Sending Messages

Chapter 12 Playing the game

Former Senator Dan Williamson sat back in his office behind closed doors and sipped a single malt scotch. He liked it when the candidate was on the road and he had the office to himself. Williamson found Foster to be a wet nose. He doubted the man had the backbone to really run a country, but after losing his senate seat just two years before, Williamson was doing anything he could to get back into his party’s good graces. Fortunately, he had something that was pretty damning on Foster and he used it to bully his way into the Chief of Staff position during the campaign. He intended to keep that position when he got Foster into the White House.

Williamson hated President O’Bannon with a passion. He blamed him for the mess he got himself into during the war with Korea. The party had decided that someone else needed to occupy his senate seat and the newcomer moved in after the last election. A lot of the older party hacks didn’t want him, but he had too much experience as a campaigner and seniority as a political figure to be turned down. Besides, he also knew where the money was and could wield a broad axe when it came to soliciting campaign contributions. That alone had been worth bringing him back. But now, he had other ambitions. He missed the power he once had and there was only one place to feed it — the White House. Foster was so weak he could easily dictate policy from the Chief of Staff position. After that, who knew where it might lead.

But now his main goal was to overcome the 20 point difference between Foster and O’Bannon. That would happen just as long as the American hostages remained in Venezuelan hands. He sat back and smiled remembering how easy it had been. He had been the one to get Jonas his position in Caracas. It had only taken a few phone calls to set up the deal. Parente was like him. He craved power and this was a good way for him to get some. Williamson couldn’t care less if someone got hurt. His plans for Parente were simply to use him and spit him out. Nothing mattered but to get Fowler elected. Who knows, he thought, I might just string Parente out for a few years. Eventually Parente would do something stupid and either be shot or go into exile. Besides, no one would believe a dictator against an upstanding American President.

The phone rang on his desk. It was the private line. “Williamson,” he answered.

“The President wants to know what’s going on. He says a battleship is parked just seventeen miles from his shores and his military just saw some sort of carrier operating near his eastern shore,” said Jonas from Venezuela. “He says they are also using landing craft. He’s really starting to get paranoid.”

“Horse shit. I haven’t heard anything,” said Williamson.

“His military confirms it. They are saying it’s just two incidences, but you know what he’s thinking,” said Jonas.

“Let him think. Tell him I don’t know of anything happening, but I’ll check. Give me about an hour and I’ll get back to you,” said Williamson as he hung up the phone. Damned ignorant savage. Scared of every little thing, he thought. He picked up the phone and dialed another number. After two rings a tired voice answered the phone.

“Captain Ferrell, sorry to bother you, but I need to know what’s going on down south,” said Williamson.

At the other end of the line, Ferrell sat in a room flanked by two FBI agents who had headphones listening in. One motioned for Ferrell to be careful.

“I don’t have anything coming from this end,” said Ferrell. “I heard about some exercises with Brazil and Colombia, but that’s been laid on for a while,” he lied.

“Nothing having to do with our interests?”

“No, sir. Not from my end.”

“Very good. Let me know if you hear something,” Williamson said.

“Yes sir,” said Ferrell as he heard Williamson hang up.

“Very good, Captain,” said Kelly sliding back from the table. “You keep helping us out and you might just get through this,” he said.

Ferrell looked as if the life had been drained from him. Everything he had lived for up to now was gone and his prospects were hinging on what these agents reported to a judge. If he were very lucky, he might get to wear an ankle bracelet for a few years. But as of now, an Air Force career and any hopes of political aspirations were flushed down a toilet. He contemplated working for the rest of his life in a car wash.

Williamson hung up and dialed another number he knew.

“Navy News Desk, Lieutenant Boynton,”

“This is Bill Richards from the Washington Times. Can you give me some information about an exercise with Brazil?” Williamson asked.

At the News Desk, Boynton looked at his handset with incredulity. “Sir, that information was passed out to your guy here a couple of hours ago,” he said. “It’s all over CNN right now.”

“Yea, I know. I just wanted to check on some battleship visiting another country as a part of it,” Williamson said.

“Yes, sir, that was the North Carolina. She had a port visit in Aruba yesterday. She is a part of the exercise,” said Boynton.

“Can you tell me what other battleships are a part of this thing?”

“Only the two that were announced. The North Carolina and the Iowa are taking part as a part of their Reserve training underway period. That’s as far as we are going to give out information as of now. You can call back later on and see if there is anything else to release.”

“Somehow I heard there was a carrier.”

“The Brazilian carrier São Paulo will be taking part, but the only ship carrying aircraft will be USS Wasp, an LHD. As we stated in the brief, we are going to exercise fleet and Marine units to conduct amphibious warfare,” said Boynton. “Their carrier will be the center of that exercise.”

“Ahh, that answers the questions we had. Just got a little confused when someone down there gave us different information. Thanks for the help,” said Williamson.

“You’re very welcome, sir,” said Boynton.

Williamson hung up the phone. All you have to do is ask, he thought to himself as he turned on the news. Sure enough, a CNN reporter was talking about how this would be the first time the United States would take a secondary role in the exercises. Images of the São Paulo were filling the screen. Video of aging A-4 Skyhawks were shown catapulting from her deck.

Williamson chuckled to himself. All this worry for nothing, he thought. He picked up the phone and dialed the Ambassador. “Call off the dogs. It’s a planned joint exercise. They will be operating in the waters off Guiana for a while,” Williamson speculated.

“You’re sure?” asked Jonas.

“Goddamnit, do I have to paint a picture?” barked Williamson.

“But why was Venezuela not invited?”

Williamson almost cursed. After a breath he said, “Because our man never wants to play. Besides, can you blame the guys in the White House? Parente hates their guts.”

“I don’t know. He’s getting very antsy.”

“Let him. The big boys are playing in the pond. If he wants in, he better want to play nice,” Williamson nearly shouted. “I’ll let you know when something happens,” he said as he hung up the phone. Williamson hated dealing with people who had no backbone. He picked up his glass and downed the remainder of its contents. The fire in his throat calmed him some. He’d see that Jonas was replaced as soon as he could.

Claire Richardson was almost gleeful as she made the call on the secure satellite link to the Iowa. “He got your message and you’ve got him worried,” she said.

On the other end Hammond smiled. “Good. I want to make him scared to death. I bet he nearly wet himself when they saw the Wasp this morning. I made sure they saw empty LCACs returning to the ship. If he worries we might have made a landing, it’s just too bad.”

“Just make sure you don’t scare him into doing something drastic. If he moves those people, we might never find them again,” said Richardson.

“I agree, Claire. Right now, I just want to keep his attention focused on this group. The team is on a C-1 right now heading for the carrier. Once there, I will ferry them aboard Iowa and give them their final brief. I figure the quicker we get them in, the better,” he said.

“I wish I could go with you Roger. It’s fun being in the game again,” she said.

“That’s all I’m good for, getting you your jollies?” he joked.

“Sitting in this glorified five sided brothel? I’ll take what I get.” She heard Hammond laugh on the other end. “You be careful, Roger. I’ll keep sending down the intel and will let you know if anything breaks loose from the FBI,” she said in a concerned voice.

“Thanks Marine. I’ll bring back pictures.”

Richardson grunted. “Just as long as they will hold up in court,” she said. “Take care.”

Hammond set down the received and turned to his Chief of Staff, Captain Moyseowicz. “When should the team get to the carrier?”

Moyseowicz looked at his watch. “About thirty minutes. I have a CH-53 standing by to bring them here. Rhodes has their quarters set up and a place for their gear. We’ll brief them in tomorrow and they’ll take off tomorrow night. They’ll head out after dark,” he said.

Hammond nodded. “Yep, I want them underway by about 2030. About an hour to the ship, a five hour run, and another two hours to the drop zone should have them getting there just before dawn. Where will the Osprey land?”

“They’ll make a dash to Colombia to a small military field there. Once refueled, they will head back out to the ship. It’s a long night, but we can’t really wait,” Moyseowicz said.

Hammond nodded. “Thad, it looks like we won’t be getting much sleep after tomorrow.”

Moyseowicz grinned. “That’s why they pay us the big bucks,” he said.

Ricks was not a happy man. The C-1 Trader bounced around the sky like a drunken prostitute. He thoroughly expected to blow his lights out all over his fellow passengers. The rest of the men didn’t look much better. In the back of the enclosed cabin, the Brazilian crewmember was eating on some sort of sausage and grinning at his passengers. Sgt. Miller sat beside Ricks. He was a pale green in color. Sitting backwards in the plane didn’t help.

Just two hours ago, his men had been crammed into three of the C-1s and took off toward the carrier. It was the first time Ricks had been in a piston engine aircraft. He thought the vibrations would shake them to death. He would have to check all the gear to make sure it hadn’t been damaged after this pounding.

The orders were to go to the carrier and then be ferried to the Iowa for the final brief. Ricks was a little anxious to get back to the ship. He remembered being wheeled up the gangway and positioned next to the dais where the President would speak. That was where the President had placed the medal around his neck. Receiving the Medal of Honor under the big guns of the Iowa had been the proudest moment he had experienced. He remembered the look of pure love on Su Lynn’s face. The tears his mother tried to hold back. But most of all, he remembered the stupid look on his father’s face. The old man still had a hard time believing that the runt of the litter could do something like that.

Ricks smiled. His Dad had never thought he was much. Now Dale could call a President on the phone at any time and get to talk to him. He was also a hero in their small town. Not that it mattered. Ricks never let such stuff get to him. Just tell him what needed to be done and he’d get it done. Ricks had all he wanted. Su Lynn had become his wife. He had two twin boys and he had a house and his pickup. What more could a guy want, he thought.

The air crewman was waving his arms indicating everyone should assume the position to land. Ricks checked to make sure his belt was tight. The crewman checked each passenger before getting into his own seat and strapping in.

The plane banked sharply to the left and settled out. The men could tell they were descending. Suddenly the engines slowed to idle. With almost a crash, the plane bounced onto the deck. The tailhook engaged the arrestor wire and the pilot slammed the throttles forward to take off, in case they missed. Engines screaming, the plane jerked to a halt and the pilot idled the engines once again. After maneuvering around the deck, the engines finally were shut down and the door on the aircraft opened. Unstrapping, the men began to get up and move around the cramped cabin. Ricks was stopped at the door and watched as the third C-1 landed on the deck. Within a few minutes, all three aircraft were parked beside the São Paulo’s island structure.

Gathering their gear, the men were immediately escorted to a big CH-53 Super Stallion parked nearby. Once aboard, the helicopter’s turbine engines began to spool up. Within ten minutes they were airborne again.

Ricks eased out of his seat and over to Captain Chapman. Everyone was wearing a big set of hearing protectors, so Ricks had to lean right next to his ear and yell. “Somebody must be in a hurry.”

Chapman grinned and nodded. He leaned over to Ricks’ ear. “Your buddy is anxious to see you,” he said in jest.

Ricks grinned. “I like having friends in high places. Any more word?”

Chapman shook his head. “Was told to wait until we get aboard the ship.”

Ricks nodded and made his way to the door where the crewman was standing. Staring out the opening, he saw about thirty ships in some sort of formation around the Brazilian carrier São Paulo and an LHD. There were F-35 Lightnings flying around along with the Brazilian A-4s and a couple of Ospreys. In the distance was something very large, but he couldn’t quite make it out. Then, the crewman pointed toward the front of the aircraft.

USS Iowa was leaving a lighter blue wake as she steamed through the sea. From the air, the big guns looked even bigger — especially when seen with all of the crewmen moving around the decks. Her teak decks glistened brightly in the sun and she appeared to roll gently as she made her way. There was activity back aft. People were setting out fire hoses and other equipment to be ready for their landing. Just before returning to his seat, Ricks noticed a tall man in khakis exit a door on the side of the ship. From the greying hair and the way the other crewmen got out of his way, he knew it was his friend.

Upon the signal they were ready, the CH-53 made its way toward the stern of the ship on the starboard side. Following the directions of the crewman on the deck, the pilot eased the giant helo over the deck, hovering for a moment, and then gently sitting down. The rear hatch opened and the Special Operations team quickly gathered its equipment and exited the aircraft. Moments later, the big helicopter lifted off once again and made its way to USS Wasp.

Ricks turned to see Hammond walking towards him. He stopped and saluted. Hammond returned the salute, then grabbed his hand and slapped him on the arm. “Damn, it’s good to see you again Ricks,” he said.

“Same here. Seems like I’ve been aboard this thing, sir,” Ricks said.

“Yes, but now you’re on her while she’s underway. I’ll make a crewman of you yet.”

“Sorry, I’m spoken for,” Ricks said.

Captain Chapman and Captain Rhodes came up.

“Let’s get your men below to your quarters. Looks like you’ll have till tomorrow evening before we give the brief and get you on your way,” said Rhodes.

Several crewmen escorted the men down the hatch and further down to the Marine Berthing just at the end of “Broadway,” outside the engineering spaces. It was quiet, dark and cool. The men were quickly assigned a rack and each stowed his gear and cleaned up before heading out to explore the ship. Their mission had been delayed, but it was on again and they were ready to get going. Few would actually get much sleep.

It was down to the final push now. Congressman Gregory Foster was tired beyond belief. After four speeches beginning with breakfast, he had finally finished the rubber chicken dinner and said goodbye to fellow party members in Cleveland. Boarding the bus, he headed straight back to his small office to sit back and relax. As the bus began its way to Memphis, he just wanted to pull his clothes off and go to sleep on the small bed set up for him. Unfortunately, there was a planned meeting in about thirty minutes to go over the schedule and make last minute arrangements.

As he sat at his desk, there was a knock at the door. Deshawn Jackson stuck his head in. Foster smiled up at the young man. “Yes, Deshawn, you need something?” he asked.

Jackson smiled and stepped in the doorway holding a cold soda. “Actually, I just wanted to see if you might need some company,” he said. He held up the can. “I have heard that some guy in the opposite party loves these things, so I brought one just in case,” he said, placing the soda on the desk. Then he got more serious. “I know you’re tired, but sometimes a guy needs to just unwind and just talk to someone. If you need me, I’m your guy,” he said with a grin.

Foster chuckled. It was well known that O’Bannon was addicted to the things. He popped the tab on the soda and motioned Jackson in. He liked Jackson. The young man worked harder than almost anybody in the office and seemed to know what was needed before he was asked. In this case, he was spot on. “I swear, Deshawn, you seem to read my mind. What would you like to talk about?”

Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you would like, just as long as it’s not about the campaign. How’re the daughters?”

Foster sat back in his seat. “They’re fine. Mandy is planning on joining us before the end of this tour. Alison is too busy with my new grandchild. Little Mark has started to walk and is now exploring everything in the house. She said she caught him in the dog food bag the other day feeding their puppy one piece at a time,” he said smiling. “It seems their child proofing measures aren’t as good as she thought.” He let out a chuckle.

“Yea, my sister has one a little older. She’s about two now. Sonja swears the kid is giving her gray hair, but it’s really neat when I visit and she starts to do things with me. Even at that age, they have their own little personality.”

‘Oh yes. I remember when Amanda and I were raising our two. Little Alison was always the carefree, outgoing one, while little Mandy was always the more studious and serious of the two. It sure was fun watching them grow up,” Foster said.

As Foster took another sip of the soda, Jackson could already see a difference in the man. The lines across his face had already smoothed and his manner was much more relaxed. The real Gregory Foster was returning.

“Tell me. What got you interested in politics?” Foster asked.

Jackson threw up his hands. “My Mama always told me I was the dumbest one of the bunch,” he joked. Both men laughed. “Actually, my grandfather always told me that if a man wanted to change the system, it was far easier on the inside. He liked working in local politics and was able to make a few changes on his own before he passed. Now Mom put her emphasis on education. She wanted me to be a teacher, but my first political science class changed that. I got involved in student government and then when I graduated, started to work in one of Congressman Lauder’s office, then when he retired, I moved over to yours in downtown Indianapolis. I guess I’ve been working for you ever since.”

“Glutton for punishment, huh?” joked Foster. “Well, it’s been nice having you along. Most young men seem to like hitching their cart to the power players. But you appear to me to really enjoy the work itself. I know you’ve bailed my butt out a few times this year. I appreciate it.”

Jackson shrugged again. “At least it’s not dull. Most of my friends from home are doing just regular jobs and pulling in a paycheck. When I go home, they actually can’t relate to me and what I do. They seem to think this is all fun and games,” Jackson said. “They don’t have any idea how things really work or how hard it is to get some things done in government. So I just let them dream and then come back to work. Me, I like the challenge,” he said.

“It’s a challenge all right. You just never can please everyone and sometimes you can’t please anyone, but somehow we get the job done. A lot of it depends on who you have working for you. I’m lucky that I really like most of the people on my staff. The rest are necessary, so you just have to put up with them.”

“Like me?” Jackson asked with a smile.

Foster laughed, “Yea, you’re such a pain in the ass,” he joked.

Both laughed again. Jackson thought a moment, then threw caution to the winds. “I got to ask you this, and I hope you won’t just throw me off the bus, but how did you pick Williamson to be your Chief of Staff? I mean, we can all see that you don’t really get along that well.”

Foster stopped laughing and looked at Jackson. The kid was sincere. He was really trying to be a friend, not just a staffer. The question was one which shouldn’t have been asked, but needed an answer. “Is it that obvious?” Foster asked.

Jackson took a long breath. “It’s pretty obvious. I remember a few times when you were together in an office and voices were raised. I even remember the other night when you came out stomping mad. Of course we don’t say anything, but I can tell it’s working on you. I’m just happy you don’t take it out on the rest of us,” Jackson said seriously.

Foster looked at Jackson with a sad face. In this case he had to defend his Chief of Staff, but he wasn’t going to defend him that much. “Well, I’m not going to throw you off the bus. Sometimes you have to pull in people with special talents. In Dan’s case, he has a long history of winning elections and he has been able to dip into the pockets of a lot of people. Let’s face it. A lot of what we have to do to get elected is raise money. He also can help within the party because of who he knows. So he definitely has his uses. That being said, I doubt I would invite him to my birthday party,” he quipped. “But this is between us. Dan has a job to do just like the rest of us. And like I said, some I really like and some are just necessary. Now you, on the other hand, will get an invitation,” Foster said.

“I appreciate that,” said Jackson. “I’ll tell you that ever since I started working in your office I have been kinda proud to be here. I personally like you, and I don’t mind saying I like when we work together. So I get a little concerned when a friend of mine seems to be bullied around. I even wondered at one time if he had something on you,” he said.

The effect was like a slap in the face. Foster’s look changed instantly from one of friendliness to one of pain. He almost physically drew back. Jackson immediately changed tack. “But I figured it was just the way he is and you were just dealing with it. I mean, that’s how we do it in the office. I just keep remembering I’m doing it for you, not him. I wouldn’t even vote for him if he were the only candidate running.”

The friendly face returned and Foster chuckled again. “Neither would I,” he said. Glancing at his watch, he said, “It’s about time we got our meeting started. How about getting the people in here so I can get some sleep. And Deshawn,” he said before Jackson left the room, “thanks for the talk. How about coming back more often,” he said with a smile.

Jackson stopped and his face widened into a toothy grin. “Thanks Greg. You know who to call.”

As the door closed behind Jackson, Foster said under his breath, “I wish I could.”

President Parente was furious. He took out his frustrations on his intelligence arm and his military leadership for not being able to tell him when or how things were happening. He was especially angry with his Navy. They had promised him a sunken battleship, and all he had was a missing man. He wasn’t even sure if the man was dead or had defected. His orders had been specific — watch out for the American fleet. Any and all intelligence concerning the American/Brazilian exercise and especially Vice Admiral Roger Hammond, was to come to him immediately.

He was still berating his leadership when the call came. Colonel Rojas came under fire as well for his interruption until he informed Parente that President Castro was on the phone. Parente suddenly changed to a slight smile and said, “Very good,” then stormed out of the room. Once in his office, Parente’s mood changed dramatically. He picked up the phone.

“Presidente Castro, I am so looking forward to your visit. What may I do for you?” he asked.

“I have called to ask your indulgence. It seems my brother is anxious to meet with you again. I too have been watching as things progress nearby and wish to congratulate you privately on your successes,” said Castro.

“I am deeply honored. What may I do to be of service?”

“It is a small thing. Because my brother wishes to meet with you, I am asking if we could possibly fly in and meet in some remote place the day before my official arrival. This will allow us the time to speak freely without all the ceremony, then I will fly Fidel back and return the next morning. We can meet aboard our aircraft which I have had fitted with a very nice meeting room. We can even share a meal. Two, maybe three hours and we can conclude our meeting. The next day, we can talk about more substantial issues,” Castro said.

Parente was bursting with pride. The Castros were the leaders of revolution in the Latino world. To be singled out by them, or even more, to seek out his company was the ultimate praise. His mind quickly thought over his schedule. That night he was planning to have another ceremony in his high mountain village. If they flew to the airstrip nearby, they could meet and then he would fly home as normal. It would be the perfect place.

“I have a very good place where your plane can come. We should plan on meeting and sharing a meal, as you suggested. I will be in the area that day and it would be the most convenient place. Please have someone contact my Colonel Rojas in this office. He will provide the coordinates for your pilot,” said Parente.

“Excellent! My brother and I look forward to meeting with you then,” said Castro. “Thank you for your courtesy.”

“It is my pleasure, Señor Presidente,” said Parente. He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. Praise from Raul Castro meant more than anything to him. All his troubles were forgotten.

In a small office in Key West, Florida, Ted Sanchez sat back and let out a small whistle. The man was sweating profusely even though the air conditioning was keeping the room at a very comfortable 72 degrees. He looked over at the other men at the table. “You think he bought it?”

“Ted, you sound just like old Raul. Didn’t you hear the man’s voice? I think if he could have, he would have crawled through the phone line and kissed your feet,” said one of the men.

“Well, I hope that guy Hammond is right, or those people may never get home,” said Sanchez. “Now I need a beer,” he said as he got up. The other two men followed him out the door and into the heat of the day. After that performance, they needed a beer too.

Parente called Rojas back into his office and told him about the change in plans. Rojas could tell something wasn’t right. He wondered how far he could take it. “You seem troubled, Señor Presidente. What can I do to help ease your burden?” he asked.

Parente looked up from his desk. “Something not of your doing, my Colonel. It seems you are right about this Hammond. He now has a force very close to us. They say it is a joint exercise, but we both know it is something else,” he said.

Rojas nodded. “Is there any indication someone knows about what we are doing?”

Parente shook his head. “Not at present. They seem to be flexing their muscles. Everything we see tells me they do not know. If they did, their Marines would be all over the border.”

Rojas thought for a moment. “Señor Presidente, if they are flexing their muscles, why don’t we flex our own?” he asked. “We have a very formidable air force. Why not have an exercise where they can observe. Maybe the knowledge that we can hurt them will cause them to move further away.”

Parente’s face slowly spread into a smile. That was a very good suggestion. There could be problems if it wasn’t done right, but a little show of force, not actually directed at the fleet might send the right message to this Hammond. “Very good, my Colonel. You have come up with a solution that even my best generals haven’t thought of. Please call back my Air Force Chief of Staff. I think we should hold our exercises tomorrow at dawn,” he said.

As Rojas left the room, Parente started to think a little about his plans for Rojas. The man really was trying to help. But his thoughts were swept away. The plans were already set, and besides, there were always men like Rojas.

The gentle roll of the ship was something to get used to, but Ricks seemed to enjoy the slow back and forth movement. He and his team found themselves feeling right at home aboard Iowa. The crewmembers seemed to welcome them everywhere they went. Some even remembered the ceremony just three years before. Each of the team members found themselves invited to enjoy some aspect of the crew’s life aboard. Some kicked back for a movie on the messdecks, some explored down in the engineering spaces, while some went out onto the main deck and just watched the waves roll by. Everywhere people stopped and talked, eager to share their experiences with the team.

Ricks made his way up the ladders to find himself standing just outside the bridge. Looking out over the railing, we could see several ships in company with them. The navigation lights twinkled in the dim moonlight. There was practically no light to see where you were going. He had to feel his way more than see it. The wind created by the ship’s movement washed over the deck and cooled what normally would be a balmy night. Ricks noticed that the air at sea was much cleaner and more refreshing. He took several deep breaths of it and his whole body seemed to relax. That was when he noticed the stars. There were more than he had ever seen in his life. The heavens had seemingly opened up a curtain to reveal an immense universe bringing wonder and a little excitement. True, some of the astrological figures were still there, but now he could see even more, blurring some of the familiar shapes and causing him to wonder what more was there.

Ricks was taking it all in when he heard something at the open door leading to the bridge. “Impressive, isn’t it?” asked Hammond as he moved out onto the bridge wing. He had been similarly impressed his first time at sea.

“I never believed there were so many stars up there,” said Ricks.

Hammond chuckled. “It’s because when we’re on land, the light from the cities clouds our view. Out here, there’s nothing but dark night. I’ve been out here for many years and I still can’t get enough,” he said.

“If it’s this nice, you might sign me up yet,” said Ricks. Hammond couldn’t see the grin on his face.

Ricks felt a hand pat him on the shoulder. “Your guys all settled in?” Hammond asked.

“Yes sir, but most are like me, going around trying to figure this ship out. I can see why you like it,” Ricks said.

“Yes, I’ve liked being aboard every ship I served on, but this one is the best. She’s a big part of my life now. She got me back to sea. She was the reason I met you, and she was the reason I met Patricia,” Hammond said. His voice had trailed off slightly at the end and Ricks understood why.

“Well, now she’s taking me so I can get her back,” said Ricks. “And I’m going to get her back, Roger. I promise I’ll bring her back to you,” he said.

Ricks felt the hand on his shoulder tighten slightly. “That’s why I’m glad you’re in on this, Dale. This is something I can’t do myself. Besides, I’m getting too old to go dashing through the jungle like some Tarzan rescuing his mate,” he chuckled. “But when I found out you were in Special Operations, I knew there was someone there I could count on. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Roger, this is one time when my duty and friendship come together. Yea, I’m really just a snot nosed kid compared to you, but ever since that day three years ago, we have become friends. When I heard Patricia was one of the ones kidnapped, I practically ran to operations to get in on this. And with these two legs, that’s some feat,” he said. Both men laughed. “I can tell you’re worried.” Ricks concluded.

Hammond gave a sigh. “A little,” he said. “Dale, with her, I finally found someone that fit me completely. She has made me very happy. To lose her…,” he stopped short.

“I know. Same with me and Su Lynn. That’s why I won’t let you down. I’m going to get her back. Even if I have to kill everyone within a five mile radius,” Ricks said. His voice had become icy.

“Hammond sensed the change. “Dale, I can’t ask you to do that. We can’t…”

“I know,” said Ricks cutting him off. “But you need to know I’m willing. Remember all that stuff I went through in Korea? I learned a lot from my friend Paul Hufham. Sometimes we have to do things, but most times, we have to think things through. I’m like him. Just let me find the guy who made this happen. That’s the one I want on the end of my knife. My team is the best in the business and Chapman is a good leader. We’ll bring her home,” he said.

“Just don’t die trying,” said Hammond. “I would hate to lose Patricia, but I’d also hate to lose a friend.”

Ricks chuckled. “Oh, you’re not going to lose me. There’s a major back in South Carolina that called me demonic. Real demons are very hard to get rid of,” Ricks said.

Hammond slapped him on the arm. “You may be right,” he said. Now come with me. I want to show you something special.”

Hammond led Ricks back into the inner structure of the ship. They began climbing ladders which seemed to get narrower the higher they went. In a few minutes moth men exited the hatch on the O-11 level, just below Spot One. In just a few minutes a little sliver of the moon appeared from behind a cloud. With that small amount of light, from the highest point on the ship, the whole world seemed to spread before them.

The shower felt wonderful. Despite their situation, each of the mayors took advantage of the nightly shower. The water was cool, providing a brief break from the heat. For Patricia Hammond, the cold water seemed to bring her back to life. She was getting used to sleeping in sweltering heat, and the days in the cell without even a breath of wind could rob a person of their very soul. But the simple shower caused her to come back from the dead. She allowed the water to cascade over her head and down her sides. The soap they had been given barely removed the sweat and stink from the day, but it was enough. While the water ran, she could escape from that dreary place and return to the life she had known. She found herself remembering the house she and Roger had lived in. It had been hers before they had met and when he had returned from the war she had brought him into it. They had been married in the tropical garden that was their back yard. She remembered standing there among the palms and fruit trees holding his hands as he had pledged his eternal love. Most of all, she remembered his smiling face. Through the war they had written letters to each other. Once, he had included a photo someone had taken of him standing on the bridge of the Iowa wearing his new admiral’s star. It was that same boyish smile. After the Iowa had docked, she had been escorted to the ship’s bridge. He was wearing that smile when he placed the ring on her finger. Whenever she did something he approved of, she had been rewarded with that smile. Since they were married, they had become more than husband and wife, they had become the closest of friends.

She was standing in the shower when the guard tapped the door, bringing her back to reality. Patricia let out a small sigh. At least she had gotten through another day. Shutting off the water, she toweled off with the rough cotton towel they had been given and put on her clothes. Holding them in front of her, they looked terrible, but were relatively clean since they were allowed to wash the clothes every third day.

After only a minute, she opened the shower room door and walked out to the young guard. This one smiled at her and motioned that she could precede him out of the building and across to her cell. She smiled back and mouthed ‘gracias,’ before stepping past him and reaching for the door.

The two exited the room and began walking across the graveled yard. They were suddenly brought to a halt by the sergeant, who called out from his doorway. He slowly staggered up to Patricia, looking at her with a grin on his face. “I see you have bathed. That is good,” he said with a slightly slurred voice. Patricia smelled alcohol on the man’s breath.

“You are a very fine looking woman for an American,” he said as his eyes roamed over her. “You should be treated better.”

Patricia stared at the man in disbelief. Somehow she had expected he might have tried something sooner, but here it was, none the less. “I am being treated just fine, thank you,” she said as she tried to walk past him.

He stopped her by grabbing her arm. “No, I know how a woman should be treated,” he said as his other hand came up and rubbed her cheek. The smell of the alcohol was getting much heavier. “As a matter of fact, if you cooperate, I can show you a great deal of pleasure,” he said as his hand slid down her chest and wrapped around her breast.

It happened so fast the guard never saw it coming. Taking a page from the Three Stooges, she took two fingers and forcefully poked both of his eyes. As his hands reached to protect his now wounded eyes, Patricia’s right leg swung with all its might between his legs and into the sergeant’s crotch.

The sergeant dropped like a stone to his knees. His face was a mask of agony. His eyes were pinched shut and there was blood running out the side of one of them. At the same time, both his hands were grasping at his crotch trying to stem the pain. He was breathing in gulps of air like a runaway steam engine. The young guard quickly grabbed her and pulled her toward the cell. At the same time she called out, “You will learn never to manhandle a woman. When my husband gets here, you will be the first to die,” she said as she was pulled through the door and pushed into the cell. The young guard closed the cell door saying, “You shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what he will do.” Then he said to Manuel Donado, “Keep her out of sight for now.”

Out in the courtyard the sergeant began screaming, “I will see that you die! All of you! You will pay for this. Every last one of you!” he shouted as he was pulled by some of the others into his quarters. The others could hear him ranting behind the closed doors.

Donado had them bring her to the far corner of the room where he took her hands, “Are you all right?” he asked.

Patricia had fire in her eyes. “I’m okay. The dirty bastard. He got what he deserved,” she said angrily, pulling her clothing into place.

“Uh oh,” said Roberts stepping up beside Donado. “Girl, what happened?”

“That cretin tried to molest me. He told me that if I cooperated, he would show me a great deal of pleasure. Then he grabbed one of my breasts,” she almost shouted.

There was a giggle from the doorway and everyone turned to see the young soldier chuckling to himself. Donado walked over to the man. “What happened? She said he attacked her,” he said in Spanish.

The young soldier nodded. “Yes, it is true,” he said. “Then she poked the sergeant in the eyes and kicked him in the balls.” He began to laugh. He was soon joined by several of the people in the room who understood Spanish. Once it was translated for the others, everyone was having a good chuckle.

“Damn, girl, you do have a mean streak,” said Roberts as she started to laugh herself.

Donado almost had tears running down his cheeks. He looked back at Patricia who was still a little angry. “You did warn me you could kick,” he said with a grin.

Now even Patricia began to laugh. Every few seconds they could hear the sergeant scream some other obscenity from across the courtyard and the laughter would begin again. Finally the young guard motioned for them to quieten down. “It is best that we do not anger him further,” he said to the group. Then he looked back at Patricia and gave her a thumb’s up. She smiled back at him while the others began to return to their sleeping mats. The night was still oppressively hot, but Patricia felt like the world had lifted from her shoulders. She lay back on her mat and savored her victory. She was certain of one thing — her husband would be proud.

The message had been received a little after midnight. The Venezuelan Air Force was going to exercise its rights and conduct a bombing exercise near the Allied task force beginning at 9 am the next morning. Washington had immediately relayed the information to Admiral Hammond and the Brazillian Admiral. It was obvious that the Venezuelans wanted to give a little show of force and that the Allies were to simply watch and not respond.

Hammond looked over at Rhodes who was reading the message. “What do you think?” he asked. He saw Captain Rhodes shake his head in the dim red glow of his flashlight.

“I guess they want to shake our tree a little. We may just watch, but I’m doing it at general quarters,” he said with a grin.

“I talked to Admiral Oso. He’s going to have a few planes up just in case. I’m going to have our guys at Condition Three at least. I’ll bring the Kings Mountain up close in the morning, just in case,” Hammond said. “You still do the pre-fires every morning?”

“Yes, sir. I’m not taking any chances. I can only man turrets one and three, but I have the five inch. That should be enough. You never know when we might need to show a little force ourselves,” Rhodes said.

“Sounds like a good idea to me. I’ve wanted to see these guns shoot since I came aboard,” said Captain Moyseowicz, Hammond’s Chief of Staff.

Hammond chuckled, then thought a moment. “You know, I wonder what they are going to be bombing?”

“They might send out a tug with a sled,” said Moyseowicz.

“Might have one of their own killer tomatoes,” said Rhodes.

Hammond grinned. “Might be interesting. Doug, maybe we should be ready for a gun shoot,” he said.

Moyseowicz stared at Hammond’s shadow. “Okay, you have something on your mind. Can you share it?”

“Just a little message. Once they’re finished, maybe they’ll let us take a whack at it.”

At 0645, a small patrol boat appeared on the radar screens of the allied task force. Moving along at only 15 knots, it meandered through the formation until it reached a predetermined point. On its fantail was a large red balloon. At 0800, the balloon was pushed over the side of the boat and left to drift with the wind and seas. It was almost directly between USS Wasp and USS Iowa at a distance of ten miles. The patrol boat then rapidly left the area and took up a station about five miles ahead of the balloon and waited.

By 0810, the radars began picking up large numbers of aircraft leaving Venezuelan airspace and heading directly toward the target. Aboard the Iowa, the communications watch soon detected and listened to the radio signals between the shore, the aircraft, and the patrol boat. Although everyone was speaking in Spanish, several crewmen were able to translate. Things were not going so well for the Venezuelan Air Force. At first, because of a cloudy sky, they could not locate the patrol boat or the balloon. Then they had some difficulty in establishing an attack pattern since the balloon had been placed between two American fleet units, extra care had been taken to insure the Americans would not be hit. This was complicated by the arrival of a media helicopter which had to be positioned to watch the event. But by 0830, the squadrons of planes had positioned themselves to make their runs parallel to the allied formation.

The Iowa had gone to general quarters at 0730, and her crew stood by their stations waiting, just in case. On the starboard bridge wing, Hammond and Rhodes stood and admired the formations of aircraft making their way through the sky. It was rare when you saw former Soviet Flanker aircraft flying alongside American F-16s. More interesting still was a formation of Karakorum-8 aircraft, normally used as trainers, but now loaded with several small bombs apiece. There were even a scattering of other odd aircraft which normally served in other duties but carrying bombs today. It seemed Venezuela was sending out their whole force.

For several minutes, the planes seemed to loiter in one place. Then the first section of Flankers turned in the sky and made their way in. Forming a straight line, the planes appeared to fly in straight and normal at a height of about three thousand feet. One by one, they released a bomb apiece and then continued on a mile or so before turning to port and returning to the start point for another run.

The results were abysmal. Out of the first section, only one bomb landed within 100 yards of the bobbing balloon. The section of F-16s fared little better. Splashes erupted to the right and left of the target with all either too far ahead or too far behind the target. The best drop of the day came from a lone Aermacchi SF.260. The small turboprop aircraft came in much slower than the rest and had to drop both of its 300 kg bombs at the same time just to keep from flipping over. But the pilot had come in higher and had performed an almost perfect diving run. Both of the bombs had hit within thirty feet of the small ten foot target balloon.

In an hour all bombs had been expended. The ‘killer tomato’ was still floating in the open sea. As the planes made their way home, the small patrol boat turned to go back and sink the balloon. That was when Hammond, himself, picked up the radio headset.

“Venezuelan patrol boat, this is USS Iowa, over,” he said in Spanish over the net.

The response was immediate. “USS Iowa, this is Venezuelan patrol cutter Warao, over.”

“Warao, this is Iowa, have you completed your exercises, over?”

“This is Warao, our exercises are complete. We are making our way to sink our target. Please remain clear, over.”

“Warao, this is Iowa, request you leave the target. We will dispose of it as a courtesy, over,” said Hammond.

“This is Warao, we will leave the target, over.”

“This is Iowa, thank you, please stand clear, as we dispose of the target balloon. Thank you for your courtesy, out.”

The Commander on the Warao looked back at his bridge officers and wondered what the Americans meant by standing clear. He ordered his ship to turn towards home.

Few had noticed that the Iowa had maintained a position between ten and fifteen miles from the balloon. As the media helicopter was passing the ship, the journalists aboard saw the giant guns turn towards the little red, ten foot diameter balloon which was now twelve miles away. The center gun of turret one elevated and as they watched, flame exploded out of the muzzle of the gun.

In Spot One, the fire controlmen watched the red target balloon through the optics of the rangefinder. In about 35 seconds, a splash was observed 100 yards in front of the target and one mil to the left. The information was relayed to the men in Main Battery Plot 15 decks below. Matching this to the information from a small radar located on the turret top, which relayed differences in the initial velocity of the round as it left the barrel, the corrections were entered into the Mark 1 computer. Already, Captain Rhodes had ordered six high capacity warshots loaded into the waiting guns. Unlike the dummy bombs the Venezuelan Air Force had used in their exercise, these would be the real thing. The guns on turrets one and three elevated.

The media helicopter had turned around and was headed back into the area when flames belched from the six, 16-inch guns. Forty five seconds later, the sea erupted as the shells struck almost directly on top of the small balloon. As all rounds struck within 50 yards of the balloon, seawater shot skyward over 200 feet and spray hid the area for several seconds. When the spray cleared, the ‘killer tomato’ was gone. There weren’t even any shards of rubber on the surface to mark its passing.

Aboard the helicopter, the journalists could not believe what they had seen. None had ever witnessed such a thing, first hand, although some had seen video of such shoots. For over a minute, they simply stared at the sea and each other until one of them exclaimed, “My God.”

Flying back over the Iowa, they saw that the ship’s guns had already been returned to their normal positions. “What do we say?” asked one journalist. “We won’t be allowed to report what we just saw.”

Another journalist shrugged his shoulders. “Let the editors worry about it,” he said. Everyone remained quiet the rest of the way home. Where before they were eager to report how close their aircraft had come to such a small target, they could no longer do so when the Americans had obliterated it with one shot from 12 miles away.

Once again, President Parente was furious. He had just seen the video of the exercise and could not believe his people had performed so poorly. It had never dawned on him that bombing accuracy was directly correlated to practice, and he had cut way back on his military training so that he could concentrate on other things. Standing in the briefing room at the Ministry of Defense, he railed at his Air Force generals for a good thirty minutes before nearly collapsing into his seat. When one of the other generals came to their defense, he went after all of them.

“You are supposed to be the people protecting our shoreline. Yet we have a hostile force just beyond our shores shaking their spears at us and you can do nothing! The only force that seems loyal to me is my personal guards. At least they can get things done,” he nearly screamed. Parente turned to the leading admiral. “And what of your plan to sink one of their battleships? It has been more than a day and both are steaming along our coast where everyone can see them. Even one of their amphibious ships was seen with landing craft headed away from our shore. It was empty, Admiral! That means they may have already landed Marines on our shores!”

The admiral could feel the noose tightening around his neck. The truth was, they had no way of really striking back at the American or nearly any other large navy. They had sent in the diver to do his job, but the man had never been heard from again. He couldn’t tell Parente the man had disappeared. He would immediately suspect desertion and order the death or imprisonment of the man’s family and friends, not to mention those in command.

“Señor Presidente, we suspect we have someone passing information to the Americans. The diving operation was conducted under the strictest of secrecy, yet it failed. We suspect someone in the headquarters is a traitor. I have already taken the steps to find this person and bring him before you. As for the landing craft, we have determined that they were simply practicing since both the Army and Navy have been able to turn up any evidence a force has landed. We have stationed one of our frigates in the area to monitor all of the American activities. To date, none has come closer than fifteen miles of our shores. I have also sent patrol planes to monitor the force daily. If someone does come in, we will know it,” he said.

Parente didn’t respond. His mind had stopped at the mention of the word ‘traitor.’ A traitor would explain a great many things. That would explain the ships being where they were, why that special team had been sent to Brazil, and how this Admiral Hammond seemed to stay one step ahead. As he thought through the process, his senior officers remained quiet. After a minute, Parente’s face turned back to the stern mask he seemed to constantly wear with them. “Concentrate our troops at the eastern borders and especially near the shore. I want to know if anything comes in from there. Admiral, continue your surveillance and let me know immediately if there is a change. I have work to do,” he said to the assembled men.

Parente turned and left the room, his mind still deep in thought. Getting into his car, he reached over and pressed the button for his personal guard commander. “Colonel Fuentes, I want to know any member of my staff or our military senior staff who have made any contact with an American. Bring that information to my desk within the hour,” he ordered.

Parente hung up the phone and sat back in his seat. Too many things were starting to unravel. He needed answers and he needed them quickly. Grabbing the phone again, he pressed another button.

Ambassador Jonas picked up the phone on the second ring. “Jonas,” he said.

“Mister Ambassador, I feel there is a leak in our system. I am getting indications that someone is passing information to your government. I need to know if this is the case and I need to know within the hour,” Parente said sternly before hanging up the phone.

Jonas stared at the receiver in horror. If this was the case, his head was in a noose. He placed the handset into its receiver and thought a moment. He couldn’t grill his CIA or FBI staffers. That would look bad. But he could ask for an update. He also needed to get any new information from Williamson. He dialed the number.

Williamson was eating his lunch from his desk. Once again, Foster was on the road. He would be back tonight. More and more he was getting sick of Foster’s indecisiveness. He just didn’t have the real backbone to make the hard decisions. When the phone rang he was taking a bite out of a roast beef sandwich. He saw it was the private line and picked up the phone. “Williamson,” he said.

“We have a situation,” said Jonas. “Our leader thinks he has someone passing information to us.”

“Impossible. I have my people constantly on the lookout for that. If I get one hint of a leak, we pull the plug,” Williamson said.

“I realize that, but he wants a check. Evidently something has gotten him very suspicious.”

“What does he have?”

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me, but if he has indications there’s a leak, we have to take it seriously. There’s a lot going on down here and he may be putting a few things together. How about checking around and letting me know what you find. I’ll do some checking on my end.”

“How soon does he want the information?”

“Within an hour.”

“That asshole must know this isn’t something we can just make a call and verify. Tell him to give men till this evening and I will have it wrapped up for him. And make sure you don’t raise suspicions on your end,” Williamson said before slamming down the phone. Great. Now I have two people without a backbone, he thought. Picking up the phone again, he started making a few calls.

“So we’re still in the dark?” asked Jonas.

Pete Wilson and Rick Lozier both nodded. “Yes sir, we have nothing that even remotely leads up to finding them. Satellites just don’t tell us much and between Colombia, Venezuela and Guiana, we are having a hell of a time. I understand the President is scared to death they are already dead,” said Lozier.

“I understand he’s also having his hands full with this Admiral Hammond. He finagled his way into being a part of this exercise and now he has two battleships, the Wasp and about fifteen other ships at his disposal. Word is he is ready to lead the charge wherever we find them, and with a ship full of Marines, he might just be able to carry it off,” said Wilson as a part of the prepared cover up. “But the President is keeping him on a short leash, so for now we are still looking. As for us, no one has come forward with anything we don’t already know,” he said.

“We’ll make sure you are the first to know when something happens,” said Lozier.

Jonas sat back in his seat and placed his fingers together in thought. If there was nothing, then there’s nothing, he thought. “Well, I guess we just keep going. Thank you both for keeping me updated. I know the pressure is on you, so let me know if I can help,” he said to the men, dismissing them.

Both men left the office and headed straight for the communications section without saying a word. Closing the door behind them, they immediately noticed the light was on for the phone tap. Wilson turned up the volume.

“…contact in Washington is checking his sources there, but assures me he has heard nothing. I have checked with my FBI and CIA staff and they are telling me that everyone is still scratching in the dark. They did offer one bit of information. It seems this Admiral Hammond has pushed his way into being in this task force. He has a fairly good size force with him and is ready to take things in his own hand if he needs to. The President is having to hold him back. If you have some assets, there’s where I would put my money,” said Jonas to the other caller.

“That’s interesting,” said the man on the other line. “My leadership feels he is the one to watch as well. When should you get information back from Washington?”

“I was told this evening. I will call you immediately,” said Jonas.

“Very good. I must tell you that there seem to be too many things happening for there to be a mere coincidence. I even sent a diver to try and disable one of your battleships and it didn’t work. That is one reason I suspect a traitor. If you hear anything about this, let me know. Thank you Mister Ambassador,” he said as the line was cut.

Wilson looked at Lozier. “He’s starting to get paranoid. That’s not a good sign. I hope we can get these people out in time,” he said.

“I’m more concerned about what he said about sending a diver to a battleship. The only one making a port visit in the vicinity has been the North Carolina, and that was about a week ago,” said Lozier.

Wilson nodded. “We better make a call. If there’s something on her hull, there could be a lot of guys hurt. But there is one good thing. If Williamson returns that phone call tonight, we have an open and shut case.”

“As you know Señor Presidente, we have all of your staff under surveillance since a few weeks before starting this operation. During that time, only two of your staff has had any communication with an American. We suspect Colonel Messina may have been passing information. He has met with a Mrs. Harrison at local sports events on several occasions. It is always in a crowd setting where it is almost impossible to determine what is being said. She is the wife of a local engineering contractor, but she seems to attend a number of functions at the embassy. We are not certain he is the leak, but he is a suspect,” said Fuentes.

“Who is the second?”

“Colonel Rojas also attends these sports events. However, he has dutifully reported his encounters with Mrs. Harrison to us and his time is spent coaching the youth team. The only other person he seems to talk to are the team coaches and occasionally purchasing local crafts from a vendor there. There is nothing to indicate that he is nothing more than interested in this sports team,” said Fuentes.

Parente smiled. “Yes, he has told me of this team also. Lately, he has become even more indispensable for me. I do not doubt his loyalty. Do you?”

Fuentes chuckled, “Señor Presidente, we question the loyalty of everyone, but in his case, he has not shown us anything we should doubt.”

Parente’s face frowned again. “Messina, on the other hand, has been with me since before this event. He’s a good pilot and has never failed me. I do not want to arrest him until we are sure he is guilty. Place additional surveillance on him. Let me know the minute he steps out of line.”

“Yes, Señor Presidente.”

The taps placed on Williamson’s line turned up ten different contacts he was getting information from. Already the FBI was running the names to see how deep the leaks were. His final call was to Jonas.

“I have checked with everyone. I got a hint that something was happening, but nothing about a leak. Seems we have an agent in place snooping around. I’ll try to find out who it is. Your man is getting paranoid,” he told Jonas.

“This has already lasted far longer than I thought it might. Are we stretching our necks out a bit too far?” Jonas asked.

“Hell no. Remember what we are doing this for. We both need Foster to get reelected. For you it will mean a cabinet post, and I have my own reasons. You keep that monkey in line until this is over. Within a few days the election will be over and our man will be in. Keep your priorities straight and we’ll get through this,” said Williamson.

“What if he does turn up a leaker? I mean, if they are getting information and just not telling anyone….”

“Then tell him to get rid of the evidence. That was the plan. If anything went wrong just kill them all and blame it on terrorists or something. We still come out clean as a whistle. Do I have to think of everything?”

“Is this how Foster feels?”

“Foster? Foster didn’t want to do this in the first place. But I was able to persuade him when I showed him something in his background that nobody knows — just like I know things about you. So forget about Foster’s feelings and stick to the plan. In two weeks we will be right up against the elections and nothing can stop us. The press is crucifying O’Bannon and the polls are going our way. Just do your job,” Williamson shouted as he slammed down the phone.

At the FBI, the agents marked the latest recording as evidence. “The son of a bitch will fry for this. Now we have him passing intelligence information,” said one.

“Yea, but wasn’t that interesting about Foster? I wonder what he has on him?” asked the other.

“Yea, this calls for some special attention. Let’s get this up top quickly,” said the first.

The two men made a copy of the recording and carried it on a thumb drive to Hal Mossman’s office.