by Evan Graver
As he stared at the email, he had just received from Roland Jenkins confirming that Masoud Sadiq was aboard the Everglades Explorer, he tried to figure out how a private military contractor had put together better intelligence than the FBI and Homeland combined. However they had gotten the information, he needed to act on it now.
An ISIS terrorist was driving a ship loaded with explosives straight for South Florida.
He picked up the phone and dialed an extension. A moment later, a man answered in the bowels of the building. Larry said, “Have you looked at the satellite photos I sent you?”
“Yes, sir. Based on what I see, that cargo container matches one the Russian firm Novator put on display at the Moscow Airshow in 2013. Have you heard of the Club-K cargo container missile system?”
“I have.”
“I overlaid known images of the system against the satellite photos and they’re a match. I also looked at the video footage. The breaks in the container where the roof would raise to fire the missile are also a match.”
“What about the photos of Sadiq?” Larry asked.
“A positive match. The FBI system says he’s still in Syria, but I flagged his photo on a British passport as he entered the Dominican Republic.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“No worries, sir, glad to help.”
Larry hung up the phone and dialed his aide. When he came on the line, Larry said, “I need you to call Admiral Anderson and let him know I’m on my way up.”
“May I say what it’s regarding, sir?”
“An imminent terrorist threat.” Larry ended the call and put his elbows on the desk before rubbing his face with both hands. He had a feeling that his commanding officer would admonish him for using ONI resources to support a private operation, but that was something to worry about later. He stood and opened the door that led to the adjoining bathroom and straightened his khaki service dress uniform in the mirror, ensuring his name plate, ribbon rack, and SEAL Trident were properly affixed and straightened. He tucked his garrison cap into his tan belt with a glance at the buckle to make sure the seam of his shirt matched the edge of the buckle and trouser fly-seam. With his gig line squared away, he left the office and took the stairs to the third floor.
Capt. Nathan Applebottom, Admiral Anderson’s aide, stood as Larry stepped into the outer office. Larry had never liked Applebottom and, like many in the ONI offices, thought his name should be Kissesbottoms. Larry believed wholeheartedly that only individuals who had trained to perfect the mission of irregular warfare should staff the IWC. Yet, here he was meeting with an officer of the line who had been the captain of an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer. Larry felt that officers from the fleet were too rigid and too worried about politics and the chain of command to act on the kind of intelligence such as he was about to present.
The short, balding Applebottom rushed to the admiral’s door. He knocked before opening it and announcing Larry’s arrival. Larry took two steps into the admiral’s office and came to attention before saying, “Commander Grove reporting, sir.”
Admiral Anderson looked around Larry, and said, “Close the damned door, Applebottom.”
The aide shut the door while Larry remained at perfect attention, eyes fixed on an oil painting of the USS Constitution mounted to the wall behind the admiral’s desk.
“Sit down, Commander,” Anderson said.
Larry relaxed and sat in the chair, waiting for the other man to speak.
Anderson leaned forward, placed his forearms on the desk blotter, and folded his hands together. “Commander, why are you looking for the freighter Everglades Explorer?”
He knew this moment had been coming from the instant he’d clicked the mouse to send the information packet on Sadiq and the Explorer to the admiral. “I was sent credible intelligence that suggests the Everglades Explorer may be involved in an impending terror attack.”
“Against the U.S.?” Anderson asked.
“Yes, sir. The intel suggests the target is Port Everglades in Florida. The ship was stolen from Haiti, and satellite photos show the ship loading ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel in the Honduras, plus there was a cargo container on deck which Lieutenant Blevins matched to the Club-K missile system.”
The admiral laughed. “There’s no such thing. You and I both know that.”
“There are reports that the Iranians have purchased them,” Larry argued.
Anderson leaned back in his chair. “Where did this information come from?”
“Sir, I received it from Trident, a private military contractor.”
“You’re telling me you put aside your duties and everyone else’s in this building to look at information from an outside source?”
“Yes, sir.”
Anderson exploded from his seat, jabbing his finger at Larry. “You’re out of line, mister. I’m calling SOCOM to have you demoted. Do you understand me?” His voice lowered to a growl. “You’ll never make admiral. Get out of my office.”
Larry popped to attention. “Sir, Masoud Sadiq is a suspected ISIS terrorist, and he’s on that ship. He’s on the FBI’s watchlist, and he’s driving a bomb straight for us.”
“Get. Out.”
He executed a perfect about-face and marched from the admiral’s office. As he left, Larry noted that Applebottom had a smirk on his face. He knew he’d put his career in jeopardy, but his job as a SEAL was to protect the nation.
Back in his office, Larry sat at his desk and emailed the package of information to Capt. Steven Warner, then he dialed Warner’s number at SOCOM. After Larry told him who was calling, he jumped right into the reason. He finished with, “Admiral Anderson threw me out of his office for bringing this to him.”
“I understand why.”
“Yeah, I know. I probably shafted my career, but we need to give these guys some support.”
“Yes, we do. I’ll make some calls.”
“Can I give your number to Jinks?”
“You mean retired Senior Chief Roland Jenkins?”
“Yes, sir. He’s working for Trident now and he’s on the boarding team headed for the ship.”
“Absolutely, give him my number. How soon does he plan to launch his raid?”
“Now, sir.”
“Tell him help is on the way.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Marathon Airport
Marathon, Florida
Jinks’s phone rang as the team headed for the van. He saw it was his former commander, Larry Grove, the man he’d emailed not more than fifteen minutes ago. He thumbed the button to answer the phone and held it to his ear. “Hey, boss.”
“I’ve just sent the information to Captain Warner at SOCOM in Tampa. He’s passing it up the chain of command. We’ve been watching Masoud for a while now, but he slipped our surveillance net.”
“Well, we found him,” Jinks said.
“So, it seems. I had the photos that you sent me analyzed. Ryan was right about something being off about the container. My guy says there’s a high probability that there’s a Russian Club-K missile system inside.”
“Oh, shit,” Jinks said. He climbed into the van and gave the team the news.
Ryan started the engine. “We need to go.”
“Jinks,” Larry said into the phone. “You need to stop him from launching those missiles. Our missile defense shield is designed for ballistic missiles falling from high altitude, not surface skimmers.”
“You’re not telling me anything new, sir,” Jinks replied. “We’re on the way now.” He quickly outlined the plan to take the ship for Larry’s benefit.
“SOCOM also alerted Homeland and the FBI, but we don’t know how fast they’ll move.”
“Great, alphabet soup,” Jinks muttered. He figured the more people with a finger in the pie, the longer this operation would take, giving Sadiq plenty of time to enact his plan.
“Any idea what he’s targeting with the missiles?” Larry asked.
“No idea, sir, but we thi
nk he’ll launch right before going into port.”
Jinks felt his phone vibrate with an incoming call. He pulled it away from his ear and recognized the Tampa area code. “I’ve got another call, sir, I’ll talk to you soon.” He swapped calls and put the phone back to his ear. “This is Jinks.”
“Senior Chief, this is Captain Steve Warner, SOCOM.”
“How can I help you, sir?”
“I’m helping you, Senior. I’ve called in a few favors and have the USS Little Rock headed toward Sadiq’s freighter.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Are you about to launch your operation?”
“Yes, sir, we’re getting into the helicopter right now.”
“Good luck, Jinks. Come home safe.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Everglades Explorer
Off Islamorada, Florida
The engineer had taken the limiter off the cargo vessel’s engine and Masoud Sadiq’s crew was racing for Port Everglades at nearly fourteen knots. They were still seventy miles away and, at their current speed, wouldn’t enter port for another four hours. At this rate, they would miss their scheduled berthing time, but Sadiq didn’t care.
The ship would still do plenty of damage when it exploded.
On the deck, the technician had opened the missile container and was preparing the Club-Ks. All he needed to do was raise the tubes into position, punch the button, and send them on their way with a blinding flash of smoke and fire as the liquid-fuel booster shot them from their launch tubes. Following ignition, the solid-fuel turbojet would kick in and the missiles would fly nap-of-the-earth toward their targets at six hundred miles an hour.
Sadiq leaned over the hold to watch the crewmen open the barrels of diesel and use a pump and hoses to soak the bags of ammonium nitrate in the Number One and Three Holds, while others planted plastic explosives to ignite the deadly combination of chemicals.
The brief battle with the Cuban gunboat had put them behind their arrival time. While he’d prepared for such an occurrence because he knew they would cut through Cuba’s territorial waters, he hadn’t planned for the battle to take as long as it had. The gunboat had approached, and Sadiq had slowed the freighter to draw them in. Then he and his men had fired RPGs into the boat and blown it up.
Once they had destroyed the Cuban boat, he’d instructed the engineer to make maximum speed toward Port Everglades. Whether Cuba would report the actions of the freighter or if anyone had seen it on satellite surveillance, he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to stick around to find out. He’d ordered the tarpaulin structure on the stern to be cut away and dropped overboard, then he’d directed the men to prepare the bomb and the missiles.
He turned away from the hold and the stench of diesel that wafted out and burned his nostrils. Today was a beautiful day to die for his cause. He was ready to see Paradise, but he wished he could see the caliphate return to rule the world. That would be Paradise on earth.
Sadiq’s mission was an attack against the United States, but he didn’t consider himself a terrorist. No, it was the Americans and the Jews who terrorized the world, forcing their capitalism and religion on others. The Americans worshiped oil, money, and the things they could purchase from the Internet more than they valued a relationship with the One True God. Even if they worshipped a god, it was the wrong one, and Sadiq knew the Prophet had sent him to rid the world of those nonbelievers.
The attack he was about to perpetrate would be a call of recruitment to join ISIS and make ready for the apocalypse. The End of Times would bring a massive battle against the rest of the world, centered in the town of Dabiq, Syria, a farming village surrounded by vast open plains. Once ISIS had defeated their enemies, the caliphate would rule over Iraq, Syria, and the rest of the Middle East, then conquer Turkey, and spread into Europe, instituting Sharia Law as it went. The infidels would be subdued.
Sadiq made his way back to the bridge and scanned the horizon with binoculars. He could make out the top of the Alligator Reef Light House, marking their passing of Islamorada Key. The ocean’s colors amazed him. It was easy to see why the Americans swarmed here to spend their money, and Sadiq hated himself for finding pleasure in the scenery. He was here to do a job, to martyr himself, not for a vacation. Carefully, he turned in a circle to scan the entire horizon.
Something in the distance caught his attention. It was a black speck, low in the sky, but moving fast and coming straight toward him. He held his breath as he stared, transfixed, at the helicopter as it grew larger with each passing second. Were they coming for him? How had they found him? He should have kept some of his RPGs to thwart a boarding team, but he had exhausted his limited supply on the gunboat.
The pain in his chest grew from not breathing. He exhaled, then drew in a breath, slow and steady to prevent the binoculars from shaking. The helicopter was coming fast and low. Sadiq contemplated blowing the ship right where it was after firing the missiles, but he had to take a chance on repelling the helicopter. He had positioned the clacker to detonate the bomb near the bow, where he planned to stand as the captain drove the ship at full speed into its berthing. He would retreat there now, and if things did not go well, he would take these infidels with him.
But first he needed to prepare. He had only eight men with him. One of them had to remain in the engine room, and the tech had his own work. He picked up the walkie-talkie and ordered his two best men to the roof of the Explorer to fire on the helicopter. Then he said to the tech, “Prepare to fire the missiles.”
Chapter Forty-Six
USS Little Rock
Andros Island, Bahamas
USS Little Rock (LCS-9)—the fifth ship in the Freedom-class littoral combat ship line—cruised around the north end of Andros Island and entered the Florida Straits, making way for Key West. She wasn’t the first to bear the Little Rock name, just the newest, and Commander Michelle Spearing was her captain.
“You have a phone call on the secure line, Captain,” Petty Officer Richard Coker said
Spearing levered her slim five-foot-eight frame from the shock-absorbing seat on the ship’s bridge. “I’ll take it in my quarters.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
She walked to the small suite of rooms designated for her private use, closed the door, and picked up the phone. “Captain Spearing. How may I help you?”
“This is Captain Steven Warner, SOCOM Command.”
“What can I do for you, sir?” Spearing pulled off her ball cap bearing a patch of the ship’s coat of arms and tossed it on the desk. She ran a hand through her short, curly black hair and scratched the back of her head where the cap’s Velcro tab always rubbed.
“I understand you’re on your way to Key West.”
“Yes, sir.” The Little Rock had just taken part in an exercise with several submarines and was on its way to Truman Harbor.
“I want you to be on the lookout for a general cargo vessel named Everglades Explorer, renamed Evergreen Express. There’s a credible threat that the freighter is carrying Russian Club-K cruise missiles.”
Spearing felt the air leave her lungs and gasped it all back in.
“Exactly, Captain,” Warner said.
“What do you want me to do, sir?”
“Get the HELIOS ready to fire. It might be the only thing that can stop the missiles.”
“The HELIOS is for ship’s defense.”
“I’m sure you can figure out what to do if they launch.”
“Yes, sir. Does Squadron Two and Fourth Fleet know about this?”
“They’re being briefed as we speak.”
Spearing nodded, even though her caller couldn’t see her reaction. Her ship belonged to LCS Squadron Two, homeported in Mayport, Florida, along with four other littoral combat ships. When deployed to the Caribbean, the Little Rock fell under the command of Fourth Fleet, which had no permanently assigned ships but controlled all U.S. Navy ships, aircraft, and submarines operating in the waters around Central and South Amer
ica. As an operational member of the fleet, Spearing’s orders should have come from Rear Admiral Carlton Billings.
She ignored the blatant disregard for the chain of command. “Do you have images of the ship we’re searching for, sir?”
“Your people should have them now. There’s a private military contractor about to board her. You are to render whatever assistance they may need until I can move assets into place.”
“Roger that, sir,” Spearing said, but the line was already dead.
Picking up her cap, she ran her thumb over the coat of arms before placing it on her head. This was her first command and her first combat actions aboard her. She would defend the ship and her country. It wasn’t just an oath, but her way of life. Passing through the bridge, she said, “I’m heading to the CIC. You have the bridge, Ensign Davis.”
The CIC, or Combat Information Center, was the heart of the Little Rock. From there, they could run all operations from steering the ship to launching weapons to gathering intelligence. Spearing wanted to make sure the HELIOS laser was up and running.
HELIOS stood for High Energy Laser with Integrated Optical-dazzler and Surveillance and was Lockheed Martin’s newest incarnation of their laser defense weapons. The Little Rock was the first LCS to receive the “beam of death,” as some liked to call it. Others called it Lightsaber, but unlike its Star Wars namesake, the laser could fire a visible warning shot like a tracer round. At one dollar a shot, the system was infinitely less expensive than the Sea Whiz fifty-caliber machine guns or the five-million-dollar-apiece SM-6 ship defense missiles. When coupled to Raytheon’s SPY-6 radar system, the laser had proven effective at shooting down unmanned aerial vehicles, stopping small boat attacks, and, at short ranges, hitting an incoming cruise missile. It could also pinpoint targets for laser-guided missiles or be used to burn up targets.