Silent Vengeance

Chapter 5

Approaching the white-green wake churning behind the ship, a Grumman C-2 Greyhound, with landing gear and flaps down, remained on speed at 85–88 % RPMs, at an altitude of 500 feet. At 3/4 mile on speed, the plane began its intercept glide slope. Within fourteen seconds the Greyhound would "introduce itself" to the flight deck.

With one hand on the throttle and the other on the flight stick, the pilot gingerly maneuvered his aircraft, lining it up, staying focused on the "meatball." He checked in with the LSO (Landing Safety Officer) then checked his gauges and called in his name, speed and fuel weight. The tension on the arresting wires was immediately adjusted, set to match the weight and speed of the Greyhound. The flight deck crew was prepared for the plane's high speed arrival.

The Greyhound's wheels hit the flight deck, with its tailhook catching number three wire. Almost immediately a crew member ("hook runner") cleared the wire from the tailhook. The pilot followed signals from a yellow-shirted plane director, pointing him toward the island, then stopping him behind an E2 Hawkeye, already parked in the "Hummer Hole." The Greyhound stopped. Chains were attached to it and then to tie-downs embedded in the flight deck.

Team A.T. punched seat belt harness releases, and removed helmets. "It's good to be home," Adler snorted, then yanked his rucksack off an empty seat.

Grant slapped him on the shoulder. "The last time we were aboard, Joe, we had this boat 'under a microscope.'" As he picked up his cap, his mind drifted back to that mission, and his first contact with Tony Mullins.

Adler saw the expression. "You're thinking about Tony, aren't you?"

"Yeah. When we get back, Joe, we've gotta make a visit to Arlington."

"I agree."

As the ramp started lowering, distinct smells of fuel and sea drifted into the cabin. Grant turned and gave a thumb's up to the crew members who were looking toward the cabin.

The men walked down the ramp, stepping onto the all too familiar feeling of a carrier flight deck, with the sounds of a ship underway, something A.T. was very familiar with. But they immediately recognized that flight ops were still canceled. All aircraft were tightly arranged in specific locations, some with wings folded.

As they walked toward the island, Grant looked up to "Vulture's Row," a balcony platform offering a view of the entire flight deck. Leaning against the barrier were several officers, watching him and his Team.

"There's the admiral," Grant said. Both he and Adler stopped and snapped a salute. A smile was obvious on Torrinson's face, as he returned a quick salute.

A WTD (water tight door) opened and XO Justine stepped onto the flight deck. "Captain Stevens! Welcome aboard, sir! I'm Carl Justine, XO."

The two shook hands. "Thanks, XO." Grant introduced the men.

"If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your quarters. The captain figured you'd want to stay together. Since you're the only visitors on board, there's an available stateroom on 03 Level."

"Appreciate that, XO."

"Once you're settled in, the admiral would like you to report to his office."

"Would it be all right if my men joined us?"

"Affirmative, sir. The admiral's ordered everyone to report."

Torrinson stood by a porthole, with his arms behind his back, slapping one hand against the other. His request to have Grant and Joe report to the carrier went off without a hitch. During his time at NIS, the two men were the best at what they did in the strange, dangerous world of black ops. Most of the time he left them to their own initiative to get the job done. Make that, all the time.

A knock at the door made him turn. "Come!"

A security guard opened it. Grant and Adler led the Team into the room.

"Admiral! Sir!" Grant smiled broadly.

Torrinson walked toward Grant. Their hands slapped together in a firm grip. "Grant! It's great to see you!"

"And you, sir!"

Torrinson extended a hand to Adler. "Joe! How are you?"

"I'm good, sir!"

Torrinson took a step back, eyeing his former NIS operatives. "Well, I'll bet you never expected to be wearing those again!" he said, pointing at the service khaki uniforms.

"I think we were more surprised they still fit," Grant responded with a wide grin. "Oh, sir, let me introduce you to the men of Alpha Tango.

Handshakes went around, thenTorrinson turned toward Grant and Adler. "If we've got time, I'd sure like to hear about your exploits since you've, uh, retired."

Grant lowered his eyes before looking again at his former boss. "I think I can speak for Joe, too, that it hasn't exactly turned out like we expected."

"So I hear," Torrinson chuckled. "Come on. Let's go sit."

As they were sitting at the rectangular mahogany table, Grant immediately noticed a large plastic jar filled to the brim with Tootsie Roll Pops. "Still 'hooked' on them, sir?"

"Just like you and your Snickers candy, Grant." He pointed toward the jar. "Help yourselves, gentlemen. Mrs. Torrinson sees that I have a steady supply."

Grant asked, "How's shipboard life, sir?"

Torrinson leaned back against the black leather swivel chair. "Until recently, Grant, I've been enjoying the hell out of it."

Resting his arms on the table, Grant's expression turned serious. "Sorry about the men you've lost, sir. Have there been any other … incidents?"

"What was the last you heard?"

"Eight dead, four critical."

"Those numbers changed, I'm afraid. Counting the petty officer lost over the side, that would make ten dead, three very critical. None of those young men had even reached their 25th birthday."

"Wait one, sir," Grant said, holding up a hand. "Somebody went over the side?!"

"Afraid so. We determined he was the dealer. He left a note indicating he didn't have a clue what he was distributing."

"Damn shame," Adler commented. "What's happened to the men in critical condition, sir?"

"They're at Subic, Joe. Doctors don't know if those men will recover fully. That drug had an atrocious affect on their brains and organs, I'm afraid. If they survive, they'll be having specific treatment of some type, then probably rehab for a long time."

"Wicked shit!" Novak quietly mumbled, but not quietly enough.

"You nailed it," Torrinson said. "Mike, right?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, Admiral."

"No need, Mike. I'm sure you weren't the only one thinking along those same lines."

Grant rolled his chair back. "Has anyone come up with a reason why? Who the hell would do this?!"

"We're stumped, Grant. Even D.C. is baffled. No one's claimed responsibility." Another knock at the door. "I asked Captain Conklin to join us, gentlemen. Come!" Everyone stood as Conklin walked in. Torrinson made the introductions. Once the men were seated, Torrinson asked, "What's in the folder, Jim?"

"Copies of sat images that came in for Captain Stevens." He handed the folder to Grant.

Grant sorted through the black and whites. "These seem to be newer images of the area NSA found. I think I can spot some differences now, but we'll have to compare them up close with the previous ones." Grant passed the top photo to Torrinson.

"Is this Burma?"

"The lower peninsula. After we examined the earlier set, all of us were in agreement that the area circled is at least one facility producing the drug." He passed the remaining images to Adler, then asked, "Is there anything you can tell us about inspections and searches that've been made? Have any sailors come forward, sir?"

"So far no one has, but Sid Edmunds is the man to talk with, Grant."

"Edmunds?"

"NIS."

"He must be a good man." Grant flashed a grin through perfect white teeth.

"NIS only hires the best!" Torrinson shot back, pointing a finger at Grant then Adler.

Time to get serious again. Grant directed his question to Conklin. "Captain, are we to understand that personnel on other ships haven't been affected?"

"No. Not one. Let me clarify that. We've received reports that pills have been turned in, but no incidents were reported."

"So, somebody's specifically targeting the carrier."

"Sure as hell appears that way," Conklin responded.

Torrinson swiveled his chair. "If I know you two, Grant, Joe, you've already got at least a partial plan in mind."

"Partial is right, sir." Grant focused on Conklin. "Would it be possible to use your radio room? I'd like to call my contact and see if he has any updates."

"Not a problem. Anything else?"

Grant raised his hand, and brought his thumb and index finger close together. "Just one small item. We might need to borrow a chopper, with crew, of course." Out of the corner of his eye, Grant noticed Torrinson smiling. "Nothing's changed, sir."

Conklin shifted his eyes between the two men, then answered, "That can be done. We can loan you a 'Phrog.'" ("Phrog" was the colloquial name for a Sea Knight.)

"That'll work," Grant answered with a thumb's up. "Took a ride in one not too long ago."

Conklin stood, immediately followed by the Team. "I'll make arrangements with CAG. It's good to have you aboard," he said, offering a hand to Grant.

Once he left, Torrinson asked, "Can you tell me who your contact is at State, Grant?"

"You won't believe it, but it's Scott Mullins, Tony's brother."

"Well, I'll be damned!"

"He's a good man, just like Tony. The Team could've been in serious trouble more than once without his quick response and knowledge." Grant looked around the table at his men. Expressions showed they were eager to get the op underway. "Would it be all right if we got started, sir? I'd like to call Scott."

Torrinson stood, followed by A.T. "Get going. We'll talk more later."

As the men headed down the passageway, Grant stopped. "Joe, go on ahead while I have a word with Doc. Something's bothering him."

"Meet you in the radio room."

Grant waited for Stalley to catch up. "Have something on your mind?"

"Just thinking about those sailors."

"C'mon. Let's get outta the passageway." Once they were inside the ladderwell, Grant picked up the conversation. "Okay. I'm listening."

Stalley's pained expression was obvious. "Those sailors … they were younger than me, boss."

Grant rested a shoulder against the bulkhead. Standing close to the young corpsman, he spoke quietly. "I know. But this isn't the first time you've seen or knew of young men dying. Why's it bothering you so much, Cal?"

"I don't know. Maybe because they didn't see it coming. Maybe because they were just trying to do their jobs and thought they found a way to help them do it."

"And do you think they made the right decision?"

Stalley shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"And that decision cost many of them their lives."

Stalley swiped a hand over the top of his dark blond hair. "Yeah, I know."

"Listen, Cal, you've saved plenty of men in your young life, including mine. But we both know it doesn't always work out for the best. We all like to think we can save the world. Then reality smacks us over the head.

"Unfortunately, we didn't have any way to stop these incidents before they did their damage. It'll make us all feel better when we find the bastards who caused it all. Right?"

"Roger that."

"Are we good then?" Stalley nodded. "Okay. Go catch up to the guys. Joe and I'll meet you when we finish with Scott."

"Thanks, boss."