Understrike

by James Barrington

  ‘And not the brightest,’ one of the other DEVGRU men muttered, a sentiment with which Richter frankly couldn’t disagree. He had been more or less thinking out loud.

  About 30 minutes later, having batted ideas back and forth across the table, Reilly wound up the briefing. To say they had a plan would have been stretching the truth more than somewhat, because there were still far too many unknowns. But at least the procedure that the assault team – six of the DEVGRU SEALs – would use to get on board the ship had been firmed up. It was a risky strategy that depended upon factors entirely outside their control, but in the opinion of everyone in the room it offered them their best chance of covertly boarding the vessel. And at least they had the equipment that they would need to use readily to hand and it would also all fit inside the passenger cabin of the Gulfstream.

  Exactly how they would carry out the second phase of the assault was still unclear and would again depend on external factors.

  Twenty minutes after they walked out the briefing room, the Gulfstream lined up on the end of runway 15 – the wind was light, below five knots and from the north, so taking off in either direction was possible and the south-westerly heading would obviously point them in the right direction – and then began accelerating rapidly under full power, climbing steeply and continuing to increase speed.

  Chapter 41

  Monday

  Madeira, Portugal

  The Aeroporto da Madeira, Funchal Airport, is not the easiest place to land an aircraft of any size. It became notorious in the 1970s and 1980s, when tourist traffic to the island began to increase, for its short runway, difficult approach and potentially hazardous location, flanked by high mountains and right next to the ocean, and it was assessed as being the third most dangerous airport anywhere in Europe, as well as the fourth busiest in Portugal.

  And there were crashes there, one each in 1973 and 1977, where the aircraft ended up in the sea on the approach instead of on the runway, resulting in the loss of a couple of Sud Caravelle 10R aircraft and a total of 39 deaths. Almost exactly a month after the loss of the second Caravelle, in December 1977 a Boeing 727-200 landed late in bad weather, left the runway and crashed down a bank and onto a beach, where the aircraft caught fire, killing 131 out of the 164 passengers and crew on board. In response, the runway was extended from its original 5,250 feet to just over 5,900 feet in the 1980s, and to 9,124 feet in 2000, this considerable additional length being achieved by constructing a platform over the sea on which the runway extension was built, the whole structure being supported on a virtual forest of reinforced concrete pillars over 200 feet high. But it’s still a tricky destination.

  Normally, civil pilots are given extra training to help them handle landing there, but the two very experienced men sitting on the flight deck of the Gulfstream had no need of any such assistance and made a smooth approach and touched down on runway 05 with a scarcely perceptible thump. The flight plan had been filed back at Lajes, and the ground controller directed the pilots to a parking area well away from the main passenger gates.

  The importance of their mission had also obviously been emphasized, and once the Gulfstream had shut down they were escorted to a briefing room where refreshments had been laid out and, more importantly, where there was a comprehensive communications suite positioned in one corner, centred around a large flat panel screen obviously intended for videoconferencing and similar functions.

  The first thing Reilly did was access the screen and telephone system and establish contact with the USAF pilot and sensor systems operator sitting on the ground back at Lajes and driving the Reaper in the grid search to locate the Russian ship. He spent a few minutes talking to them, then left the line open and walked over to the others.

  ‘They haven’t found it yet,’ he said, ‘but they have identified three ships north of the Canaries that aren’t the one we’re looking for, so at least we know that the system works. I told them to start scanning in east-west lines at the southern end of the search area so that if the Russians are closer than we expected we’ll get as much warning as possible, so the longer it takes the Reaper to find the ship, the better, because that means it’ll be further north.’

  Reilly picked up a plastic plate, chose three sandwiches and piled them on it, and grabbed a can of cola rather than another coffee. The moment he pulled the rib tab to open the drink, the briefing room door swung open and a group of men walked in, a smartly dressed late middle-aged man with silver hair in the lead, another younger civilian behind him and with two obviously senior military officers bringing up the rear.

  The older man surveyed the group, and didn’t look particularly impressed with what he saw – the American DEVGRU soldiers standing or sitting around, surrounded by piles of equipment and weapons, all eating and drinking and talking.

  ‘Who’s in charge here?’ he asked of the room in general. The man’s English was completely fluent and nearly devoid of an accent.

  Richter, Reilly and Jackson exchanged glances, but it was Reilly who replied.

  ‘That is actually a very good question,’ he said, ‘because the people you see in front of you represent three different organizations from two different nations, so right now we’re working more like a committee than under any one person’s direction. And who’s asking?’

  The young man wearing civilian clothes looked askance at Reilly as he said the last three words.

  ‘Señor Rodriguez is a minister, a very senior minister, in the Portuguese government.’

  ‘Good for him,’ someone muttered at the back of the room.

  ‘Let me put it another way,’ Rodriguez said. ‘Which one of you reports to a man named Simpson, Richard Simpson?’

  ‘Ah, that would be me,’ Richter said, putting down his own sandwiches and taking a half step forward. ‘I work for him in London. My name’s Paul Richter. Can I help?’

  Rodriguez focused his attention on Richter, and again seemed unimpressed at the sight of the slightly untidy man standing in front of him.

  ‘Your Mr Simpson has ruffled more than a few feathers in the last twenty-four hours,’ he said.

  ‘He’s quite good at that,’ Richter admitted.

  ‘He is persistent, direct and does not care for diplomacy or any of the diplomatic channels,’ Rodriguez went on, ‘but he clearly set out to attract the attention of the Portuguese government, and he has certainly done that. The story he told me in Lisbon, before I flew out here yesterday, is almost unbelievable, but I was assured that what he claimed could happen was both possible and had actually been set in train by the Russians already. He also told me that he had given you instructions to sort it out.’

  ‘He’s good at that, too.’

  ‘Very well. Portugal’s concern is threefold. If the event that I’ve been referring to does take place, there will be substantial loss of life in the Canary Islands, owned by our neighbouring nation, Spain. Second, a mega tsunami created by the destruction of the southern part of the island of La Palma would undoubtedly devastate the Azores and possibly Madeira as well. And third, there is the obvious potentially catastrophic damage that would be visited upon the American eastern seaboard. In short, gentlemen, although I understand that your military capability as American special forces is considerable, you are few in number, presumably because of the short notice nature of this action. We have no desire to directly involve the Portuguese Armed Forces, but we are more than happy to provide you with any support or additional facilities or equipment that you might need to bring this to a satisfactory conclusion.’

  ‘Thank you for that, Minister Rodriguez,’ Reilly said. ‘We have yet to finalise our plan for the assault on the Russian vessel, but what we could really do with is a helicopter. A big helicopter. I was going to try and get a Jolly Green Giant, a Sikorsky CH-53 Sea Stallion to reposition here out of Lajes Field, but I’m still waiting to hear about availability.’

  ‘But you have exactly the kind of aircraft we need, and it’s a lot closer than tha
t,’ Richter said to Rodrigues. ‘Your 751 Squadron operates AugustaWestland Merlin AW101 medium-lift multipurpose helicopters, and one of their bases is on Porto Santo Island, only about thirty miles from where we’re standing now. Could we borrow one of those until this operation is over, with an English-speaking crew?’

  Rodriguez half-turned and said something in a low voice to one of the two military officers standing behind him. The officer replied briefly and nodded his head.

  ‘That will not be a problem,’ the minister said, turning back. ‘We will have one tasked appropriately, and it should be here at Funchal within the hour. Do you need anything else? And do you need the aircraft armed? I understand it can carry bombs or torpedoes, and I believe it can also have a machine gun mounted.’

  Reilly glanced at Richter, who shook his head.

  ‘751 Squadron is tasked with search and rescue, and that is exactly what we need, because in that configuration it’s non-threatening. The last thing we want is for the aircraft to get shot down by somebody on the Russian ship because it looked like an attack helicopter.’

  ‘Do you really think they’d do that?’ the minister asked, appearing slightly shocked.

  ‘Bearing in mind that the Russian ship is carrying the largest nuclear weapon ever constructed,’ Richter replied, ‘and the entire purpose of this operation is to devastate the east coast of America, I don’t believe they’d think twice about shooting down a Portuguese helicopter.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. I have to return to Lisbon this evening, but these officers will nominate an English-speaking liaison officer to act as your first point of contact here, to ensure that there are no problems with obtaining any additional equipment or service. Would that be satisfactory?’

  ‘That would be excellent, Minister, and thank you,’ Reilly said.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Rodriguez said. ‘If your planned operation to capture the ship and immobilize its crew fails, what happens then? Could the Russians still launch and detonate this weapon, this super torpedo?’

  Reilly clearly didn’t want to comment, so Richter did, because one of them had to.

  ‘We do have a couple of other options, Minister. A British nuclear submarine is on its way here, and could sink the vessel if we fail.’

  Rodriguez immediately picked up on what Richter hadn’t said, rather than what he had.

  ‘What do you mean by "on its way here"?’ he asked. ‘Are you saying that it isn’t already in position?’

  ‘We don’t know its exact position, no, because all submarine communications are one-way. We can get a message to the submarine, but it will not reply. The captain has been ordered to make best speed to the Canary Islands, and getting the boat into position from its assigned patrol area on time shouldn’t be difficult.’

  Rodriguez didn’t look convinced.

  ‘And the second option?’ he asked.

  ‘We have a drone, a Reaper, on task and looking for the Russian ship, and that’s carrying two laser-guided bombs. If all else fails, we can hit the target with them.’

  ‘So apart from you men, who are going to mount an assault of the ship while it’s steaming along on the open ocean, we’re relying on a submarine that may or may not be in position in time to destroy the ship with its torpedoes – I presume that will be its weapon of choice – or a drone that might be able to drop a couple of bombs on it from five miles up, or whatever height it’s flying at. Is that right?’

  ‘Pretty much, Minister, yes.’

  ‘Good God. I’m glad I’ll be back in Lisbon when this little comedy of errors reaches its conclusion. I wish you all good luck, because it sounds like you’re going to need it.’

  ‘So the sub isn’t actually there yet?’ Reilly asked, as the door closed behind the minister and his entourage. ‘You kind of gave the impression to us that it was just waiting for the target to sail into its sights.’

  ‘I stretched the truth a bit,’ Richter admitted, ‘but I still think it will be here in time.’

  ‘Anything else you—’ Reilly started, then broke off as the telephone in the corner of the room began ringing. He walked over to it and held a brief conversation, then replaced the handset and came back.

  ‘Just another minor complication we need to bear in mind,’ he said. ‘That was an officer a long, long way up the chain of command. It appears that our lords and masters are very keen to recover this Russian weapon intact, so our priority two has been changed. We are still to stop the Russian attack, that’s priority one, but recovery of the weapon is now priority two, so blowing the ship in half with a couple of torpedoes is now off the table. And ditto for the bombs on the Reaper, unless we really cock up this assault.’

  ‘So we’d better make sure we get it right. How are you going to do it?’

  ‘That’s kind of still in the melting pot, but we can’t see any way of getting on that ship undetected except from the sea and by clambering up onto the bow, because that’s the only place where we’ll be out of sight of the bridge and no other vessel or aircraft would be needed.’

  ‘So that might get half a dozen men, at the most, on board, assuming none of them get smashed up climbing the ropes. Is that going to be enough to guarantee you can take over the ship?’

  ‘How long is a piece of string?’ Reilly asked. ‘We don’t know how many men will be on board. Or how many will be on watch when we hit the vessel. Or how many will be asleep. Or sick. Or deaf or blind or otherwise out of commission. Or what weapons they’ll have or where those weapons will be. But the short answer to your question is "no". Not only can I not guarantee it, but realistically I don’t think we’d have any chance. If we could make it as far as the bridge without being spotted, we might just do it, but somebody would see us for sure, even if it was only when we started climbing the bridge ladders. At best, I reckon we could set up a firing position near the bow, using the containers for cover, and hold out there until our reinforcements arrived. Without reinforcements, we’re dead men walking, and that’s the problem.’

  That was more or less what Richter had expected.

  ‘You don’t make joining this party sound that attractive, Zack. It sounds like a choice between being shot by the Russians or drowned when the nuke goes off. On balance, I think I’d prefer taking a bullet, but both are bad, obviously.’

  ‘If you’ve got a better idea, don’t keep it to yourself. I’m keen to learn.’

  Richter didn’t reply immediately, because an idea had just occurred to him. But that’s all it was, just an idea.

  ‘Give me a few minutes,’ he said, after a moment. ‘I just need to work something out.’

  He poured himself a fresh – or rather a second, because it came out of the same flask as the first – cup of coffee and sat down on one side of the room with a paper and pencil. In fact he didn’t write anything, because it suddenly dawned on him that there was a way of getting virtually the entire team of DEVGRU SEALs on board, and maybe without any of them getting shot, and of seizing the bridge with the minimum possible force.

  He stood up and walked back to where Zack Reilly was sitting at the communications console. As he approached, the American stood up.

  ‘Listen up, everyone,’ he called out, raising his voice so that all his men could hear him. ‘We’ve found it. The guys at Lajes have just located the Russian ship. We’ve got a position, course and speed. It’s further north than we were expecting, so we’ve got a bit of breathing space. They’re sending us some of the pictures they took, so we can see the configuration and find out what we’re up against.’

  He called over one of his men and handed him a slip of paper with the contact details written on it.

  ‘Get that plotted on the chart over there,’ he said, pointing at an Admiralty chart of the sea areas to the north of the Canaries that was pinned to one of the cork boards lining the walls of the briefing room.

  ‘You’ve got something?’ he asked, turning his attention to Richter.

  ‘Maybe. Y
ou said the Reaper had found and identified three other ships already?’ Richter asked.

  ‘Yes. It’s a busy bit of ocean out there.’

  ‘Good,’ Richter said, ‘because that could be our way in. Can you get the guys driving the Reaper to set up an accurate surface plot of all vessels they see? Just like the target vessel, we’ll need a start position and time, and then a heading and speed for each of them, and then we can stick their details on that chart of this bit of the deep blue stuff.’

  ‘OK. I’ll brief the Reaper team. But what the hell have you got in mind?’

  So Richter told him.

  Chapter 42

  Monday

  Madeira, Portugal

  The most crucial part of the entire operation, in fact like much of life in general, boiled down to timing. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Richter’s plan was fundamentally simple in terms of its concept, but remarkably complicated in its execution. With Reilly standing beside him, he had run through the idea he had come up with to the rest of the people in the briefing room. It was less of a briefing than simply an overview of the entire plan and how he thought it would work, assuming that two factors over which they had no control at both operated in their favour. If they didn’t, then Richter knew the whole idea was a bust, and the men he was talking to knew that as well. Reilly had then taken over to spell out the precise mechanics of the operation: who would do what, where, when and how.

  Dmitri Pavlov had bowed out of taking any part in the assault, because although he was a member – or more accurately he had been a member – of the GRU, Russia’s military intelligence service, he had had little training in close combat of any sort. But Mason, Barber, Jackson and course Richter himself would be going along. As had been said earlier, they were all extra shots in a situation where the Americans were likely to be outnumbered and where the Russians would have the advantage of the metaphorical high ground, being on board the relatively stable shooting platform of the Semyon Timoshenko, while the American special forces soldiers would of necessity be approaching in small boats and bouncing over the waves.