Suddenly she spotted a sign that said STOP AHEAD FOR CUSTOMS INSPECTION.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“It’s a check for illegals,” Perez said. “See that sign over there?”
Perez pointed to a sign featuring a man, woman and child running across the road.
“Warning you not to run over anyone who might be exiting cars right now, trying to avoid the roadblock.”
“Going where?” Surfer asked.
“This is government land. Camp Pendleton runs for the next several miles. The undocumentarios try to make it on foot across the installation. To get picked up again further north.”
“And do they?” Surfer asked.
“Lots of security. And also lots of open land. Depends how lucky they are. Some make it, some get sent back.”
“Only to try again!” Mollie said.
Perez glanced back over her shoulder to look at Mollie as the Navy car was waved through by a customs officer.
“Rank hath its privileges?” Surfer said to Perez.
“When I drive up here in civvies to visit my family, I’m always stopped,” Perez said. “The customs officers are surprised to see my Navy ID.”
Mollie looked up from her BlackBerry. “Will you be working with us in San Pedro?”
“I’m only the escort. Coast Guard Commander Sunil Jaiswal is waiting for you.”
“What’s your specialty?” Mollie asked.
“All-Source Intel Analyst.”
Mollie nodded. “When we get to San Pedro, I want to contact your CO. I’d like your help.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Perez said.
Mollie couldn’t see Perez’s face, but Mollie knew Perez had to be pleased by this request. Poor Surfer. He was going to have to work with two women.
CHAPTER III – LOS ANGELES COAST GUARD
San Pedro Coast Guard Headquarters
April 18
0630 hours
Mollie kept her face expressionless as she spotted the burnt and damaged cranes appearing on the skyline as the Navy car pulled into the port of San Pedro. Damn whoever did this! They had to be stopped before their next attack.
Mollie, Surfer and Perez got out of the car and entered the door held open by the Navy driver.
Inside a young enlisted Coast Guard sailor with the name Thurman on his uniform stood as they entered. Then he motioned them to follow him.
They approached an open office door with the sign COMMANDER SUNIL JAISWAL next to it.
Thurman motioned them to enter the office.
Per Navy rules when inside a building, Mollie, Surfer and Perez did not salute the commander. Instead they shook hands with the dark-haired Indian while Mollie gave their names.
Mollie wondered where in India his family was from. She knew he could be Hindu or Muslim. If Muslim, would it be harder to work with him on this assignment?
“I’m Jaiswal. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mollie said.
Jaiswal motioned them to be seated.
“What can the Navy do for the Coast Guard?” Jaiswal said. “Usually it’s the other way around.”
“Sir,” Mollie said. “We’re here to help you any way we can. Starting with intel.”
Jaiswal hesitated for a moment. “How?”
“If you can get us all the cargo manifests filed in Asian ports of inbound ships, we’ll check them against all ships as they approach the 12-mile territorial limit.”
Jaiswal shook his head. “We can board every ship but we can’t check every container. And it only takes one container loaded with explosives. Or worse.”
Mollie nodded. “I’d like us to get on to Ensign Perez’s CO. Have her temporarily assigned to this project.”
Jaiswal turned to the ensign. “Perez, this okay with you?”
Perez smiled. “I’m happy to help out.”
Jaiswal motioned for Perez to rise. “Go speak to my yeoman about this.”
Jaiswal turned to Mollie as Perez left the room. “I’ve been briefed on your role here.” Then he turned to Surfer. “And what’s your role in this effort?”
“Damned if I know. I’m just a simple Navy pilot flying off an aircraft carrier.”
Mollie ignored the glare Surfer sent her way.
Jaiswal laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re used to sea duty, Commander. The work space available is about the size of the officers’ mess on a sub.”
Mollie jumped in. “It’ll work for us.”
**
Kevin followed Jaiswal and Gearhead down the hall. Kevin had just decided he would stop thinking of the woman as “the woman” and start thinking of her as “Gearhead.” It was the best strategy for getting through this ridiculous assignment.
Jaiswal opened a door and they all entered a small space. Kevin could tell immediately that this had been a storage room. Now the room held folding tables and chairs. Also laptop computers, a scanner, a fax machine, and phone lines. The Coast Guard had wasted no time in getting ready for their arrival, although what the Coast Guard thought they could find ...
Gearhead turned to Jaiswal. “You’ve gotten us the basics. And if you could …”
Thurman hurried into the room and spoke directly to Jaiswal.
“Sir, there’s a boat speeding into the harbor that refuses to identify itself. No flag flying.”
“Wasn’t it boarded outside the harbor?” Jaiswal asked.
“Seems to have gotten through the perimeter.”
“Where’s the 41 boat?” Jaiswal asked.
“It’s at the other end of the harbor. Can’t get there in time. And we don’t have anyone to fly the one helo that’s available”
Ha! Something Kevin could do. “I can fly the helo. Sanders, Thurman, come with me. If you don’t mind, Commander?”
Jaiswal nodded. “Remember you have no authority to do anything. Thurman has to make any arrests.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Kevin said.
Jaiswal waved them to go, and Thurman led Kevin and Gearhead to the helo.
Kevin got in the pilot’s seat and Gearhead got in besides him, Thurman in the back.
Kevin checked the instruments and took off into the wind, then dipped low and headed for the indicated tramp steamer racing towards the harbor.
Thurman leaned out one side with a loud-hailer: “This is the U.S. Coast Guard! Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”
The boat below didn’t slow but continued speeding towards the harbor.
Kevin kept the helo low and chased the boat.
Gearhead shouted over the whir of the blades: “Surfer, can you hold the helo in a tight circle?”
Kevin realized what she had in mind. “You’re crazy,” he said.
Gearhead ignored him. She turned to Thurman. “Thurman, do you request assistance?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Now Gearhead spoke to Kevin. “And call in our position.”
What the hell!
**
0703 hours
In the rear of the helo Mollie took weapons and flak vests out of the gun cabinet. She handed a vest and an M-16 to Thurman and pulled on her vest.
She reached back into the cabinet and extracted ammo magazines, giving Thurman a handful and taking three for herself.
She tapped each on the copter bench, shoved two into the pockets on her vest, loaded the third in her M-16.
Next she gave a rappelling belt to Thurman and buckled another around her waist.
Then she worked her way up to Surfer, hand signaling him. Since he couldn’t stop her, he gave her a thumbs up.
“On my count,” she said.
Mollie stood in the helo door, clipped to a line, her M-16 slung over her back. Thurman stood next to her, also ready to go.
Surfer dove the helo toward the tramp steamer, scattering its crew.
Before the crew could react, he spun the helo, positioning the helo door over the boat stern painted with the words EMIR FAISAL – ADEN underneath apparently Arabic l
ettering.
Mollie and Thurman fast-roped the few feet from the helo to the boat stern. Piece of cake, Mollie thought.
Mollie and Thurman hit the deck and pulled out their M-16s.
As the crew on deck rushed toward them, Thurman trained his M-16 on them and they stopped in their tracks. They were unarmed and had no choice.
Mollie spotted a crew member moving towards a storage locker. She pointed her M-16 at the man and he backed away. She waved him over to join the other crew members.
Time for the Arabic she’d been learning. In Arabic she said, “You are being boarded by the U.S. government under international maritime rules. If you resist we will shoot. Get down on your knees.”
The men kneeled on the deck.
Thurman spoke to Mollie. “You speak Arabic.”
“Learned a few important phrases from a computer program.”
She gestured at Thurman. “Keep them here. I’ll search the boat.”
While Surfer kept the helo in a tight circle over the boat, Mollie held her weapon and advanced slowly inside the boat.
Suddenly she spotted a crew member dashing towards the forward hold. She yelled again in Arabic what she had said on the deck: “You are being boarded by the U.S. government under international maritime rules. If you resist we will shoot. Get down on your knees.”
The man hesitated, about to try to run again, then kneeled. Mollie grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him into the forward hold.
Let’s see what he was so interested in reaching.
Inside the forward hold of the tramp steamer Mollie took a plastic wristband out of a pocket and indicated the man should put it on his hands.
Once he had done so she could turn her attention to the man’s destination.
Bags labeled RICE. She pulled out two bags. She shifted them in her hands, feeling the weight.
She burrowed farther into the stack, picked up bags, hefted them, and put them aside.
She felt another one and stopped. Taking out a knife, she cut the bag open.
Buried in the rice were cylinders of a grey play-dough-like substance.
She smiled. “Gotcha!”
Mollie emerged on deck holding the bound crew member with one hand and her M- 16 with the other.
She shoved the crew member to join the other crew members.
At that moment a Coast Guard boat pulled alongside. Female and male Coast Guardsmen threw a line across the boat and tied up. Then the Guardsmen boarded the boat.
“I found Semtex in the forward hold,” she said. “Bag these guys and get them to shore. We’re going to have to tear this piece of crap apart.”
An hour later Mollie and Jaiswal stood on the bridge of the tramp steamer looking at the navigation charts. Mollie rolled up one.
“Some notes here in Arabic. I’ll get them translated,” she said.
“They wouldn’t leave their plans so openly available?” Jaiswal asked.
Mollie shook her head. “I’m not looking for plans. I’m looking for clues – the kind people don’t know they’ve left.”
Mollie tapped her fingers on the rolled up chart.
“There had to be a man or two on board to steer the ship before it caused the explosion in the port,” she said. “Were any bodies found that couldn’t be accounted for?”
Jaiswal shook his head.
“I wonder if they jumped clear of the explosion,” Mollie said. “And if so, where are they now?”
“You think this tramp steamer is connected to the port explosion?” Jaiswal asked.
“Everything is connected to everything,” Mollie said. “Just depends how connected.”
**
0924 hours
Kevin sat at a folding table playing bridge on his cell phone. Where the hell was Gearhead? He’d flown the helo back and was now waiting for her to return from the steamer.
Did she think she could make him sit around and wait like some lowly sailor?
At that moment Gearhead and Jaiswal entered the room.
“The boat is being searched and the crew is being held at our detention center,” Jaiswal told Kevin. “We hope to get to interrogate them before they’re sent somewhere else.”
“Why ‘hope’?” Kevin asked.
“Potential jurisdictional dispute,” Jaiswal said. “We’re waiting for word how to proceed.”
“Thanks for keeping a lid on this, Commander,” Mollie said. “I don’t want to tip off whoever might be waiting for the Semtex.”
Jaiswal nodded. “Can’t promise how long the news lid will stay on. And there may be a tussle with the Justice Department. We’re Homeland Security now, not military. They may want to try these guys.”
Kevin stood up. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to get a conviction.”
That remark earned him a glare from Gearhead.
“I know what they did,” she said. “I need to find out what they were going to do.”
Kevin saw Jaiswal give her the same look Kevin knew he was shooting at her. The look that said: Who the hell do you think you are?
“I meant we need to find out what they were going to do,” she said.
Slightly better, Kevin thought.
At that moment Ensign Perez entered the room and spoke to Gearhead. “Got my clearance to remain here and I’ve arranged our billets.”
Gearhead nodded, turned to Jaiswal.
“Have you located a translator yet for those notes we found onboard?”
“Yes, and he should arrive within a few hours.”
Kevin heard his stomach growl. That very early morning “snack” wasn’t enough grub. “While we’re waiting, can we eat something?”
Jaiswal smiled. “I’ll have some food brought over.”
Fifty minutes later Kevin wiped his hands on a napkin. He, Gearhead and Perez were just finishing eating when Jaiswal entered the room.
Gearhead spoke first. “Thanks for such a good meal.”
She beamed at Jaiswal – for chrissake! – then flicked her eyes toward Kevin before looking back at the Coast Guard commander.
“At Special Tactics and Operations Research Center we try to do some out-of-the-box thinking about terrorism.”
“And your specialty is …?” Jaiswal asked.
“Electronics you could say. Actually, my work is mostly classified.”
Damn! Jaiswal looked fascinated. And of course her work was classified. Kevin needed to redirect the conversation.
Kevin wondered how 9/11 had impacted “business as usual” here at the port. “Commander, what improvements have been made to port security since 9/11?”
Jaiswal shook his head. “The city of LA gave us $25 million to strength 40 miles of seacoast. The money is a drop in the bucket.”
That’s an understatement, Kevin thought.
“How much commerce passes through here a day?” Gearhead asked.
“Estimated at $1 billion.”
Perez got in first. “If the port were totally disrupted for even one day?”
Jaiswal just shook his head.
Gearhead now jumped in. “Look, the plastique wasn’t even unpacked. They were bringing it in, not making a suicide run.”
“We don’t even know if they’re tangos or just ordinary smugglers,” Perez said.
Kevin nodded in agreement with Perez. Well said, and obviously the ensign wasn’t afraid to stand up to Gearhead.
“Let’s go talk to the crew,” Gearhead said.
Kevin held up his hand. “Torture is frowned upon right now. Didn’t you get the memo?”
Gearhead shot him another one of her glares. “I’m not going to torture anybody. I might scare them a little, though.”
Jaiswal chimed in. “I can’t let anybody interrogate them until we get this straightened out with the Justice Department.”
Kevin saw Gearhead’s expression, and also saw how she controlled saying anything.
“I’ll let you know when the translator arrives,” Jaiswal said.
“Than
ks,” Gearhead said. “In the meantime we’ll get to work looking at the cargo manifests.”
At 1600 hours Kevin had about had it. They’d been sitting in this cramped room all day looking at individual straws in the haystack.
Two hours ago the translator, a dark-skinned young civilian named Abdullah ibn Suliman -- “call me Sam” -- had shown up. He’d been escorted to some closet down the hall where he was to work on translating the Arabic notes on the navigation chart.
In the meantime Kevin, Gearhead and Perez had been refueled with more food. Still, enough is enough sitting at a desk.
At this moment “Sam” entered the room. “The references are to verses in the Koran. If I’ve figured this out correctly, they indicate a meet tomorrow morning at 10 at the merry-go-round on the Santa Monica pier.”
Gearhead turned to Jaiswal, who had followed Sam into the room. “Do you think we can get one of the men from the ship to confirm this meet?" she asked.
“We still can’t interrogate them,” Jaiswal said. “Can’t you get around this?”
Gearhead turned to Sam. “Would you go with me? Pose as the contact?” she asked him.
Sam hesitated. “They won’t be expecting a woman. They’ll be suspicious.”
Ha! Gearhead’s expression showed how furious she was about this – and probably about having forgotten this.
Gearhead looked at Sam. “Commander Witlow will go with you. Ensign Perez and I will be nearby. We’ll be able to blend into the crowds on the pier.”
Nothing like being volunteered for a meet. Hell! Kevin was a pilot. Not some Homeland Security agent.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Gearhead spoke to him first.
“We’ll get some more food and call it an early night. We’ve been up 34 hours and Perez met us at 0430. Early tomorrow morning we’re to look at the harbor with Commander Jaiswal. Then we’ll go to the Santa Monica pier.”
Wow, Gearhead actually had to sleep sometimes. What else did she also have to do?
**
1900 hours
Mollie, Surfer and Perez walked up to the reception desk at the bachelor officers’ quarters. An enlisted man handed a key to Surfer and a key to Mollie. They both had their seabags but Perez had nothing with her.
“We’re pretty full tonight, so the ladies will have to share,” the enlisted man said.
Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders Page 3