Hunt the Dragon (15 page)

How long would it be before she saw James again?

Knowing he was alive made waiting more difficult. Part of her had been preparing for a life without him. Now she understood that the story of their lives together, as intricately woven as it was already, would continue and grow more complex.

It was natural to idealize those who had died. The living were far more challenging. In the past she'd respected James more than she had loved him. But the grim reality of what they were both going through had changed her. She sensed that it wouldn't be enough for either of them to comfortably coexist the way they had before. They had to either love each other honestly and completely, or move on. It scared her, but it excited her, too.

C
rocker's head
hurt as he sat in the operations room of the USS
Carl Vinson
340 miles west of the Japanese island of Sado in the Sea of Japan. He wasn't sure if the source of his discomfort was lack of sleep, dehydration, or the massive amount of information he'd been trying to cram into his brain.

The logistics of an op this complex and difficult were daunting to say the least, and because the new moon was three nights away and the threat was that some sort of nuclear test or strike might be imminent, they wanted to launch soon. Five men—Davis, Suarez, Sam, Akil, and himself—would be entering enemy territory to perform a sabotage mission. Everything they carried had to be impossible to trace. Since they would be infiltrating in a very tight SEAL Delivery Vehicle (SDV), the amount of gear they could carry was severely restricted. Additionally, they would be traveling in what was essentially an open-water underwater vehicle, so all comms, weapons, ammo, medical equipment, electronic devices, and explosives had to be sealed in waterproof bags.

Crocker hated the very cramped SDVs. He would have much preferred to parachute in or swim. But given the parameters of the mission, the fact that they expected a high level of security on and around Ung-do, any other type of boat, scuba, or air insertion seemed out of the question.

For what seemed like the hundredth time in the past several hours, Crocker pored over the hand-drawn layouts of the complex and satellite photos of the island that Akil and the ship's operations officers had blown up and marked with colored stickers and pins. The real issue was whether they should drive the SDV to the more desolate and less fortified Ryo-do, about three-quarters of a mile south, and swim from there, or infil directly to the southeastern shore of Ung-do itself.

Ung-do, sometimes referred to as Ungdo-ri, was one of the smaller islands in the Pansong Archipelago, located off the coast of Cholsan county. It had an average elevation of fifty-six feet and stood at 36º16'77" north latitude and 127°37'23" east longitude. Given the probability that they would be dealing with cold water and strong currents between the two islands, Crocker chose a direct landing as the preferred option.

How they would proceed once they got on the island was more problematic. Based on the intel he had at his disposal, it was impossible to tell how well fortified the underground facility was and what kind of resistance they would meet when they got there. Heat signature profiles indicated that there were armed guards stationed at the main entrance and around all four corners of the complex 24/7. Also, the road that ran up the middle of the island and along the western shore was patrolled by armed vehicles at least every half hour.

Crocker marked a small cove and beach on the eastern side, almost due east of the facility. “I propose that we land here.”

Min, who sat to Crocker's right, unwrapped a piece of chewing gum and popped it through the hole in his white hockey mask. He seemed distracted by the framed photos of F-15s on the walls.

“Min?”

He slowly turned to Crocker like a character in a horror movie.

“Sam, ask him how far this is from the complex,” Crocker said, pointing at the proposed landing site. Min leaned forward and frowned as though he were seeing the map for the first time. He said something in Korean and groaned.

Crocker was starting to worry about Min's state of mind. He'd already decided not to take the North Korean defector on the mission, but he still had to rely on him for critical information. The U.S. intelligence community hadn't been able to locate a single other individual who had visited Ung-do.

“About a quarter mile,” Sam translated. “Getting from there to the complex means we have to cross the road.”

“Got it.”

“Only trees and a little stream here,” Sam added. “The island is relatively flat.”

There appeared to be no other man-made structures or geographic obstacles in the way.

“What's your opinion, Min?” Crocker asked.

Sitting there in an olive-green flight suit and rubbing the stubble on his neck, he seemed a million miles away.

“Min, are you with us? Is something wrong?”

Min mumbled something to Sam, who translated. “Yes. He thinks it is a logical choice. The buildings here south of the complex…this is housing for the guards. The only way to reach the island is by boat. Boat is best for us, too. The dock is here.”

Min pointed to a small man-made cove on the southwestern side, facing the mainland and the city of Munchon.

“Is the dock well guarded?” Crocker asked.

“Yes. Machine guns. DShK antiaircraft.”

Crocker didn't want to have to mess with them. “So the east side is better?” he asked.

“Yes, better. Yes.”

Gaining entrance to the complex itself presented another set of challenges. The layout showed two entrances, front and back, a large ventilation shaft at the north end of the complex and a long underground drain that emptied into the north end of the bay.

“I assume both entrances are heavily guarded,” said Crocker, turning to Sam and Min, and trying to squeeze as much info out of Min as he could.

Sam translated again. (He was proving to be extremely useful.) “Always two soldiers in the front, two in the back. Sometimes more. Inside there is a vestibule with a stairwell and two elevators. We might find other soldiers…or patrols…inside. The printing presses are one level down…to the north. So you enter from the front…turn right. If we go in at night, the door will probably be locked.”

“What about the labs?”

“Those are located on the second floor.”

“Any idea where the hostage is being held?”

Min shook his head.

The
Vinson
's operations officer appeared at the door to announce that a Blackhawk helicopter would be ready at 2130 to ferry the insertion team to the USS
Dallas,
a nuclear-powered attack submarine currently twenty-one miles off Ung-do.

Crocker looked at his watch: 2041.

“Okay, grab your gear and assemble on the flight deck at 2115. You have any messages to send home, best do it now, because comms will be restricted when we get closer to our target.”

“Roger.”

“Akil, make sure you collect all maps and charts.”

“On it like white on rice.”

“Davis, recheck the comms.”

“Got it.”

“Sam, double-check all first-, second-, and third-line gear. I'll eyeball the med kits and the big bag. Suarez, check the CL-20, detonators, all that stuff is critical. Make sure it's triple-sealed in case we capsize and hit the water.”

“Done, boss.”

“I'll see you gorillas in half an hour.”

Despite the hundreds of things on his mind and the several dozen he had to get done, he shoehorned in a minute to contact Cyndi on Skype—then realized it was something like 4 a.m. in Las Vegas. So he tried Jenny back home, instead.

It was just after 7 a.m. in Virginia.

“Dad?” Jenny answered.

“Sweetheart, I hope I didn't wake you. How's everything? You okay?”

“All good. No problem. I'm up early studying for a civics exam. You talk to grandpa?”

Crocker reminded himself that he had to huddle with the SDV pilot as soon as they reached the
Dallas
. SDVs usually ran with a two-man crew and carried a maximum of four operators with gear. Since both Davis and Akil had served a tour at SDV Team One, he was hoping that under these extraordinary circumstances one of them could replace the copilot.

“No. Why?” he asked back. The team already felt thin without Mancini and Cal. Cutting another operator on an op this perilous would make them even more vulnerable.

“You didn't get my texts?” Jenny asked.

“No, sweetheart. I've been off the grid a while. What's going on?”

“Yesterday he was exercising after he woke up, and started having trouble breathing and was getting sharp pains in his chest. So he called some lady friend of his.”

Crocker tensed up. “Carla?”

“Yes, Carla. She drove him to the ER. Turns out one of his arteries was like ninety percent blocked, and they caught it just in time.”

He could already feel the guilt burrowing into him. “He okay?”

“Yeah, Dad, thank God. They had to insert something called a stent. He's probably sleeping now. I talked to him last night and he was really out of it.”

“What did the doctor say?

“I didn't speak to the doctor, but Carla said the procedure went well. She seems like a really nice woman. Uncle Bob is driving down now. He'll be there in the morning.”

A quick glance at his Suunto told Crocker he was running short on time. “Where is grandpa now?”

“Inova Fair Oaks Hospital.”

Someone started rapping on the door behind him. “You have a number I can call?”

“Seven oh three, three nine one, three six oh six.”

Akil, on the other side, was summoning him urgently.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Tell Grandpa I'll call him first chance I get. I've got to run now. I love you, and good luck on your test tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Dad. Love you, too.”

The wind hit the helo and rocked it, causing the fuselage to twist right and the tail to dip. Across from him, he watched Sam lean forward and throw up into the yellow bucket at his feet. Great kid so far, smart, focused, and thorough. Excellent command of Korean. His face had assumed a greenish tinge in the dim cabin light.

Beside him Davis listened to music through earbuds, seemingly oblivious to the noise, danger, and stench. Eyes closed, he didn't even flinch when the helo was buffeted a second time, even harder.

Crocker was thinking about his father, who had served in the navy as a pilot and was one of the kindest, gentlest men he'd ever known. Proof of that was the fact that he'd put up with Crocker's raucous rowdiness as a teenager, including various gang fights and arrests. Never stopped believing in him.

God, please look after my father, and help him heal quickly and fully.

Crocker reminded himself that he hadn't been with his mom either when she'd died in a fire. In fact, he'd left her side hours earlier.

What kind of a shitty son am I?

All the birthdays, weddings, and special events he had missed because he was busy training or deployed overseas with ST-6 unreeled in his head.

What am I supposed to do, cancel the mission and jeopardize thousands of lives because Dad is in the hospital?

Questions like this were the most agonizing part of SEAL work. The long hours, danger, and physical hardships were easy in comparison.

Over the roar of the engine, he heard the copilot establishing comms with the USS
Dallas
.

“SNN-700, Bravo Tiger Seven, do you read me? Over.”

“Copy, Bravo Tiger Seven. SNN-700. Read you loud and clear. Currently waiting above at 36-16-77 lat, 127-37-23 long. Over.”

Seconds later a bald man in a flight suit turned back to Crocker and held up ten fingers followed by a thumbs-up.

Crocker said into his headset, “Five minutes to ready. Ten minutes to launch.”

The SEALs to his right and across from him started to get their gear ready and pull on their gloves. Davis didn't budge. Crocker reached his foot across and kicked Davis's boot. The blond SEAL opened his eyes and nodded. Cool as a fucking cucumber, like he wrestled harder shit than this in his sleep.

Out the window at his back Crocker made out the dark outline of the sub tower. It looked as though the SDV and launch pad had already been secured to the deck. Deckhands wearing helmets and earphones were using high-lumen red-lens flashlights to signal to the pilot.

The helo circled into position and hovered at twenty feet, bouncing and shifting in the heavy wind. Then the green cabin light came on, and Crocker shouted, “Go! Let's go!”

Men jumped up, grabbed bags and packs. Boots scraped against the metal floor. The hatch opened and Akil fast-roped down first, followed by Davis and Suarez.

Sam, wearing a helmet that looked too small for him, was next. Crocker shouted into his ear, “You okay? You need help?”

The draft off the rotors dented Sam's face. Instead of answering, he grabbed the rope with both hands and jumped. But he never managed to secure his legs around it, so he descended too fast. And when he tried to engage his right leg it got tangled in the rope, causing him to jerk to a stop, wrench free, and tumble the remaining ten feet.

“Watch out, below! Man falling!” Crocker shouted.

In the helo landing light, he saw Sam somersault and Akil reach out to catch him—a seemingly impossible task, given Sam's mass and the speed of his descent. There were wind conditions to deal with, too. A gust yanked Sam right, so that his shoulder glanced off Akil's chest. Akil lost his balance and the two men fell backward into the soup.

Jesus!

“Man overboard!”

“Two men in the water!”

Crocker slid down fast, dropped his gear on the deck, bent his knees, and dove in in one continuous motion. He was airborne, looking for objects, when the water hit him like a bucket of ice. He almost passed out from the impact and extreme cold. When he came up and gasped for air, his mind scrambled and blanked.

His body slammed into automatic, kicking and flailing arms to stay above water. With his right he held on to the white floatation device someone had tossed in. He saw two guys on deck pulling Akil out with the help of a pole. Suarez knelt and shouted as he pointed to something beyond Crocker.

“What?” he shouted back.

The helo rotor tore at the surface and whipped water into his face and eyes. The salt and cold stung. He fought not to go into shock.