Nightwatch

Chapter 26

The order calling Coach down to the conference room arrived just as the lights of Brest, France, were visible in the night sky thirty-two thousand feet beneath them. Taking his place at the pilot console was his backup. Major Owen Lassiter. Lassiter was short and wiry, with a spiky crew cut that did little to cover up his rather large, protruding ears. The Ross Perot lookalike took his flying seriously and didn’t care for idle chatter in his cockpit, a fact that both Lucky and Jake were painfully aware of.

While Lucky was in the process of giving Lassiter a weather update. Coach excused himself, taking a moment to stretch his cramped limbs in the vacant upper-deck rest area. His bunk invitingly beckoned, yet he turned instead for the stairway that conveyed him down to the main deck. At the base of the stairs, he passed the ever-present, dour-faced security guard, and grabbed a mug of black coffee at the galley, before continuing forward into the conference room.

There were six individuals seated there. At his usual place at the head of the table was Admiral Warner, with Colonel Pritchard. Major Hewlett, Captain Richardson, Brittany, and Red seated alongside the Chairman. Each of them had their eyes locked on the rear projection screen, where a real-time video conference with General Lowell Spencer was being held.

As quietly as possible. Coach took the vacant seat next to Brittany, all the while listening to TACAMO’s distinguished, silver-haired EAO describe the tense situation currently taking place beneath the Atlantic.

“… and that’s the extent of the damages,” continued Spencer, his deep blue eyes showing little hint of outward emotion.

“I’m confident that the Rhode Island can complete the repairs from their position on the continental shelf, and that they’ll still be able to fulfill their alert platform duty should they be called upon to do so.”

The Chairman leaned forward and addressed the microphone that was placed in the center of the table.

“I appreciate the update, Lowell. It sounds like Captain Lockwood and his men are doing one hell of a fine job down there. Any word on the vessel that struck them?”

Spencer shook his head.

“We’re relying on the Polk to track it down. But so far, the Red bastard has eluded us.”

“We still don’t have any proof that it was a Russian submarine, Lowell,” reminded the Chairman.

A pained expression crossed Spencer’s face, and he dared to counter.

“I don’t want to get into another argument with you, Mr. Chairman, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s only too obvious who’s responsible for this flagrant act of undersea aggression.

Regardless of what General Zhukov told you, how can we trust a nation that can’t even tell us who’s in charge of its nuclear arsenal?”

“The Russian Defense Minister gave me his word that their nuclear release codes haven’t in any way been compromised during the current power struggle,” stated Warner.

“And I have no reason to doubt him.”

“Then why can’t we speak to their President directly, and get his personal guarantee that the codes are still under his direct control?” Spencer countered.

The Chairman looked at Red. The systems analyst wore headphones and a chin mike, and after inputting a flurry of data into her laptop’s keyboard, she indicated with a despondent shake of the head that she still had no luck getting in touch with the Russian President.

“It appears the President remains at sea, unreachable,” the Chairman said in a bare whisper.

“It’s another goddamn coup attempt!” exclaimed Spencer.

“The spineless sons of bitches killed our President, and now they want to take over the goddamn world. Where the hell’s Vice President Chapman? This country needs its Commander in Chief.

Coach couldn’t believe Spencer’s audacity, and he watched the Chairman’s face redden with rage. Trent Warner wasn’t the type of man who liked to have his authority challenged, and he angrily scanned the faces of those gathered around the table, finally halting on Captain Richardson.

“Can PEMA provide an answer for the good General?” he asked impatiently.

Richardson doublechecked his laptop’s display screen before answering.

“The central locator system indicates that we’ve yet to make contact with the Vice President or his party. The Speaker of the House is on his way to Missouri’s Fort Leonard Wood to personally coordinate the Search and Rescue effort and to be immediately available to take the oath of office should the Vice President be deceased, while Senator Brennan, the next in line for the Presidency after the Speaker, is standing by on Capitol Hill.”

Spencer appeared to be somewhat appeased by this information, and he waited for a pocket of air turbulence to pass before expressing himself with a sober seriousness.

“I gather that you’re still headed for Washington?”

Coach was the next to be swallowed by the Chairman’s icy glance, and he took this as a prompt to answer the General.

“Nightwatch is just passing over the coast of Brittany. Our ETA at Andrews is 0735 Zulu.”

Yet more turbulence shook TACAMO, and Spencer could be seen grabbing the edge of his padded command chair. Worry crossed his face, and Coach noted that the decorated veteran suddenly looked every one of his sixty-three years and then some.