“The rear guards will let us pass, both vehicles,” he said.
After driving several blocks, they came around the corner of a building. It was right on the dock, and Chen saw his ship tied up at the adjoining pier. A large truck door rolled upward. Two guards barred their entrance until they recognized Nabokov. Inside, Chen saw the bright lights and the missiles. When both vehicles had driven in, the large door rolled down.
Chen nodded, and they left the pickup. Nabokov and the other Ukrainian went to the rear of the Chevy and examined the boxes.
The six Chinese Special Forces men left the van and fanned out inside the building. They had their orders. Two Ukrainian soldiers came through the door from inside the warehouse.
Chen shouted something in Chinese, and watched with satisfaction as both Ukrainian soldiers were shot by the Chinese commandos. They slammed backward with four submachine-gun rounds each in their chests as they stared in surprise at the black-clothed killers.
Nabokov looked up from the payment boxes in shock. “What are you doing?” he bellowed.
“Securing the area,” Chen said. He held his pistol pointing at the Ukrainian. “I’ll take your side arm and the radio now, Nabokov. You have no armed support inside. Let’s not make this worse than it has to be.”
Nabokov took out the radio, pretended to hand it to Chen, then pushed a button on it and shouted in Ukrainian: “Alert, alert, the missile room, now.”
Chen shot him three times in the chest with his silenced pistol, then turned the weapon on the yes-man with Nabokov and shot him twice as he surged away. Both rounds took him in the back, one crushing his spine and dumping him into a death spasm on the concrete floor. Two Ukrainian soldiers burst through the small door at the back of the big room.
Chen saw them coming and shouted at his men, then dove behind the pickup. Both Ukrainian soldiers went down in a murderous cross fire of silenced submachine gun rounds. Two more soldiers raced through the inside door, and got off a dozen unsilenced rounds before the black-clothed Chinese specialists fired at them. The surprise entry caught the Chinese commandos by surprise, and two went down in the enemy fire.
Chen saw it all and jumped up, screaming and firing his pistol at the intruders. The other Chinese commandos cut down the Ukrainian guards.
“Lock that inside door that leads to the other rooms,” Chen said into his radio. Two of the black-robed Chinese darted to the door, and closed it and snapped on two locks. A pair of shots sounded from outside the door, but the rounds didn’t penetrate.
“The big doors, now,” Chen said to the radio. “We must move quickly.”
Two of the Chinese ran to the lift doors, looked at the row of buttons, and found the right ones. One of the twenty-foot-wide doors rolled up on greased tracks. Just beyond a thirty-foot-wide dock sat the Star of Asia. Deck sailors on watch took hand signals from Chen. A moment later a rusty-looking panel slid upward, revealing a thirty-foot-wide dock-level loading hatch. The interior of the ship looked like anything but a rust-bucket freighter. It was brightly lighted, and well painted. Quickly a loading platform bridged the three-foot gap between freighter and dock. A small tow tractor rolled over the bridge to the dock, and inside to the dolly holding the first missile. The tractor driver hooked up to the missile dolly, and then carefully towed it out of the warehouse, over the bridge, and into the hold of the freighter. It vanished somewhere to the left. Two minutes later the tractor came back for another missile.
A sudden burst of rifle fire came from the small door beside where the pickup had driven in. Two Ukrainian soldiers stood there firing at the Chinese Special Forces. One Chinese went down with a round to his chest. The other armed Chinese pounded the guard soldiers with thirty rounds of silenced death. They jolted backward. One man got off two more rounds before he died in another flurry of firing.
“Secure that back area,” Chen shouted at his gunmen. One man ran to the door, and kept a watch outside.
Ten minutes later, five of the ICBMs were stowed in the decrepit-looking freighter. The Chevy pickup with the seventy-two-million-dollar payment for the missiles was driven across the bridge into the freighter. Then the remaining three Chinese Special Forces men carried the bodies of their dead comrades into the freighter.
While the tractor loaded the missiles into the freighter, Chen took a brisk walk down the dock. His destination was the sleek-looking freighter that was moored just in back of his down the pier. Its flag showed that it was of Panamanian registry. A sentry challenged Chen as he approached the gangplank.
As they talked, an officer came to the rail and saluted Chen. He quickly came down the plank, and they walked along the new, trim freighter. It was slightly larger than Chen’s ship, but this vessel was in freshly minted condition.
“You have the goods?” the officer asked.
“We do. You have the payment?”
“Yes. Bring the missile here and we’ll show you the payment.”
“You have dockside-level loading?”
“No, we’ll use two of our cranes. They are rated at over fifty tons.”
“Good.” Chen touched a button twice on a small radio he took from his pocket. “The goods are on the way.”
Five minutes later, the small tractor towed the sixth ICBM from the warehouse to the Panamanian freighter. Now a stiff canvas covered the missile and shrouded its identity.
One huge crane swung out and down; then a second moved into position. Men attached cables to each end of the missile and the dolly. Winches ground. Slowly the thirty-ton missile and dolly lifted off the dock. It wouldn’t fit into any of the holds on the ship, so they positioned it slightly aft on the main deck, secured it, and added more camouflage.
The Panamanian captain signaled, and a small crane swung down a pallet board with a wooden box on top of it. Inside the box were stacks of U.S. currency.
“There it is, fifteen million in hundred-dollar bills. Mostly used, but some with sequential serial numbers.”
“We’ll check it,” Chen said. The tow tractor pushed its lift bars under the pallet board and carried the money back to the Star of Asia.
A few minutes later it was loaded on board. Chen stepped into the ship through the side loading hatch, and the tractor pulled the loading bridge inside. The heavy steel panels on the side of the freighter closed, and the rusty camouflaged plates slid down into place.
It took another five minutes for the crew of the Chinese ship to cast off its lines. Aided by a tug, it worked its way out of the dock area toward the channel that led to the open Black Sea. Within ten minutes they had cleared the port, paid the pilot double his usual fee, and put him in his small boat.
All of the regular clearances had been filed. They checked out with the port master’s radio in faltering Russian, and were on their way.
For two hours, Chen stood in the bridge, listening to the radio and watching for fast-moving ships that might be overtaking them. He paced the small area, smoked one cigarette after another, and always looked to the rear. He saw and heard nothing unusual. Only when they were a half hour at sea did he take out a bottle of rice wine he was partial to and pass around drinks to the Chinese Navy captain of the ship and his executive officer.
“Due south?” the captain asked.
“Yes. Later we can change course to come to the Bosporus Strait.”
The captain tipped his second small glass of the wine and lifted his brows. “All goes well. You will be a hero of China.”
Chen’s face froze into a steel mask. “Not yet. We have a long way to go. We have the greatest prize any warship has ever won. We have the future of the Chinese nation’s place in history. We have fifty more nuclear warheads that we can retrofit and then use any way that we want to.
“They will give us flexibility. We have some nuclear weapons, but not as many as the Western nations believe. This will give us massive potential. They will fuel a power drive gobbling up nations and territories that no nation on earth will have the nerve to chall
enge.
“There will be no stopping this vessel in any port. We will go through the strait, then on into the Sea of Marmara and out the Dardanelles.
“Once in the Aegean Sea, we will be able to relax and to meet one other ship. We must avoid any suspicion by any government. We are an oily old rust bucket of a Chinese freighter making for the Suez Canal on our homeward trip. Nothing we do can alter that image. We are the future of China.
“We also saved the seventy-two million dollars we were to have paid for the stolen goods. We have sold one missile for another fifteen million. We will go down in Chinese history books as the key men in jolting China into the forefront of the world powers and in carving up the Far East in any fashion that China wants to.
“I make a toast, Captain, to China, the greatest nation on the face of the earth.”
“To China,” the captain and Chen said together. Then they drank.
When the rusty old freighter was fifty miles south of Odessa in the Black Sea, sailors from the ship held a short Buddhist funeral service and slipped the bodies of the three Special Forces men into the Black Sea. Chen watched. The bodies sank immediately. They were good men, good soldiers of China.
2
NAVSPECWARGRUP-ONE
Coronado, California
Senior Chief Will Dobler grinned as his eleven-year-old son, Charles, stared in wonder at the “0” course while a squad of tadpole SEALs scaled the walls and walked the logs and powered over the obstacles.
“Wow, Dad, I want to do that. Please?”
Dobler chuckled. “Not quite yet, mister. You’re not big enough to get halfway up that wall. When nobody is using it we’ll go out and you can give one of them a try.”
It was visitors’ day at the Navy SEALs training facility on the strand at the south side of Coronado, and the senior chief of Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven had his family on the tour. The Navy Special Warfare Section, Group One, was a secure facility. But the part of it that was the BUD/S training section and the home base for SEAL Teams One, Three, Five, and Seven was not actually a part of the secured area. It was a little more relaxed, and from time to time visitors were permitted to look over the training areas and the SEAL facilities.
Senior Chief Dobler’s wife, Nancy, and Helen, his fifteen-year-old daughter, were along as well. It was to be an all-day family outing. First the base, then a picnic and surfing and swimming down at the Silver Strand State Beach on the ocean side.
Gunner’s Mate Miguel Fernandez had brought his family along on this Sunday afternoon, and they’d teamed up for the tour. Maria Fernandez had been a help to Nancy, and now they were good friends.
At the fifty-foot-deep tower tank, Charles wanted to jump in, but his father gave him a curt no. The tank was little used now. The waterproofing of the tadpole SEALs was done in a new pool.
Helen had asked to stay in the car during the tour, but her mother had persuaded her to come. “We want you to know where your father works and what he does here,” she had said. Helen had pouted a little, but had gone along. She was tall, slender, and dark-haired like her mother. She had filled out during the past year, and Senior Chief Dobler had been worried about the boys who began to come to their house to talk to Helen. He knew they had more in mind than talking, and it bothered him. So far, no major problems.
The tour moved to SEAL Team Seven’s headquarters and the Third Platoon office. Jaybird Sterling sat behind one of the desks, working on his machinist’s mate specialty and getting ready for striking for first class. He stood as the civilians came in, then saw Senior Chief Dobler and relaxed.
The chief introduced his family and Maria and Linda Fernandez to Jaybird. While the chief told his family what he did in the office, Jaybird moved over beside Helen. Jaybird had felt his jaw drop in amazement when he saw the pretty girl.
She had to be eighteen, long dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful skin, and a face and figure that made him stop and look again. He grinned foolishly as he motioned to her.
“Hey, how do you like our digs?” Damn, what a stupid thing to say. She probably wouldn’t even look at him.
She turned and smiled, and Jaybird almost melted into a puddle on the floor. “Jaybird. Yes, I’ve heard Father talk about you. He wonders how you got your nickname.”
“That’s classified. Sorry. You like the tour?”
“First time I’ve been here. Seen a lot of the Navy, of course. Ever since I could walk and talk.”
Senior Chief Dobler looked at his daughter and frowned. He went on explaining what they did in the office. Then he looked at his daughter again.
“Jaybird, knock it off. I’m trying to talk up here.”
Jaybird waved, and looked at Helen and grinned. “I’ll get chewed out tomorrow,” he whispered.
Helen laughed softly, and her smile brightened. “I hear there’s a fish fry for the platoon coming up.”
“Yeah, someone is always having one. Oh, you would come. Yeah, I’ll look forward to it.”
“That would be nice. I haven’t made many friends here yet.”
“Hey, I’ll be your friend. Maybe I could call sometime.”
“Jaybird, I hope so.” Her smile was perfection.
Senior Chief Dobler growled at Helen as he led the group from the office. Jaybird stood watching. Helen was last to leave. She waved and gave him her best smile, then hurried out.
“Damn,” Jaybird said softly. Now there was a girl. She had to be eighteen. He could check on the chief’s personnel file. Hell, no. She was at least eighteen. He’d call her tonight and have a chat. The chief couldn’t object to that. Jaybird snorted. The chief damn well would if he knew about it. He must protect Helen like he was a Doberman pinscher without a leash.
Later that afternoon Jaybird went to a movie by himself, had a beer, then from the apartment he shared with two other SEALs, phoned Senior Chief Dobler’s home. Helen answered.
“Hi, this is Jaybird, hoped that you would be home. How was the swim?”
“Fine, but those breakers are so rough.”
“I could teach you how to duck under them.”
“That would be great. Only…”
Jaybird laughed. “Only your father wouldn’t let you anywhere near me in your swimsuit. Hey, if I were in his place, I’d probably do the same thing. You have a boyfriend?”
“No. We’ve only been here a short time. I hardly know anybody.”
“That will change. Are you out of school?”
“No. Soon.”
“You’ll probably go to college.”
“I hope to. Did you have any college?”
“Just a few courses. No chance now that I’m a SEAL.”
“Is it… do people shoot at you?”
He laughed. “Oh, yes. From time to time. But not when we’re on base or in training.”
“It must be hard. All that training. Then you go on the missions. Dad tells us a little about them, but not much. Mom goes out of the room when he starts talking about them.”
“Good idea. Then she won’t worry.” He wanted to ask her if she would worry about him when they went on a mission, but he couldn’t. “Hey, maybe we could go to a movie or something sometime.”
“Maybe. Dad doesn’t like me to go out on dates.”
“You have been on dates?”
“Sure, not a whole lot.”
“You ever go to the Coronado library?”
“Once or twice.”
“Maybe you could go there to research something and I could just happen to be there. Your dad wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“We could talk?”
“For hours we could talk. How about tomorrow night, about seven at the library?”
“Yes. I’ll be there. I better hang up. Bye, Jaybird.”
Jaybird said good-bye and sat there grinning. He hadn’t been so pumped up in years. A girl? He was getting this excited about a girl who was also the apple of the eye of his senior chief? He must be nuts. He laughed. Yeah, he was nuts, all r
ight, nuts about this little lady Helen. Right then he couldn’t wait for Sunday to end so he could wait for Monday night. If they had a night exercise or night training tomorrow, he was gonna kill somebody.
Monday came at last for Jaybird, and the training was easy, some classroom things about new weapons and then a ten-mile training run along the sand. He was tired, but so nervous he couldn’t spit, as he walked up to the Coronado library. He was ten minutes early.
Jaybird found a table with no one sitting at it in the far corner of the reading room. He picked a book off the shelf and pretended to read. When he looked up from the book for the twentieth time, Helen stood across the table from him. She watched him as she stood there smiling but with her arms folded protectively across her chest.
“You came,” she said, sliding into the chair opposite him. She reached out and touched his hand across the table. “I told Daddy that I wanted to bring home some mysteries. Let’s do that first, then we can talk.”
They found the mysteries, checked them out, then went back to the table and talked. Mostly she listened to him. He told her about his growing up in Oregon. She told him about moving from one Navy base to another. It was so comfortable, seemed so right to Jaybird. He’d never been this open with a girl before.
Helen looked at her watch. “Oh, dear. I have to be home by eight-thirty and it’s almost eight already.”
“I’ll walk you home, almost all the way. First, let’s look in the stacks.”
They went into the long rows of books and stood close. When nobody was in the row, she reached out quickly and kissed his lips, then came away.
She sighed, her smile radiant. “Oh, my,” she said softly.
He kissed her back and held it longer. They clung together.
“I think I love you, Jaybird,” Helen whispered to him.
“Oh, yeah, I feel the same way. But you’re my boss’s daughter and he would kill me if he could see us right now. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
3
Tripoli, Libya
Bloodstorm sts-13 Page 2