Sending Messages

Chapter 11 Data

It didn’t take long. The NSA analyst began pulling up the data. For several years they had watched who had made phone calls and from where, especially calls to or from outside the United States. The laws strictly prohibited listening in without a judge’s permission. But knowing the call was made, what lines were used, the time the calls were made and the duration were fair game. The NSA had amassed tons of digital data, just waiting for the right request. Since the analyst had the date and time and phone number used, it was simple to pull up the records.

The 202 area code number actually went to what some called a processing facility where numbers were redirected as needed. These were used often to follow business leaders and their staff when traveling. But this year, the largest users were political candidates. Long ago the NSA had learned to follow that routing to get to the real source. In this case, the number was routed to the campaign headquarters of Gregory Foster, a Congressman currently running for President of the United States. The analyst blinked. “Oh shit,” he said out loud. He saw the one outgoing call to Venezuela and the return call. He also saw a call from another 202 area code to that number just fifteen minutes before the first call to Venezuela was made. Checking the records, it led to one of the few operating pay phones still left in Washington. This one was in the Pentagon. After a quick phone call, all the video monitoring data was being gathered for analysis. In this case, they already knew the day and time. It wouldn’t take long. His briefing and the evidence so far was turned over to his superiors. The revelation of who might be involved worried all of them, but for the analyst, it made no difference. Someone at the headquarters of a presidential candidate had just violated Title 18, U.S.C.

An hour later, after scanning the video from the security cameras, there was a face and a name to go with the telephone call.

“Do you recognize this young man?” asked one of the FBI agents assigned to the case. General Richardson looked hard at the image on the screen. “I’ve seen him. I’m not sure which office, but in my travels around I’ve seen that face. Hang on a sec,” she said as she called in her aide. “Captain Ramos, you know that guy?” she asked.

“Yes Ma’am. That’s Captain David Ferrell. He works in the communications section. I know him because he’s usually the one to come get messages from this office,” said Ramos. “He heads up one of the teams down there.”

The two agents looked at each other. “Is he on duty?” asked one of the men.

“I’ll check,” said Ramos walking over to the computer on his desk. In just a second, he looked up. “Yes, sir, he’s working today.”

By now, Richardson had a concerned look on her face. “Mind telling me what the problem is?”

Agent Kelly came a little closer. “General, we need to get him up here without anyone noticing. Is there a way out of this place without being seen?”

Now Richardson had alarm bells ringing in her head. “There’s an emergency exit across the hall. People might see you going in, but it is usually deserted from there on. Only our own security will be watching.”

Kelly nodded. “It will have to do. General, it appears this man is your leak. We need to get him up here and get him out so we can talk to him without anyone knowing about it. We have a whole lot of questions to ask this young man.”

Richardson’s face turned red. For a moment she appeared ready to explode. She turned to Ramos. “Captain, give him a call and tell him there is a flash message I need to get out that’s top secret. Tell him it will be ready when he gets up here,” she said. Ramos turned and made the call.

Richardson turned to the two agents. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Kelly nodded, “About as sure as it gets.”

Richardson slowly shook her head. “I don’t know how you guys do this, but if he is the one, I don’t care what it takes. You find out who he’s working with and where it leads. Even if you can’t prosecute, get the information. Then give what you have to me. Under the UCMJ, I can make that bastard wish he had never been born.”

Kelly grinned. “Don’t worry Ma’am. We’re going to get him, and get him legally. Once we’re done with him, you are welcome to what’s left.”

Richardson smiled. “Then he’s all yours,” she said.

A few minutes later Captain Ferrell entered the outer office and was then sent to Richardson’s personal office. She was seated at her desk writing when he entered the room and came to attention. He didn’t notice the outer office door close.

“Captain Ferrell, Ma’am. You have a flash priority message to go out?”

She looked up from her desk. “Oh, I have a message alright,” she said.

From behind him the two FBI agents stepped into the office.

“Captain Ferrell, I am agent Kelly of the FBI. You are under arrest for violation of Title 18, U.S. Code. You have the right to remain silent,” said Kelly as he pulled the young man’s arms behind him and locked a set of handcuffs on his wrists.

A look a horror swept across the man’s face. “What do you mean? I haven’t done anything,” Ferrell sputtered.

As the other agent held him by the arm, Kelly walked in front of him. “Oh no? Let’s see, area code 202,” Kelly began as he recited the phone number Ferrell had called. “You also made the call from the pay phone near the men’s john on the food court. Thanks for turning toward the cameras for us,” he said.

The revelation that he had been caught swept over Ferrell like a thick blanket. All his political dreams and aspirations had now evaporated and he suddenly saw himself breaking rocks in a penitentiary. He seemed to deflate before their eyes. He looked up with fearful eyes. “I want a lawyer,” he said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get one,” said Kelly.

Richardson walked from behind her desk. Her eyes were shooting flames at the young man as she walked directly in front of him and glared into him. “I suggest you cooperate fully with these men, Captain,” she said. “You have now become what we call a terrorist. What’s more, you have harmed both this nation and one of this nation’s heroes. More still, you have harmed a friend of mine. If you don’t give these men everything they need, you not only will piss off me, but every Marine and sailor in this nation.” Her face turned into an evil looking grin. “Now, you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?” she asked.

Two near growls came from the outer office as the aide and secretary reacted to her words. It was too much. Ferrell suddenly went limp as he fainted dead away. The second agent caught him as he fell.

Richardson turned and smiled at Kelly. “It seems our Captain is ill. I suggest you call an ambulance,” she said. “That should be inconspicuous enough.”

Kelly’s face widened into a smile. “Remind me never to piss you off, General.”

Within a few minutes a medical team entered the office and wheeled out a person covered in a white sheet. There was an oxygen mask over his face and tape over his forehead. The combination made Ferrell unrecognizable. He was quickly wheeled to the ambulance and taken to FBI headquarters.

The Immortal Showboat slowly made her way to her anchorage in Aruba’s harbor. Sailors dressed in summer white uniforms lined her decks outlining the ship’s lines and giving a crisp, clean appearance. Taking a tip from the Iowa, the Navy had sent along a Navy Band to play for the port visits. The musical theme to “The Showboat” blared from her deck as her huge anchor was freed and splashed into the water. Thousands of tourists and islanders watched in awe as she lowered her boats and prepared to open her decks for tours. The passengers aboard the two cruise ships docked at the piers waved and snapped photos of the magnificent sight. The North Carolina was the first battleship to ever pull into the Dutch port. It wasn’t long before she was surrounded with pleasure boats, their occupants waiving at the sailors from their decks.

One of the spectators could not believe what he saw. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. “An American battleship just pulled into Aruba,” he said nervously. He listened to the reply and then stared at the receiver in his hand. “Of course I know what a battleship is. Do you think I am stupid? It’s one of the biggest ships I have ever seen, with huge guns on both ends. The paper said an American ship would pull in today but it said nothing about this. They said it would be here for two days,” he said. The reply was short. “Yes, I will watch the ship, but there are hundreds of sailors aboard. I can’t watch them too.” The response seemed to sicken the man. He snapped the cell phone shut and cursed. “Idiots,” he said aloud as he began his way to the waterfront.

The first game of the season was going well for Messina’s team. He was standing at the sidelines calling out his support for the boys like most other fathers. Rojas watched with the coach and offered his support for the boys, suggesting little changes which helped them more easily move around the field.

Angela Harrison had showed up early with some sports drinks which they put on ice. During the effort, she leaned in to Messina and pointed out an old man with a Chevy pickup, selling things out of the back along the sideline. During the game, several people had gathered around the truck and she later commented that Messina or Rojas might want to get something for their families. “His prices seem very reasonable,” she said with a stare that told Messina it wasn’t a suggestion.

“I may check out what he has later on,” Messina had said. As the game wore on, he made his way to Rojas and he relayed the information. At half time, while the boys were with their families, Rojas made his way to the truck and began looking at the colorfully decorated garments and wares. Two others were there rummaging through the items. Eventually Rojas and the old man were alone.

“How can I help you, Señor,” asked Carlos Verdes making his way around to where Rojas was standing. It was clear Rojas was being very careful about something. On several occasions while waiting, Rojas had scanned the crowd to see if he was being watched.

“I’m just looking,” said Rojas giving the old man a frightened stare.

Verdes smiled and picked up several items. “Well, I have this pottery, some clay pipes and here are some ponchos. All of these were made by native Venezuelans living in the mountains. Is there something in particular that you wanted?” he asked in a friendly manner. Carlos could read all the signs. They were typical of the people, especially in the cities. Fear of talking to someone they did not know and what someone might infer. But it was also obvious that this man wanted something and was afraid to act. He looked Rojas in the eye. “Perhaps you have something for me as well?”

Rojas stopped in his tracks. There it was. But he was still unsure what to do. It could still be a trap. “I do not know you.”

Verdes laughed, and then holding up a small bowl he said in English, “But I know you, Colonel Rojas. How may I be of service?”

Rojas almost let out a sigh of relief, then glanced around once again. Rojas reached for the bowl and appeared to study it. “You need to understand that I am doing this because I cannot let something like this destroy my country. This must come to an end,” he said.

Verdes nodded. It seemed like all people who provide information wanted you to know why they did it. The reasons vary, but somehow they need to justify it in their own minds. In this case, the information this man had was sorely needed. “Of course. I understand. What we must do is for the common good. It will save lives,” Verdes said softly.

Rojas picked up another bowl as if comparing the two. “You must get this information to your government very quickly. Your mayors are in danger. Parente is obviously insane and I cannot guarantee their safety,” he said very quietly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Fishing for some money, he pulled out some bills. There was a white sheet mixed in with them.

Verdes took the money and shoved it into the small metal box he was using for a cashbox. He also inserted the white sheet into a place under the coin bin where it could be hidden. As he counted out some change, Rojas pointed toward one of the ponchos. It was large and very ornate. “How much is that one?” he asked.

Verdes smiled again and lifted up the poncho, unfolding it and displaying it for him to see. “Very inexpensive, Señor,” Verdes said as he appeared to barter to the man. Then he leaned forward. While seemingly pointing out things on the poncho, he asked, “Is anything getting ready to happen which might distract his attention?”

“ Five Bolivars,” said Rojas, holding out five fingers. Verdes appeared to think a moment, then shook his head. “Ten,” he said.

Rojas took the time to appear to think. He placed his hand over his mouth. “Presidente Castro is coming on the 12th. I don’t know of anything else but this,” he said quietly. Then he called out “Seven.”

“Anything else?” asked Verdes.

“Not that I know of,” said Rojas, almost too loud to be natural.

Verdes smiled. “Seven,” he said, handing the poncho over.

Rojas paid the man. “What if I need to return this?” he asked.

Verdes smiled, “I will be in touch. But I roam the streets near here. If there is a problem, you can find me,” he said.

With almost a relieved look on his face, Rojas thanked the man and took his purchases. Verdes remained at the game until the end, then packed his truck up and set off to where he was staying while in town. Tonight he would have a little extra wine with his meal. Meetings like this seemed to drain everything from him.

“It’s the same latitude and longitude as we got before,” said Kurt West, the head of the FBI.

Craig Harris nodded his head. “Concur. The report from one of my people said it was short and sweet. These two guys are frightened. This guy, Rojas, says our people are in danger. I must say I believe him.”

“I can imagine,” said the President. “Now what have you turned up so far on these phone calls — especially since you called this hurried meeting with me.”

West sat forward in his seat. “Mr. President, I need to inform you that I am commissioning a special prosecutor for this case. So far, I have let you know only about phone calls between Washington and our ambassador’s office. My agents arrested an Air Force captain named David Ferrell. We have both the phone call and video of the captain making the phone call at the exact time. We took him in for interrogation and charged him in violation of Title 18. At first he asked for a lawyer, but after a very persuasive recommendation by General Richardson, at which time the captain fainted, he began asking for consideration for his testimony. We now have ample evidence to charge other parties under the same act.”

He sat back in his seat slightly. “Sir, as of now I cannot tell you who will be charged or what evidence we are gathering, but it should be said you do not need to know as yet. I am requesting this special prosecutor have full jurisdiction and authority to get to the very bottom of this incident. The Justice Department has agreed and you need to know it is being done. I am sure a special grand jury will also be convened to hear the evidence and decide on certain actions. Sir, as soon as I can, I will give you more information,” said West as he finally sat back in his seat.

President O’Bannon sat back as well. It wasn’t often that a President could not be told something. “It’s okay, Kurt. I understand and appreciate what’s going on. If you can’t tell me, you just can’t. I take it CIA agrees?”

Harris nodded. “Yes sir, it’s best all round as I see it. The one thing we don’t need is someone going around some judicial process. If we’re going to get these bastards, we need to do it right.”

“I will ask one thing though,” the President said. “It makes it sound like this is some guy I know. Is that the case?” he asked.

West looked a little uneasy, but finally nodded slightly. “That’s the reason behind all this, sir. You know him very well.”

“It is only seventeen miles away from our borders!” Parente nearly screamed. “According to my valued assistant, it can strike my shores from where it is and we can’t do anything about it! Now what do you propose to do?” he asked his assembled generals.

“Señor Presidente, we have our largest artillery pieces in place nearby, but they do not have the range to hit the ship. I have also been assured that even if we could strike it, the effect would be minimal. There is nothing the army can do,” said the highest ranking general in the room.

“We can always use aircraft to strike the ship, but as General Aquilla stated, the effect would be negligible. There would also be the problem that our planes would be bombing a target within the boundaries of a neighboring country. Although the Dutch couldn’t really harm us for now, the international repercussions would be great,” said General Hidalgo of the Air Force.

The Admiral of the Venezuelan Navy, Bakan Oroso sat back in his seat. “The Navy would normally have the same problem, but I have some assets which may do the job, Señor Presidente,” he said calmly.

Parente eyed the man. “Tell me of your plans, Admiral.”

“Do not forget we have divers which could sneak into the harbor undetected by the ships,” said Oroso. “We simply need to deliver a diver into the harbor and then have him place a mine against the great ship’s hull. He sets if for a predetermined time and then swims away and is picked up. The mine could go off in five minutes or five days. It simply needs to be set appropriately,” he said smiling.

Parente smiled at the man. “How soon could you send this diver into the harbor?”

“As early as tonight, Señor Presidente. I have already placed a team on orders to be ready to move.”

“There may still be repercussions,” said Aquilla.

Parente held up his hand, silencing the men. “Not if no one knows who did it. These ships are old. I recall one in the 1980s having an explosion onboard. We simply need to make sure the timer is set so that there is no way to determine who might have done this. After all, America still has enemies around the world,” Parente said with growing confidence. “Do we know how long the ship will be in port?”

“We do not,” said Aquilla.

“”Then I suggest we send the diver in and set the timer for three days from now. By then, the ship may even be out to sea. That will make fighting the rising waters even more difficult,” he said. “Give the orders, Admiral.” Placated, Parente turned and left the room. He would need to congratulate Rojas on his insight about the battleships. But now they had a weapon that even a battleship could not deter. The thought made him almost giddy.

It was fruitless. The prisoners had thought up a number of ways to try and break out of the prison, but every one of them had been doomed to failure. Donado had told them all of the plans and efforts made to keep the mayors exactly where they were. He even informed them of the guards on the towers and an extra one sitting outside the door to make sure no one could get by the one inside. At one point one of the mayors suggested trying to scratch through the mortar holding one of the concrete blocks of the wall in place. But with the guard at the door watching them like a hawk, it would be impossible.

By nightfall, everyone was exhausted. Even the idea of ambushing the men bringing the meals was thrown out. With the two guards, it would simply be a slaughter. Tonight, everyone ate in silence. When done, the stacked the pots and plates neatly and placed them by the cell door as usual.

Once again, Patricia Hammond made her way around the room, trying to cheer up her colleagues. She sat down beside Manuel Donado. “You feeling better?” she asked in Spanish.

Donado smiled and nodded his head. The swelling on his face had subsided and she could finally see his eyes more clearly. One was still very red, but at least he could see. “Why do you always check on me? Don’t you remember I was one of the guards?” he asked.

Patricia chuckled. “Of course I do. But now you are in here with us. Since I have come to know you, it appears you are a very nice young man,” she said. She could see him blush slightly through all the bruising and reached out to place her hand on one of his cheeks. “Manuel, don’t worry about what has happened. I know we will get out of this. I don’t know when or how, but we’ll get through it. When we do, I’m going to make sure you are taken care of,” she said.

Donado lifted his eyebrows slightly. “I wish I was so confident. I know my Sergeant and our Presidente. They are not known for their benevolence,” he said. “I am afraid that before this is done, they will certainly kill us all.”

She grinned. “Hasn’t he heard that it is very difficult to kill Americans? We are like a tough old piece of steak. We don’t go down easy,” she said.

Donado’s face widened to a grin of his own. “You don’t look so tough,” he chided.

“Oh, we’re tough and we’re mean. We have teeth that bite and claws that scratch. And if I get a big stick in my hand, you better watch out,” she said, pointing her finger at him.

Now even Donado had a laugh.

“Oh, you think I am funny? I also have a leg to kick. Your Sergeant better watch out if I get loose. I know where to kick him where he can really hurt,” she boasted with a smile. Now Donado was laughing so much he let out a gasp of pain from one of his ribs, but even that couldn’t stop him. The others in the room watched the boy transform into a much livelier and likable person before their eyes. Even those few who understood Spanish were laughing. After a moment everyone calmed down.

“Maybe someday I will be as tough as you,” he said to Patricia.

She nodded her head. “You’ll get there. Now just sit back and rest. When the time comes, we’ll all need our strength — to do a little kicking,” she said. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. It was amazing. Just that little encouragement had made a big change in the boy. The look on his face was no longer defeat, but a growing confidence that something would happen for the good. The smile was still on his face as he leaned back and placed his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

Patricia moved back to her own little corner. She was dog tired, but wouldn’t let the others see it. As she sat down, Tim Sweeney leaned over.

“You’d be a great Den Mother,” he said as he patted her on the arm.

She chuckled again. “He may be right though. Things don’t really look that good for us,” she said. “I know they’re coming for us, but at the rate it’s going, we might not be able to help much.”

Sweeney grunted. “I can kick too, you know.” He sat back with a smile on his face and gave her a wink. She lay back and closed her eyes. In her mind, she could see her husband coming to her on the bridge of a great ship.

Deshawn Jackson had worked his way up the party chain to become one of the prime executant assistants with the campaign. He was proud of his work and for what he truly believed was the best thing for his nation and his family. Of course, it had meant 20-hour days and tons of behind the scenes work, but now he was determined to get Congressman Gregory Foster elected to become the next President of the United States. He had even been approached to have a position in the Foster White House.

It was already after ten in the evening. He had gotten back to his small apartment and had plopped down in front of his television with a beer to let the tension of the day drain off. The news on CNN was good. The day’s electioneering speech was being reported and looked favorable. At the same time they were tearing the President apart for the hostage situation, as usual. A part of him felt sorry for the President. After all, he hadn’t been the one to kidnap the mayors, but he was paying for it none the less. A knock on the door caused him to slump. Will it never end, he thought as he glanced at his watch. He stood and walked to the door and opened it.

“Mr. Jackson?” asked one of two men standing at the door holding some sort of badge.

“Yes, I’m Deshawn Jackson.”

One of the men smiled and lowered the badge. “Mr. Jackson, I’m Agent Kelly of the FBI, and this is Agent Hunt. Have you got a few minutes to talk to us,” he asked.

“Come on it,” said Jackson ushering the men to his small living room. He turned off the television. “Am I in trouble?”

Kelly smiled. “No, sir, not that I know of, but you could be a great help.”

“What can I do?”

“I need you to promise us that what we are about to talk about will go no further. Please don’t talk about this, especially around the office. Can you do that?” asked Kelly.

“Is it that important?”

“Believe me,” said Hunt. “It’s that important. The security of the nation depends on it.”

That got Jackson’s attention. He nodded. “I promise. Now what do you need?”

Kelly pulled out a tape recorder and placed it on the table. “Can you identify the voices you hear?” He played a part of the communications recorded from the telephone conversation.

Jackson’s eyes suddenly widened, and Kelly knew he knew who they were looking at. Jackson got a pained look on his face. After all he had done to achieve his goals; the men he worked for were being investigated by the FBI. He looked at Kelly. “Okay, I guess you know that I know who these two men are. The first is Williamson and the second is Foster. Now can you tell me why these men are under investigation?”

Kelly could see the conflict in the young man’s eyes. He took a moment to reassure him. “First of all, I need to reassure you that we have gone out to no one regarding this investigation. Before we do anything we will need to make sure of all the facts. That’s one reason why we asked you to keep this under wraps. But the second reason is that if there is something going on that is illegal, we do not want to jeopardize it by letting anyone know before we are ready. Do you see our position?”

Jackson nodded.

“Good. Now we need to ask you a few questions. Were you in the office night before last between 8 and 10 pm?” asked Kelly.

“Yes, I was there until about 11:15. I was there helping Congressman Foster with today’s speech and to run some interference with our public relations people. They have a habit of putting too many things on the Congressman’s plate,” Jackson explained.

“Okay, who else was there?” asked Kelly.

“There were several people working late. Williamson was in his office and Foster was back and forth between me, Williamson and Mr. Loring in PR. We also had Josh Becker and Jamie Cavanaugh, our interns running around doing things. But the rest left after 7 to attend a party at Glenda and Hal Shoup’s house over in Alexandria. They are celebrating their first anniversary,” Jackson said.

“That helps,” said Kelly. “Now do you remember any special phone calls around 8:45?”

Jackson laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. Those phones ring off the hook. There may have been fifty calls around that time, between calls from the party to us getting some take out and calls the Congressman received from supporters.”

That didn’t help. Kelly changed tack a little. “I can imagine, but I’m talking about any calls that seemed to preoccupy these two men,” he asked.

Jackson thought a moment. “Nothing comes to mind. Do you know what line it came in on?”

Kelly read off the phone number.

Jackson shook his head. “That’s not any of the main lines coming into the office. That’s one that only rings in Williamson’s office. It was set up so that private calls from supporters and other politicians could come in and not tie up office lines. Only three people can pick up on that line — Williamson, Foster and Foster’s secretary, Mary Ellen.” He stopped and thought a minute. “You know, that line was in use that night. It lights up on the phones even if we can’t use it. I remember thinking they might be on with some big donor or something that night. I remember Foster practically running from his office into Williamson’s and shutting the door. A few minutes later that light went on. I noticed after a few minutes it went off, then a few minutes later it came on again. When it finally went off, Congressman Foster came out. He looked a little shaken. I just figured they had a slight setback, but Williamson came out smiling like the whole world had changed. I remember he walked up to Foster and told him to cheer up, that everything would work out just fine. Foster said something like, ‘That’s what you say,’ and went in his office. Williamson went in and there were some raised voices, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. I was kind of busy at the time, but Mary Ellen was a little closer. She might have heard something,” he said.

“Mary Ellen was there? You didn’t mention her before,” Hunt said.

Jackson chuckled. “Mary Ellen is always there. We kind of take her for granted. Everybody says she and Williamson have something going on together. He’s the one who got her the job. She nearly always leaves after I do,” said Jackson.

“You mentioned that Foster and Williamson were arguing, do they do that often?” asked Hunt.

“Well, they weren’t really arguing as far as I could tell, but we could hear them over the rest of the office noise. I guess that’s why I noticed it. They usually don’t make such things public. It’s only the second time I recall hearing their voices raised,” Jackson said.

“When was the last time?” asked Kelly.

Jackson thought a minute. “It was about a week ago. They were in Congressman Foster’s office and nearly everyone heard Foster almost scream, ‘I don’t need something like that to get elected.’ A few minutes later Williamson came out all angry and Foster closed his door again. A while later, Williamson went back in, and when he came out, he was smiling. We all thought Williamson had come up with some crazy scheme and Foster shot him down. The rest of the time it’s been all business. Williamson runs the office and does his behind the scenes stuff and Congressman Foster does his schmoozing to keep the funds coming in and appease the voters,” Jackson said.

“You remember the date of that event?” asked Hunt.

Jackson shook his head. “Not really. I mean, we’re running a campaign and it keeps us so busy the dates get all blurry. Congressman Foster is in and out all the time and Williamson is with him half the time.”

“Do you think anyone else might remember the date?” asked Kelly.

“Maybe Mary Ellen. Like I said, she is there almost all the time and helps keep the Congressman on track.”

Kelly and Hunt looked at each other. If she was that close to one or both of the men, it might not be a good time to bring her in. “Well, if you think of someone who might help, let us know. We may have more questions, but for now, we have what we need to proceed,” said Kelly.

“I’d like to ask you something, if I can?” Jackson blurted. His face was now a mask of concern.

Kelly knew what was coming, but smiled and said, “Go ahead.”

“Does this mean everything I’ve been working for will come to an end soon? I’ve been working with Congressman Foster for over a year and I like the guy and his politics. Is what you are looking at going to ruin all that?” Jackson asked.

Kelly reached over and patted his arm. “Look, you know I can’t say what we’re looking for, and you know I don’t really know how this will turn out. But what I will tell you is that it is a serious enough matter for us to look into it and it seriously involves the security of the United States. Quite frankly, we weren’t sure if we would get any cooperation at all tonight. Some political staffers would have just clammed up and made our job much harder. In your case, you realized how serious this might be and helped us out. Our job is to get to the bottom of all this and we will. I know I appreciate what you’ve told us. Just remember that you cannot speak about any of this with anyone. It could ruin a very serious investigation and possibly cost people their lives. I don’t think any of us really want that,” Kelly said as he reached into his pocket and gave Jackson a copy of his card. He wrote something on the back. “Here is my business card and my personal phone number on the back. If you have any questions, or it something happens that you think I should know, please call me.”

Jackson stood along with the other two men. “Thank you. I will.”

“Sorry we had to disturb your evening. Thanks for your help,” said Hunt as the two men left the apartment.

Jackson stood a moment and stared at the closed door. He looked again at the card in his hand. He had never liked Williamson, and wondered if he had gotten his boss into real trouble. He turned and made his way back to the couch. His beer was warm, but he took a sip anyway and made a grimace. Looking at the bottle, he walked back to the kitchen and got another cold one. Sitting back down, he began running things through his mind. There were thousands of things that could get a candidate in trouble. Finances, back room deals, promises to the wrong people, deals with the special interests — all could get a guy in real trouble. Then he thought about the piece of recording he had heard. ‘It could be they are pre-staging this team down there to use just in case. That’s what I might do,’ and, ‘If we go telling this guy they’re there, he might do something unfortunate. Remember, everyone is supposed to come back alive.’ Just three sentences and two voices. What could it mean? he thought. He focused on the phrase, pre-staging this team down there to use just in case. After several minutes of nothing jelling in his mind, he gave up and turned CNN back on. The story was about the American hostages and how there was still no word on their fate. Jackson bolted upright, his eyes glued to the set. It is the only thing it could be, he thought. He sat back on the couch. “Oh fuck,” he said with a sigh.

The harbor was finally quiet. The North Carolina had almost been overrun with partying islanders in every kind of watercraft imaginable. Once anchored, the boats and small craft began to circle the huge ship. Everyone wanted to see the ship, and as you got closer, the bigger it seemed to become. Many of the boaters were young. The sailors aboard the ship got a big kick out of all the bikini clad girls waiving from the boats and occasionally throwing things up to someone. The deck crew even had to come get several young people off the edge of the ship’s armor around the ship. On the North Carolina, the armor plating ended a few feet above the waterline. This left a ledge about a foot deep around the outer hull which several found was a great place to sit and drink. The crowd and the boats didn’t really start tapering down until after midnight. By three am, only an occasional boat would cruise past.

Riding on a small motor yacht, Lieutenant Carlos Romero finished his checks and got ready to ease over the side. He had been a diver for many years, always working in harbor cleanup or, more recently, to train to become what the American Navy called a SEAL. He and several others were getting very proficient in sneaking into a harbor and blowing up installations or rescuing a hostage of some sort. Tonight would be a little different. This time his orders were to place a magnetic mine against the hull of a ship. None of them had been trained on anything like this, but his superiors pointed out that this would give them such experience.

Romero felt confident. It should be about a 200 yard swim from the boat to the ship. He was told to place the mine in about the middle of the ship, set the timer and leave. The boat would circle the harbor and then he would pick it up on the way out. It was a simple plan. Because he would go in at slack water, there would be no currents to deal with. Then, when the tide started to come back in, it would actually push him into shore, not out to sea. He had trained to swim more than a mile at a time in the sea. This should be easy.

On the stern of the yacht was a door where a boat was stored. At night, and with only a sliver of a moon, it would be nearly impossible to see him dropping over the stern. Placing the mask over his face, he checked the regulator one last time, and then swiftly eased out the door and over the swimming transom on the yacht.

Conserving his air, Romero used the snorkel to cover the transit to within 50 yards of the ship, then switched to his tank and began his descent. The water in the Caribbean was clear almost all the way to the beach. Using the ship’s lights as a guide, he made his way until he felt the side of the ship, then went deeper.

Romero kept going down, farther and farther. He had though the ship might go down about 20 feet, but that point had passed long ago. At just over 30 feet, he felt the angled strake running along the bottom edge, then passed beneath. When the bottom finally flattened out, Romero was surprised to find there was little more than five feet between the ship’s bottom and the sand below. Weeds seemed to be growing up from everywhere, hampering his movement, and the bottom of the ship was almost like sandpaper from all the encrusted marine life.

Easing along, he felt a current. Strange, he thought, the tide shouldn’t be starting in as yet. The current seemed to flow around him and towards the shore. Someone must have made a mistake in the tide tables. He kept swimming under the big ship, but he noticed that the farther he swam, the stronger the pull. He stopped for a moment and reached down to make sure the mine was still in its pouch. That was when he noticed that he was being pulled along far faster than he had realized. Trying to swim against the pull, he struggled with both the weeds and the current. The effort was sapping his strength and he was getting nowhere.

Now Romero panicked. He began frantically swimming trying to break free from the now very strong current. He felt his tank bumping along the bottom of the ship. Pulling out a flashlight, he searched for some sort of handhold, but there was none. Using the flashlight with one hand only made things worse. Suddenly Romero felt himself being pulled into some large hole in the bottom of the ship. His tank caught along the edge as his feet were pulled into the hole and upward into its gaping mouth. Romero found himself stuck in the mouth of the hole. Things from the bottom were being pulled into the ship all round him. He was trapped. Slowly his arms and legs became so tired he could no longer try to get himself out. His rapid breathing ate up the air in the tanks and soon, there was no more to breathe. As the life exited his body, he went limp, freeing him from his position. His lifeless body was sucked fully into the hole.

Deep in engineering, an alarm sounded and crewmen rushed to see what it was. Number three fire and flushing pump had suddenly stopped with a loud bang. Pumping thousands of gallons per minute, it made sure all the salt water systems on the ship had plenty of water available. Several crewmen tried to get it started again, but it was no use. The electric motor was operational, but something had been sucked into the pump itself. After an hour of trying to free it, they gave up. The number three fire and flushing pump was tagged out. Another was brought online. They would have to fix that problem when they returned home.

Just a few minutes later, the anchor windless began hoisting the giant stockless anchor out of the sandy, plant laden bottom. Few knew that the North Carolina was leaving. Across the harbor the crew of the yacht watched in horror as two tugs came out to help push the great ship’s bow around so she could head to sea. Almost silently, the battleship made her way through the harbor entrance. As soon as possible, the people on the yacht began to search for Romero. They almost hoped the battleship would explode before their eyes giving their leader a huge victory. But it was not to be. Plying back and forth, they found nothing. By morning, they had extended their search toward the shore, but there was no sign of him. Working back to the harbor entrance, they were surprised that the great ship was nowhere to be seen.

Just before the sun came up, as the early morning light began to light the sky, the lookout near Puerto La Cruze was horrified to see a huge ship operating near the shore. It had a flat top. Grabbing a stronger set of binoculars, he studied the ship more closely. There appeared to be aircraft on her decks and looking behind the ship, he saw what looked like landing craft going into the stern. Frantically reaching for the phone, he reported his sightings. Within ten minutes, aircraft came streaking over the lookout’s position and heading toward the ship.

“Zero two, base. We have a large American carrier approximately 14 miles out. There are aircraft on her decks, over,” said the pilot of one of the two F-16 fighter planes sent to respond to the incursion.

“Roger, ascertain type of ship, over” came the reply.

The pilot and his wingman were being careful not to fly too near the ship. No one in his right mind would try to take on an American carrier on their own. But this was not one of the huge Nimitz Class carriers he had seen. Instead it was smaller, almost rectangular in shape with a very large island. As he flew towards the stern of the ship, he saw it was hollow from the stern. “I make this one of their large landing ships. There are two landing craft lined up and entering the stern of the ship, and there is a guided missile cruiser coming out of the haze two miles out to sea, over.”

“We have company,” said his wingman over the radio circuit.

Looking behind him, two F-35 Lightnings had already joined up and were tagging along behind and to one side. There were white missiles on the wings. The F-16 could easily take on the Lightning, but at this range, he didn’t want to chance it.

“Aircraft on my starboard side, this is Marine Corps Lightning two-zero-one. We request you proceed no closer to our ship. We are in international waters and exercising our rights of free passage. Do you understand, over,” said one of the Lightning pilots.

The other pilot thumbed his transmit button. “This is Venezuelan Air Force plane Zero-two. Your ship is operating very close to our territorial waters. We do not intend any harm, just observing, over,” he said in response. His superior had already told them how to handle that situation.

“Roger, we welcome your observation, but we will escort you while in the area, over.”

“I understand,” said the pilot. He motioned for his wingman to follow and the two jets banked to give the LHD and her escorts a wide berth. They got the chance to see the cruiser a little better. It was one of those new ones. There would be no missiles on a rail like some of the older ones. These would suddenly pop out of one of the cells and be on you faster than he would like. The Venezuelan jets continued to circle the formation for about an hour before turning towards the shore and home base. Once they had moved five miles away, the Lightnings returned to a position near the LHD to be ready for another flight if it came.