Counterfire

7

Sixteen SEALs from the Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven slid into the water a quarter of a mile from the Sendai Maru. When Murdock was sure all were in the water and had their buddy cords tied around their wrists, they submerged to fifteen feet and followed their leader on a compass course directly for the Japanese-flag freighter.

Murdock counted the strokes. He felt a small boat race over the water above him; then when he figured he was within fifty yards of the ship, he surfaced cautiously, letting only his eyes break the surface of the water. Yes, there she was, the target freighter. She had lights on, more than usual, but the near side was dark from the waterline up the side thirty feet to the rail. Murdock tugged his buddy cord and Jaybird came up beside him. Soon there were sixteen faces looking at the ship. Murdock waved down, and they vanished under the cold waters of London’s harbor to complete the swim to the black side of the Sendai Maru.

Murdock felt the rough steel side of black paint, and moved to the surface. Three SEALs were already there. Luke “Mountain” Howard had one of the grappling hooks out of his drag bag, and tied the loose end of the line to his wrist. Murdock knew that throwing a grappling hook that high when a man was in the water was a tough assignment. They had practiced this in San Diego Harbor on several friendly freighters. The secret was the next two largest men came alongside the thrower, and each caught a foot for him to stand on, then treaded water like crazy as the thrower made his try.

Jack Mahanani and Bill Bradford felt the lunge upward as Howard threw the hook, driving them two feet deeper into the water. They came up a moment later to see the result. Howard was swearing softly and pulling the forty feet of line up from the bottom of the harbor with the grappling hook attached.

On the third try the hook went over the rail and held Howard’s 250 pounds. Jaybird was the first one up the rope. He left his drag bag with flotation collar with another SEAL, and went up hand over hand, walking up the steel side as he powered to the top. When Jaybird was halfway up, Ken Ching went up the rope.

The trio of SEALs tried another grappling hook ten feet down from the first one. Howard made this one hang up on his second try. Murdock told them that two would be enough. With the two it took the SEALs four minutes for everyone to climb the rope and get on board. They tied their drag bags with flotation devices onto the lines they had climbed, and left them next to the freighter’s side.

Jaybird went over the rail and flattened on the deck. He saw four lights on this part of the freighter. A huge crane stood to one side; beyond that he could see four hatch covers. He saw no guards, lookouts, or gunmen. He prowled toward the bow of the craft and the superstructure that rose from the deck near the middle of the ship. Where were the damned Arabs?

Behind him he heard muted sounds as the other SEALs came over the rail. Murdock surged up beside Jaybird as he looked around a second crane.

“Where are they?” Murdock asked.

Jaybird shrugged. The two SEALs charged along fifty feet of deck and ran hard for their objective, the bridge. They found the first door unlocked. They went through it silently, their MP-5’s ready. No one was in the small room. It had steps leading upward and they took them soundlessly.

Three minutes later Murdock and Jaybird found the bridge deserted. They made a sweep of the captain’s cabin directly below and four more cabins. Nobody. Where were the Arabs?

Murdock ran back to the long deck. He used the Motorola, the SEALs’ personal communication radio that was good for about two miles.

“Check in when you have your objective. We found nobody on the bridge. Has anyone seen any Arabs?”

“None here,” Van Dyke said. “Nobody in forward crew quarters.”

Four more men checked in with negative answers.

Murdock heard a plane. He took out the second radio and keyed it. “Flight SAS, this is Deckhand. Abort. I say abort jump. We are in place and so far haven’t found a single Arab or Japanese crewman on board. I say again, abort the jump.”

The radio sputtered, then came on clear. “Did you say abort? Murdock? Abort? We’re ready. No Arabs? Christ, where did they go? Where did the fucking nuclear bomb go?”

“Sorry to spoil your fun, but no use taking the risk of a jump here. This is a washout. It must have been a decoy. Now we really have to find the bomb.”

It took them twenty minutes, but at last they found the Japanese crew. They had been locked in a forward hold, but had been given a supply of food and water. The Japanese shouted and screamed in delight when they were released.

Ken Ching was soon with them and getting the story. There were twenty-four in the crew. They went back to their usual posts and positions and were all smiles. They even lowered a boat with a motor and ferried the SEALs, and the floating drag bags they had tied to the lines, back to shore.

Murdock used the cell phone and called for the bus to come and pick them up. He talked to Captain Brainridge on the cell, and Brainridge said he’d get the bus to them.

“What the hell happened?” Brainridge railed.

“We got snookered, outfoxed. The Japanese said that there was no bomb on board, never had been. The Arabs boarded their ship at sea ten miles off the harbor when their own boat was sinking. Then they took over and made the captain sail the ship into port and tie up at an anchorage rather than at the dock where she was expected.

“Ching said the Arabs told the crew that they would leave before it was daylight, but the crew would be locked up. The Arabs said someone would rescue them within two or three days.”

It was just after 0300 when the SEALs got back to the small military base near Crawley. Captain Brainridge and his three SAS men were waiting for them.

“No wonder our intel men with hundred-power telescopes didn’t see any Arabs on board the ship,” Brainridge thundered. “They weren’t there. Now our huge problem is trying to find out where they and the fucking nuke bomb are.”

Murdock slumped in a chair and nodded. “Oh, I agree, absolutely agree. You must have some kind of a clue. The crew said they never saw anything that could have been a bomb. In the small boat that was sinking, they saw only a few suitcases, which the men salvaged before the boat sank. No bomb.”

Brainridge sank into a chair and shook his head. “I’m not used to this kind of shit. Usually I get an assignment, a mission, and I go and do it and come home and take a week’s furlough. This hide-and-seek is no fun.”

“Did you report our raid to your Home Office or whoever is in charge of this?”

“I did. They yelled at me for five minutes, then apologized for ten minutes. Then they asked me how we find the bomb in a town with seven million souls?”

“Hope you had some suggestions,” Murdock said.

“Actually I didn’t. They said to just hold on here. They have a committee of twenty of the best detective minds in Scotland Yard working on the problem right now.”

“Good, maybe by morning I’ll have some ideas. Right now I’d just as soon have a few hours of sleep. Teacher, may I be excused?”

Brainridge laughed. “That you can, old sot, that you can. Let’s convene class again about 1000 in the conference room.”

Murdock waved, walked over to his bunk, and flopped on it. He got up only long enough to take off his wet cammies, then dropped on the bunk again and pulled the light Army blanket over him.

Murdock had breakfast in the morning before he went to the meeting with Brainridge. The SEAL was thirty minutes late getting there and offered no excuse.

“I’ve been catching it all morning from four different agencies,” said Brainridge, “each of which thought we should have caught the Arabs and found the bomb last night.”

“The committee come up with anything?”

“Zilch. They’ve been up all night talking, arguing, suggesting, and negating. I think we may have at least one duel coming up.”

“What about the Arab boats in port?”

“What? Say again?”

“What about the Arab-flag boats in London Port? Any one of them could have a nuclear bomb on board.”

Captain Brainridge’s eyes snapped, his brows raised, and he jolted out of his chair and grabbed his cell phone. He dialed and waited.

“Yes. How many ships are there now in the Port of London flying Arab flags?” He listened a moment. “Well, find out. I need to know in ten minutes. Move it!”

He hung up and nodded. “Oh, yes, now I think we might have something.” He paused and his eyes hooded. He rubbed his face with one hand and scowled. “Only how do we board a foreign-flag-ship without causing an international incident?”

“Easy,” Murdock said. “Health inspection. Your National Board of Health, or whatever agency you have, has had a report that this boat has a case of bubonic plague on board. The health inspectors take precedent over any national sovereignty considerations. Hey, it works. They also take on board the most sensitive Geiger counters they have to look for any radioactivity they can find. I’ve done it before in Greece.”

Brainridge grabbed his phone again. He dialed and listened. “You have those Arab ships yet? Ten. Good, here’s what I want you to do. No questions, get it done in the next hour. I don’t care what kind of strings you have to pull. Now listen carefully.”

After he finished on the phone, Brainridge looked at Murdock. “Thanks, I’ve got some ships to search.” The captain ran out of the room, and tires squealed as he drove away.

Murdock went back to his bunk for a nap before noon chow.

By 1600 the ten Arab-flag ships had been searched, scrutinized, taken apart with a magnifying glass. They found no bomb, and no crew that was the least bit nervous worrying about the inspectors finding a bomb.

Murdock’s phone rang when he was getting his gear cleaned and ready for shipment.

“Hey, Commander. Great idea about the ships. The health inspectors didn’t find any bubonic, but they came up with one case of diphtheria, three of measles, and two of rabies. They’re happy. My boss isn’t and the Home Office isn’t. They still want us to find the bomb. Any more good ideas?”

“What about pleasure boats? Do they register at the port or anything like that?”

“Not that I know of. They just sail in and tie up somewhere. Marina space is getting hard to find.”

“What about the big ones, the seventy-, eighty-, hundred-foot yachts? Where do they tie up?”

“A yacht club somewhere.”

“You have a speedboat?”

“I can get one.”

“Let’s take a boat ride and see if we can find any boats with Arabic names and maybe even a flag or two. Can’t hurt.”

The line was dead for a few moments. “Yeah, SEAL. I just got a go-ahead to test the waters. That sedan you were using should still be there. Tell the driver to bring you to Pier 12. He should be able to find it. Bring another set of eyes with you. See you in about an hour. Oh, the terrorists have been talking on the radio again. We tried to triangulate it, but the message came in a quick burst and no time to get a fix. They have given Israel another twenty-four hours to get their military out of the West Bank.”

“We’ll talk. I’ll see you at Pier 12.”

Before Murdock and Lam left for the pier, Don Stroh came in. He was grinning.

“Hey, SEALs, I just got you another week’s vacation with pay for you guys in London Town. The Brits want you to hang around a while and see if there’s anything more you can do to help. They are grabbing at any straws they can right now. Panic is soon to set in. In another twenty-four the story is going to leak to the press. Then all hell is gonna break loose in London.”

Murdock told Stroh about the ships. He remembered Greece.

“Heading out now to look over the pleasure craft from the Arab countries,” Murdock added. “Hope we have some luck.” He looked over at Ed DeWitt, who had just come out of a nap.

“Lieutenant, you have the helm,” Murdock shouted. Ed waved. Murdock and Lam hurried out to the sedan and headed for Pier 12.

London’s waterfront is a massive affair, with miles of piers and wharves and docks. It looked like an impossible job, but Captain Brainridge had his bulldog face on as the twenty-four-foot powerboat slid away from the dock. Also on board was a man who introduced himself as James Anthony.

“This gent is from Scotland Yard,” Brainridge said. “Figured we might need some law authority from time to time, if we find anything worthwhile, or if we get a lot of flack from some of these snobbish, closed, members-only clubs.” He turned the boat back toward shore.

“Have a list of thirty yacht clubs and tie-ups,” Brainridge said. We might just get lucky on one of them. By bringing in the bomb on a small craft, the terrorists would have complete control. They could also use their radio and move from one spot to another.”

Murdock and Lam held on as the captain drove the boat into a large marina where there seemed to be no craft smaller than seventy feet long.

They trolled along, slowly watching boat names on the sterns in the head-in slips. Now and then they had to angle out to miss the larger ships. Only one had a non-English name, and Lam said it was a Greek moniker.

The second and third marinas they went to failed to show any Arabic names. The fourth one was smaller and looked more exclusive. There was a guard at the entrance, and he waved them over. The Scotland Yard man talked to the guard.

“Do you have any transient boats here?”

“A few, but this is private property.”

The Yard man showed a badge. “Anthony of Scotland Yard. We’re looking for a yacht from an Arab country. Have you had any that docked here in the past week or so?”

“This is official?”

“As official as it gets without a warrant, and we are in a rush.”

“Yes, we’ve had one boat from Saudi Arabia. Husband and wife. Nice folks.”

“We’d like to meet them,” Anthony said. “Is their boat here and are they on board?”

Five minutes later the entire crew from the small boat stood on the slip outside the seventy-foot yacht. The owners said hello from the deck and asked what the visitors wanted.

“Ma’am, sir. Anthony of Scotland Yard. We’ve been watching for some illegal and banned material we heard is being brought into the country via pleasure craft such as yours. We don’t have a search warrant, but we assure you that this is a vitally important matter. Could we look around your ship?”

The Saudi man nodded. “Absolutely. We’ll cooperate. We have nothing to hide. Welcome aboard. We’ll show you every nook and cranny and compartment.”

Twenty minutes later the search team was back in its boat heading for a new marina.

They went through four more moorages before they found another Arab yacht.

“It’s Arabic for Sundowner,” Murdock said of the name on the yacht. The search crew tied up and walked up the slip to the side of the yacht. Captain Brainridge called out, “Hello the ship. Permission to come aboard.”

Two men appeared quickly at the rail of the ship, which had its deck four feet above the slip. The men looked down.

“I am Hamdani, boat owner. What do you wish?”

“I’m Inspector Anthony with Scotland Yard. We want to do an inspection of your ship. We’re looking for illegal cargo brought into England.”

“You need the search warrant,” Hamdani said. He was about forty, slender, with a full beard and mustache. His eyes gleamed darkly from under heavy brows.

“Not if I think there is just cause that a crime has been committed and I’m in pursuit of a suspect,” Inspector Anthony said. The Arab scowled. He said something softly in Arabic to the man who stood beside him. Neither one showed a weapon. Then Hamdani looked at Anthony. He spoke rapidly in Arabic then.

“You are a pig, a scoundrel, an asshole of camel shit.” The words in Arabic rolled out and he watched the men in front of him carefully. None showed signs of understanding the words.

Hamdani shrugged and spoke in English. “We do nothing wrong. You must have the search permit.” To the man beside him he said softly in Arabic, “Use the telephone, tell Andwar to leave the slip at once and head for the channel.”

Murdock understood Arabic, and he had followed the words the man had said from the first. He had steeled himself not to react to the insulting line. Now he grabbed for the ankles of the man who was about to leave. The Arab pulled away.

“No,” Murdock said in Arabic. “You will not tell Andwar anything. But you will tell us everything we want to know.”

“That won’t happen,” Hamdani spat. He drew an automatic pistol from his clothing, and at once two Arabs stepped out from behind him on the boat, each holding a submachine gun. Both were pointed directly at Murdock and the search party.