Jack Del Rio: Complete Trilogy: Reservations, Betrayals, Endgames

by Richard Paolinelli

  “Who is "they", Jack?” Sara asked, confused.

  “That's part of the problem. I'm not sure who ‘they’ even are. All I know is that they are extremely dangerous and I don’t want you getting hurt because you are too close to me.

  “Look, the best thing you can do right now is to get ready for Vegas and focus on what you're going to do out there. Go out there and knock them dead. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, the first hint of a smile showing on her face since he’d started talking.

  “Good, because after I wrap this up, and if I miss your flight, I am going to catch the very next bird out to Vegas. You had better be a big hit out there ‘cause I’m not coming back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Jack said earnestly, “that when I get done with this I’m quitting the Bureau. So that job you were talking about had better be there, otherwise you are going to have to support an early-retired bum, if it isn’t.”

  Jack drew Sara back into an embrace and kissed her passionately.

  “You’ve got a deal,” Sara said when they parted and she’d caught her breath. “You be careful, okay. I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, retired bum or not.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jack said, his heart taking pictures, willing himself to remember everything of this moment.

  “I love you, Jack,” Sara whispered in his ear before taking his face in her hands, kissing him again.

  “I love you, too,” Jack replied. “And I'll be careful, I promise.”

  TWELVE

  The torpedo explosion rocked the Los Angeles, sending men and anything not directly tied down flying in every direction. Fortunately for the sub and her crew the torpedo had struck a nearby rocky overhang, missing the sub itself. Had her captain not been hugging the ocean floor, the torpedo would have found its intended target.

  “That was a bit too close for comfort,” the XO said, receiving an agreeing nod from his commander in return.

  “Helm, come about to two-four-zero degrees,” Captain Del Rio called out. “Increase speed to all-ahead full. Since they know where we are there doesn’t seem to be the need to run quiet anymore, agreed?”

  “Aye, sir,” the XO agreed.

  The Captain caught the occasional look between the crew members and knew what they were thinking. War games were one thing, but none of them had ever heard of live fire at a submerged submarine in an exercise before. They had to be questioning what was going on even as they followed their captain’s orders. And just how long that would continue was really anyone’s guess.

  “Captain,” the sonar called out, “that was a live torpedo, sir.”

  “Understood,” the Captain replied, declining to offer any further explanation. Anything he could come up with would likely make things worse anyway.

  “I’m afraid I’ve brought trouble to your doorstep, Captain,” Cashman said from behind; the need for Cashman’s presence to remain secret gone the instant the first torpedo had been fired at the sub.

  “You have a talent for understatement, Senator,” the Captain replied as he looked down at the situation table.

  This was more than trouble. This was two U.S. Navy submarines that had tracked down the Los Angeles and without so much as a by-your-leave had launched two torpedoes. Counter-measures had dealt with both and the Los Angeles had slipped away, but not for long.

  Two more torpedoes had been fired not fifteen minutes after the first pair with one getting caught up in the counter-measures. But the other had sailed through the stirred up waters meant to confuse the torpedoes, and headed straight for the Los Angeles. Only that slight outcropping of millennia-old rock that had gotten in between the torpedo and the Los Angeles at just the right time had saved the boat.

  Making things worse, they had identified the two hunting submarines, and Captain Del Rio knew both of those boats’ commanding officers well. While they apparently had no qualms killing a friend, he could not so easily try to kill them in return.

  The Los Angeles’ course change had turned it into an underwater canyon, a place her captain had hoped would provide some cover. He hoped the torpedo explosion would be taken as a hit on his boat and the hunters would linger in the area while he slipped away. There was even a slight chance neither of those boats sonar operators would pick up any sound from the departing submarine.

  “The last thing I want to do,” the Captain said as he turned to Cashman, “is fire on my fellow officers.”

  “It's a pity they don't seem to share the same lack of enthusiasm about firing on us, Captain,” Cashman replied dryly.

  “God only knows what they've been told about us,” the Captain said grimly. “If we can slip away again, and stay lost this time, we can give Jack some more time to work with.”

  Norman considered what the Captain had said, then gathered himself to say something he obviously felt was going to be unpleasant.

  “Your brother struck me as a capable man,” Cashman said carefully, “but perhaps you need to consider—”

  “That he might have failed,” the Captain said quietly, struggling to say what both men were clearly thinking. “That he may have been…killed?”

  Cashman remained silent, simply nodding.

  “I have,” the Captain admitted after a moment. “But I told Jack I'd buy him as much time as I could before I made any move, and I intend to do just that.”

  “And when, if, he runs out of time?” Cashman asked. “Can you avoid the hunters and get me back to Washington in time?”

  “I won't have to,” the Captain replied, revealing a thought and a decision that had been keeping him from sleeping since Cashman had come aboard and revealed just how dire the situation was. “If it becomes clear that we aren't going to be able to stop them, I intend to surface my boat just off the coast of Delaware.”

  “And do what, Captain?” Cashman asked, trying to figure out what the Captain had in mind.

  “This is a nuclear missile submarine that you're standing inside, Senator Cashman,” the Captain replied firmly, though his eyes were haunted, revealing the terrible hours he had spent mulling over all of the options before reaching this one.

  “You would kill over a million people, injure millions more of your fellow citizens—” Cashman replied in shock, his face ashen.

  “To save nearly four hundred million Americans,” the Captain cut him off with a calmness in his voice that he did not feel in his heart. “Maybe another billion people or two around the world? Yes, Senator, I'm perfectly willing to do just that, if it comes to it.”

  “You'll pardon me if I fervently pray that your brother can stop these people before it comes to that,” Cashman said, disquieted, but also coming to the realization that the Captain’s solution just might be the only way to save the country. But even the thought of the price to be paid to do it made Cashman heartsick. And clearly the same could be said of Captain Del Rio.

  “He hasn't let me down yet, Senator,” the Captain said. “And I think I will join you in that prayer just to play it safe.”

  Cashman opened his mouth but never got a chance to speak before the overhead speaker erupted.

  “Conn, sonar, targets dead ahead, sir,” the man exclaimed. “Range one thousand yards.”

  It couldn’t be the two submarines that had fired at them earlier, they were far behind them by now. But before the Captain could call out for identification or even a course and speed change the speaker erupted once again.

  “Conn, torpedoes in the water. Four fish, sir, and they have acquired us!”

  Point blank range, the Captain thought bitterly. No time to do anything at all to save his boat. No time to do anything but face Cashman one last time.

  “I’m very sorry, Captain,” Cashman said, not needing to be told that they’d run out of time and had come up on the losing side, “I truly am.”

  “It’s up to you now, kid,” the Captain said softly as he looked upward.

  The four torpedoes bore in on the
Los Angeles, a multi-million dollar sitting duck, and smashed mercilessly into her hull. The Los Angeles was engulfed in a massive explosion. Seconds later, out of the bottom of the cloud of silt and debris stirred up by the blast, the crushed hull of the Los Angeles tumbled down the wall of the underwater canyon her captain had hoped would be a safe haven, but on the contrary had become her tomb.

  Her demise had been too sudden for any of her crew to survive. Not even a single scrap of debris from the sub ever made its way back up to the surface to be seen by human eyes.

  The submarines that had hunted the Los Angeles to her doom hovered overhead, listening until she hit bottom, listening for any signs of life. Satisfied that they’d done their job, and hearing no cries for help, the submarines glided away into the dark waters. They would surface, report their success, and then return to their ports.

  They did so thinking they had killed a renegade submarine and saved their country. They would celebrate their “kill” on board, they’d been ordered not to say anything to anyone on shore. They would think themselves heroes, until the terrible day came when they would learn otherwise.

  The report to Atlantic Fleet Command was intercepted and passed along to Cavanaugh, who’d been meeting with Collins at the time.

  Cavanaugh had no doubt that Soors would pop open a bottle of champagne when she heard the news. Not only was the loose end of a living Cashman no longer of concern, but she would no doubt celebrate the added bonus of one more dead, Del Rio. He doubted she would ever give a single thought to any of the crewman who’d died on the Los Angeles.

  Cavanaugh never understood her obsession with the Del Rios, but he did understand that Collins was very fond of what was now the last living member of that family. He would have to tread carefully now.

  He handed over the print out copy of the message of the Los Angeles’ demise for Collins to read.

  “Now that Cashman is really dead now,” Cavanaugh began. “I think we can all breathe a little easier. Still, there does remain one small matter that needs attending to. I know you are fond of the boy, Baker, but he must be eliminated as a threat to us.”

  “I think I can get him out of the way now,” Collins replied after reading the message. “His brother’s death will hit him hard. There’s a girl he’s been seeing, she wants him to fly out west to Las Vegas with her. I saw the flight itinerary she gave him the other day. I think I can convince him to leave before the inauguration, go west with her, and get away from D.C.”

  “See to it that he gets on that flight, Baker,” Cavanaugh replied, making a mental note to try to find out which flight Del Rio was expected to be on, just in case. “I know he’s close to you, and I would certainly never consider asking you to kill him, but if he does not leave D.C. in the next few days, we won’t be able to risk keeping him alive, and I will order him killed. Is that understood?”

  “I hear you,” Collins said, feeling like he’d been gut-punched. “I’ll get him out of the way.”

  “See to it that you do.”

  THIRTEEN

  The Secret Service headquarters had no room set aside for press briefings. They rarely held any to begin with. But the outgoing President allowed Director Doyle to use the briefing room in the White House to make the announcement all had hoped would never come, even though they had all known it would.

  Doyle stepped up to the podium and faced the full-to-overflowing room of reporters and photographers. He withdrew a folded paper from his pocket, flattened it on the podium and paused to gather himself before looking up.

  “I have a brief statement,” he began. “As has been reported, an airplane carrying Vice-President-elect Norman Cashman, several members of his staff, and members of the Secret Service protection detail crashed over the Monongahela National Forest near the Virginia and West Virginia state lines. Because of the terrain, identification of the bodies was not possible until one hour ago. Pathologists and forensic experts from the FBI have confirmed that Vice-President-elect Norman Cashman was in fact on board the aircraft at the time of the crash and his remains have been positively identified. Unfortunately, it appears that the crash was so devastating that both of the plane’s black boxes have been severely damaged and recovery of data from either appears to be highly unlikely. It will make determining the cause of the crash very difficult if not impossible.”

  Doyle paused for a moment among the whirls and clicks of the cameras in the room.

  “Both the President and President-elect Arthur have been informed and I have no doubt that they will have statements for you in the next few hours. Mr. Cashman was returning from a late meeting in Atlanta to prepare for the upcoming inauguration. The cause of the crash is still undetermined and the appropriate agencies are in charge of the investigation. On behalf of every member of the Secret Service, I offer my condolences to the families of everyone on board the aircraft.

  “We, at the Secret Service, especially mourn the loss of our brother and sister agents,” Doyle stated somberly, “who lost their lives in the performance of their duties.”

  Watching the press conference from Collins’ office in the Hoover Building, Jack felt completely disconnected from reality. He knew that Cashman was still alive even though everyone else around him reacted with grief and disbelief at Cashman’s “death.”

  Collins had called Jack in just after sunrise, having been tipped off to the upcoming Doyle press conference, wanting his agent and friend to be in his office when the official announcement was made.

  “Hell of a day, Rock,” Collins said, his face grim, as he turned down the volume on the large television in his office. “I'm afraid it’s only going to get worse.”

  Something in Collins’ tone set Jack on alert. He had the uneasy feeling that the proverbial other shoe was about to drop hard.

  “Is that why you called me in, Baker?” Jack asked. “Do you want me to go to Virginia and nose around?”

  “No, Rock,” Collins replied sadly. “That isn't it. Under the circumstances the Navy is going to keep this quiet for a few days, but I wanted you to know now, and I wanted it to come from a friend.

  “They found the Los Angeles, Rock. The Navy is still trying to figure out exactly how it happened, but it appears that the sub has imploded. I'm very sorry, son, but there wasn’t any survivors.”

  Jack felt the blood rush from his face and the room started to spin. Shakily, he sat down as the full impact of what the timing of Doyle’s press conference and the Navy’s announcement that the Los Angeles was lost must actually mean.

  Despite Steve’s confidence in his boat and his own abilities, he probably hadn’t reckoned on having his own Navy chasing him down. Clearly, the Navy had been snookered into hunting down and destroying the Los Angeles. His brother, Cashman, and all of those men on the sub were dead.

  Collins, at a loss for words, got out of his chair and walked around his desk. Kneeling down next to the chair to place his hands on Jack’s shoulder, offering what comfort he could. “Rock,” he said finally. “Go home, pack your bags, get on that plane with Sara, and get the hell out of here. Consider it an order if you have to, but get away from all of this. Steve would want you to, if he were here to say so.”

  “I can't leave now…” Jack murmured, still in shock.

  “Like hell you can't, Rock,” Collins said gently but firmly. “The Navy will take care of the funeral arrangements, and God only knows when there'll be an official announcement anyway. It could be a few weeks before any service is held.

  “You’ve got plenty of vacation time accumulated. I am officially ordering you to take it, as your Director, and as your friend. I want you to get out of town. There's nothing for you to do here, Jack. So go, and don't come back for at least two months or I'll fire you. You hear me, boy?”

  Overwhelmed by the loss of his brother, who was the last of his family, and Cashman, whose living presence would have been the strongest proof against the conspirators, Jack could only sit there and nod his head for several sec
onds.

  Lost and alone, Jack again considered taking Collins into his confidence. And once again something within him urged caution. His instincts were all but screaming at him not to involve anyone, in fear for that person’s life and partly in fear that that person could be part of the conspiracy.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Baker,” Jack, nearly rambling as he got up from the chair and started for the office door. “I’ll…I guess…I’ve got some things to take care of before I go…”

  “Jack,” Collins said as he came up from behind to stop him before he could open the door and leave. “Let me have someone drive you home or I can call Sara and have her come get you. You’re in no condition to be driving right now.”

  “No,” Jack replied, still struggling to find the words to say, “don't do that. I'll be okay. I’ll take a cab. I…I really just need to be alone for a while. I’ll be fine, really. Don't call Sara, I'll tell her later.”

  Collins held his ground for a few moments, looking long and hard at Jack before finally relenting with a nod of his head and a final clasp of his shoulder before opening the door for him to go.

  “All right, Jack,” Collins said sadly. “But call me if you need anything, no matter the time. You know Sharon and I are here for you. I'm really very sorry about this.” Jack nodded his head in appreciation of Collins’ concern. “They tell me it appears to have been some sort of reactor failure and not a mutiny as they had feared. At least there’s some comfort in that, I suppose.”

  “No it’s isn’t,” Jack replied, his voice hollow, sounding as if he’d aged thirty years since he’d walked into Collins’ office. “It’s not really any at all.”

  Collins said nothing in reply, watching sadly as his friend slowly walked down the corridor and stepped into the elevator. He decided that he would call Sara anyway, after giving Jack some time to do it himself. Collins was certain she could convince him to get out of D.C.; get away from all of this sorrow and death.