He tapped a key and the green squares disappeared. “I then factored in on the remaining ships that are currently in port and are not expected to leave within the next twenty-four hours. That knocked another large chunk off it, and gets us below the one thousand mark. Those I assigned are the red dots you see.” He clicked the mouse and the red dots were removed from the screen.
“As you can see, the blue dots represent the remaining ships currently at sea. Based on the manifests and navigational plans, I cross-referenced all ships that were headed to ports of call we might consider nonessential targets.”
“You realize, of course, that doesn’t necessarily provide good criteria by which to quantify a prediction of this sort,” Brognola interjected.
“In most situations I’d agree with you, boss,” Kurtzman replied, with the grin of man who was bursting to tell a secret. “But not in this case. Since all commercial maritime craft are required to file a complete manifest and shipping-lane permit for any commercial maritime operation, I figured the terrorists would most likely falsify these documents. Based on that, I used an algorithm Hunt developed on the fly to map navigation routes against GPS signals and let our mainframe run the calculations against sensible routes.”
“I get it,” Price replied. “Home ports barely have the time to validate that the contents being shipped and all of the other necessary paperwork is in order.”
“Exactly,” Kurtzman said. “Which means they certainly don’t have time to make sure the navigational plotting submitted by the freighters seems sensible in contrast to the departure and destination ports. The best they can do is to validate that the estimated time to arrive at the destination is within reasonable limits. After that, they rely on companies to tell the truth about where they’re going, how they’re going to get there and what they’re transporting. Certifying agencies can’t be everywhere all of the time.”
“So if I get where you’re going with this, this computer algorithm you and Hunt devised looked at departure port and arrival port, then mapped that against the navigation plan on file to see if it made some sense.”
“You’ve got it!” Kurtzman cried. He clicked the mouse once more and the blue dots were removed from the screen. “That algorithm just completed its run, which left us a whopping fourteen freighters!”
“Fine work, Bear,” Price said.
“Damn fine work,” Brognola agreed. “So that leaves us only fourteen freighters to contend with. Those are pretty good odds. Now tell me how this breaks down.”
“Well, two freighters are currently in the Indian Ocean, and according to the information we have, they’re owned by the same company and traveling together. Two more are freight-forwarding vendors in the Coral Sea. In all cases, none of these left a port in South Africa.”
“Not to mention I can’t see what good it would do Qibla terrorists to hit targets in these areas,” Brognola said. “So I’d say it’s safe to eliminate them as suspect. But I will ask the Man to contact the Australian government. Perhaps they have ships in the area that could investigate, just to be sure.”
Brognola squinted at the screen. “Looks like the remaining are scattered between the Atlantic and Pacific.”
“Correct, and all of those left out of Cape Town in the past seventy-two hours. Three are scheduled to arrive at various ports in the Mediterranean by midnight Zulu. The remainders have filed their destination ports as being in the British Isles, Panama, Newfoundland and, of course, the United States.”
“I hate to ask,” Brognola said, “but I have to. Are there any other criteria we could apply to pare the number down any further?”
“Nothing tangible, Hal, and I wouldn’t attempt it even if I could. We’re in a much better position than we were, and I’d take this for what it’s worth and find a way to physically investigate the remaining freighters. The other factor we have to consider is that these freighters aren’t even transmitting GPS signals. They could just turn them off.”
“Not likely. It wouldn’t make sense for them to do that. They would want to remain as legit as possible. Anything less and they know it might risk drawing attention. Too many governments monitor these very same things. At the very least, if one of those freighters was bound for a U.S. port, the Maritime Administration would have been alerted to a sudden loss of signal or cessation in communications.” He paused and shook his head, then on afterthought, added, “No, I’m sure they’re out there transmitting their signal. The trouble is that we just don’t know which signal belongs to our Qibla friends.”
For a long moment nobody said a word. They just stared at the screen, each lost in his or her thoughts and probably trying to come up with something else they could sink their teeth into. Price was still impressed by Kurtzman’s work. It made sense. Of course, some of the information they had gone on was shaky, at best, but there were no other ways she could think of to improve the computer wizard’s projections. No, this was about as close as they could get.
“So where do we go from here?” Price finally asked.
“Well, I think the first order of business is to get Phoenix Force in a position where they can start their own investigation,” Brognola replied. “They’re sure a hell of a lot closer to some of these freighters than we are. What do you think?”
“Well,” Price said, looking at the screen again, “you said the President had some reason to be concerned about Israel. That seems like a defensible position. Lord knows the Arabs and Israelis certainly aren’t bosom buddies. With those three freighters in the Mediterranean, they could probably make contact in the shortest period of time.”
“Good idea, Barb,” Kurtzman interjected. “Get the most bang for your buck. I like it.”
“Yes, I like it, too,” Brognola said. “All right, the Mediterranean it is. Let’s get on the horn with David and get him up there immediately. But I want to talk to him personally.”
“I’ll set it up right now,” Price said, rising and heading for the communications system where she’d make the video-audio satellite link.
“Bear, the ships bound for U.S. ports number how many, and where are they scheduled to arrive?”
Kurtzman turned and referenced a printout hanging from a clip attached to his monitor. “One’s bound for Boston and scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning, and the other’s got a zero-two-thirty ETA to St. Petersburg.”
“Okay, then I would think we’d want to get Able Team on that last one, since we’re assuming the terrorists are planning to execute their attack using missiles. Assuming a standard medium-range missile can travel six eight-hundred nautical miles, and it’s now almost 10:00 a.m., we don’t have a lot of time left. I think we better put Able Team on a plane.”
“We could have them fly into Miami, get Charlie Mott to meet them there.”
Brognola nodded. Charlie Mott was another pilot Stony Man used on an irregular basis when Jack Grimaldi wasn’t available. He wasn’t an overly skilled combatant, but he was reliable and talented behind the stick.
“Let’s do it. I’ll let you coordinate the details with Barbara.”
The screen image they had been watching suddenly flickered and was replaced by the tired, bleary-eyed face of David McCarter. The fox-faced Briton yawned and scratched his head. Obviously they had woken him from his slumber. Price returned as McCarter mumbled something about it having to be important. She felt sorry for the Phoenix Force leader. They’d been through a lot.
“Wake up, David,” Brognola quipped. “Nappy time’s over.”
“And I was just dreaming ’bout a nice tropical beach somewhere, sipping on a Coke, guv.” As if to demonstrate, he popped the top on a can of Coca-Cola Classic, drank half of it down then belched.
“Oh, that’s lovely, David,” Price said with a droll expression. “Sometimes you have the social graces of a gorilla.”
“I think you’re confusing me with Ironman,” McCarter replied.
“Cut the clowning and listen up,” Brognola said. “We’ve narrowed
our possible targets to fourteen. Three are in the Mediterranean, and I understand you’re not too far from there. I’m going to be contacting the Man shortly to tell him where we’re at, and I need you guys to shag your butts up there and find out what’s what.”
McCarter was now wide awake. “What about the others?”
“For now, there are no others,” Price answered. “There isn’t anything you can do about it, anyway, given your location. Four of the fourteen freighters the Bear narrowed us down to are most likely not a threat. The remainders are headed for ports in the Mediterranean, Great Britain and Central and North America.”
“Fair enough,” McCarter said. “What’s the order of business?”
“Get to each freighter, get aboard and see what you can find out,” Brognola said. “It doesn’t matter how you do it. I’ll take responsibility for any backlash. Right now, the President’s counting on us to pull this off, and I’ve promised him we’ll deliver. Do what you have to, but try to exercise some measure of control. In other words, do it as quietly as possible.”
“Oh, of course we will,” McCarter said. “I’m sure a bunch of commandos boarding a commercial freighter in the middle of the Mediterranean in broad daylight will be discreet enough.”
“I understand that I’m asking the impossible,” Brognola replied. “I just don’t want you scaring a bunch of maritime sailors to death. So assess the threat, and if you find it, deal with it in any way you deem fit.”
“That we can do,” McCarter replied. “We owe these Qibla blokes more than a couple. The boys are champing at the bit to deal out some real arse-kicking. Gary’s especially broiling about Marais.”
“I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but she knew the risks,” Brognola said.
“That’s what I told him, but I don’t think he’s much in the mood for logic.”
“Just leave him be for now,” Price told him. “He’ll snap out of it soon enough if I know Gary.”
“I can’t say as I disagree with you,” McCarter replied.
“Able Team will be on a similar mission south of Florida,” Price said. “Coordinate with them directly if you discover anything you think might be of value.”
“Acknowledged.”
“And, David?” Brognola called. “You and the boys watch your asses. I want every one of you back here in one piece when this is over.”
“Oh, we’ll all come back in one piece,” McCarter replied with a lopsided grin. “You can bloody well bank on it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Atlantic Ocean
“Okay, let’s get down to business,” David McCarter said, dropping copies of maps on the table.
The Phoenix Force leader had printed them off an upload transmission from Stony Man’s satellite. It depicted the Mediterranean Sea and pinpointed the three freighters they were to inspect. McCarter wasn’t yet exactly sure how best to conduct the operation. He had originally considered splitting up the team; two of them taking one freighter, two more on a second and he and Grimaldi intercepting the third. He dismissed the idea, concerned about thinning their numbers. It had nothing to do with the capabilities of his men. What bothered McCarter most was what he didn’t know, and that was the potential enemy count they might be fighting against. He didn’t consider it a good idea to execute the operation short-handed.
Encizo picked up the maps, selected one and passed the rest to James. Phoenix Force was ranged around the small table aboard the Gulfstream C-20. They all looked tired, but the flight had afforded them a couple hours’ sleep and most were feeling rejuvenated in spite of how they looked. McCarter intended to make sure they got a decent break when this mission was over.
“We have our work cut out for us on this one, chums,” McCarter continued. “Hal and Barb are concerned that one of those three freighters could be toting the terrorists and a missile. Our job is to get in, inspect and move on to the next one. The positions you see they’re in is current as of fifteen minutes past.”
“This is strange,” Manning interjected, studying the map carefully.
“What?” Encizo asked.
“Well, we’re pretty certain from the intelligence we have so far that these freighters are carrying medium-range missiles.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, all of these ships are within range of any number of viable targets already, so why haven’t they launched?”
Silence ensued. McCarter had to admit that he hadn’t thought of that. Manning had a point. The terrorists could have launched the missiles long ago, but they hadn’t. It meant something, but McCarter couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Hawkins could. “I have a theory.”
“Let’s hear it,” McCarter said.
“Well, there isn’t really any evidence to support it, but it might explain a few things anyway.”
“I’m open to anything right now in the absence of any better ideas,” James said.
“Okay.” Hawkins looked at the map again, as if it were helping him to collect his thoughts. Finally he said, “If one of these freighters really does have terrorists aboard, it stands to reason that they haven’t attacked because they’re not ready to attack. They’re moving into position, sure, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. We know there are at least two freighters that left Cape Town with missiles aboard. At least, that’s a pretty safe assumption, and the number could be even higher than that. And either this al-Warraq or Temez have gone considerably out of their way to try to throw us off the track, even to the point they made sure we found those documents at the shipyard.”
“That’s true,” Encizo agreed. “If we consider just the amount of smarts and patience it would take to plan an op like this, I can’t understand why they’d be so sloppy toward the end.”
“So you think we were supposed to find that information,” James said to Hawkins.
“Well, doesn’t it make sense?” Manning cut in. “I’ve spent hours combing the library and databases at the Farm. As you know, those archives contain a hell of a lot of data, and the work of many a CIA analyst. I happen to think a lot of that stuff is pretty valid in the sense that it describes the general MO of most terrorist groups.
“Understand that one of the main theories behind terrorist planning is coordination. The days of hit-and-git are over for most of them. They’ve grown smarter, faster and more organized. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if this was one of those times where it’s all about coordination.”
“Well said, Gary,” Hawkins replied. He looked at McCarter. “That’s exactly where I’m trying to go with this. If the terrorists are in the Mediterranean and they haven’t attacked yet, it’s most likely because they can’t attack yet.”
McCarter nodded, completely understanding now. “In other words, they’re waiting.”
“You nailed it,” Hawkins replied.
“Well, evidence or no evidence, your theory doesn’t sound like bunkum to me, mate. I’d say we go with that and see what falls out, no pun intended.”
“You know, of course,” James said, “this likely means they have more than one target. If they’re waiting, it’s because they plan to launch the missiles at the same time. It would make it much more difficult to retaliate against a coordinated strike. If even one of those things lands where they want it to, we’re going to have one big global shitstorm to deal with. The fallout will be felt worldwide.”
“And God forbid they hit more than one target,” Encizo added.
“So maybe what all this means is we have some extra time,” Manning said. “Trouble is, we don’t know how much, so we’re going to have to move like wild horses on this deal. Where do you want to start, boss?”
McCarter frowned. “I think we have to assume the ship closest to a port is our first priority.”
“From what I see here, that would be the ship headed to Israel,” James observed.
“That works for me,” Encizo said.
“And it seems like the most viable target, as well,” Manni
ng said. “The other two are bound for Tripoli and Naples. Unless Qibla has a beef with some fellow Arabs or a gripe against the Vatican, it seems our best bet would be Israel.”
“Israel it is,” McCarter replied. “Now, let’s talk about the lovely swim we’re all going to have.”
Miami, Florida
“HEY!” CHARLIE MOTT CALLED as he stood near the hangar and waved at Able Team.
Gadgets Schwarz returned the friendly greeting as the three warriors, all in mirrored sunglasses, crossed the tarmac to join the pilot. Unlike Grimaldi, who spent a good part of his time flying members of Stony Man from one end of the world to the other, Mott took contracts outside official channels. Jobs like this didn’t come often, but when they did, it seemed Mott was more than happy to oblige.
Mott had brought his personal plane, a Raytheon Beechcraft King Air 350, its nose barely jutting from the front of the small hangar. Although built on the same style as the original King Air 90, this craft was considerably larger and faster, and most of the electronic modifications it had undergone had been financed courtesy of Stony Man funds. It was forty-six feet long, with two Pratt & Whitney Canada PT6A 60A free-turbine engines, each rated at over one thousand shaft hp. It wasn’t as fast as a jet, its top speed being only about 315 knots, but fully loaded it could travel almost two thousand nautical miles before refueling. Stony Man had added some advanced electronic surveillance equipment, including a Honeywell H-423 ring laser gyro Inertial Navigation System, a GPS receiver and two digital computers with dual-redundant multiplex buses. The craft’s white hull gleamed in the noonday sun, and sunlight reflecting off the tarmac made its red-and-gold striping iridescent.
Mott pumped the hand of each man in turn with an enthusiastic expression. “Good to see you fellows again. It’s been a while.”
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