"I'm not so sure."
"We're supposed to be gathering information for our forthright pal, Wakefield. Can't do it well from a mile away."
"It's your call," she said, and tightened her straps.
He reduced power, checked to be sure the landing gear was retracted, lowered the first 10 degrees of flaps and then another 10 degrees, slowing through 150 knots, and the final 10 degrees at 125 knots. Maintaining a shallow descent rate, Scott continued to slow the big amphibian. He waited for the floats to make contact with the water and hauled back on the yoke as the Caravan settled onto the lake. He raised the flaps and deployed the water rudders. "Voila! We're a boat."
"Nicely done, I must admit."
"Got lucky."
He taxied to a position about 100 yards from shore and shut down the turboprop. He jumped out on the left float, opened the anchor locker, and then tossed the anchor into the water. Back inside the airplane, Scott went into the passenger cabin to observe the houseboat.
He began opening their large canvas bags. "Let's get the radio scanners going," he said, while Jackie retrieved the binoculars from the cockpit.
She took a seat in the cabin and began studying the suspicious houseboat. "I have a question." "Shoot."
"You know more about boats than I do, but these people have three antennas and a satellite dish on the top deck." She handed him the binoculars. "Take a look."
He surveyed the houseboat from stem to stern, noting the antennas. "It does seem odd."
She activated the radio scanners, one for civilian aircraft VHF frequencies and the other for military aircraft UHF frequencies. They also monitored the VHF marine radio.
Scott observed a man who appeared to be preparing dinner in the galley A second man walked out on the bow deck. He was wearing casual Western-style clothes and had a thick dark beard. The last of the sunlight was directly on his face.
"Confirmed," Scott said.
"What?"
Scott moved the binoculars slowly, inspecting every inch of the houseboat. "At least one of them is Middle Eastern. Bet the other one is too."
"Can you see through the windows?"
"Not very well." He studied the man in the galley. "We may have better luck when it gets dark."
Carrying large round trays of food, the two men gathered on the forward deck to eat dinner. Occasionally smiling, they chatted quietly and constantly shifted their eyes. The sunlight glinted off something by the hatch leading to the galley area.
Scott focused on the entrance for a moment and then looked at Jackie. "Let s break out our weapons," he said matter-of-factly.
Her eyes grew large. "Our weapons?"
"Yes, they have at least one AK-47."
"We better get in touch with Wakefield," Jackie said, as she reached for the satellite phone. "I dont like this."
"WeVe been in tougher situations," Scott said, as he scrutinized the men.
"Yes," she said firmly, "but we weren't sitting ducks in an aluminum Spam can."
Scott forced a smile and stuffed his personal gmm Sig Sauer into a flap pocket on his hiking shorts. "You call Wakefield while I go outside to do a little fishing."
She stared at him for a moment. "Fishing! Are you crazy?"
He grabbed a fishing rod and paused by the cockpit door. "Tell Wakefield we need heavily armed law-enforcement types, lots of them, in boats at first light."
Jackie initiated the call.
Scott stuck his head back in the cabin. "How about joining me as soon as you re off the phone?"
She nodded and glanced at their weapons.
Scott eased his way down the strut and made himself comfortable on the big float. Using a spinner, he repeatedly cast and slowly reeled in the line. He never looked directly at the men on the houseboat, catching a glimpse of them only when he cocked his arm to cast.
Carrying her fishing rod, Jackie soon joined him on the wide Wipline float. She sat down and spoke in a whisper. "Wakefield is concerned, afraid they're going to take the houseboat up to the dam tonight."
"Is he rallying the troops?"
"He's working on it. He'll get back to us as soon as he can."
"You gave him our location?"
"Exact location--GPS and direct relation to the dam." She cast her line and absently let it sink. "He wants us to monitor these guys, let him know if they do anything strange, like prepare to get under way."
While they discussed their options, an arched pinkish band of twilight settled over the lake. The warm air was absolutely still and the water was like glass.
Scott propped his fishing rod against the struts and got to his feet. "I have to attach our all-around light pole."
"Need any help?"
"Thanks, but I've got it."
He retrieved the battery-operated antiglare recognition light from the cabin, stood in the cockpit door, and clamped it to one of the radio antennas. Scott glanced at the houseboat and saw the men cleaning the table on the forward deck. He turned on the bright light, climbed down, and sat next to Jackie. A few minutes later the men went inside their boat.
Jackie reeled her line in and set the rod next to her. "Maybe we should think about getting out of here, let Wakefield and his crowd deal with this situation."
"Well," he began in a hushed voice, "that would be my preference too."
She leaned close to him. "But it's too dark, right?"
"You got it." He reeled his line in for the last time. "Were not going to take a chance on hitting some idiot, anchored in the middle of the lake, who has his radio and lights turned off for the night."
"That makes sense," she said, and rose from the float. "I'll fix us a nice cold dinner if you'll open some of that vintage wine we picked up in Boulder City."
"With pleasure."
To save the aircraft electrical power, Scott positioned three flashlights in the cabin. He rigged a plastic screen made from large trash bags to separate the cockpit from the cabin. Periodically, he would enter the darkened cockpit, let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and then watch the houseboat. A few lights were on inside, but the mysterious men were nowhere in sight.
After dinner, Jackie and Scott sat on the port float. Shortly before ten o'clock, Wakefield called. Scott went into the cabin. The conversation was over in less than two minutes. He returned to the float and plopped down.
"What's the news?"
"They're going to be here in force in the morning."
"At daybreak?"
"Probably a little later, logistical problems."
"It figures." Jackie stared at the stars for a moment. "Do you think we should take off as soon as it gets light, give us an opportunity to get out of the line of fire?"
"That's certainly an attractive option." He put his arm around her shoulder. "We'll see what Wakefield's timetable is."
LONG BEACH, CALIFORNIA
A major gateway to the global market for tens of millions of manufacturers and consumers across the United States, the busy port of Long Beach has had over $105 billion in trade move across its wharves in one year. The 3,000-acre facility provides excellent service for its numerous customers, who represent some of the largest and most prestigious shipping lines. No doubt about it, the Long Beach facility was considered one of the most efficient ports in the world. It had the ability to move large amounts of goods across the land-sea interface.
The port also was extremely critical to the base infrastructure of California. The state depended on a single pier for off-loading 45 percent of all maritime crude shipments to California each day. This amounted to approximately 25 to 30 percent of the crude oil consumed by the state during each twenty-four-hour cycle.
Farooq al-Zawahri, a trusted employee who had worked on the piers for over three years, was getting worried. His shift was about to come to an end, and his long-awaited mission had not been completed. He worked rapidly, filling out forms to accompany cargo that had arrived from Honolulu. Glancing at the wall clock every minute or so, he kept an ear tuned to
the marine radio.
Al-Zawahris supervisor, Mariano Aguinaldo, a retired U. S. Navy chief petty officer, had not noticed that his protege had become more restless in the past few days. But tonight he saw a clear difference in al-Zawahri s behavior. The younger man, who normally worked at a leisurely pace, was constantly in motion and unusually quiet.
"Farooquie." Aguinaldo affectionately called him this. "Are you feeling okay? Stomach bothering you?"
"No, I'm fine."
Aguinaldo had reservations. "Why dont you go ahead and take off. Go get some sleep."
"No, I'm okay."
"Sure?"
"Uh-huh."
"Suit yourself."
The Lucille Garrett, one of the largest containerships in the world, was fifteen minutes from sailing through the Queens Gate entrance to the port of Long Beach. The 1,124-foot vessel was carrying the equivalent of 5,200 maritime shipping containers. The behemoth ship, which drew 46.5 feet of water, was loaded with many varieties of cargo from various ports in Southeast Asia.
Only a tiny fraction of the thousands of containers aboard the Lucille Garrett would be opened by the Customs Service inspectors. There was not enough time or manpower to check even 10 percent of each arrival. Otherwise, ships would start backing up ad infinitum.
Under a moonless sky, a lightly armed U. S. Coast Guard patrol boat pulled alongside the Lucille Garrett. An armed team boarded the ship, half the men going to the bridge, the other half remaining in the engine room until the vessel docked. The patrol boats men would accompany the big containership, as they did with cruise ships, supertankers, bulk cargo ships, vessels from Middle Eastern ports, and other high-interest ships.
Overhead, a coast guard HH-65A Dolphin helicopter slowly circled the Lucille Garrett. The helicopters powerful searchlight constantly scanned the dark waters, looking for anyone who might attempt to commandeer the vessel and ram it into another large ship or petroleum storage tank.
The Lucille Garrett was running late and al-Zawahri was becoming more nervous by the minute. There was no way to know its exact location unless he tried to raise it on the radio. That would be too risky, with his boss sitting nearby. The minutes seemed to pass more quickly than usual, and al-Zawahri s shift was about to end.
"Hey, time to go," Aguinaldo said to al-Zawahri as their replacements arrived. "Want to get some breakfast?"
"Thanks, but I have a few things to do," al-Zawahri said mechanically Til see you tomorrow."
"Okay, take care."
"You, too," al-Zawahri said, as his boss greeted the newcomers and then left the building. He chatted amiably with the two men and then heard the radio announce the news he had been waiting for. The Lucille Garrett was about to enter port.
He excused himself and went to his locker to retrieve his oversized lunch pail. Saying good-bye to his co-workers, al-Zawahri left the office and walked to his car. Instead of leaving the port, he drove to an area where he could watch the Lucille Garrett enter the harbors narrow entrance.
Opening his lunch bucket, he attached two wires from a battery pack to his transmitter. Farooq al-Zawahri was about to create some major headlines around the world. Patiently, he waited for the huge ship as the helicopter slowly circled the vessel. Al-Zawahri was beginning to feel ebullient when a security guard stopped his vehicle nearby and shined a spotlight at him.
This can't be happening. He reached under his seat, pulled out a 9mm Beretta, and placed it in his lap.
The guard drove up next to al-Zawahri s well-used Ford Escort and stopped. "Everything okay?"
"Yes, sir." Al-Zawahri smiled and showed the man his credentials. "Just passing time, watching the stars and the ships."
"Yeah, its kinda relaxin, aint it?"
"It sure is, especially on a clear night like this."
The young security guard continued a steady stream of banal blather as al-Zawahris nervous system went on edge. Go away, before I have to blow your head off.
Time was rapidly running out. The bow of the Lucille Garrett was about to enter the crowded port. In desperation, al-Zawahri triggered the powerful bomb on board the containership. Twice as potent as the Khobar Towers bomb, the thundering explosion blew the ships massive hull wide open on both sides.
With his mouth agape, the dumbfounded guard became hollow-eyed. "Holysonofabitch! Gotta go!" He roared off as total chaos erupted in the port.
The Lucille Garrett's bow and a long section of the keel were already dragging on the bottom. She sank with her stern thirty yards inside the harbor s narrow opening. Many of the maritime shipping containers and the twisted superstructure of the ship jutted out of the water like a macabre sculpture.
Although the shock wave from the mind-numbing explosion severely rocked the coast guard helicopter, the pilot maintained control of the craft. The Dolphin worked with the damaged patrol boat to rescue eleven of the fifteen crewmen and all the coast guard team.
The other members of the crew either perished in the explosion or drowned after they panicked and jumped overboard without their life jackets.
Smiling with great satisfaction, Farooq al-Zawahri drove to the edge of a remote pier and tossed the incriminating evidence into deep water. He did not want to be seen leaving the port after the calamitous event. He would wait until midmorning when things settled down. Al-Zawahri had been instructed to remain on his job and wait for further orders.
Trying to temper his feelings of elation and accomplishment, he drove back to the familiar parking lot to sleep in his car. However, he soon discovered that it was impossible to sleep with all the commotion caused by the deadly assault.
The terrorist attack would close the port of Long Beach for many long weeks. Because California's refineries were operating at full capacity, only a small supply of petroleum was stored in the state. The crushing disaster would seriously erode California's gasoline supply, causing great damage to the economy of the western United States.
Chapter 21.
PETERSON AIR FORCE BASE, COLORADO SPRINGS
Located in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains and the famous 14,110-foot Pikes Peak, Peterson AFB was one of the finest military installations in the world. The clear atmosphere, idyllic blue skies, and wide variety of recreational activities beckoned nature lovers to the facility. Usually quiet at this time of morning, the base was buzzing as officers and enlisted personnel waited for the president of the United States to arrive.
Dressed in their finest uniforms, the men and women represented the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD), the U. S. Air Force Academy, the 50th Space Wing, the 21st Space Wing, the U. S. Space Command, the Army and Air Force Space Commands, Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base, and Fort Carson, the army's "mountain post."
NATIONAL AIRBORNE OPERATIONS CPSMTEJ&
Ten minutes before the Night Watch landed at Peterson AFB, the president was receiving a last-minute briefing from Hartwell Prost.
"Mr. President," Prost said, as he spread his papers on the conference table. "We've received the latest reports."
"Iran and Afghanistan?"
"Yes, sir."
Macklin sipped his coffee. "I'm listening."
"The air strikes are continuing as we speak." Prost donned his glasses. "Coalition aircraft have hit over three dozen air-defense assets in Iran and western Afghanistan, including a number of new SAM batteries--advanced SA-6 sites."
The president placed his cup down. "Any casualties yet?"
"No sir, but a Navy F/A-18 was heavily damaged and the pilot had to eject before he could reach Stennis"
"Is he okay?"
"He's a bit banged up, but he 11 be fine. Ejected one mile from the ship and the helicopter had him out of the water in no time."
"Hats off to those helo guys." Macklin looked at Prost. "Anything on Shayhidi?" There was a hint of rawness in his voice.
"I'm afraid not. Were monitoring his home office in Geneva."
Pete Adair stepped into the room and apologized for interrupting. "Si
r, weve had another event, a big one."
The president s shoulders sagged.
"A large containership just exploded and sank in the entrance to the port of Long Beach." SecDef gave President Macklin the latest information while the E-4B made its approach to Runway 35-Right at Colorado Springs.
"How did they do it?" the president asked.
"Nobody knows for sure, but it would be easy to smuggle a huge bomb in a shipping container. Divers will conduct a preliminary investigation before they begin removing the wreckage."
Macklin closed his eyes for a moment. "What the hell else is going to happen?"
Adair wavered. "It s impossible to second-guess this kind of thing."
Prost was disgusted. "Were going to have to inflict real pain."
SecDef nodded. "Sir, we need to find Shayhidi."
"What do you suggest?" The president let his sarcasm show.
They were interrupted when an aide entered, handed Prost a message, and left promptly.
Hartwell smiled and looked at the president. "The Echelon Two analysts just detected Shayhidi."
"Where?"
"Phnom Penh. Made reservations at the Hotel Le Royal."
"Get someone on this, now!"
"Ill take care of it," Prost said. "We re about to land."
The three men fastened their seat belts. A minute later the 747 touched down while the president was discussing widening the war. Macklin confronted Adair. "We re the only superpower, and if we dont start demonstrating that fact to our enemies, no one else is going to respect us. Turn up the heat!"
DOVER AIR FORCE BASE
Located three miles east of the Delaware state capital, Dover AFB is an aerial port that provides timely movement of passengers, cargo, and mail to locations worldwide. The base is home to the 436th Airlift Wing and the 512th Airlift Wing and their scores of huge O5 Galaxies. The 436th is the only combat-ready Galaxy wing capable of employing airdrop and special operations tactics in support of global airlifts.
The C-5, with a maximum gross weight in excess of 830,000 pounds, is the largest cargo aircraft in the U. S. Air Force inventory. A typical long-haul mission would carry a flight crew of fourteen, including a minimum of two pilots, two engineers, two loadmasters, outsized cargo, and 250 to 270 passengers.
Assurred Response (2003) Page 23