mr. Chambers?”

  “Yes,” replied Mike, flipping open his wallet as he did.

  Linda studied the credentials for what seemed like several minutes. “Okay, come in but leave the door open.”

  Mike walked in.

  “So what can I do for the navy?” she demanded.

  “I’m surprised you’re not at one of the seminars.”

  “Those are to educate the customers. I’m here on business, not as a tourist. I’m working with Senator Bergstrom to put an end to all the shit. To clean up after people like you. So what do you want?”

  “According to our records you have been convicted of an ecoterrorist act.”

  “Clever little people, aren’t you? A couple friends of mine decided to stop the destruction of an endangered marsh, so they torched some houses being built there. Nobody was hurt.”

  “And you?”

  “I was driving the car. But that was a long time ago. Most people now appreciate the wisdom and reasonableness of our actions. Getting back to you, what do you want?”

  As he studied her, Mike suspected she was older than she looked.

  “We’re conducting a random security evaluation of Aurora at the request of her owners.”

  “That’s bullshit and I don’t care what you told Pete Evans. So why do you come to me?”

  This is what those bastards at the FBI do every day, thought Mike as his irritation increased. “Doesn’t it make sense, even to you, to go to a convicted terrorist when one suspects terrorism?”

  “You think I’m involved in some sort of terrorist plan aimed at this ship!”

  “I think you might, or might not, have noticed anything, or heard something, that might point us in the right direction.”

  “I think the senator would advise me at this point to consult a lawyer. Are there any aboard who are willing to work pro bono? Do you know what that means?”

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Williams,” said Mike as he turned to go. There was no way he could continue talking with the woman without drawing his sidearm and shooting her right between the eyes.

  It’s a matter of not enough sleep, he thought. But there was no time for sleep. He stepped out into the passageway and right into a news team. “What can you tell us, Mr. Chambers? Have your people found anything? Is there really a bomb aboard? Does the woman in that cabin have anything to do with it?”

  “Get lost!” he said without thinking.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Captain Covington. “In a few minutes the ship will be crossing the Antarctic Circle. As is customary, we will stop briefly to allow King Neptune and some of his Red Nose aides to board the ship. Following his arrival, the king will welcome us to his southern kingdom and initiate those of us who have never visited before into the Order of the Red Nose. Everybody is encouraged to actively participate in the ceremony. If not, please do come watch. Following the ceremony, everybody will receive a certificate attesting to their having crossed this chilliest of lines.”

  Chrissie Clark, who was sitting with Brad at a table in the lounge, digesting her breakfast, looked up at the speaker as the captain clicked off. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Sounds idiotic to me,” replied Brad.

  Still smiling to herself, Chrissie studied him. He was looking worse by the second, and it wasn’t just a matter of her having kicked him out of bed. “Still haven’t been able to find the guy who’s supposed to sell you dope?”

  “No, god damn it. I told you, the guy was the guy who disappeared overboard.”

  “So I guess you’re going cold turkey.” As she said it, Chrissie thanked God that she’d never gotten past grass and a few other relatively minor odds and ends.

  “Fuck!”

  “You don’t mind if I take part in this Red Nose thing, do you? You don’t even have to watch.”

  “Sure. A little publicity will never hurt you.”

  He was right, she thought, but he was also wrong. The fact was that she just wanted to do it, and really hoped the media would be so busy with the politicians—and Lloyd Llewellyn—that they’d barely notice her.

  About fifteen minutes later Aurora coasted to a stop in the eastern portion of the Bellingshausen Sea. To the east lay the Antarctic Peninsula, their first port of call—if you could call a shingle beach on an ice-covered pile of rocks a port. With its predictable capriciousness the Antarctic weather had changed radically. While it was still cold, the snow had stopped, the sky had cleared, and the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze, causing the seas to also lose much of their power.

  As soon as the ship stopped, there was a great splashing and commotion under one of the boat landing platforms that had been extended over the side. Suddenly, almost as if he had been standing on another platform below the visible one, a tall, almost regal, figure appeared and started to climb up a ladder onto the platform. The figure—blessed with an immense red nose—was dressed in a nineteenth-century admiral’s uniform and covered with long strands of dangling kelp. Just as Captain Covington, who was standing on the platform, saluted King Neptune—for that is who the kelpy figure was—another figure appeared. It was Davy Jones, the king’s prime minister and grand vizier.

  With Captain Covington leading, the party proceeded up to the fantail, where an old barber’s chair had been set up. Surrounding the barber’s chair were eight veteran Rednoses, each with a big red nose and a long fake turtle flipper attached to one hand.

  After settling onto his throne, King Neptune, who bore a strange resemblance to the ship’s boatswain, welcomed all to his domain. He then ordered the polliwogs to form a line for their initiation.

  The first batch of initiates was composed of the younger members of the ship’s crew—those who had never crossed the line before. Dressed in their oldest, rattiest work clothes, they were ordered to run toward the king while being thoroughly hosed down with cold water. They were then directed to slow down and walk a gauntlet between two rows of Rednoses, who thwacked them with their flippers. Once they were past the gauntlet, their noses were painted red with face paint and they were sent below to dry off and warm up.

  Predictably, the first passenger at the head of their line was Katie Sanders, followed by her parents. Before anything happened, each passenger participant was interviewed by Davy Jones—who bore a faint resemblance to the chief mate. Being the youngest person aboard, she was assigned a special initiation fee—instead of running across the deck, she had to walk like a penguin while a fine spray of chilly water soaked her. When she reached the gauntlet, giggling uncontrollably, she was greeted
by a multitude of pats on the back from the Rednoses. When that ordeal was over, King Neptune touched her on each shoulder with a very dead fish of some sort and pronounced her a genuine Rednose, at which point her nose was painted. With a tremendous smile of pride, she turned to watch her parents jog side by side across the deck under the now-familiar spray. Once Dana’s and Tim’s noses had been redecorated, the show continued.

  “Ms. Clark,” asked Davy Jones when Chrissie reached the head of the line, “how much of this would you like?”

  “Everything, Davy, everything.”

  Peter Evans and Penny insisted on the same, although Peter made a point of ensuring that the video cameras were running when he started.

  Some passengers wanted more water, some less, and only about one-half participated, but all, participants and spectators, seemed to enjoy the event, and many a red nose was still visible at midnight.

  As soon as the ceremony had been completed, King Neptune and his court returned to their kelpie realm and Aurora turned southeast, toward her first stop.

  Jerry Andrews stopped next to the main reduction gear behind one of Aurora’s two monster diesels—piles of metal so big that they didn’t even look like engines—and looked forward. The engine room was incredibly noisy and hot as the two huge steel beasts pounded, causing the deck to quiver slightly, driving the ship forward and expending monumental amounts of energy in the process. The room was three stories high, ringed by catwalks, and every level was filled with things—the engines themselves, motors, pumps, boxes, tanks, lockers and an infinite number of pipes, conduits and wires. And between and behind every one of those things were spaces—spaces in which other things could be hidden.

  As Jerry watched, twelve of the ship’s engineers worked their way slowly through the space, looking between and behind things—looking for anything that they knew didn’t belong there and then making check marks on lists. Then he watched Ted lowering a small transducer into a tank of pneumatic fluid. The transducer was connected to a specialized sonar unit that scanned the tank’s inside wall so they could see if it matched the outside.