Bloodstorm

32

Admiral Tanning had coffee brought in for the SEALs, then got down to business.

“Some updating for you since you blew three holes in the hull of that Chinese destroyer masquerading as a freighter. We’ve had a picket fence around her for the past four days. She’s still anchored near a small Greek island about a hundred miles southeast of us. The AWACS boys have spotted two different helicopters making a run for the ship, but our gunship choppers outflew them and turned them back with a pair of missiles across their bows.

“Our guess is the Chinese tried to sell some more of the warheads with chopper pickup. If that was the plan, it didn’t work. Since then, nothing. No exceptional radio transmissions. We’re monitoring their frequencies, but their messages are encrypted.

“That’s it up to date. We have no grand strategy. There are five or six attack plans set up, but nobody will say that we should simply blow the ship out of the water and sink her with the missiles and the warheads on board. That would raise a stink. Now, do you have any ideas for us?”

Murdock took the lead. “I had some time flying back to think on this, Admiral. I knew the work wasn’t done. A vertical assault on the ship would result in at least fifty-percent casualties. Not practical.

“One of our smaller Navy missiles into the ship would probably be too much for her to stay afloat. The Chinese would probably meet any missile attack with return fire on the ship.

“Any kind of a military attack on the ship, by missile, aircraft, or surface ship, is going to result in large Chinese casualties. A destroyer of that class has from two hundred and sixty to three hundred men on board.

“The longer we wait, the more time the Chinese have to dismantle the missiles, remove the warheads, and dispose of the missile bodies themselves. Then it would be fairly simple to seal off a compartment and hide the warheads there. Forty-seven of them, even with their rockets and guidance systems attached, would not take up a lot of room in a destroyer.”

“You’ve just shot down three generals, two admirals, and a captain, Commander. So what is your suggestion about what we can do?”

“Wait,” Murdock said.

“Wait? Give the terrorists time to dismantle the missiles and hide the warheads?”

“Yes, sir. I began thinking what I would do if I had command of a ship like that in the same situation. It was quickly evident what I couldn’t do, steam home making five knots with three big holes in my hull. I also could not choggie into Athens for repair work on my hull with all of NATO and the rest of the world gunning for me.

“What was left? Yank the warheads out of those missiles and dump the useless carcasses overboard, then hide the warheads, welding shut the compartments required.

“Then I would stagger into port, asking for clearance to repair three holes where I had hit rogue mines left over from World War II. Once in port, I would be searched under some pretext, but I would win the day with my welded-shut compartments.”

“Better than anything else I’ve heard so far,” Admiral Tanning said. “This way, by waiting, we can’t lose and we might win. Will that Chinese ship-driver do it that way?”

“The destroyer captain probably isn’t in charge. I’d guess a civilian high in the government from Beijing is on board calling the shots with plenty of radio directions. He’s had four days to dismantle the missiles. Depends how many engineers he has and how afraid of the warheads they are.”

“That means how many more days, Commander?”

“My guess is three or four.”

Admiral Tanning had been making some notes. He stopped and frowned, picked up a pipe and filled it, then looked at Murdock.

“So, let’s say this boss Chinese does what you say, and comes into port here in Athens. International shipping laws being what they are, how do we board a foreign man-of-war and take off those warheads.”

“The Greek National Health Commissioner,” Murdock said.

“What? How could the health commissioner have anything to do with this ship?”

“The plague, the Black Death. We have strong evidence that one of the sailors on the ship has the plague, and he must be found and treated before he spreads the disease to the rest of the ship’s men and before it breaks out in Athens itself.

“In this case the health laws far outweigh the maritime laws, and the search could be carried out in an orderly fashion, or with Greek police and military backing them up. Along with the medical search parties would be your men with Geiger counters and other sniffers looking for the barest hint of radiation. Every warhead is going to leak a little. The most sensitive instruments can pick up the scent through steel walls.”

Admiral Tanning sat back in his chair and lit his pipe. He puffed two or three times, then blew a wobbly smoke ring at the ceiling and laughed softly.

“By George, Murdock, I think you might have something here. It’s a no-risk plan for three days or a week. We have nothing to lose and forty-seven nuclear warheads to gain.”

“Admiral, is Don Stroh still in the compound?”

“That he is. He was here earlier looking for you. My suggestion would be the officers’ mess.” The admiral puffed on his pipe and smiled. “Yes, Murdock, I think you have an idea that will work, and there shouldn’t be a single drop of blood spilled.”

Outside, DeWitt slapped Murdock on the shoulder. “When did you work out that neat little plan?”

“About the time he asked me for my suggestion. I just jammed myself in that Chinese guy’s shoes and tried to figure out what I could do with all of that military firepower aimed right down my throat.”

“The plague part?”

“The same time. It’s the most feared of the most deadly diseases. People hear about the days when it wiped out millions. Might work with the Greeks.”

“You hungry?” DeWitt asked. “I think it’s steak time.”

They found Stroh in the mess finishing a third cup of coffee. He beamed when he saw them.

“Heard the good news about the Syrian affair. You’ll ask about Yasmin. I don’t know yet. We’ve talked to our embassy there. They have sent an ambulance to that little town to transport her to a hospital. Last we heard, she was still alive and doing better.”

“Good news,” DeWitt said. “You keep us informed about her progress. Now, Stroh, I hear this is the day you buy us dinner. I’m having a steak and maybe lobster.”

Stroh looked confused. “This is the day? Did I lose a bet or something?”

“Yeah, a bet, you lost a bet,” Murdock said. “So sit tight and we’ll order. Then we can do our after-action report right here.”

“No, the admiral will want to be in on it. Dinner? I lost a bet?” He threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. I give. Order anything you want, I’m on an expense account. The CIA will never miss a few bucks. Speaking of cash, did you spend all of your Syrian pounds?”

“All gone,” Murdock said. “To the truck-driver friend of Yasmin.”

“Right, so order. I’ll just have a salad. I’m trying to cut back a little.”

The next three days the SEALs shuffled around their quarters, worked on weapons, and killed time. Then DeWitt took the platoon on a ten-mile hike just to keep them busy.

Kat showed up on the third day, furious at the doctors. “They finally let me out of jail,” she said. “Told me to stay off the leg and no marching and not much walking. My leg is fine.”

She wore the khakis of a Navy lieutenant, skirt and all, and had a new bandage on her right leg.

“Where’s Murdock? I have a couple of bones to pick with him.”

Nobody could find the commander.

“I’ll wait,” Kat said, and went over to talk to Senior Chief Dobler.

Chen Takung watched the men working on the last missile. They had the nose cone off, and were extracting the individual warheads with the utmost caution. They were so cautious, it seemed that they would never get the job done. Seven more warheads to remove and that part of the job would be done.

For days they had been stacking the warheads in three different compartments in the 528-foot-long warship. They buried the bulkhead in front of one of the compartments with stacks of supplies. A second compartment was filled with the warheads and their missiles and guidance system, and then the door was welded shut.

The third compartment was ready for the final ten warheads. They had taken more time on these, and separated the guidance systems and small rockets from them. They were placed in containers and positioned at the far end of the powder magazine, where the ship’s big shells and ammunition were stored.

Chen expected that there would be some kind of a search of his vessel once he docked. He had checked his plan with Beijing and it had been approved. It was the only thing he could do. He told his superiors that the holes in the hull were the result of frogmen planting mines there. He was not sure of this, but no one could prove otherwise. That had gained him more respect in Beijing. He had been aware from the first that he was hemmed in by U.S. warships. The closest cruiser was now less than four-thousand yards away, working a lazy box course to stay in close contact. He was sure that when the last warhead was sealed away and he pulled anchor for his three-knot move into Athens, the U.S. warships would shadow him, perhaps even escort him.

He had his schedule worked out. It would take a day in port to set up the repairs. Then a week for the repair work to close up the holes in the hull and make her seaworthy again. Then, on the eighth day after docking, his ship would once more be on the way back to China and with the load of forty-seven nuclear warheads intact. Yes, what a great day it would be when he docked in Tiantjin harbor.

He went to the bridge.

“We should be ready to sail in two hours,” he told the ship’s captain. “We will dock in Athens for repairs. Yes, Captain, we will be inspected. By whom, we don’t know. But it is my certainty that they will not find what they are looking for. The last of the missile bodies will be dumped overboard just before we sail.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the regular Navy captain said. His irritation and dislike for this civilian he had to take orders from had not improved over the past few days, with his ship wounded and anchored, awaiting the whim of this self-important politician. But to move to port for repairs, that would be good. He could be home in Tsingtao in time for his family’s celebration yet.

Murdock and the SEALs, minus Kat, had just returned from a ten-mile run without their fighting gear, weapons only. Murdock paused to talk to the men for a minute before he headed for his shower. The phone rang and Mahanani answered it, listened a moment, and pointed at Murdock.

“Murdock here.”

“Good, I found you. This is Admiral Tanning. The Chinese destroyer is moving. It lifted anchor and is now steaming along at three knots on a generally northwest course, which could mean it’s heading for Athens.”

“Good. Are the health authorities alerted?”

“They have been waiting for three days. We have two teams on the dock with the sniffer equipment. It’s so sensitive that it can pick up a glowing wristwatch dial from across the room. If there are any warheads on that bucket of bolts, we’ll find them. Then the Greeks will decide what to do with the ship. They could confiscate it for violating Greek nuclear weapons laws.”

“Good. I hope it all works.”

“Their ETA is about thirty-two more hours, which makes it sometime tomorrow afternoon. I’ll send a car over to give you and your party a lift to the dock. I’m sure you’ll want to be in on the final kill of the campaign.”

The next day at 1615, Murdock, DeWitt, Kat, and Dobler watched the two “medical” teams swarm on board the Chinese destroyer that still looked like a freighter. Admiral Tanning’s car drove up, and he went to Murdock’s group to watch.

“Should be a good show,” the admiral said. He held a civilian Handie-Talkie radio, and used it.

“Medical One, how goes the search?”

“Admiral Tanning. We’ve found traces of radiation in a large work area that is long enough to accommodate the eighty-foot Russian missiles. One of our men says he has a trail of radiation traces that could lead us to the prize.”

An hour later it was all over. The “medical” investigators had found the three stashes of warheads. Greek military units stormed the ship and carried out the nuclear bombs in special sealed containers. The final count: forty-seven warheads. They were quickly transported to the NATO compound, where arrangements would be made for their destruction.

“I don’t want that job,” Kat said. “I’ve done enough of that for one trip.”

It took two days to get all of their gear sorted out and ready to travel. Kat asked to be sent home with the SEALs, but she was overruled and booked on commercial first-class the next day. She had one last beer bust with the SEALs at the noncom club that night. Two hours into the fest, she held up her beer for quiet.

“Just a little drunk, but ready to take on any of you shitheads who want to try to outswim me.” She took a long breath and held on to the table for balance. “Going home tomorrow. Probably never see you fuckers again. Been good shooting up people with you. You ever in D.C. and need an overnight, give me a call. ’Course you don’t have my number. I can give it to you.” She frowned. “Yeah, I could if I remembered it.” The troops cheered and laughed.

Kat began to cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She went down the line of SEALs and punched each one in the shoulder, then kissed him on the cheek. At the end of the line she punched Murdock, then kissed him on the lips and grabbed his hand, and led him out of the place with hoots and hollers following them.

Outside, Kat stopped and looked at Murdock.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “He’s still a one-woman guy. My fucking luck.” She giggled. “Actually that should be my no-fucking luck. No, no, don’t walk me to quarters. I’m not that drunk that I can’t find them. Get back in there with your men so I don’t ruin your rep.”

She turned and walked away with only a slight list to port.

Murdock grinned and went back into the bar for another round of drinks with the best damn SEALs in the Navy.