by Akart, Bobby
Chapter Seven
Undisclosed Military Installation
The Philippines
The naval lieutenant eased back in a wooden office chair that was barely capable of remaining on its swivel base. The old facility in which he operated with the two junior members of his unit had been thrown together last summer. In the five months they’d been stationed there, they had done absolutely nothing except train on their simulators. They had minimal voice contact with their superior officers, instead relying upon daily directives and briefings via internal military communications.
The room the trio occupied stank of body odor and Thai food. The drab, vanilla walls surrounded three desks with computer stations enabling them to conduct training sessions and, if called upon, deploy the drone submarines that fell under their purview.
The lieutenant reviewed the newly received orders before he verbally passed them along to his team. The chain of command he’d been accustomed to had changed, but that was not unusual since their arrival. The new program was in the middle of an internal political struggle within the military that he wanted no part of.
He read the new orders again, which were marked Top Secret Mission Sensitive. From his experiences, when a mission was marked sensitive, it meant there were certain operational aspects of a task that were eyes only for the commander of a unit, albeit a small one like his. Since their arrival, every set of orders received fell under a classification that required no level of secretiveness.
He pushed his chair back from his work console and stood. He paced back and forth before speaking.
“What’s the situation, sir?” one of his men asked.
“We need to clean up this room, now!” The lieutenant’s demand was out of character for his normal demeanor. Ordinarily, he was able to joke with his team and even spend after-hours time in local bars, chasing available women.
“Okay, I’m almost—” one of his men protested, hurriedly finishing his meal.
“Now. I have orders and we need to get prepared. There’s very little time before implementation.”
The men scurried about, pulling a plastic trash can out of the restroom and shoving the take-out dinnerware into it.
One of his men began to question his lieutenant. “Is this a drill, sir? Are we about to get a visit from someone?”
The officer walked back and forth as sweat poured profusely from his brow. “No. At least I don’t think so. The suddenness of the orders puzzled me, but they are authenticated, and that leaves us a job to do.”
“What is it?” one of the men asked.
“Obviously, this is classified, but I’m going to tell you more than you should know. We’re a team and our actions may have an effect on a global level.”
“Tell us.”
“It’s labeled Operation Ocean Aero.”
“Are we at war?”
“Listen, I know as much as you do, but we need to focus. We only have a limited amount of time to position our AUV to hit a very defined target.”
An AUV, or autonomous underwater vehicle, was commonly known as an unmanned submersible designed for survey missions like mapping the ocean floor, searching for sunken ships, or clearing possible obstructions to navigation for other vessels. Unlike an ROV, a remotely operated vehicle that is connected to another vessel by cables, AUVs had advanced technology to be controlled from locations on the other side of the planet via computer and satellite relay transmissions.
The proliferation of these underwater drones allowed nations that possessed them to park the AUV on the ocean floor, sometimes miles beneath the surface, awaiting orders from its controller.
Until now, no underwater drone in their fleet had been tested to fire an actual missile. The lieutenant and his crew conducted simulated war games daily, in part by orders from their superiors, but also out of sheer boredom. It was not unusual for them to pick locations to target all over the world, with varying degrees of difficulty and weaponry options.
If they chose to obliterate Israel, for example, they’d maneuver one of their drones into the Mediterranean Sea undetected and run a simulation of detonating a nuclear warhead over Tel Aviv.
Likewise, their AUVs were capable of attacking a ship or an airline with less destructive weapons. The arsenal at their disposal was as varied as the targets that they could be tasked to strike.
“Sir, what is our objective?”
“And what payload are we delivering?” asked the other man in the small unit.
The lieutenant continued to study their mission orders. He began to mumble as he read them. “One-megaton, EMP-tipped warhead. Just above the visual horizon,” he summarized the orders. Then he paused, rubbed his temples, and considered the instructions. “Why is it so low? Targeted? None of this makes sense.”
“Sir? Maybe this is just a drill.”
The lieutenant shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t think so, unless they removed the payload without our knowledge, which is impossible. Let’s do our duty, gentlemen. Here are your coordinates.”
He paused, and then he read them slowly to his team. “40° 0′ 34″ north latitude and 75° 8′ 0″ west longitude.”
After several keystrokes were made at the terminal of one of the men, he took a deep breath and stated the physical location.
Philadelphia.
Chapter Eight
Hyatt Centric Times Square
New York City
From Central Park to Carnegie Hall to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Midtown Manhattan and the Times Square Theater District was the epitome of New York’s world-renowned persona. Once a year, on New Year’s Eve, Times Square becomes the center of the universe as revelers ring in the new year.
The time ball itself was located on the roof of One Times Square, a twenty-five-story skyscraper located at Forty-Second Street and Broadway. Beginning at one minute until midnight, the ball descends one hundred forty-one feet in precisely sixty seconds until it rests to signal the start of the new year.
This year, the special guest to activate the ball drop was former Secretary of State and presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, who’d just been defeated in the previous spring in the Democratic primary for the nomination. She and her husband, the former president, were residents of Long Island and were being honored by New York’s mayor for their service.
Her entourage was staying at the Hyatt Centric, a luxury high-rise property overlooking Times Square. Security was tight and intentionally visible at the hotel. In fact, security was beefed up at all the buildings overlooking Times Square, as the memories of the Mandalay Bay shooting in Las Vegas were fresh in the minds of law enforcement. Rooftops were closely monitored for sniper activity, and several of the hotels employed temporary luggage scanners to detect for weapons.
All of this didn’t dampen the spirits of Tom and Donna Shelton, who’d come to the city for the first time. In fact, they liked the added comfort and peace of mind afforded by the enhanced security measures.
The Sheltons were celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary, although the actual event had taken place back in October. Donna had always wanted to come to New York to experience the shopping, dining, and overall excitement the city exuded. When Tom promised her the trip as part of their anniversary celebration, Donna upped the ante to set a specific weekend—New Year’s.
Tom couldn’t deny his bride her request. He loved her with all his heart. During his tenure as the commanding officer of the Naval Weapons Station at Joint Base Charleston in Goose Creek, South Carolina, he’d spent an exorbitant amount of time doting over his ordnance cache of more than sixty million pounds of conventional explosives.
For thirty-five years, he’d given his life to the United States Navy, oftentimes to the detriment of his wife and family. Since his retirement three years ago, he’d vowed to make it up to them. After Donna was diagnosed with breast cancer shortly thereafter, Tom’s outlook on life changed, and his love for Donna grew deeper.
Donna was on a FaceTim
e call with their oldest daughter, Willa, and their three grandchildren. As she talked with the grandkids about the Christmas presents they’d received, Tom was deep in thought as he looked out the ceiling-to-floor plate-glass windows overlooking Times Square. It was only seven that evening, but people were packed shoulder to shoulder as they started their New Year’s Eve celebration.
Erupting like tantrums, another strong gust of wind struck the building, pelting the glass with icy crystals of snow. Their view of the ball drop would be incredible that night. The room cost them over a thousand dollars a night for the weekend, but Tom didn’t hesitate to pay it. For one, he owed his wife this vacation and many more for the years when he couldn’t leave the base. Secondly, not that he was afraid, he preferred to stay in the safe confines of the hotel on a night when crazy was spelled with a capital C.
As it was, parties were ongoing throughout the hotel, especially in Bar 54, where he and Donna had dinner reservations at eight. He’d tried to make them for later, hoping to view the ball drop from the outdoor balconies, but the restaurant closed at nine for an expensive, black-tie soiree, which involved four-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne and table reservations requiring a minimum purchase of a five-hundred-dollar bottle of Belvedere vodka. Tom was not frugal, but he wasn’t wasteful either.
“Tom, do you wanna say good night to Willa and the kids?”
Tom shook off the chill he’d received standing near the window and joined Donna, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. The king-size bed was in a separate room from a small living area that made up their suite. The modern design and the art deco paintings that adorned the walls were a far cry from the traditional Southern style found throughout their home in downtown Charleston.
“Of course, my darling,” said Tom as he walked through the doorway and joined her side. With the curtains drawn, the bedroom was much warmer, so he removed his jacket while Donna held the phone for him.
“Hi again, Grandpa!” one of the youngsters exclaimed as he came into view on the FaceTime app.
“Hi, munchkins!”
They squealed in delight. He enjoyed his relationship with Willa and his grandchildren despite the distance between them. She and her husband lived in North Las Vegas near Creech Air Force Base, where Willa, a captain, served as a drone pilot. Her days were spent staring at glowing video screens and toggling a joystick that controlled armed drones flying throughout the world. At any given moment, hundreds of Predator and Reaper drones were aloft, most of which were controlled from the sun-scorched desert outpost north of Las Vegas.
Donna handed Tom the phone. “Dear, I’m going to finish putting on my face before we go upstairs. Will you call our other daughter after you sign off?”
“Of course,” replied Tom as he bent over to kiss Donna on the cheek. He managed a smile as she left and entered the bathroom suite in the thick sherpa bathrobe he’d purchased for her at Macy’s. Even though her cancer was in remission, her body tended to chill easily, even in the warmer confines of Charleston.
He turned his attention back to the phone. “Are you guys gonna stay awake for the ball drop later?”
The oldest of the three granddaughters replied, “We sure are, Grandpa, but only for the New York ball. It will be too late for the Vegas ball.”
“That’s okay,” he said with a laugh. He adored his grandchildren every bit as much as he loved his wife and two daughters. He was surrounded by women and that suited him just fine. As the only man in the Shelton family, he was taken care of like no other grandfather. “After midnight here, you guys can close your peepers, and when you wake up, it will be a brand-new year at your house too!”
“Okay, Dad.” Willa stepped in because she’d overheard her mother say that Tom had another call to make. “You may not be able to get right through to sis, so we’ll let you go. We love you very much, right, girls?”
Their youthful cheerfulness came through the phone loud and clear.
“Yes, we do!”
“Happy New Year, Grandpa!”
“We love you!”
Tears came to Tom’s eyes. He quickly turned the phone’s camera lens toward the bathroom to bring Donna into view while he wiped them away. He truly loved his family and regretted the years he’d missed with them all because of his sense of duty.
“Your grandmother and I miss you and love y’all very much. Happy New Year!”
Donna walked out of the bathroom with a blush brush in her hand. “I love you and happy New Year!”
Tom returned the camera to his face and smiled. “Good night, munchkins. Good night, Willa. Happy New Year.” And then he disconnected the FaceTime chat.
Tom sighed and looked at the phone as he scrolled through the contacts list. The next call would be a little less cheery. It always was.
Chapter Nine
Hyatt Centric Times Square
New York City
Tommie Shelton, Tom and Donna’s youngest daughter, served in the Military Sealift Command, a branch of the U.S. Navy. The MSC was dedicated to replenishing supplies and transporting service personnel to naval vessels deployed around the world. This sealift operation, however, was in many respects a façade for the MSC’s real purpose—intelligence gathering.
Tommie was stationed on the USNS Invincible, one of two tracking ships operated by the MSC. The Stalwart-class surveillance ship was initially dedicated to patrolling the oceans for submarines utilizing its large passive sonar array. The Invincible was later refitted with advanced radar capability and mobile surveillance. Now it looked like a spy ship and performed like one too.
Officially a naval intelligence officer, Tommie never married and, like her father, became dedicated in her service to her country. She’d advanced through the ranks to lieutenant commander of the intelligence operation aboard the Invincible.
Tom knew this was one of the busiest days of the year for Tommie and those within her charge. Large events in the United States were always the potential targets of terrorists. Tommie would have her hands full sorting through radio and internet chatter, but he wanted to fulfill his wife’s request to wish her a happy New Year.
His relationship with Tommie was excellent. They talked as often as possible, but the conversations never dwelled on the usual small talk, such as the weather, health, and planned get-togethers that never materialized. They invariably revolved around more serious subjects like the threats to the nation they both served with distinction.
“Commander Shelton speaking.” Tommie answered the phone exactly the way her father had when he was in the service, perhaps a little more brusquely.
“Good evening, Commander. This is the other Commander Shelton calling to wish you a happy New Year.”
After a short delay, Tommie laughed heartily on the other end of the line. The phone call was relayed through secured lines, which resulted in a two-second gap of dead air. “Hi, Dad. I figured it was you. Happy New Year to you and Mom.”
“Thanks. Your mom is getting ready for dinner, but she wants to say hello before we go upstairs.”
“Good. Say, where are you staying again?”
“The Hyatt Centric hotel, overlooking Times Square.”
“Dad, promise me you’ll stay in the hotel to watch the festivities. You know that I’ve been against this trip, especially at New Year’s. At your age, you’re not ready to deal with the madness that New York can generate.”
Tom laughed, which drew Donna out of the bathroom to see what was going on. He waved at her and gave her a thumbs-up.
“Tommie, it’s not like your mother and I have one foot in the grave, you know. We’re barely sixty.”
“Still, Dad,” she continued her admonition, but Tom was having none of it as he continued.
“I think we should start referring to age as levels. You know, when you turn seventy, it’s referred to as level seventy. It sounds more badass than just being an old person.”
Tommie started laughing and her protests stopped. She, above all, knew that
Tom Shelton could hold his own at any age. He was never a man to tangle with.
“Aye-aye, Commander. You win this round. Listen, Dad, before Mom comes on the phone, I need to mention something.”
As expected, Tom braced himself for the serious part of their conversation. Tommie, like her father, wanted to shield Donna from the realities of the world. Some people were prepared to hear about the terrorist threats or the beating of war drums; others were not. Tom and his daughter, the naval intelligence officer, were not afraid of the geopolitical chest-pounding or terroristic threats. They prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.
“Talk to me, Goose,” said Tom, channeling Top Gun, their favorite movie.
Tommie began. “The locals have New York City on lockdown in light of recent events. They’ve doubled their rapid-response teams and have created dedicated sniper patrols on the rooftops of every building in the vicinity of Times Square. I’m pretty confident every available resource is being used to beef up security.”
“Good to hear,” interjected Tom. “I sense a but coming.”
Tommie paused longer than the dead air typically required as she gathered her thoughts. “Dad, there’s something else.”
Tom sighed. He wanted this weekend to go smoothly. “What is it? Something from the Middle East?”
“Our monitoring has revealed nothing out of the ordinary in the region. In the last couple of years, as you know, the military has shut down al-Qaeda and ISIS. They execute local insurgency operations but not much more. The information I’m receiving is stateside.”
“Are you referring to the Islamist terrorist cells inside the country? I thought they were contained.”