Syren's Song (28 page)

“Come,” he said loudly.

The door opened a crack. “No time to rest, old man,” Golzari said. “I'm going back to talk with Gala. You should be there.”

“I will rise and fight again . . . ,” Stark began.

“What?”

“Nothing. Let's go.”

Gala was sedated but conscious. Stark looked at him impassively.
This man created the new weapon we've been forced to fight. He is the one responsible for so many deaths, including Gunny's. Why not just chuck him overboard right now?
He shook his head. That was the fatigue speaking. Or maybe it wasn't.

“The captain here fended off your colleagues in the suicide boats,” Golzari said.

Gala merely nodded.

“How many of them are out there?” Stark asked.

“There were twenty in the trawlers.”

“He might be lying,” Stark said to Golzari, “but that is the number that came after us.”

Golzari methodically interrogated Gala for the next fifteen minutes about Qin and Blake's murder, but there was little the scientist could add to what he had already said. Golzari had resigned himself to accept that when Gala mumbled something about his pants pocket. Golzari reached in and took out a thumb drive.

“What's on this?” he asked.

“Most of my research on the applications of hafnium,” Gala replied weakly.

Golzari was stunned. The small object in his hand was a treasure trove of information that would level the playing field. “Does anyone else have this information?”

“No. I deleted the files after I copied them so the Chinese wouldn't get them. When I escaped, I took my laptop with me and threw it overboard just in case. There were several Chinese scientists helping me, but they were not allowed to leave the ship or communicate with Zheng R&D.”

“Why did you do this? And why did you leave? You must have been a hero to Vanni and the other Tigers,” Golzari said.

“The weapon was only supposed to help us regain our land. I knew nothing about Vanni's plans to use it to attack and murder as many people as possible in Sri Lanka.”

“When we were leaving Mount Iranamadu we saw convoys of soldiers headed south,” Stark said. “Were they the main attack force?”

Gala shook his head. “Vanni and the others spent months refitting fifteen freighters at the Breakers. The rockets will be distributed among them. The ships are to leave one by one and go to ports and towns on the southern coast. Once they have used the weapons, the ships will land soldiers to complete the destruction. The Tiger army heading south is a decoy to lure the Sri Lankan army away from the coast.”

“Which is your command ship?” Stark asked. “What kind of defenses does it have? How many soldiers defend it? What is the layout belowdecks? And where is the hafnium kept?”

The rapid-fire questions seemed to bewilder Gala, who was clearly growing weaker, but he did his best to answer. “Most of the hafnium has already been used or is in the rockets we built for the final attack, but all are on a ship called
Amba
. Vanni restricts access to the rockets. He trusts no one. They are to be distributed just before the ships get under way.

“When is that?” Stark asked.

“Tomorrow at noon,” Gala replied.

“Where is the remaining hafnium?” Golzari asked.

Gala explained the layout of the laboratory deck. “The hafnium is in a storage room next to the second lab. There are about forty bricks.”

“All right, Gala,” Golzari said. “I think we're finished. You will remain in this room under guard, and then you are coming to the United States to be tried as an accessory to the murder of Special Agent William Blake.”

Stark and Golzari walked out together.

“Think he's telling the truth about everything?” Stark asked.

Golzari turned up his hands. “Who knows? He may have been intentionally shot and sent to give us false information, but I think what he said is factual.”

“If that's the case, then we have less than a day before that first ship gets under way and a lot to do to prepare. It's 1300 now. Don't worry, though, I have a plan.”

“My God, how I cringe whenever you say that.”

USS
LeFon

Rossberg berated Jaime Johnson and every other officer on the ship for two solid hours. He had stormed out of sick bay and up to the bridge, where he announced that henceforth he intended to review every command given on
LeFon
. He countermanded every decision Jaime Johnson made on the bridge, even simple orders. The ship was on a direct heading to Chennai when he asked how much fuel they had.

“Thirty percent, sir,” she responded.

“Why so little, Commander?”

“Because, Admiral,” she said, standing up from the captain's chair, “we offered assistance to
Syren
and provided fuel.”

“Is
Syren
a U.S. Navy ship, Commander?”

“No, Admiral,
Syren
is not a U.S. Navy ship; however, under the circumstances—” she began to explain.

“Stop right there.
Syren
's commander attacked me—an admiral in the U.S. Navy—and you didn't take him into custody. I am the senior officer on station. He is an enemy. And you aided and abetted the enemy. Furthermore, you provided military assistance to people who were interfering in a civil war in a foreign nation contrary to the rules of engagement you were given. And you did so to release Mr. Stark from the Tamils.”

“Sir, I did,” she admitted. “But had I not done so—”

He cut her off before she could add that he would still be in their hands. “That's enough, missy. I relieve you of command. I am now captain of this ship. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Jaime Johnson was an inch shorter than Rossberg, but in the eyes of the crew who had worked side by side with her for nearly six months she towered over him. Only a few of them knew that the president of the United States himself had put her in command of this ship—as a result of Connor Stark's influence. Among those few was Ens. Bobby Fisk, who stood on the bridge as officer of the deck. She loved her country passionately. She loved this ship. She cared for this crew like a mother. She regretted leaving
Syren
and
Asity
to fend for themselves, and she had nothing but contempt for the craven flag officer standing on her bridge.

Her eyes remained fixed on Rossberg as she stepped aside to the shipwide intercom and picked up the mike. “
LeFon
, this is the captain,” she said slowly. “As you know, this ship has been caught in the middle of a civil war while trying to remain out of it. I have made decisions that directly affected the lives
of Americans, and I stand by those decisions. Rear Admiral Rossberg has just advised me that he is relieving me of my duties as CO of
LeFon
and taking my place. Sometimes, ladies and gentlemen, we have to step aside for the greater good.”

She took a deep breath, then continued. “This is not one of those times. Admiral Rossberg is not in my chain of command. I am bound by my duties as a naval officer under the Uniform Code of Military Justice not to obey an unlawful order. I am placing Admiral Rossberg under arrest for dereliction of duty.” She straightened to her full five feet four inches. “For strength,” she said proudly.

“For courage!” a thunderous chorus rang throughout the ship, including the bridge.

“Master-at-Arms, report immediately to the bridge and take Rear Admiral Rossberg into custody,” she said.

“What? You can't do this. You can't—” Rossberg lunged at her in mid-sentence.

Ensign Fisk grabbed him by the arms and threw him to the deck, then threw himself on top of him so Rossberg couldn't move. “Remember when I warned you about the threat to
Bennington
and you wouldn't let me warn the others?” Bobby whispered into the admiral's ear. “You had the sailors hold me back. I could have saved them if you hadn't done that. You killed them, you son of a bitch.”

Rossberg continued to struggle until the master-at-arms slapped the handcuffs on him.

Johnson ordered Fisk to inform the air boss that the ready helo would be taking off within fifteen minutes, and discipline, good order, and morale returned to the bridge.

DAY 17
DAY 17

Sea Tiger Command Ship
Amba

A
s dawn broke over a cloudless morning off the eastern Sri Lankan coast, Vanni sat on the deck in quiet meditation. This was Sri Lanka's last day as a nation. Already Vanni and his men had resurrected fifteen freighters and tankers from the Breakers and given them new life. Smoke billowed out of their stacks, and all swung slowly southwest with the morning breeze. Just as these ships had risen from certain death, an independent homeland for his people would rise from the ashes of the south.

He had no political structure in place yet. Only the Tigers served him. But anarchy would follow the destruction, and the people would accept the order brought by Vanni and his most loyal men and women. The Vels had not returned from their mission, but that did not worry him unduly. They were either successful or unsuccessful. It was out of his hands. But he doubted that the few enemy ships had been able to withstand the attack of twenty Vels. If the ships somehow had survived, they had certainly been dissuaded from attacking. And yet . . . there was Gala. If he had survived to pass on what he knew . . . Vanni drew another deep breath and then rose to his feet.

The Breakers was bustling with activity. Small boats were transferring soldiers from the cruise ships to the fifteen freighters that would take them to the southern provinces. The final stores of ammunition, guns, knives, and hatchets were being distributed to each ship. A small boat from each of the fifteen freighters sat idle and unmanned. It would still be several hours before Vanni gave permission to transfer all the rockets.

None of the freighters was supposed to be under way yet, much less heading toward the Breakers, so it was with considerable interest that Vanni saw a small freighter steaming slowly toward
Amba
from the east. The ship was
typical of the five-thousand-ton steamships he had become accustomed to seeing after decades in this region. Its paint was long gone, though a few green patches indicated its former color.

Two of his picket speedboats were escorting it. One zoomed ahead and pulled alongside one of
Amba
's ladders. The boatman called up that the ship was one of the Tigers' supply ships that had been delayed a week because of engine problems. Vanni signaled his approval to get the freighter's munitions on board
Amba
and left to consult with his top aides in the wardroom. A handful of guards remained on deck, mostly in the stern watching the coastline prior to what might be their last mission.

The freighter decreased speed to three knots and prepared to sidle up next to
Amba
. The captain was on the starboard bridge wing, but only his upper torso was visible above the metal shield plates. He was shouting orders to the crew, who were preparing the bow and stern lines and the bumpers to keep the ships apart. The captain ordered the engines to full reverse as the starboard side of the freighter pulled up on
Amba
's port side. The freighter's propellers produced a backwash as they struggled to stop the ship's forward momentum.

Two
Amba
deckhands forward and astern prepared to accept the lines, then passed them through to the cleats and secured them. The freighter's captain ordered the engines to be cut and looked at his watch.
Amba
's deckhands helped attach their ship's gangway to the supply ship, though the old submarine tender displaced nearly two thousand tons more than the recently arrived freighter and rode higher.

One of
Amba
's deckhands crossed over to
Asity
to ensure that the freighter's deckhands had secured the gangway properly before preparing for the transfer of the ammunition and guns. Just as he was about to check the open cargo hold closest to the three-story superstructure, he saw the main deck hatch swing open and a gun barrel pointed at him. It was the last thing he ever saw.

Highland Maritime security teams poured out of the freighter's hatches, finding every target of opportunity on
Amba
's deck and in the pilothouse.
Asity
's captain donned his cover—that of a Sri Lankan navy commander—and pulled out his own pistol to fire at the pilothouse across from him. A twoman team hidden behind the metal plates stood and set up their 50-mm gun and began raking
Amba
's stern. Taken by surprise, the guards fell one by one.

Eight three-person Highland Maritime teams crossed the gangway onto
Amba
's now-cleared deck and took up positions. One team went to the stern to
keep watch for other ships and small boats, and two other teams took up positions amidships. The others covered the hatches of the superstructure to wait for more guards to come up from below.

Commander Ranasinghe picked up a flare gun and fired one shot to signal
Syren
, now seven miles away and approaching out of the rising sun. He threw the flare gun aside, picked up a hand-held radio, and issued an order to the cargo hold. A few seconds later the Tigers on the ships surrounding
Amba
saw the fiery plume of a Qassam rocket emerge from the hold and rise half a mile into the sky above
Amba
. Four seconds later—predetermined by Jay Warren's modifications of the third and last captured rocket—a blue-green explosion silenced nearly every piece of electronic equipment within a mile and a half. Speedboats, patrol boats, freighters, and tankers—none were immune to their own weapon. Smaller boats sat helpless in the water.

The first phase of Operation Intrepid had begun.

During the First Barbary War, President Thomas Jefferson sent a squadron of ships to Tripoli under the command of Commo. Edward Preble on USS
Constitution
with orders to maintain the blockade of Tripoli harbor. The commanders of the sloops in the squadron—daring young officers such as Stephen Decatur, Richard Somers, Charles Stewart, and Isaac Hull—would later be remembered as “Preble's Boys.”

The Tripolitans already held one U.S. Navy ship. In October 1803 the frigate USS
Philadelphia
under Capt. William Bainbridge had gone in too close to shore and run aground. Bainbridge tried in vain to free the ship, even throwing the guns overboard and cutting off a mast to lighten her. When
Philadelphia
remained firmly grounded, Bainbridge surrendered ship and crew. The Tripolitans salvaged the guns, rearmed the grounded ship, and used her as a battery to protect the harbor. The crew were sent into slavery.

Preble was ordered to retake
Philadelphia
or, if she was no longer seaworthy, destroy her. Young Stephen Decatur came up with a daring plan. Preble's squadron had captured a local sixty-foot ketch named
Mastico
during the course of the blockade and had renamed her
Intrepid
. On the evening of February 16, 1804, Decatur took seventy men, most of them hidden belowdecks, and sailed
Intrepid
right into Tripoli harbor. They boarded
Philadelphia
, determined that the frigate was no longer seaworthy, and blew
her sky high. Providing operational support to
Intrepid
was the brig
Syren
under the command of young Lt. Charles Stewart.

Admiral Horatio Nelson described the raid as “the most bold and daring act of the age.” For his action Decatur was promoted to captain at the age of twenty-five—the youngest Navy captain in America's history.

M/V
Syren

The new
Syren
steamed into an anchorage bereft of operational ships after the EMP detonation. Five thousand feet above her Starfire One-Eight, an SH-60R helicopter from USS
LeFon
, stood watch.
LeFon
herself was now just eight nautical miles from the anchorage, which was well within the range of her 5-inch gun. She was already providing suppressing fire as shells from the main gun landed among the outermost anchored ships.

Syren
pulled along the port side of
Amba
, and Stark and Golzari led the last security team up boarding ladders and onto the old sub tender's main deck. One team member fired a grappling hook up three decks to the blown-out window of the pilothouse, and Stark and Golzari scampered up the attached rope ladder, each carrying an FAL-308 slung over his shoulder and a nine-millimeter pistol holstered on his belt. Ranasinghe's fire support team motioned the all clear to the two as they reached the deck of the pilothouse.

“Ready for the rattlesnake's den?” Stark asked Golzari.

Golzari gestured, “After you.”

Stark waved to one of the teams below that they were ready. Team members placed enough C4 on the outer hatches to blow them from their hinges in preparation for going in. The explosions both provided a distraction and masked the entrance of Stark and Golzari into the pilothouse above. As he went through the door Starke noticed a freighter about ten miles to the north that clearly hadn't been affected by the EMP. He hoped Jaime and
LeFon
would handle that one.

Stark and Golzari raced down the ladder to the main deck. A gun battle had broken out astern. With Golzari covering his back, Stark slowly made his way aft until he could see several Tigers in the next compartment with their backs to him firing at the security teams. Stark pulled a flash-bang canister from his vest, pulled the pin, and threw it into the middle of the group, then began firing into the shooters, dropping most of them before the security teams could push through.

With the security teams now behind them, Stark and Golzari turned around and headed forward. They passed several staterooms, a wardroom, and a galley before they found another ladder that would take them down one deck. If Gala had been telling the truth, this would be the deck with the laboratories.

Another gunfight between a security team and the defenders was going on in a passageway on the starboard side of the ship as they stepped onto the lab deck. They inched their way forward, looking for traps and defenders. The first lab they came to was empty, although coffee cups and tools on the tables indicated that the scientists who worked there had left suddenly. Two overturned cups suggested the departure might not have been voluntary.

Bullets flew from the next compartment as they approached.
The rattlesnake's den
, Stark thought. Two Highland Maritime security personnel followed Stark and Golzari as they considered their options. Stark tossed a flash grenade through the hatch, and all four men sprayed bullets haphazardly after it. Golzari threw in another flash-bang for good measure. Silence followed. Stark, Golzari, and the team entered the second lab, peering through the smoke for tiger-striped uniforms. Some were there, but the guards were down and dead.

Seated cross-legged atop a pile of metallic silver bricks at the back of the room was a small, dark-skinned man in khakis. He smiled at the intruders, his deep-set eyes unfathomable. Golzari pointed his weapon at the man as Stark approached him slowly.

“Hello, Vanni,” Stark said.

The man acknowledged the greeting with a nod. “I was hoping to have you and the admiral with me for the final attack,” Vanni said. “Now, alas, it seems there will not be one.”

There was a bustle outside the room as security team members made way for Commander Ranasinghe, who entered and took a position at Stark's left. “It is time to surrender, Vanni,” the Sri Lankan naval officer said.

“No. I will not surrender to you.”

“Very well,” Ranasinghe said. He drew his pistol and put two bullets in Vanni's head. Vanni slumped backward, his blood spilling over the hafnium bricks.