***
RM Poole, England
“The Brigadier will see you now, gentlemen,” the secretary said. Ian and Hodge nodded at the prim but stern woman wearing Royal Marine sergeant’s stripes and knocked at the door of Brigadier Robert Chandler, then went inside. “Lieutenant Colonel Masters and Captain Hodge, reporting as ordered, sir,” Ian announced as they snapped to attention. He still wasn’t quite used to his new rank. Hodge had been promoted, too.
“At ease, gentlemen,” Chandler said. The C.O. of 42 Commando was a no-nonsense marine who had seen plenty of action in his day. The word was he had personally dispatched five Japanese soldiers during an SBS operation in Malaya near the end of the war, and that was just the start of his illustrious career. Someone seeing him out of uniform might have assumed him to be an accountant. Short, slender, with thinning hair and a wisp of a mustache, Chandler would never have appeared on any Royal Marines recruiting posters, yet here he was, decorated many times over and in command of one of his country’s most important military units.
Chandler motioned them to an easel near one wall. “We haven’t much time, I’m afraid,” the brigadier said. “I am about to give you a broad outline of an operation to which your unit has been assigned. Ian, how is your shoulder doing?”
Even hearing the word brought a painful twinge, but Ian didn’t let on. “I can’t say that it’s in top shape, sir, but I’ve been cleared for duty.”
Chandler looked at him sternly. “This mission will require maximum physical effort, Colonel. If you are unable to perform your duties fully due to an injury not yet completely healed, it could jeopardize the mission and your men.”
“I’m ready to go, sir,” Ian said confidently. He pushed the full truth away from the front of his mind. When the doctors told him he needed at least another month of light duty and physical therapy, he bullied and cajoled them into giving him full clearance. But Chandler had undoubtedly seen their report, and wouldn’t have Ian in his office now if he didn’t think the younger man was up to the task.
“Very well,” Chandler said. “Gentlemen, I apologize for the short notice, but time is of the essence across the board. We anticipate hostilities to break out with Argentina at any moment. They have landed on South Georgia, as you know. Their fleet will likely set sail for the Falklands within days, perhaps hours. Because of your unit’s experience on Carpenter’s Island, you have been assigned this mission. Its code name is GALAHAD.”
Ian noticed that a symbol was at the top of the page Chandler now revealed on the easel. He recognized it as the symbol Joseph of Arimathea, a red cross—originally drawn in blood, according to legend—on a white background: Galahad’s shield, which he had used on his quest for the Holy Grail. Ian was glad he’d paid attention to his university lectures about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.
Next to the symbol was a map. Ian immediately saw it as a slice of the Argentine Atlantic coast. “You are to consider this information Most Secret,” Chandler said. “You will receive a more complete briefing on board ship during your journey. There will be ample time to flesh out your plan and brief your men. This is merely an outline.”
Chandler picked up a pointer. “I’m sure you have heard talk of our fleet sailing to the Falklands should the islands fall to the Argentines. You may rest assured it is not idle talk. Plans for the expedition are being drawn up in London even as we speak. We have come into some information that indicates the Argentines intend to strike the fleet when it is within two hundred miles or so of the Falklands. We believe they will launch the strike from their Air Force base near here.” The pointer touched the map on the coastline of Patagonia. “The base is on this gulf, Golfo San Jorge, about ten kilometers north of the town of Comodoro Rivadavia. The gulf is rather large, as you can see, but ship traffic is somewhat light, as there are no significant ports on its shoreline. Your landing will, hopefully, be unnoticed.”
“What type of landing, sir?” Ian asked.
“You will sail day after tomorrow aboard HMS
Cambridge
and rendezvous at sea with the submarine
Reliant,
which will take you close to shore. I’m presuming you will then make an E&RE.” It was what Ian expected. Exiting and Re-Entering was a hazardous procedure in which the entire SBS troop would disembark the submarine underwater. They’d practiced the maneuver a few times in Scottish harbors but had never done it in combat. Still, it made sense, this deep inside enemy waters.
“And while we’re ashore, sir?” Hodge asked.
“Our information is that the enemy will launch a squadron of aircraft from this base to attack the fleet. One particular member of the squadron will be your target.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Hodge said, “but surely the fleet will be able to defend itself against air attack. Is there something special about this one aircraft?” It was a question Ian had thought of, but even as it had coalesced in his mind, he sensed the answer. Chandler confirmed his suspicion.
“This aircraft, Captain Hodge, will be carrying a nuclear weapon. Your mission will be to shoot that aircraft down as it launches from the base. We must do everything we can to ensure that it will never get near the fleet.”
***
Fort Monckton, England
Hanna, dool, set, net…
Jo did a dozen knuckle push-ups before realizing she was counting in Korean, as she always did. She switched to German. “
Ein, zwei, drei, fier, funf
…” She did thirty-eight, giving her an even total of
funfzig
, and was panting hard when she brought her knees up underneath her and stretched upward. The man leaning against the weight-lifting apparatus a few feet away smiled at her.
“Hope I didn’t startle you,” he said.
“No, I knew you were there,” she said. She reached for her nearby towel and wiped the perspiration from her forehead and chest. With a touch of embarrassment she saw that her nipples were thrusting against the thin, sweat-soaked fabric of her tank top. Well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen such things before. She stood up, feeling the pleasant fatigue a good workout always produced.
The man extended a hand. “Louis Archer,” he said. He was a bit on the short side, lithe but powerfully built, with dark brown hair and green eyes that regarded her with a look Jo had seen before. He was wearing shorts and an Army tee shirt.
She took the hand and let him give it a quick, gentlemanly pump. “Lucy Wong,” she said, giving him the cover name she’d been assigned by MI6. “Archer” was probably not the man’s real name, either. At times Jo found the secrecy comical, but she knew it all had a purpose. Many of the men and women training here were learning to employ deception not only to do their jobs but to stay alive.
“I’d ask what brings you to the Monk, but I’m sure you’d say it’s classified,” Archer said with a rakish grin.
“That’s right,” Jo said. She had looped the towel around her neck and was holding the ends to conceal her breasts. The last thing she needed now was for a man here to express an interest in her that went beyond the professional. Unfortunately, it looked like that’s exactly what Archer had in mind.
“I just finished up, and if you have, too, how about sharing a pint? Have you been to the pub just down the road from here?”
She smiled politely. “Thank you, no,” she said. “I’m really kind of tired. I think I’ll head back to my quarters and curl up with a good book before turning in.”
He stepped closer to her. “Well, I could bring something around and we could have a nightcap. Perhaps give you something a little more interesting to curl up with than a dry book.”
She wasn’t sure whether she should be amused or irritated, but it had been a long week, and so irritation took over. “Really, Mr. Archer, I would think your instructors could teach you a better line than that. Or have you been watching a few too many movies?”
Archer’s eyes narrowed a bit, but his smile stayed put. “That’s not very polite, Miss Wong,” he said. “You’re American, aren’t you? I can tell by the accent. I’m just trying to be hospitable to a guest.” He reached out and touched her towel. “Just trying to be—“
He never finished the sentence. Without thinking, Jo reached across with her own right hand and grasped Archer’s, peeled it easily away from the towel and twisted it 180 degrees, producing a gasp from the Englishman. She bent forward, forcing him almost all the way to the floor. “If it’s all right with you, Mr. Archer, I’ll go find my book now.” She tossed Archer’s hand away and walked past him, picking up the sweatshirt she’d worn over to the gym.
“Yank bitch,” he hissed at her. She didn’t look back.
Jo tied her sweatshirt around her neck, letting it drape over her shoulders, and left the gym, shivering as the evening air hit her. Her quarters were only a quarter-mile away, an easy jog, but a man standing near a parked car waved to her first. “Good evening, Miss Wong.”
“Sir David,” she said, recognizing him. “What brings you here?”
Blandford came over and offered his hand. “Well, I thought I might have to prevent my charge from disabling one of MI-5’s most promising operatives. Was it something he said?”
“Let’s just say it was the wrong thing at the wrong time,” she said.
“It’s been a stressful week for you, I’m sure.”
She nodded wearily. “Yes, it has. But I’m making progress with the languages.”
“So I’m told,” the MI6 man said. “I have another assignment for you, though.”
She looked at him in surprise. Was she being pulled out of EMINENCE?
“Don’t look so shocked,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s something you need to do. I’m ordering you to take the day off tomorrow. Go back to your quarters, get a good night’s sleep, and enjoy the day. It will be Sunday, after all.”
She couldn’t conceal her relief. “Thank you,” she said. “But really, Sir David, I’ll just keep studying, if you don’t mind. I’m not much for shopping or the movies.”
“Perhaps not, but I believe there might be someone nearby you may wish to visit. A certain marine lieutenant colonel at Poole. Not that far away, you know. I’ve arranged for a day pass and a car for you.”
***
Ian and Hodge were going over equipment requisitions the next morning when a corporal knocked on the office door. “Begging your pardon, Colonel, there’s a visitor asking to see you.”
The two officers exchanged a glance. “A visitor, Corporal?” Ian asked. “For me?”
“Yes, sir. A lady, sir.”
“Well, then, we know she’s not waiting for me,” Hodge said with a grin. “Almost lunch time, anyway, isn’t it?”
Ian checked his watch. They were due to board the ship in some twenty hours and he still had two days’ work to do. Who in the hell would want to see him now? His sister lived in Manchester…no, too far away, unless something had happened to their mum or dad, but wouldn’t she ring him first with that kind of news? “All right, Corporal, where to?”
“The Officers’ Club, sir.”
The O-Club was busy with the luncheon crowd. The base was buzzing anyway, with war talk dominating the conversation. An informal betting pool had been established to predict when the enemy would hit the Falklands, another for the date when the fleet would sail. There was no doubt at all that it would indeed sail; the debates that were even now raging through the government offices in London had a far different tenor than the energetic discussions underway at RM Poole.
Holding his green beret, Ian scanned the crowd. All of the women were uniformed marines or sailors…except one. She was sitting at the bar, a marine on either side, and all Ian could see were a pair of shapely legs, but there was a bit more leg showing than a typical marine bird. The pumps she was wearing were definitely a bit more stylish than regulations would allow. The legs looked awfully familiar.
“How about a pint, then?” one of the marines was saying to the woman, just as Ian made his appearance in front of her.
“Are you really here?” Ian asked, flabbergasted.
“Yes, I am,” Jo said.
The marine who’d offered her a drink had already had a couple himself, by the look of him. A major, wearing a paratroop badge. “Shove off, mate,” he said to Ian. “Find your own fun.”
“It’s too early in the day to get snockered, Major,” Ian said. He turned to the marine on the other side of Jo, a captain wearing the same unit insignia as the major. “Better get your mate here a cup of coffee, Captain.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the captain said, thoroughly intimidated.
Ian offered his arm to Jo. “It’s a beautiful day. How about a stroll?”
“Love to.”
When they were outside, Ian pulled her into a secluded doorway and embraced her fiercely. Their kiss burned with a passion that threatened to consume them right there. “God, I could hardly believe my eyes,” he said, when they finally came up for air. “How did you ever get—“
She touched a finger to his lips. “Hush,” she said. “I’m here. How much time do you have?”
His pained eyes told her the answer before he spoke. “Not a lot. We—I have a lot of work to do and not a lot of time in which to do it. Damn it all.”