A Time of Fear: Book Three of The Time Magnet Series

by Russell Moran

  The Hornets raced toward their targets. On command from Admiral Thompson, all three of the Lincoln’s support ships fired Harpoon anti-ship missiles at the Iranian frigates. All three Iranian ships were destroyed and sank in less than five minutes.

  Ashley and Frank looked at each other.

  “These Iranians are out of their minds,” Ashley said to Frank in a tone only he could hear.

  “I’m going to the flag bridge,” said Frank. “I’ll order our support ships to keep on station except for one frigate that I’ll assign to look for survivors.”

  “Aye aye, Sir.” said Ashley.

  “Shall I secure from general quarters, Captain?” asked the OOD.

  “No, not until I order it. I don’t want people breaking their necks over debris. As soon as the battle damage assessment team lets me know we’re okay, I’ll give you the word.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  ***

  In 15 minutes Ashley ordered the OOD to secure from general quarters, enabling the crew to leave their battle stations.

  “Captain, this is Admiral Thompson. I just spoke to the Office of Naval Operations. They want the Lincoln to pull back into Norfolk for battle repair. We should be there for three or four days. NavOps has alerted the White House and the State Department.”

  “Commander,” Ashley said to the ship’s navigator, “set course for Norfolk.”

  Admiral Frank returned to the bridge and walked over to Captain Ashley, who was sitting in the Captain’s chair.

  “I neglected to say something during all the excitement, Ashley.”

  “What is it Frank?”

  “Seldom have I seen such a display of combat effectiveness. Job well done. I’m putting you in for a commendation. Pretty soon you and I can pal around as a couple of fellow admirals.”

  “Thanks Frank, I really appreciate that, especially coming from you. You know, this is the first time I’ve been in combat since the Civil War in 1861. Back then all we had to worry about were cannon balls.”

  Thompson laughed. Time travelers always have strange stories to tell each other.

  Chapter 57

  Janice here.

  I must admit that I totally freaked out when I heard that the Lincoln had been attacked. It’s been all over the news this morning. Frankie, God bless him, called me at 8 AM as soon as he could get cellphone reception. Apparently a lot of the ship’s communication antennas were knocked out during the attack. The ship has tied up at the dock in Norfolk for a few days of repairs.

  Just hearing his voice calmed me down. I asked him how his burned hand was doing. Sometimes I come up with the lamest things to say when I’m nervous. We exchanged “I love you,” something I’ll never get tired of. Frank, who obviously had a busy day in front of him, promised to call me again later in the day at 1730. That’s 5:30 PM to you and me.

  I was busy with Buster projects, something he never seemed to run out of.

  5:30 PM rolled around and the phone didn’t ring. I was sure Frank was in a meeting or something. No big deal. Bennie and his pretty new friend Maggie asked me to have dinner with them, but I demurred. I was too nervous for socializing.

  My stomach was now in a knot. 6:30 PM came and went and I was starting to feel nauseous. I know, I’ll call Ashley. What will I say? “Have you seen a handsome admiral running around looking for a phone?”

  I hesitated to call Ashley, feeling embarrassed. I busied myself with a Buster project. But now it was 7:15.

  Fuck it, I’m calling Ashley.

  Ashley picked up the phone on the first ring.

  “Janice, hi.” Ashley said in a soft voice.

  “Ashley, I’m so sorry to bother you. God knows how busy you must be. Not everybody goes through a sea battle without details to sort out.” I thought I was being quite pleasant and conversational.

  “Ashley, where’s Frank?” I finally blurted, a bit loudly.

  “Oh, Janice, Honey, I was going to call you.”

  Ashley Patterson is one tough cookie. She speaks in what military types call a command voice. When Ashley opens her mouth, missiles fire, planes launch, people snap to attention. But that wasn’t the Ashley Patterson I heard on the phone. I didn’t hear the command voice of a military leader. I heard a big sister, speaking softly and trying to console me, trying to say “everything will be alright.”

  “I just got off the phone with Buster, Janice.”

  Ashley paused to take a breath, a long pause, a seemingly endless pause.

  “Janice, we don’t know where Frank is.”

  If I had a choice between a 10-kiloton nuke and what I just heard, I think I’d go for the bomb.

  I knew my next question would sound obvious, but I asked it anyway.

  “What do you mean he’s missing? Where is he? How can he be missing?”

  “Janice, here’s what we know. First, he didn’t fall overboard. I personally saw him after we tied up. Also, I ordered a search of the entire ship, as is required in a circumstance like this. I had a detail team go over every square inch of the Lincoln. All we know at this point is that Frank is not aboard. I’ve tried his cellphone just as you have. Nothing, as you know. The White House and Director Carlini have been notified. About the most positive thing I can tell you at this point is that Buster is on the case. I’ll call you when I hear anything, and I ask you to do the same. I know that you and Frank are in love. I know that because he told me. Frank is also a good friend of mine. Janice, we’ll find him.”

  After I got off the phone with Ashley I called Buster. His phone was busy. I took off my shoes and sprinted barefoot to his office with my heels under my arm. I opened the door without knocking. Buster was still on the phone, but he looked as if he expected me and motioned me in. He hung up the phone.

  “Buster, do we have any idea where he is?” I thought the question was dumb, just a space filler to mask my emotions. I was amazed at Buster’s answer.

  “We know exactly where he is.”

  Chapter 58

  Frank Thompson was lashed to a chair with yards of rope. He could barely see through his almost closed eyelids, swollen from repeated punches to his face. He found it difficult to talk, his jaw having been fractured by a baseball bat.

  Sheik Abbas Haddad stood in front of Thompson, holding a hunting knife.

  “You heathen scum. You have betrayed your brothers and Islam itself. You will soon go to hell where you will rot for eternity, but first you will give me the information I require. What does the CIA know about the bombs?”

  “Nothing,” Thompson mumbled as he winced in pain from the movement of his jaw. “They know nothing because I know nothing. You have kept this operation totally secret from everyone.”

  “What about the apostate Joseph Monahan? What did he tell them?”

  “Monahan is dead,” said Thompson. “He was killed in prison.”

  Another punch connected with Thompson’s nose, delivered personally by Haddad.

  “Your lies will only make it more painful for you,” said Haddad.

  Chapter 59

  “Buster,” I said. “How can you know where Frank is? I just spoke to Ashley Patterson. She has no idea.”

  “Janice, that’s because Captain Patterson doesn’t have a need to know. You should understand that by now.”

  “So where the hell is he and how do you know, and please don’t give me any bullshit about my need to know.”

  “Frank is at an al Qaeda safe house, one of the places we identified from Joe Monahan’s notes. It’s about a half-hour from here. We know that because, with Frank’s permission, we inserted a subcutaneous tracking device behind his right ear. We have his exact location.”

  “So now what?” I said. I’m sure I spoke too loudly but I couldn’t help it.

  “We have a hostage negotiating team ready to go. We’re leaving right now. You stay here. I know this is rough on you, but you need to hang in there, Janice.”

  Buster headed for the door of his office.
r />   I ran across the room and stood in front of him, blocking him from opening the door.

  “Buster,” I yelled in a way that was totally insubordinate but I didn’t care.” I’m coming with you.”

  “Janice, this is a sensitive mission. It requires experience. Also, things may get rough. You can’t help us.”

  “Buster,” I said in a lower and deeper tone as I looked into his eyes, “Name me one person, just one, in the entire Central Intelligence Agency, including yourself, who’s a better shot than me.”

  Buster has a way of understanding things quickly, a way of sorting through all the background noise and seeing what’s important. He pursed his lips and his shoulders sagged a bit, as if he knew he was about to concede a point.

  “You come with me in the van.”

  Chapter 60

  CIA Director Carlini and Ben Weinberg entered Room 0116 to meet with Joe Monahan. Buster would normally be at a meeting like this but he was headed toward the safe house with the interrogation team.

  “Joe,” said Carlini, “we suddenly have an urgent situation and we need your help. Admiral Frank has been kidnapped by al Qaeda. We know his location, one of the safe houses you helped us ID, about a half-hour from here.”

  “When did they get him?” Monahan asked.

  “As best we can figure about two hours ago. That’s the last time anybody saw him on the Lincoln.”

  “Christ,” said Joe, “about now he’s wishing that he was dead.”

  Carlini winced at the thought.

  “Joe, I know I’m fishing here, but is there anything you can tell us that may help?”

  “You said you know exactly where he is, which tells me you’ve planted a tracking device on him.”

  “Well, Joe, you know I can’t confirm that. Let’s just say we know exactly where he is.”

  “Okay, I know, security clearance and all that. But let me ask you something. Assuming he’s had a tracking device planted, which is obvious whether you confirm it or not, are you able to communicate with him? In other words, is there a subcutaneous microphone attached to the tracker?”

  “Well, Joe, let’s assume that we can, for the sake of argument. What are you thinking?”

  “Tell him to give me up. I doubt that they believe the newspaper reports about my death. At this moment they’re torturing Frank for information about me. Exchange me for Frank. In the scheme of things Mr. Director, wouldn’t you trade a treasonous scumbag for a Navy Admiral?”

  “I’m not sure I agree with the way you characterize yourself, Joe. At one time you were on a path to treason. You’ve now turned and redeemed yourself. I’m sitting here looking at a patriotic American. But that’s beside the point. I don’t see how this can work. They’d just kill you and Frank.”

  “If I may, Mr. Director,” said Bennie. “I’ve been on more hostage negotiations than I can remember. Whenever there’s a prisoner swap, things calm down, if only for a short time. It may work.”

  “Look at it this way,” said Monahan. “I’m sure you have some of the best sharp shooters available on site. If Janice is there and armed, I almost pity the al Qaeda people. As soon as the exchange is made, your people come out blasting. If you’re worried about me, and I’m not, you can give me body armor to improve my odds.”

  Chapter 61

  “Here, put these on,” said Buster, handing me a Kevlar vest and a helmet.

  He then looked down at my bare feet and at the high heels I clutched under my arm. He rummaged through a chest and came out with a pair of high top Converse basketball sneakers and a package of three pairs of new sweat socks. The sneakers were about twice my size.

  “These are mine,” said Buster. “Wear extra sweat socks and it will help the fit.”

  I slipped the sneakers on, which was easy because they were so large. I was glad I chose to wear khaki slacks that morning rather than a skirt.

  “How do I look?”

  “Ridiculous, but so what?”

  “Janice,” you’re one of the best people I’ve ever worked with, so don’t take offense at what I’m about to tell you. I want you to follow my orders precisely. Don’t wing it. This is a dangerous operation. We all have the same objective, to save Frank’s life.”

  “Buster,” I said. “I’ve learned to follow your leadership. Don’t worry about me. Oh, I think I see a Sig P210 pistol hanging on the rack behind your head. It’s not a cannon but it’s about the most accurate handgun on the market. Would you be a love and hand it to me please.”

  Buster handed me the Sig.

  “Thank you,” I said, “now please give me that barrel extender.” I connected the extender to the barrel of the Sig and pointed it to a corner to test the aim. A barrel extender increases the accuracy of the already accurate Sig.

  “Want a couple of extra clips?” asked Buster.

  “Just one,” I said. “If I fire this thing it will be for accuracy. I don’t expect to squeeze off more than two or three rounds. But I could use some extra clips for my Glock. Oh, and a couple of those concussion grenades please.”

  “Janice, please. You haven’t been checked out on hand grenades. Stick with the guns.”

  “Buster, let me show you something. Please put one of the grenades in my hand.”

  He did.

  “Here’s the safety,” I said, pointing, “and here’s the triggering lever. So I remove the safety, activate the lever and throw it at the bad guys. By the way, I have a very strong throwing arm. Now do I really need a fucking eight-hour seminar to use this thing?”

  “How many do you want?”

  “Four should do the trick, thank you.”

  “How does your Kevlar vest feel, Janice?”

  “Quite comfy. How does my helmet look?”

  “Lovely. Janice, I’m not sure if you amaze me or scare me. You seem so calm.”

  “I’ve been coached by none other than Admiral Frank Thompson. Frankie, I mean Admiral Thomson, has drilled into my head the importance of the mission. No anger, no hatred, no fear. Just keep your eye on the goal, your focus on the mission. So yes, I’m calm. I’m on a mission, and you’re the mission boss. Not really complicated, is it?”

  “Janice, it’s obvious to me over the past few days that you and Frank have become close. I think that’s great, if you don’t mind my opinion. I can’t think of two finer people to be together. I’m just concerned that your affection for Frank may cloud your judgment. When we find him he may be in bad shape. Can you handle that?”

  “Buster,” I said, “we’re on a mission. Simple as that.”

  Chapter 62

  NYPD officer Phil Gribaldi, on routine foot patrol, walked down Bleecker Street in the Greenwich Village section of lower Manhattan. He came upon an alleyway to his right and peered down the distance as he was trained to do. Gribaldi knew that he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. His wife had told him that morning that her sister and her husband would be coming up from Maryland to spend the weekend with them. He couldn’t stand either of them and was wondering if he could find an excuse to vacate the house. Maybe he could trade overtime with one of the guys at the precinct. Gribaldi was ten feet beyond the alleyway when he stopped, an image having just clicked in his head. He walked back and stared at a burgundy colored van parked about 50 feet from the entrance to the alley. His precinct captain had put out the word to all personnel to be on the lookout for a burgundy van. He walked slowly toward the van, trying to avoid calling attention to himself. When he came alongside the vehicle he saw the inscription “Ajax Plumbing Supply.” With visions of a commendation in his record, he bent down and faked tying his shoe as he placed a magnetic tracking device under the van’s chassis. He stood up and clicked a few photos of the van from his Smartphone. He was also took photos of the walls of the building on each side of the van.

  When he was a block from the alleyway he called Ike Washington, his precinct captain, having just emailed him the photos. Washington, according to the instructions from pol
ice headquarters, immediately called the office of the Commissioner of the NYPD. The commissioner, in turn, called Paul Bellamy, head of the New York field office of the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force. Bellamy immediately called CIA Director Bill Carlini.

  ***

  “Mr. Director, Paul Bellamy here. If you’re in the need of any plumbing supplies, I think we found just the company for you.”

  Chapter 63

  The CIA van, with the inscription “Higby Electric Contractors” on the side of its dented and faded white panel, pulled into the driveway of a home down the block from the al Qaeda safe house. Buster’s people had rented the place at an exorbitant price that morning, saying they were from Paramount Pictures and needed the house for a movie scene, on the condition that the occupants vacate immediately. The driver pulled it around back so the van couldn’t be seen from the street. Two other vans, both with the Higby Electric magnetic signs on their sides, pulled in behind the first. Joe Monahan was in one of the vehicles with Ben Weinberg sitting next to him.

  The occupants of the vans, 18 armed agents in all, assembled behind the rented house. Buster addressed the group.

  “Okay, folks, we’ve been through this drill countless times. It’s a hostage situation, and the hostage is Navy Admiral Frank Thompson. Our objective is to take him with us safely. There’s an interesting twist that’s just been announced to me by Director Carlini. We have a prisoner to trade. As soon as the swap is completed, select your targets and open fire on my command. As the only one here who speaks Arabic, I will be the lead negotiator. Any questions?”

  The group fanned out around the house in preselected positions. One of the vans was heavily armored, and Buster rode it to the front of the safe house. He spoke into a microphone and his words were transmitted by a powerful speaker on the other side of the van. Movie scenes usually feature an actor with a megaphone. After years of losing hostage negotiators with megaphones, modern law enforcement demanded a safer means of communication.