by Tom Hron
Shawki made a comic face. “Much more than life insurance, it will be geopolitical. Most people in Washington will go crazy with happiness. Oh, how I would like to be a little mouse in the White House when the Navy says they now have Abu Muhammad.”
They sailed past Kuwait once more, then back along Saudi Arabia, mixing with all the boats they could find. When they were sure no one was following them, they set a course for the middle of the Gulf, where Shawki said the battle group would most likely be cruising. Watch for fighter aircraft, he advised, because they will be like bees coming home to their nest, and when you see them, the aircraft carrier won’t be far off. Harry and Joe lay in the sun with their binoculars and combed the sky for jet trails. Finally, it was peaceful.
“I don’t want anybody to see me when we make a deal with the Navy for Muhammad,” remarked Joe. “There hasn’t been a picture taken of me in thirty years. Nobody knows what I look like, and I want it kept that way.”
Harry nodded slowly. “I wish no one knew what I looked like, and I might need a disguise when I get back home.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Joe asked, “What do you think it will take to smoke the bad guys out now?”
“That’s a good question.” Harry slowly shook his head. “Regardless, when I show up with Abu Muhammad lots of things will start happening. The National Security Council won’t be one bit happy when they learn that I went directly to the Navy, especially when they will have to worry about what I might have told them. Skeleter will have to decide how to play his cards in a big hurry.”
“What you’re really telling me is you’re going to set yourself up as the pigeon again.”
Harry lowered his eyes. “I have to try something, even if it turns out wrong. I doubt the White House’s inner circle will want to get into a big fight with the Navy over me, not when I was the one who showed up with Muhammad. The press would ask way too many questions.”
For another day they searched the sky, then found what they were looking for—F-14B Tomcats letting down on approach like birds of prey. Shawki swung the dhow along their flight path and then came forward, and Harry saw that his face looked worried. Maybe he had been at the wheel too long and was overtired, or maybe Muhammad’s sporadic outbursts were getting on his nerves. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked.
“There isn’t any way to sail up to a carrier with this dhow, at least not without getting blown out of the water. Your navy is very suspicious of old wooden dhows, so what should we do?”
“I think it’s the Abraham Lincoln that’s on station in the Gulf right now, and I’m sure she’s already watching us. We’ll see a destroyer before long, and when we do let me talk to them on the radio.”
“My men want to stay out of sight also.” Then Shawki’s voice slowed. “Muhammad has friends, you know.”
“That’s not a problem, and Joe feels the same way. I’ll ask that an intelligence officer comes onboard, which should protect everyone’s identity, and he’ll be the best person to deal with, anyway. It will make it that much harder for the people in the White House to mess with us.”
An hour passed, and then they saw a black speck grow larger on the sea’s horizon, first into a ship in the distance, then into a naval destroyer coming right at them. If the truth were told, Harry explained, the battle group’s support submarine probably had them in its crosshairs as well. Afterward, Shawki’s and Joe’s gestures were uncoordinated with their words, which were succinct in turn. When Harry fixed his glasses on the destroyer’s hull, he saw that it was the USS Fletcher. It was time to call … maybe even past time. He picked up the marine radio’s microphone.
“Fletcher, can you come up on channel sixteen?”
For a moment, there was nothing but a sound like frying bacon, then the radio answered, “Roger, this is the Fletcher.”
“We’re the small craft just off your bow and we request that a Naval Intelligence officer comes aboard us.”
The sound of more frying bacon, then the radio said, “Say again your request—”
“I repeat, we are requesting that a Naval Intelligence officer comes aboard our vessel. We are holding a prisoner for national security purposes.”
“Stand—stand by. We need—ah, please stand by.”
The Fletcher cut by them with white spray flying off its stern and all its guns ready for action, then a minute later called once again and requested further information. Harry gave them his name, his former Air Force rank, and Shawki’s home port. Tell us once more exactly why you want to be boarded, the Fletcher radioed again, and who is this prisoner? We need to know more than what you’ve told us.
Harry told them to stand by for a minute and quickly swung around to Joe and Shawki. “It’s not a good idea to broadcast Muhammad’s name on a frequency that half the Middle East might be listening to. Find me something I can write on and we’ll give them a visual message.”
Both men took off like streaks and then came back with a square of cardboard and a can of spray paint. Harry quickly printed, WE HAVE ABU MUHAMMAD, and then picked up the mike again.
“Fletcher, we would like to display a visual message for your captain to read. Repeat, we want your captain to read our visual message.” Harry held up his makeshift sign for thirty seconds.
Five minutes later a ship’s launch was on its way with an intelligence officer in summer khakis standing in its prow. We have pulled it off, Harry thought, twenty-five million bucks and a free ticket home. Now all he had to do was live long enough to collect it.
The launch at first looked them over with its heavy machine guns aimed right at them, and then only after they had hauled Muhammad up on deck and let the IQ actually see him, did it finally pull alongside them. Harry helped the IQ aboard, who, understandably, was stunned over the fact that the world’s most wanted man was within an arm’s reach of him. “This is unbelievable,” said Lieutenant Commander Daniels, with career advancement written all over his face. “I don’t know what to say. The Iron Mongrel. How in hell did you catch him? You have no idea how much Washington wants to get their hands on this bastard. No idea at all, and this is incredible.”
“I would like to wait before I say too much,” said Harry. “Is there some way we can move him onto the Abraham Lincoln? My friends want to get out of here as soon as possible, and I’d feel the safest over there, speaking for myself. I hope you understand.” He had tried to sound formal, yet friendly. The Lincoln had all the important brass, the horsepower he would need if things started going wrong when he got back home. Besides, he knew that Muhammad would end up there, regardless.
The lieutenant commander’s eyes shot back and forth. He would lose a lot of control, but then there were over six thousand sailors on board the Lincoln, one hell of a theater to pass up. Where else could someone like him earn those kind of kudos? “You know, Mr. Sharp, that’s a good idea, a damn good idea.” Then he smiled ear to ear. “Let’s load up this murdering bastard and get back to the Fletcher, then I’ll make a call.”
Harry helped lower Muhammad into the launch and then asked for a few minutes to say good-bye to his friends. Feeling almost like a pallbearer, he walked back to the wheelhouse where Shawki and Joe were waiting for him. All three had come a long ways together in a very short time and their emotion shone in their eyes. There was a brotherhood between them now, or maybe not so much a brotherhood as a kinship. Each waited for the other to say something, but finally Joe went first.
“This isn’t over yet, you know, and I’ll be right behind you, just as soon as I get back to Manama. You need to tell me where to find you.” His eyes looked a little old, though they were still steady.
“Wait a minute, you two can’t leave me behind.” Shawki glanced at one and then the other. “We are in this together, okay? I will get a suite in New York and we will meet there. The Plaza, the hotel where I always stay.”
Harry lowered his head and stared at his feet, then looked at his two friends again. “Listen, don’t do t
his, you guys, don’t put your lives on the line for me anymore. It’s just not worth it. There’s no way that I can ever repay you for what you’ve already done.”
They wouldn’t hear of it, not on their lives, and so all three agreed they would team up once again. Shawki would get a suite under the name of Falconer and Joe would join him, then both would wait for Harry’s telephone call. He explained that the rubber would meet the road when he asked the Justice Department for full immunity and the twenty-five million dollars. What would Skeleter’s reaction be then? He hugged both men and walked back to the launch.
He rode the launch across to the Fletcher with Lieutenant Commander Daniels and Muhammad, then held on as they were hoisted aboard. The Iron Mongrel. The ship’s sailors started shouting his name, next the Cole’s name, and a hundred hands reached out to rough up Muhammad, leaving Harry to worry that a riot might break out. Then the Fletcher’s skipper walked forward and everyone snapped to attention. He introduced himself as Captain Felleman.
“Mr. Sharp, speaking on behalf of the Navy, I can’t tell you what this means to us, and whatever this ship and its crew can do to make you comfortable, you need only ask. This is one of the happiest days of my life, and, by God, you have pulled off an absolute miracle.”
“Thank you, sir.” Harry shook Felleman’s hand. “Actually, there are a couple of favors I’d like to ask.”
“Well, you just name them.” The captain was tall and had gunslinger eyes.
“I’d like your crew to forget what they’ve just seen, at least as much as possible, so my friends and I can stay anonymous. The second thing is I’d like to get Muhammad and me aboard the Abraham Lincoln. Commander Daniels said that he’d try to help, and I had even hoped you would come along.”
“Well, secrecy isn’t going to be a problem, so consider it done.” Then the skipper’s eyes narrowed. “Regarding the Lincoln … that might be a good idea. Maybe tomorrow…
“Come to think of it, Mr. Sharp, you’re absolutely right, this is something I don’t want to miss.” He looked around for his IQ. “Mr. Daniels—”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get on the horn and make all the arrangements. Tell them what’s going on and have an Easyrider ready at ten-hundred hours.” His voice then increased in pace. “If they have something administrative to do, that will give them plenty of time to get hold of the Pentagon. By God, this will be fun.”
“Yes, sir.” The IQ’s face started getting long.
“Also, Mr. Daniels, take the prisoner below and lock him up. I want two guards on him at all times, and when you haul him up tomorrow, I want him in chains and handcuffed to you, with no chance at all that he can escape. Is that understood?”
Instantly, there was a smile on Daniel’s face. “Yes, sir.” He then called for three sailors to help him take Muhammad belowdecks to the brig.
When the IQ returned he gave Harry a cabin in the officer’s quarters and ordered a petty officer to take him on a tour of the ship. For the rest of the day both wandered the Fletcher, the first time Harry had ever explored a destroyer, which he saw was a labyrinth of gray corridors, bulkheads, compartments, hatchways, and ladders so steep that you were constantly at the risk of taking a header and killing yourself if you weren’t careful. They inspected the guns and missiles and watched the ship’s sonar search for enemy submarines. They visited the bridge and watched the executive officer perform his duties. Harry found himself fascinated by the teamwork and precision of everyone on board, and then was told he was to join the captain for dinner, where he was toasted with a glass of merlot.
Sir, I didn’t do this by myself, he explained, because I had the help of two other men, braver than me, if you want the truth, and it’s unfortunate they can’t be here. Then he told the captain about his Air Force career, which seemed to interest him. Hey, then you will doubly enjoy the cluster fuck tomorrow, Felleman remarked, with all the flag officers competing for the best photograph for the international press. Catching Muhammad would make headlines around the world, and every major newspaper would run it on their front page above the fold. Well, not with me on it, answered Harry. That wouldn’t be good, not good at all.
He went to sleep that night in total peace again with the calm ocean washing by the portal beside him. Three hundred and fifty sailors with all the best technology in the world at their fingertips, who couldn’t sleep well? He dreamed of his home again, seeing Catherine’s big smile, and one third of a small fortune. Skeleter seemed like a much smaller problem than before.
Next morning he woke late and hurried through a shower, then onto the deck where he saw the Easyrider, the Sikorsky SH-60B helicopter the Navy used for inner-fleet hauling, had landed. Joining Daniels beside the Easyrider, he saw that Muhammad was chained and handcuffed just as Felleman had ordered. Finally, there was a look of resignation on the terrorist’s face, although if looks could kill, Harry would have been struck down on the spot. He stared Muhammad down, feeling there could never be any remorse for catching a cold-blooded killer. Next, Captain Felleman walked up, looking as crisp as brand-new money in his blues.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” He ducked into the door of the Easyrider. “Well, let’s get this show on the road, and like they say, our fifteen minutes of fame. How did you sleep, Mr. Sharp?”
“Very well, sir.” He helped Commander Daniels load Muhammad and sat against the cockpit bulkhead, facing backward. The helicopter vibrated as the rotor blades spun faster.
“It will only take a few minutes to reach the Lincoln,” said Felleman. “So, if you wish, let Daniels and me get out first with Muhammad, then you come out later. Nobody will pay much attention to you by then.”
“I’ll wait for you inside the superstructure. I want to sit down with the Lincoln’s commander and you and share some information I have. More important, I’m sure I’ll need your help with the Justice Department.”
“Like maybe they won’t want to pay you.” Captain Felleman laughed. “You just let me know, because I’ll sail the Fletcher right up the Potomac and fire one right across the attorney general’s desk. I don’t think they want to piss off the whole Navy, not over this deal. The White House wouldn’t like the press they’d get, nor would the Pentagon, not after the loss of so many men on the Cole and the job we did in turning Osama bin Laden into fish bait. There would be admirals screaming their heads off, which wouldn’t make for good PR for anyone.”
“Thank you, sir.” He felt the Easyrider lift itself like an elevator, then drop its nose and accelerate over the sea toward a classic blue horizon. The fascination of flight had never left him, he thought to himself.
A few minutes later he saw the USS Abraham Lincoln, like a celestial city, rise above the sea’s surface. Colossal and gray, its sides were breaking with surf, its catapults were blowing steam, and its decks were filled with Tomcat fighters. There was no one, he told himself, who didn’t get goose bumps when he or she looked at a carrier, even for the umpteenth time. Glancing at Muhammad, he saw the terrorist leader was even awestruck with the majestic scene.
The Easyrider came to a hover alongside the flight deck, then slipped sideways and set down beside a cadre of yellow-shirted crewmen. Afterward, there came about half the carrier’s sailors, officers, pilots, and marines, with some civilians mixed in. Felleman laughed. Told you this would turn into a freaking carnival, he said. Harry stared in amazement. Well, at least it would be easy enough for him to get lost in the crowd, he thought.
He waited until Felleman and Daniels had taken Abu Muhammad out of the Easyrider and over to a group of flag officers and news people before he left his seat. Stepping forward, he asked if the pilot and copilot would mind taking him to the carrier’s superstructure after they finished shutting down the helicopter. I would like to stay away from the madhouse that’s going on, he explained. The pilots laughed and said they understood, and then a few minutes later walked him across the flight deck, pretending that he was part of the flight crew. Unfortunate
ly, however, Harry didn’t notice the lone photographer high on the superstructure snapping his picture with a 200-400mm zoom lens.
It was almost noon before the carnival atmosphere on deck broke up and Muhammad was taken below to the carrier’s brig. Harry watched Captain Felleman come across the deck with Daniels, another commander he supposed must be the IQ for the Lincoln, and a vice admiral in full uniform and decorations. The Navy must have flown in some additional brass, he thought, which would play right into his hands. He had already told Felleman that he wanted to meet with as many flag officers as he could, and that he had something other than the capture of Muhammad to share with them, something that might very well affect the security of the nation.
Felleman stepped through the hatchway that Harry was waiting beside, followed by the vice admiral and the two other officers. He wondered why they all looked so distressed.
“This is Vice Admiral Colin Axelrod,” said Felleman. “He flew in this morning with a security force, but first … well, he needs to tell you something.”
Puzzled, Harry shook the admiral’s hand, a hollow-cheeked man with ray-like eyes.
“First, Mr. Sharp, I want to praise your capture of Muhammad. It’s one of the bravest acts I’ve ever witnessed, and I consider you a true American hero.”
“Thank you, Admiral, but I didn’t do it by myself, and the men who helped me were actually the ones who caught him. I was busy with something else.”
“I suspect you’re being way too humble. Do you mind if I call you Harry?”
“Not at all, sir.” He continued looking at Admiral Axelrod. “I would be pleased if you did.”
“Harry, the Pentagon sent me here with a representative from the Justice Department and a couple of other people who won’t even give me their names. Sneaky types, if you know what I mean. As you’ve noticed, there are folks from the AP and CNN here, too. Understandably, the Navy wants to play this up big.”
“My friends and I would rather not end up as marked men, so we had hoped—”