Black Sea Affair

CHAPTER 31

The USS Charlotte

Gulf of Finland

Skipper, "Let's go, XO!" Puck shouted to Todd Swanson. "Follow me! Officer-of-the-deck, take the conn!"

"I have the conn, aye, sir."

Puck bounded out of the control room, with his executive officer in tow. In the radio room, his radio officer was waiting for him with message in hand. Puck ripped the message from the officer's hand and flattened it out in front of a high-wattage reading light.

EMERGENCY ACTION MESSAGE

FROM: NATIONAL MILITARY COMMAND CENTER – WASHINGTON, D.C.

TO: USS CHARLOTTE

SUBJECT: ACTION MESSAGE REMARKS:

Intelligence assessments reports Egyptian freighter Al Alamein probably transporting weapons-grade plutonium stolen from Russian arsenal.

Intelligence further reports Chechen nuclear physicist may be onboard.

Al Alamein may be transporting active thermonuclear device and may be planning suicide nuclear attack on St. Petersburg, Russia.

USS Charlotte ordered to disable Al Alamein with unarmed torpedoes.

SEAL team ordered to seize control of vessel and any nuclear contraband potentially on board.

Proceed with extreme caution and stealth. In the event of large nuclear blast, the Al Alamein is now within range to destroy St.

Petersburg.

Execute orders immediately.

Captain Puckett handed the message to Todd Swanson. "XO, sound the alarm. Man battle stations. Let's get moving!"

The Al Alamein Gulf of Finland

From the bridge of his ship, Captain Hosni Sadir brought his binoculars to his eyes and scanned the eastern horizon, just out front of the bow of his ship. A gray haze hung low over the water in the distance.

Sadir dropped the binoculars and pointed out. "It's out there somewhere. Kotlin Island. We should be able to see it soon. It's actually part of St. Petersburg, you know."

"How far are we, Kapitan?" Salman asked.

"Less than twenty miles to Kotlin Island."

"I cannot contain my excitement, " Salman said. "We could throw the switch now, and with the power of our bomb, we would destroy everything within a hundred miles. We could wipe out the city of St. Petersburg even now."

Hosni saw the fire in the young physicist's eyes. "You have done well, my friend."

"We have done well, Kapitan."

Hosni brought the binoculars back to his eyes. The haze was fading now. Still, no sign of the low-lying land mass that would mark the entrance to the waterways surrounding St. Petersburg. "Soon, my friend, 9/11 shall be but a footnote on the ash heap of history!" He handed the binoculars to Salman.

"We are going to kill millions of them, Kapitan." Salman peered through the binoculars. "Allah has brought us this far. We're so close and we can now accomplish our mission. Perhaps we should pull the switch now."

Hosni touched Salman's shoulders. "Patience, my young friend. Care for a cigarette?"

"Thank you, " Salman said, as Hosni flicked a red Camel from his pack and handed it to Hosni.

"Light?"

"Thank you, Kapitan."

Hosni ignited his butane lighter and held the flame out. Salman sucked in. "We will burn them alive either way, Salman, whether we pull the switch now or tomorrow." He took a satisfying draw. The nicotine jump-started his adrenaline. "But let history show, Salman, that we sailed the Al Alamein right into the Neva River, brought her up to the very banks of St. Petersburg, and then pulled the switch. I want to see with my eyes all that we shall vaporize."

St. Nicholas Naval Cathedral St. Petersburg, Russia

At the front right of the crowded courtroom, Pete Miranda sat between Zack Brewer and his detailed interpreter and Russian defense counsel, Lieutenant Vaslov of the Baltic Sea Fleet. Across the aisle, Major Peter Andropov, the Russian Army prosecutor, sat steely eyed writing notes on a pad.

"They should be back at any moment, " Zack whispered over the slight roar coming from the back of the courtroom.

"What do you expect?" Pete asked.

"I expect they will rule on our motion or at least address it in some way. I don't expect them to dismiss the case."

"Some sort of face-saving position?"

"Exactly, " Zack said.

Lieutenant Commander Zack Brewer was an amazing naval officer, Pete thought. The JAG officer carried a courageous air like Daniel from the Bible. And like Daniel, Zack marched into the lion's den, and with some fancy legal footwork about the Geneva Conventions, at least delayed an inevitable mauling.

Still, Pete resolved that a mauling was inevitable – that he was going to die. Something told him that his entire crew, and even his JAG officer defense counsel, were all in mortal danger. He was ready if that should happen, but the thought of never seeing Coley and Hannah again was a dagger in his soul.

"All rise!"

The three flag officers of the tribunal marched in bearing wrinkled and angry-looking faces.

"Be seated, " General Igor Smirnov snapped. Wearing thick plastic black-rimmed glasses, he leaned forward at the defense table. "Commander Brewer, we have considered your motion concerning the Geneva Accords." Smirnov paused, almost as if expecting an answer from Brewer. "We shall delay a ruling pending further study and advice by Russian international law attorneys." A slight smile crept across Zack's face. Perhaps they had bought more time, Pete thought.

"However, " Smirnov continued, "we cannot delay these proceedings. Therefore, we shall allow the prosecution to continue its case and rule upon Commander Brewer's motion at the end of the trial."

Zack rose. "Objection, General. It is this process that violates Articles 4 and 17 of the Geneva Accords." An explosion of flashes followed.

The red-faced Russian glared at Zack. "Sit down, Commander, or our guards will remove you from the courtroom and leave your client's defense to Lieutenant Vaslov. I remind you that you are a guest of this country, not a member of its bar."

"I will sit, but I will not withdraw my objection, " Zack barked.

"You are in contempt, Commander."

"Hold me in contempt if you'd like, " Zack snapped. "Proceeding under these circumstances is contemptuous to the Geneva Accords, and every established principle of international law."

"The guards will escort Commander Brewer to the temporary holding facility. This court shall stand in recess for one hour as we work to ensure that the commander receives a full briefing of the procedures and rules of Russian military courts."

"All rise."

Pete rose as Zack shucked off the hands of the Russian guards and walked with them voluntarily up into the chancel area, where he disappeared behind a door.

USS Charlotte Gulf of Finland

What's our range to the target?" Commander Puckett asked. "The freighter has now opened up a distance of four thousand two hundred yards. That gap is widening, sir."

"Good, " Puckett said. "That gives us some firing room. Are the Mark-48s unarmed?"

"Aye, Captain. Torps one and three are unarmed and ready for firing."

"Very well, " Puck said. "Fire torp one."

"Firing torp one."

A swoosh rushed through the boat, as the first Mark-48 torpedo, weighing 3400 pounds and nineteen feet long, popped out the forward torpedo tube and lunged into the water.

"Fire torp three."

"Firing torp three."

Another swooshing pulsation followed.

"XO, status of SEAL team?"

"Ready to go in the water at your command, sir, " Lieutenant Commander Todd Swanson said.

"Very well, " Puck said. "Torp one range to target."

"Torp one range to target thirty-eight hundred yards and closing."

"Torp three range to target."

"Torp three range to target thirty-nine hundred yards and closing."

The Al Alamein Gulf of Finland

Kapitan, we are picking up FM radio from Kotlin Island and St. Petersburg!" the radio officer announced.

"Good." Dadir felt himself smile. "We are nearly at point-blank range."

Salman Dudayev burst onto the bridge, out of breath. His face was red and contorted.

"Kapitan, we may have a problem."

"What, Salman? Is something wrong with our bomb?"

"No, Kapitan. I have been monitoring Russian broadcasts on the radio, " Salman said. "The Russians are trying an American submarine captain in St. Petersburg for sinking the freighter Alexander Pop-ovich – the same freighter that we got the plutonium from."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Kapitan. Apparently the Americans sunk her with a submarine in the Black Sea."

Sadir thought for a second. "The Black Sea? That is impossible. There are no American submarines in the Black Sea."

"It is all over Russian radio and also the BBC, Kapitan. Somehow, they did it. Somehow, the Americans must have discovered that the plutonium was once aboard the Russian freighter."

Sadir thought about that. "Even if this is true, the Americans sank the Alexander Popovich in the Black Sea. We are now a long way from the Black Sea. It appears that the Americans have sunk the wrong ship."

A violent shaking rocked the stern of the freighter, as if the ship had been hit by a giant sledgehammer. Men on the bridge staggered from the vibration. That was followed by a second shaking.

"What was that?" Sadir demanded. "A collision with a ship? What is our depth here?"

"Depth one-three-zero fathoms, sir, " the helmsman said. "We must have struck something that we missed on the radar."

"Bridge, engineering, " the voice came over the bridge loudspeaker from the engine room.

"What is it?" Captain Sadir asked.

"Sir, we've lost propulsion."

"I will be right there." Sadir motioned to Dudayev. "Salman, come with me."

Captain Sadir stormed out of the bridge, headed for the engine room.

They moved swiftly through the icy Baltic water. In black wetsuits and black fins, twelve United States Navy SEALs glided under the dark hull of the disabled freighter.

On their backs, they carried oxygen tanks and weapons. Some carried flotation devices to be deployed, while others carried lightweight harpoon guns with rigging line.

Lieutenant Michael W. Reel, United States Navy, was their leader.

Making handsignals illuminated by underwater flashlights, Reel directed his team members into a semicircle just below the aftsection of the stern.

It was time.

Reel pointed to his second in command, Lieutenant JG Leo Maloney, then pointed at his watch.

Reel gave Maloney a full five fingers, signaling to set stopwatches at five minutes. Maloney complied, then clicked the stem of his watch, setting off the five-minute countdown. Maloney mimicked his leader.

Reel followed with a thumbs-up, and the SEAL team parted – five SEALs following Reel to the waters off the starboard side of the ship, the other five following Maloney to the port side.

Captain Sadir rushed into the ship's engine room. The whine of turning gears and spinning shafts made it difficult to hear. Crew members were scurrying about, and the ship's chief engineer was turning a valve with a wrench. "What is the matter?" Sadir demanded.

"Something is wrong." The chief engineer laid down the wrench and raised his voice above the level of the noise.

Sadir nervously struck a cigarette. "Elaborate."

"Our engines are spinning, " the engineer said, "but the screw is not pushing us through the water."

Salman Dudayev spoke up. "Could this all be related to the sinking of the Alexander Popovich? Have the Americans found us?"

"I have considered that, " Sadir said. "But we are not sinking. If the Americans know about us and wanted to torpedo us, we would be at the bottom of the ocean now."

"I do not like the feel of it, " Salman said.

Sadir turned to his engineer. "What are our options?"

The engineer cast a worried glance. "If this were a matter of repairing our engines, our options would be good, Kapitan. But the propeller is in the water. It is hard to access. We would need to send a diving party overboard to assess the problem. And even then, we may have to call for assistance. We are not prepared for major underwater repairs."

Sadir considered that. He could not afford to radio for help. That would attract too much attention. And if he drifted in the sea lanes for too long, he would attract attention like a sitting duck.

"Salman, what would be the effects on St. Petersburg if we blow the ship from here?"

The physicist's eyes lit. "Kapitan, we have constructed a five-megaton nuclear device in the bowels of your ship. When we detonate this device, within ten seconds, the fireball will be over three miles in diameter! Fifty seconds after the explosion, the blast wave will reach the shore of St. Petersburg, just thirty-six miles away.

"When it hits the shores of St. Petersburg, it will destroy or damage even the most heavily fortified concrete buildings and kill most of its inhabitants! And then there is the tremendous radioactive fallout, which will be intensified by the fact that we are blowing the bomb out on the water."

Perhaps Salman was right.

Perhaps they should blow the ship right now.

Sadir looked at his engineer. "Send a diving party overboard to examine the screw. I want your report back within the hour. If this job is irreparable, or if we have to request assistance, we will blow the ship from here."

"Yes, Kapitan."

Lieutenant Mike Reel popped out of the water, just beside the starboard hull. He looked up at the side of the ship as the heads of Petty Officers May, McCants, Williams, Manuel, and Felton popped up out of the water in a semicircle around him.

On the left side of the ship, Reel knew that another circle of Navy SEALs, the squadron headed by Lieutenant JG Leo Maloney, was bobbing in the water, waiting for the time to deliver a coordinated strike against the rogue freighter.

Reel gave a thumbs-up, which was reciprocated by his group. The SEALs were ready.

Reel checked his watch. Ten seconds. Nine seconds. Eight. Seven…

Floating in the water on the left side of the crippled ship, Maloney watched the countdown on his watch.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

"Now."

Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow.

Lightweight harpoon guns shot steel hooks upward, stringing rope from the water up to the gunwales of the ship.

"All secure, " announced Petty Officers Black, Doherty, Perkins, Jordan, and Worthy.

"Let's go, " Maloney ordered.

The SEALs dropped their oxygen tanks in the water, then, like Batman and Robin, began pulling themselves up the rope, rising up the side of the ship.

Maloney was the first to reach the top. Already, Lieutenant Reel had scampered onto the deck, and his men, all in black wetsuits and carrying knives and rifles, were gathering just across the ship.

The SEALs had not been discovered. Not yet anyway.

That would change.

St. Nicholas Naval Cathedral St. Petersburg, Russia

What's going on? Pete wondered, as he sat alone with his Russian-appointed counsel, Lieutenant Peter Vaslov, at the table in the front of the courtroom. Zack Brewer had not returned to counsel table, at least not yet, and Pete wondered if he would ever see Zack again.

Probably not.

Perhaps this was the beginning of the end. He looked out the windows of the great cathedral. The weather was turning uglier. Clouds darkened, threatening rain, or even hail.

Pete turned and glanced at his crew. They were all there, sitting on the rows between the stone-faced Russian guards. Frank, Walt, Darwin, the Bloodhound.

He'd seen their look before. Their eyes begged for leadership – for a command decision that would suddenly make all this go away. They were looking to him for answers, but he had no answers, other than to wait and die.

Pete could bear their faces no more. He looked away, only to find the stares of the orphans that had been on board the Alexander Pop-ovich and then the Honolulu. Theirs were the looks of confusion – of fear. He felt a surging rage that the Russians would require them to behere for theater and political show. Then his eyes caught the face of the boy named Dima.

The boy's eyes – they looked almost crossed – were magnified by the gawky glasses on his face. These eyes he had seen before. They were the eyes of a son looking at a father figure. How strange – these longing eyes of the orphan. And then, it hit him. The orphan felt a bond with the man who had rescued him and Masha from the sea.

His son, Coley, had once looked at him this way.

Pete turned away, lest the international media spot the tears flooding his eyes.

The Al Alamein Gulf of Finland

Salman Dudayev looked up. Captain Sadir was climbing the ladder from the engine room to the main deck of the ship. Salman was under him and had just stepped onto the ladder when he heard Sadir yelling, "Who are you? What are you doing on my ship?"

The physicist double-stepped up the ladder behind the captain, quickly reaching the open air of the main deck.

Waving a pistol in his hand, Captain Sadir turned toward the stern area of the ship, toward a group of ten wet, dripping frogmen who had appeared out of the sea.

"Get off of my ship!" Shots rang out from the pistol. The frogmen ducked under and behind boxes and crates on the stern area and fired back. Bullets whined and ricocheted off the ship's steel superstructure.

Suddenly the captain's head exploded like a burst watermelon. His body flopped to the deck, pumping a stream of blood from the head wound.

Salman crouched low, and then took off across the deck, towards the hatch and the interior ladder that led back up to the bridge.

"You! Freeze!" He recognized the English from his days at MIT. Sal-man ignored the command. He sprinted through the sounds of bullets ricocheting through the steel superstructure. Salman ducked into the passageway and headed up the ladder.

The thunder of stampeding feet rumbled in pursuit behind Salman's back. He was a scientist, not an athlete, and they were closing fast.

To the bridge. He had to get to the bridge. He had to reach the detonator.

Leo, take your men below, " Lieutenant Mike Reel yelled at Lieutenant JG Leo Maloney. Maloney's men went down the hatch. Reel and his men sprinted after the man that got away.

"Stop! Halt!" Reel yelled. Reel was closing fast, but the man was not responding. From the rear, the man resembled the profile photographs of the Chechen physicist, Dudayev, that the SEALs had studied, but Reel couldn't be sure. The only thing Reel was sure of at the moment, as he scrambled across the deck, was this. The man wasn't stopping and he was heading in the direction of the bridge.

He was also sure that they were close enough to St. Petersburg that a nuclear fireball of sufficient magnitude would engulf or destroy the city. And the crew of a United States nuclear submarine was being held in that city.

"Stop!" Reel closed to within about ten feet of the man and squeezed the trigger of his Uzi. A burst of machinegun fire shot out over the sea.

The man kept running, then bounded up a ladder headed directly for a section of the bridge.

Reel's mind raced like the speed of light.

Racing, racing, the thoughts flew like electricity lighting a power grid.

Only a maniac on some sort of suicide mission would fail to stop at this point. Reel knew it in his gut. The guy was going for the bomb. He knew it.

But what if he were wrong? What if the guy was only a sailor scared out of his wits by some guy in a wetsuit who had just killed his captain?

Reel was the deadliest of warriors. He was a Navy SEAL. But SEAL or no SEAL, Americans didn't kill civilians. Not without good reason.

This was happening so fast. Reel bounded up the ladder, grabbing at the man's boot. It was just out of reach.

He heard the thunder of the boots of his fellow SEALs crossing the deck below.

The man reached the catwalk at the top of the ladder and rushed into the bridge. Reel ran in behind him.

It all turned slow motion now, almost like suspended animation in an underwater ballet.

Four men stood around the perimeter of the bridge. One had a gun. He swung it to point it at Reel.

Reel opened fire, bringing three of the men down. The fourth held his hands in the air. The man Reel was chasing raced across a bridge and lunged for an electronic box with a handle.

A detonation device!

The man's hands reached the handle.

Reel pulled the trigger, spraying bullets into the man's back. Blood oozed and splattered from numerous bulletholes in the back of his shirt.

The man slumped forward, his hands and body pushing down on the detonator.

"Dear Jesus, please help us!"

Flashing lights lit the detonator, yellow lights dancing up and down it like lights on a Christmas tree.

Reel squeezed his trigger and fired a wall of bullets into the detonator, then held his breath.

Leo Maloney and his men stormed down the ladder leading to the decks below. Their mission – to search each and every compartment of the ship. If nukes were on board, they would find them, or die trying.

Maloney was the first to hit the deck at the bottom of the ladder. He motioned Petty Officer McCants and two men to the left. Two other SEALs turned to the right. They jogged a few feet to the intersection of another passageway to their left. Maloney spotted two armed guards standing in front of a door.

"Put down your weapons!" Maloney ordered. The guards opened fire. The SEALs fired back, mowing the guards down to the deck.

"Let's go!" Maloney ordered. His men hurdled over the bleeding sailors and shot open the door.

A device was spread out on a long, six-legged aluminum table. Five large, stainless steel cylinders, each the size of a beach ball, were lined in a row along it, all connected with wires.

In an instant, blinking red and yellow lights lit on the device and flashing gadgets danced around the cylinders.

"It's arming itself!"

Maloney's stomach dropped from his body. He squeezed the trigger on his Uzi, firing every bullet left in his magazine at the device.

"McCants, shoot the thing!"

"Aye, sir!" Petty Officer McCants, in a blasting fury, emptied his Uzi submachinegun into the metal cylinders as well.

Electrical impulses, like tiny lightning bolts, shot back and forth between the cylinders.

"Lord in heaven, please put this thing out!"

The electrical charges continued for a moment, and then…

"Sir, I think it's dying!" McCants announced.

"Keep praying, sailor!"

Lights on the left side of the device went dark. The lights on the right side followed.

Then, silence.

Leo Maloney allowed himself a long exhale.

A familiar voice came through his headset. "Maloney. McCants. Report."

Maloney caught McCants' eyes. The rugged SEAL's forehead was beaded with large sweat drops, but a small smile crept across his face.

Maloney pushed the communications button on his headset. "I think we found the bomb, sir. Recommend we get our nuclear guys in here, ASAP, but I think we've disabled it."

"Roger that, Maloney. Bravo, Sierra. We've found the detonator on the bridge. Suffice it to say, the detonator is also disabled."

Maloney gave a thumbs-up and a smile to the other SEAL team members, which ignited an eruption of cheers.

"Great news, sir. Awaiting your orders."

"Very well, you and McCants secure the bomb, and have the other SEALs fan out and secure the rest of the ship. We've got control of the bridge, and I'm going to notify USS Charlotte – mission accomplished."