Patriot

CHAPTER 43

The Coast Guard captain’s transmission to the Russian warship went out over the ship’s PA system.

Mike Wick said, “Vessel located position 22 degrees north, 79 degrees west, steering course bearing one-seven-zero, speed seventeen knots, this is the United States Coast Guard vessel Sentinel approximately two nautical miles off your starboard beam, standing by on channel 16, over.”

“We read you loud and clear, Coast Guard. This is the Russian Navy vessel Viktor Leonev, over.”

“Uh, vessel Leonev, this is Coast Guard, request you switch to channel 22, over.”

“We’re going to 22, over.”

“Coast Guard standing by on 22…”

“Go ahead, Coast Guard.”

“Leonev, maintain course and speed. We are sending over a boarding party…”

“Negative, Coast Guard, we are a military vessel sailing under flag in international waters. We are proceeding.”

“Captain, this is Captain Michael Wick, U.S. Coast Guard. I have in my hand a signed international search-and-seizure warrant for your vessel. You have two choices. We believe you are in violation of certain long-standing U.S. maritime treaties and rules of international law. Now, you can allow my men to board and search peacefully. If you are not in violation, you may proceed without delay. If you refuse my boarding order, your vessel will automatically be seized and escorted to the nearest U.S. port at Guantanamo Bay. You’ve got five minutes to contact Russian naval command and verify my legal right to board.”

“You think he’ll buy that crock of shit?” Hawke asked Kelly.

“You think he wants to start World War III all by himself?”

“I thought it already started,” Hawke replied, studying the Russian warship through the binocs from stem to stern.

A moment later: “Coast Guard, this is Leonev. We are maintaining course and speed. We are preparing to receive your boarding party. Standing by on channel 22.”

In less than a minute, an orange-and-white CG chopper rose rapidly into the air from the stern helipad, dipped its nose, and headed straight for the Russians.

Stoke’s guys called themselves “Stokeland Raiders.” Hardened combat veterans especially chosen for this mission by Stoke, Hawke, and Director Kelly. Mostly ex — U.S. Navy, snipers and frogmen, who’d deployed all over the Gulf region and wherever else they were needed. Many of this proud new squad were well into their late thirties or early forties; men who had remained steadfast friends with the CIA director and Stoke long after they’d all retired from the military.

Kelly and Stokely now kept every one of the Raiders’ cell numbers in a pair of encrypted iPhone 6s they called the Batphones. This was the first time these men had gone into action as a unit. But something told Brick it would not be the last. Now, Brick Kelly looked at Hawke. “Stokely Jones is aboard that chopper, Alex. My guy Agent Brock is with him, too. An honorary Raider.”

“I was wondering why you wanted them out here all of a sudden. What’s going on, Brick?”

“Cuba, of course. Ever since we were ordered to ‘normalize’ relations with the Castros, I’ve had a lot of young Cuban CIA undercovers working construction at the spy base site. From what I hear, the Castro brothers’ desire for normalcy includes them working with the Russians on a way to take down their brand-new Yankee allies without launching a missile.”

“Jesus, Brick. Who the hell is running your ship? Sounds like Washington has gone down the rabbit hole.”

“Who said anybody was running it?”

The Coasties’ big orange H-65 helo was now hovering just above the Russian warship’s stacks. The Stokeland Raiders would now commence fast-roping down to the Leonev’s rainswept decks.

The first man out the door? Fast-roping down to the pitching decks of the Russian missile-cruiser?

Stokely Jones Jr.

“Stoke’s still got it, hasn’t he?” the director said.

“The man is a speed-burner, Brick. What else can I say?”