Sea of Terror (28 page)

Still, there didn't seem to be anything overtly wrong or out of place, nothing except that civilian helicopter where it didn't belong and the fact that those two ships were lashed together and steaming southwest at ten to fifteen knots, if that double wake was any indication. The Sandpiper was on course; the Atlantis Queen decidedly was not. Maybe they'd been tied together during the SAR operation a few hours ago--it would make sense if injured people had to be transferred from one ship to the other-- but there was no reason the two should have kept racing for the horizon together. There was every reason not to do so, in fact; the last report from GCHQ indicated that a dozen or so ships had reached the spot where the Ishikari had blown up and sank hours before, and they were still finding survivors, miraculously, clinging to bits of flotsam in the water.

No, as he'd told the NSC people, there was something very wrong here. He'd already given orders to put Black Cat Bravo on full alert. If he had to, he'd put a team on board covertly and have them check things out.

With two and a half tons of plutonium at stake, it was best to be certain.

The two ships slid off the bottom of the screen, and the eye-in-the-sky was again staring down at blue water. "Thanks, Chris," he said. "Route that through to Desk Three as soon as it's processed, will you?"

"Will do, Mr. Rubens. The Company's on my back for a copy, too. So's the NCTC."

"Of course they are."

Rubens checked out through several levels of security and walked back to his car in the NRO's north parking lot. As he walked, he pulled out his cell phone and saw that there was an urgent message waiting for him. Cell phones had to be switched off and surrendered to security inside the NRO's precincts; someone had been trying to reach him while he was inside.

That someone was Jeff Rockman, back in the Art Room.

"Rubens," he said after calling back and getting Rockman on the line. "What do you have?"

"We have all hell breaking out in the Atlantic, sir," Rockman replied. "The Pacific Sandpiper just shot down a Royal Navy aircraft that was checking them out. A second aircraft made it back to its carrier with some rather interesting film footage. The working assumption is that terrorists have hijacked both of those ships."

"And NCTC has just put us all on a Broken Arrow alert."

Broken Arrow. That was a holdover from the Cold War era, but still in force today. "Broken Arrow" was the code for any unexpected event involving nuclear weapons or radiological nuclear weapon components, including, among other things, the theft, seizure, loss, or destruction of significant quantities of weapons-grade plutonium.

"I'm on my way," Rubens told him. He did a fast calculation; he was in plenty of time to beat the Washington Beltway rush as he made the trek from northern Virginia to Fort Meade. "I'll be there in forty minutes."

PNTL Headquarters Risley, Cheshire, England

Saturday, 1725 hours GMT

"Lia!" Charlie Dean exclaimed, faking surprise. "What's a gorgeous woman like you doing in a place like this?"

"Same as you, probably, Charlie," she said with an impish smile. "The voices in my head told me to come here."

Dean grinned back at her. Like him, Lia had a communications implant in the bone behind her ear that linked her to Desk Three's Art Room back at Fort Meade. Rubens himself had called both of them earlier, directing them to the small town of Risley, just south of the M62 in Cheshire, England, and the gleaming offices of Pacific Nuclear Transport Limited. After they had been checked through the security booth upstairs, an armed guard had escorted them down several levels to a second checkpoint, then through to this large and expensively furnished waiting room. Large photographs of the PNTL fleet adorned two of the oak panel walls, while a third featured a Mercator projection of the world showing PNTL's global shipping routes.

Only moments after Charlie and Lia arrived, a male secretary appeared to usher them through into the offices of Sir Vincent Wallace, the vice president in charge of PNTL security. With him was another peer, Sir Charles Mayhew, vice president and Chief Operations Officer of Royal Sky Line, and a military officer, General Alexander R. Saunders, representing the UKSF, the British Directorate of Special Forces.

"Mr. Dean, Ms. DeFrancesca," Wallace said cordially, "welcome to England."

"Thank you, Sir Vincent," Dean replied. "Good to be here. I'm sorry it couldn't have been under more pleasant circumstances."

"I confess, Sir Vincent," General Saunders said, "that I'm somewhat at a loss as to just why these people are here. No offense to you two, but we are quite capable of handling our own piracy problems."

"Of course you are, General," Dean replied. He'd already been briefed by the Art Room on Saunders and his refusal of a formal offer of help from the American President. "But perhaps the U. S. intelligence community can offer you a bit of technical assistance along the way."

According to Rubens, the British Prime Minister had agreed to Desk Three's participation in what was now being called Operation Harrow Storm earlier that afternoon, and Saunders had already effectively been overruled. It would still be necessary to handle the man carefully; he had the reputation for being something of a prima donna and a fierce defender of his own bureaucratic turf.

"What technical assistance?" Saunders demanded. "We have your NRO satellite data, and we know where the two target ships are. All that remains is to put together an assault team to go in and secure those vessels."

"What we have in mind," Lia said, "is actually getting a small reconnaissance team on board the cruise ship. That team will then be in a position to inform and coordinate the main assault."

"Wouldn't.. . wouldn't you be risking everything that way?" Charles Mayhew asked. He was perspiring heavily, his face florid. "I mean, if the terrorists get wind of what's happening ..."

"Having decent intelligence going in increases the chances of success with the primary assault by at least threefold," Dean said. "We also have a unique opportunity here. There are enough civilians on board the Atlantis Queen that our recon team might be able to slip in among them unnoticed."

"Wait, wait," Wallace said, interrupting. "You're saying that your team could be on board that ship and the terrorists wouldn't even know it?"

"And just how would you manage that, may I ask?" Saunders said.

"These people aren't cleared for Black Cat," the voice of Jeff Rockman whispered in Dean's ear.

I know what the hell I'm doing, Dean thought, but he couldn't make an audible reply. It was tough, sometimes, trying to hold a conversation with invisible people looking over your shoulder, second-guessing you every step of the way.

"We've had combat teams looking at the problem already," Dean told the others. "We essentially have three options for I&I."

" 'I and I'?" Mayhew asked. "What's that?"

"Insertion and infiltration," Wallace told him.

"Although some military types will tell you it stands for 'intoxication and intercourse,'" Dean put in. Wallace must have military experience, he thought. That made sense if he was the VP of security for a company that processed nuclear fuel. "Our choices are to board the Atlantis Queen up the side from an ASDS, to approach from astern in a silenced helicopter, or to drop onto an open part of her deck by parachute."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Saunders said. He sounded irritatingly smug. "Your target is moving at fifteen knots."

"He didn't say it would be easy" Lia said.

"What is an . . . what you said," Mayhew asked. "A-D something?"

"ASDS," Lia told him. "Advanced SEAL Delivery System. It's a small, dry-deck submarine that can carry sixteen Navy SEALs and their equipment."

"A larger submarine," Dean said, "one of our Ohio-class special warfare subs, would carry the ASDS close to the Atlantis Queen. We'd probably have to disable the target vessel, at least temporarily, possibly by fouling her screws." He glanced at Mayhew. "Unfortunately, the Atlantis Queen is driven by two azimuth thrusters--Azipods-- rather than conventional screws. They're shrouded in such a way that it will be very difficult to foul them with a net or length of line, and we would have to damage or destroy both at the same time. That makes that approach very difficult, and extremely high risk."

"Even if you took out the Queen's Azipods, the Pacific Sandpiper's screws would be intact," Wallace pointed out. "The speed of the two ships together would be greatly reduced. I'm not sure how well the Sandpiper would manage pushing both the Queen and itself--that's almost one hundred thousand tonnes--but they would still be making way."

"Exactly," Dean said. "Which is why our ops planning team has suggested going in by parachute.

"The team would use a HAHO drop from several miles off and several miles up.

"HAHO is 'High Altitude, High Opening,'" he added for Mayhew's benefit. "They would use ram-air steerable chutes that would let them fly in to the target."

"But... but the ship is moving," Saunders insisted.

"It also has extremely good security systems," Mayhew added. "Cameras overlooking all of the public areas, the Promenade Deck, the swimming pool decks. How could you land your team without being seen?"

"The ship's movement is not a major problem," Dean said. He held up his hand, palm down, demonstrating an approach to the tabletop. "Ram-air chutes let you come in at a very flat angle, like this, and you can adjust your forward speed easily enough on the approach. Have you ever seen the Leap Frogs?"

"Leap Frogs? What are those?" Wallace asked.

"The exhibition parachuting team of the U. S. Navy SEALs, Sir Vincent," Lia said. "They put on exhibitions at air shows, sometimes. They'll jump out of a plane two miles up, fly circles around and over the air show crowd, and walk in for a landing directly on top of a one-meter bull's-eye staked out on the ground."

"An experienced team can pretty much step down out of the sky onto any exposed, flat piece of the deck they choose," Dean said. "They'd be wearing night-vision devices, so they'll see exactly what they're doing, and their approach would be completely silent. The tangos would never know they were there. The biggest technical problem in that approach would be the ship's slipstream, the disturbance its superstructure makes in the air behind it as it moves forward. Our team will have to fly up that slipstream to touch down on the fantail deck. That could be dicey . . . but we have people experimenting with the problem now off the coast of Virginia.

"We're also looking at the possibility of inserting a force by helicopter onto the ship's stern. We know it's possible to approach by helicopter--especially a covert ops aircraft with near-silent rotors--and not be noticed from the bridge. Unfortunately, we have two ships to worry about here, and the likelihood of the Queen's fantail being guarded by sentries and monitored by cameras. A helo op appears too risky.

"Sir Charles, your point about the security systems on board the Queen is our primary concern right now. We have two things going for us there, though. First off, the Queen's security people--or, rather, the terrorists, assuming they've taken over the Security Office--can't possibly be watching everywhere all the time. There are hundreds of security cams on that ship, and only so many monitors."

"If I were a terrorist who'd hijacked a ship," General Saunders said, "I would expect the opposition to try to put an assault team onto the ship. I wouldn't worry about using the security cameras to watch places like the ship's hold, or the galley, or the shopping mall. I'd probably herd all of the hostages into one place, where I could keep an eye on them with just a few men. And I'd set the cameras to watch the Promenade Deck and the fantail."

"We agree, General," Dean told him. "And that's where our second ace comes into play. We have at least one and possibly three people on board the Atlantis Queen who may be in a position to help us. One of them is a young Englishwoman who works for GCHQ. The other two are SOCA and MI5."

Mayhew nodded. "Agents Mitchell and Franks," he said. "They're on board investigating the Darrow murder. Who's the woman?"

"One of the Menwith Girls. She happened to be on board checking out aspects of the Ship's Security systems. She has a laptop computer with a direct satellite link, so she's not dependent on the ship's communications systems. I'm told she got in touch with GCHQ about an hour ago."

"Why the hell weren't we told this?" General Saunders demanded.

"I'm sorry, General," Charlie Dean said, looking him in the eye, "but this whole things has been unfolding very quickly. We're having trouble getting around the compartments."

Compartmentalization was both the strength and the bane of modern intelligence organizations worldwide. The
i.e.
was simple enough. If a department, unit, or person didn't need to know something, they weren't cleared to know it. Sensitive information could be easily controlled, kept in its own separate box, and any leaks in that box could be identified and stopped before too much damage was done.

But that also meant that it was tough to disseminate important information to the people who needed it. It took time to get special security clearances, or to be sure that the routes for transmitting that information--phone lines, computer networks, distribution lists--were secure, and that unauthorized personnel didn't have access to them.

"Compartments my arse," Saunders growled. "What is a British subject doing working for American intelligence?"

"General," Wallace said carefully, "we all know that GCHQ has a, um, special relationship with the American NSA. I, for one, don't care where the information is coming from, so long as we have it. What does the young woman have to say, Mr. Dean? What's going on aboard those ships?"

"She confirms that armed men, probably Middle Eastern, are in control of the Atlantis Queen. The same group is also likely in charge of the Pacific Sandpiper. She watched the Sandpiper shoot down that Royal Navy Sea Harrier earlier today. She also believes that one of the British intelligence agents on board has been captured. She saw armed men enter the ship's computer center and take him into custody."