Sea Of Terror

Chapter 15

"We're about one minute out, Mr. Rubens."

William Rubens nodded, looking up at the large flat-panel screen dominating one wall of the Imaging Center. The room, with its high-tech collection of SPARC workstations and large-screen monitors, was located in the ultra-secure underground levels of the NRO's new headquarters in Chantilly, Virginia, one of the most highly secret offices in an entire sprawling complex of top-secret installations. It was here that real-time imagery from space was processed and displayed.

"This is from Argus Twelve?" Rubens asked. "Yes, sir." Chris Atwilder was an assistant director of the NRO, in charge of digital imaging. "We put it onto a new orbit fifty-five minutes ago. We should have a good look at the site in… thirty seconds."

Argus 12 was part of a constellation of seventeen highly classified surveillance satellites, each orbiting the Earth once each ninety minutes at an altitude of between 120 and 160 miles. Although both the NSA and the National Reconnaissance Office continued to vigorously deny it, Argus — named for the hundred-eyed guardian of Greek myth — could give better than one-centimeter resolution in real time, day or night. Using synthetic aperture radar, Argus could image a basketball through any weather, making it an invaluable eye-in-the-sky shared by the NSA, the CIA, the DIA, and several other U. S. spy and law enforcement agencies.

At the moment, the screen showed a wide-angle view of the ocean, as if seen from a considerable height. The weather in the target area was clear at the moment, though the software could blend incoming data in several radar, infrared, and ultraviolet as well as optical wavelengths in order to build up a composite image of what was on the ground, peering down through clouds, fog, and all but the heaviest rain.

Though there were special secure channels by which Rubens could have watched processed feeds from the NRO back in his own office or on the Art Room main screens, he'd driven out to Chantilly after his briefing session at the White House that morning specifically to see the raw feeds as they came down from the satellite. General Ronald McLean, DIRNSA, the Director of the NSA, had personally phoned Rubens before he'd left for the White House that morning. If there was a problem with that British plutonium transport, McLean wanted to know about it yesterday. Plutonium ships made the trip from Britain or France to Japan about once a year, and the National Security Agency made each voyage a high priority. With plutonium enough on that one ship to manufacture sixty fair-sized nuclear weapons, every intelligence organization on the planet was likely keeping close tabs on it.

"We have the target on radar," a technician reported from a nearby console. "Cameras are slaved and locked."

"High-speed recorders are running," another technician reported.

And there it was, drifting across the screen from top to bottom, with blocks of technical data winking on in columns at the upper left, giving time and date, range, coordinates, and camera resolution data. The resolution was crystal-sharp, the image computer enhanced to show every detail.

"That's the Pacific Sandpiper" Atwilder said. "What's that bigger ship tied up alongside?"

"The Atlantis Queen" Rubens replied. "Cruise ship. She was last reported on her way to assist in SAR at sea."

"They're lashed together. Look… you can see the hawsers."

"And that helicopter still on the Sandpiper's forward deck," Rubens added. "That is odd."

"Crewmen on the decks of both ships," Atwilder said.

"Can we zoom in close on them for a closer look?"

"We could… but let's wait. We have only a few seconds on this pass. Once we have the whole pass recorded, we can process the imagery and give you a zoom look at anything you want, for as long as you want."

"Understood."

The first Argus shot of the two ships, the photo Rubens had used in his briefing at the White House, had been a single shot, one of a series designed to keep loose tabs on the Pacific Sandpiper There'd been enough anomalies in that image — the helicopter, the two ships lashed together — that McClean had ordered a detailed run with the next available Argus satellite, gleaning mountains of data at the highest resolution possible.

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."

"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 idea 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."

"Is she sure he was one of ours?"

Dean shrugged. "She saw an empty shoulder holster. Unless he was plainclothes security of some sort…"

"If he was, he wouldn't have been armed," Mayhew said. "This is terrible.. terrible…"

"What is it the hijackers want?" Wallace asked. "This seems to be a lot bigger than the usual antinuke protest, people chanting slogans and waving signs from Zodiacs."

"That is our feeling as well," Lia said. "This operation doesn't have the flavor of Greenpeace or any other environmentalist group we know. Different M. O. It's big and it's flashy, which suggests al-Qaeda. The agent on the Atlantis Queen saw AK-47s and Middle Eastern dress, which supports that idea. The operation is large, well planned, and well funded."

"They don't appear to have made any demands as yet," Wallace said.

"They will," Dean told him. "Count on it. Right now, they'll be consolidating themselves, making certain that they're in control. Their biggest problem at the moment is having… what, Sir Charles? Three thousand hostages?"

"Twenty-four hundred passengers," Mayhew said. "And nine hundred crew and hotelier staff."

"Thirty-three hundred, then. There can't be more than a few dozen terrorists on board. They'll be limited to however many they were able to infiltrate at the Southampton docks and at Barrow, plus maybe seventeen or eighteen more squeezed onto that Eurocopter."

"We know they had two people in the Sandpiper1 s crew," Wallace said. He looked grim.

"How do you know that?" Saunders asked.

"There were two men on board who were representing the Japanese utilities company that owned that plutonium shipment," Wallace said. "Kiyoshi Kitagawa and Ichiro Wanibuchi. Their bodies were discovered early this morning on the outskirts of Barrow. Both were killed execution-style — a 9mm bullet behind the ear. The bodies were deposited in two different Dumpsters near the waterfront. We're assuming that terrorist agents took their place."

"Wait a minute," Saunders said. "You're talking about Japanese terrorists?"

"I imagine the Sandpiper's crew would have noticed something wrong if Wanibuchi and Kitagawa had been replaced by Englishmen," Wallace said dryly. "They hadn't met them yet, but they knew their names and had their security clearances from the home office. We're now assuming that there was at least one terrorist agent among the Japanese escort vessel's crew as well."

"Why would Japanese terrorists be helping Middle Eastern terrorists?" Saunders said, shaking his head. "That just doesn't make sense."

"Of course it does, General," Lia told him. "We've seen this before. Remember the JRA?"

"The Japanese Red Army was declared disbanded in 2000," Saunders said.

"By one of the founding members, who was in jail at the time," Lia said. "We know. But the Japanese Red Army never had serious support at home, and ended up financed and equipped by the PFLP, in Lebanon and Syria. We're operating under the assumption that some JRA members may have hooked up with another dissident group, or reorganized themselves into something new. And we assume they still have solid contacts with the PFLP, and maybe Hamas, al-Qaeda, and other Mideast terror groups as well."

"Yes, but to what end? Why would a Japanese terrorist group want to help Muslim extremists?"

"We'll have to ask them," Dean said. "Just as soon as we get them off those ships."

"I think you people are making too many unwarranted assumptions," Saunders told them. "We don't even know for sure that the ships have been hijacked.. just a wild story from one woman. We need confirmation."

"Which is precisely what we intend to get by inserting a team on board the Atlantis Queen" Dean told him. "We will have a covert ops unit deployed and ready to go in within forty-eight hours… possibly twenty-four. Once on board, they can blend in with the passengers, report to us the actual situation, and be in place to support the actual takedown."

"What if the passengers are being held sequestered someplace on board?" Wallace asked. "Under guard."

"According to our informant," Dean said, "that hasn't happened yet."

"Hostages who don't know they're hostages?" Wallace asked.

"Essentially. At least for now." Dean glanced at Saunders, who was scowling. "While it's possible that eventu ally they'll do what General Saunders suggested — herd everyone into one place and keep them under guard — they haven't yet taken that step. If we are dealing with just a few terrorists, they're going to try to keep their hostages in the dark for as long as possible. They can't afford the manpower to watch over three thousand prisoners — not if that means feeding them, giving them water, getting them to the restroom a couple of times a day… at least until they show their hand."

"Or they may hold a few prisoners as assurance for the good behavior of the rest," Lia said. "But at the moment, the passengers are just being told to stay in their staterooms. If that doesn't change, we have the opportunity to slip a team inside."

"And what if it changes?" Saunders demanded. "What if they do round everybody up and hold them at gunpoint?"

"Then we'll still have a team on board," Dean told him, "that can adapt to the situation as it changes. The Atlantis Queen is a big ship. Lots of places to hide."

"I don't think you can do it," Saunders told him. "Parachute a recoil team onto a ship held by armed and fully alert terrorists? It's unprecedented."

"It's not unprecedented," Dean told him. "There's the Achille Lauro in 1985. Terrorists on board an Italian cruise ship hijacked the ship and threatened to kill everyone on board."

"But there was no CT assault on the Achille Lauro" Saunders said. "The terrorists negotiated with the Egyptian government by radio, took the ship into Port Said, and went ashore peacefully."

Dean's mouth worked in what was almost a smile. "There's considerably more to the story than that, sir. First off, there was a U. S. Navy SEAL team at sea, just a few hours away from boarding that ship."

"I know. Those were the SEALs who tried to capture the terrorists after they flew to Sicily."

Dean nodded. The Achille Lauro hijackers had boarded a 737 bound for Tunis after coming ashore at Port Said. U. S. Navy Tomcats had forced the plane to land at the NATO naval air station at Sigonella, in Sicily, where the SEALs surrounded it — and had very nearly gotten into a firefight with Italian carabinieri who'd demanded jurisdiction. Ultimately, the two leaders of the hijackers, Muhammad Abu Abbas and Ozzudin Badrack Kan, had walked away free, released by Italian authorities.

"Second," Dean continued, "it's not common knowledge, and it can't ever be confirmed, but the unofficial word in the intelligence community is that the Israelis already had two CT-recon teams in place on board the Achille Lauro, and that they were just waiting for the go order. It's possible that the hijackers knew this — or suspected it — and that that's why they suddenly decided to turn around and go to Port Said after only three days."

"This recon force of yours,"/Saunders said. "I assume it's one of your SEAL teams?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that, General," Dean told him. "But they are good. Very good."

"The SAS is good as well," Saunders said. "I canriot countenance this plan."

"What is it you propose instead, General?" Wallace asked.

"We've already deployed Royal Navy vessels to shadow the Sandpiper and the Atlantis Queen. We send in a couple of our destroyers or frigates to block the target vessels, force them to stop. While we're negotiating with them over the bow, a couple of helos off the Ark Royal come in from astern, and we put a platoon of SAS commandos down on the stern of both ships. Another helicopter drops a stick of commandos abseiling down onto the Queen's bridge. Sweet, neat, and simple."

"You may be forgetting something, sir," Dean said. "The 30mm cannons on the Sandpiper? They've already shot down one Royal Navy aircraft. Those helicopters would be sitting ducks."

"So we send in a flight of helicopter gunships just ahead of the transports," Saunders replied with a shrug. "That's just a minor operational detail. We hit those gun positions with rockets or chain guns before the terrorists even know we're there."

"I must admit to some… concern about firing live weapons at the Sandpiper, General," Wallace said. "Her cargo is highly radioactive."

"It's also well shielded and well protected, if your corporate propaganda is to be believed," Saunders told him. "Besides, those gun positions are nowhere near the ship's cargo hold."

"But accidents do happen," Wallace said, "especially in combat. The Home Office has already insisted that no action be taken that would jeopardize the passengers on the Atlantis Queen… or risk the release of radiation from the Pacific Sandpiper."

"The recon teams," Dean suggested, "would be in a position to take those guns out ahead of time. They could coordinate their strikes to take out the bridges of both ships and all three guns, then send a signal to bring in the helicopters."

"I still must protest," Saunders said. "Remember… those ships both technically are British soil. It should be British troops who carry out the rescue."

"General Saunders," Dean said, "forgive me for saying so, but this is not the time for fucking politics!"

"Mister Dean, I would remind you there's a lady present!"

'That's okay, General," Lia said. "Charlie is fucking right! You want to beat your manly chest and play your testosterone-sodden games, go ahead, but if you do, you're an idiot, putting at risk three thousand civilians and a very great deal of dangerously radioactive material to salve your wounded national pride."

"Charlie! Lia!" Rockman's voice whispered in Dean's ear. "Pull in the horns. We have to stay on this guy's good side!"

"The SAS can have the publicity, General," Dean added, standing up suddenly "No one will ever hear about our people being there… or if they do, they'll assume they belonged to you. But we're ready to go and can get a team on board those ships with a minimum of delay. I suggest you consult with your superiors and then get back to us." He turned and walked away from the table. Lia stood as well and followed.

"Charlie, you're screwing this deal up!" Rockman called.

Dean did not reply as he strode out the door.