by Oliver North
“So who would do all CSG does if we are shut down?” asked James.
“Well,” Mack said with a shrug, “rightly or wrongly, they don’t have a lot of options. We don’t have the infrastructure in our military anymore. There are a few other contractors who can do some of what CSG does, but not all of it—and it would still take months for them to gear up. At least for now, CSG is the only company able to operate overseas, thanks to the UN Treaty on Small Arms.”
“Why do you say ‘for now’? Is that about to change?”
“I don’t know. My guess is they could challenge CSG’s exclusive license with TASER, but all this ‘contract review’ stuff is speculation and I want to stick to what we know for certain.”
“Okay,” said James. “What do we know for certain about my situation?”
“We know the president ordered DOJ to open an investigation on you. We know their premise is you were involved in what happened in Houston, in Marty Cohen’s disappearance, and had something to do with the death of Dr. Davis Long in Calgary. We know they have prepared an international BOLO for you; they intend to get a sealed indictment for your arrest and detention; they don’t know where you are and if they find you, they will come to get you.”
Caperton’s matter-of-fact recitation stunned Sarah and Elizabeth. Peter, trying to relieve the tension, patted James on the shoulder and said lightly, “That’s my boy.”
Sarah was not amused and asked, “But doesn’t that make us all accessories—even you?”
“Don’t worry about me, Sarah,” Caperton said with a smile. “I have a great lawyer at Williams & Connolly. More importantly, none of us—James included—has done anything wrong. That doesn’t mean this crowd in Washington won’t use all their power to crush whoever gets in their way. We just need to be smart about what we do, how we do it, and—if we can—try to rescue Marty Cohen.”
“Why are they doing this?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know and I don’t like to hypothesize, but a friend at the FBI told me the White House is desperate to find a scapegoat for the carnage in Houston and they don’t want the Caliph blamed for it.”
“But why James?”
“He’s a convenient target of opportunity. They know he was in Calgary when Dr. Long was killed. They know the Newman family has a long history of support for conservative causes and their political opponents. And everyone knows James’s congressional testimony in 2026 was a major embarrassment for the last administration—meaning this president’s now-deceased husband.”
“That was six years ago, Mack,” Sarah said. “What’s wrong with these people?”
Caperton shrugged and said quietly, “We also know our president has a well-earned reputation for vengeance against her late husband’s detractors. She is apparently willing to do anything necessary to get reelected. The Newman family is a thorn in her side, and if the terrible attack in Houston can be pinned on James, you’re all at risk. That’s why I suggested we get James to a safe place out of the country as soon as feasible and Elizabeth should remove all your PERTs—to make you harder to find.”
James sat bolt upright. “Mack, we talked about this yesterday. Lizzie can’t do that. If she’s caught, she’ll lose her medical license.”
“I’ve already done it for everyone here but you, brother dear,” Elizabeth said quietly. “And you’re next. I brought the necessary instruments, the topical anesthetic, and a vial of ECM powder. It won’t hurt at all.”
“What’s ECM?”
“Extracellular matrix. It’s commonly called regenerative tissue repair compound. It’s what they used on your wounds from Egypt and Afghanistan to expedite healing without scar tissue. That’s why you and so many others recover so quickly nowadays. ECM is genetically engineered from pig bladders. How much do you want to know about this?”
“That’s enough,” said James, waving his sister off. “But isn’t removing a PERT against the law?”
“No,” replied the senator. “Your children are all old enough to have received maximum benefit from the time-release nano-material in their baby PERTs, so it’s not contrary to the mandatory immunization statute. Removing an implanted PERT is a medical license issue, but we can deal with that if it ever comes up. And you’re not destroying your PERTs—that would be a violation of law.”
Caperton reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black leather pouch, then slid it across the table in front of James, saying, “We’re all keeping our PERTs with us as the law requires. And we’re storing them in things like these, just in case they are needed. They just happen to be lined with lead. Here’s one for you.”
“Yeah, I know what this is. It’s called an ‘Anark Amulet’ or a ‘PERT pouch.’ A lot of Anarks hang these things around their necks on a chain. So are we all Anarks now?”
“That’s up to you, James, but that’s how I keep from losing my PERT,” the senator replied, reaching under his shirt and pulling out a silver chain. Attached to it were a tiny metal fish and a small, metal, tube-shaped pendant less than a half inch long.
“Dad?” asked James, appealing for support. Peter reached beneath his shirt and pulled out his dog-tag chain with the same tiny fish and an identical pendant. Sarah and Elizabeth did so as well, except their chains were gold, with tiny jeweled lockets attached.
“We can get you one like this, if it makes you feel better, dear,” said Sarah.
“Okay, I give up,” said James, raising his hands in mock surrender. “At least I won’t have to walk around with this foil wrapped around my foot. But once my PERT is out, then what do we do?”
“Well, it is ultimately up to you, Sarah, and your dad,” Caperton replied. “I recommend we wait quietly for a while and see what else we can learn. I will head back to Washington tomorrow evening and keep my ear to the ground. Anything I learn, I will pass to you.”
“Mack, how secure are these SSCI PIDs?” James asked, holding his up.
“Only as secure as our government wants them to be. Criminal organizations and foreign governments have tried to break the encryption. Chinese hackers give it a go several times every day. To our knowledge they have never succeeded. But our own government is another matter. If someone high enough in our government decides to break the law and intercept communications from or to a member of the U.S. Congress, they can do it because they have the codes. If this crowd in Washington is desperate enough, they will.”
“Then how will we communicate?”
“While I’m here, we’re going to work out what you Marines call a backup plan. We’ll figure that out tonight.”
Peter had been silent for several minutes. He stretched and said, “Before we take a walk down the beach: Mack, tell the others what you told me about who may be holding Marty Cohen.”
“There are only four logical suspects: a criminal enterprise holding him for ransom, a criminal enterprise attempting to steal his fuel cell secrets, a foreign entity trying to keep his fuel cell from coming to market, or our own government for some nefarious purpose.”
James shook his head and said, “That covers just about everybody.”
“Perhaps, but we can probably eliminate some,” Caperton replied. “It’s not likely Marty is being held by an agency or individuals from inside our government, because an operation that big would have leaked by now. If it was simply an entity or a group trying to keep Marty’s secret from coming to market, he would have been killed in Houston—just as Dr. Long was murdered in Calgary. If it was for money, somebody—likely his wife, Julia—would have had a ransom demand by now.”
“So did the Caliph in Jerusalem commit the atrocity in Houston just to get Marty’s fuel cell secret?”
“I don’t know, James. I initially thought this had to be an operation launched out of the Caliphate—with or without the support of the Caliph—based on the DNA traces of the perpetrators, the number of suicide terrorists involved, the geographic reach, the brutality, and duration of it. After Houston we had the death of Dr. Lo
ng and then yesterday, also in Calgary, Steven Templeton was incapacitated and may not recover. They were Marty’s principal partners in the fuel cell project.”
“Do you have any new word on how our old classmate is doing and how this happened?” Peter asked.
“Officially, the Canadians are saying it was carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty furnace flue. They say his wife Jane is expected to recover, but Steven is still in a coma and his condition is ‘guarded.’ I have also been told by a person I trust—a member of ‘the Fellowship’—that the Templetons’ chimney was stuffed with fiberglass insulation.”
“If that’s true,” said James, “whoever is behind this has a lot of assets in place and it certainly seems to be bigger than anything the Latin American drug cartels could pull off. They spend most of their time shooting at each other and vying for the privilege of overthrowing the governments of Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras.”
“Well, they have nearly succeeded in that,” Caperton replied. “The cartels are practically running everything south of the Rio Grande. But I agree, this is beyond their capabilities. However, I no longer think this operation was launched by the Caliph.”
“Why? Everything seems to point in the direction of Jerusalem.”
“For that very reason. It’s too neat. As you said, everything points to the Caliphate: perpetrator DNA traces, multiple suicide bombers, international reach, and a motive—keeping the Cohen-Templeton-Long fuel cell out of production.”
“But why grab Admiral Cohen?” Elizabeth asked. “Whoever did this could have just killed him, Professor Templeton, and Dr. Long and kept the fuel cell off the market.”
“True,” said Caperton, nodding. “But you have to remember, the Cohen-Templeton-Long research team was committed to making their fuel cell technology available to anyone who wanted it—for free. They called it ‘North America’s Gift to the World,’ if I recall correctly. Now, who has the most to lose if that happens?”
“Every hydrocarbon fuel company on the planet—and every country relying on petrodollars to support their domestic economy,” Elizabeth replied.
“Right,” said Mack. “And that includes most of the countries in the Caliphate. But it’s pretty common knowledge ‘inside Washington’ that the administration cut a deal with the Caliph—no terror attacks or oil price hikes until after the elections. He has no reason to reverse course and risk all the funding he pockets from the U.S., the UN, the IMF, the EU, and the World Bank.”
“So who’s left that would or could do this?” asked Sarah.
Caperton continued. “There’s Russia, Iran, Venezuela, even Canada, Brazil, and Mexico. So now ask which of those places hates America the most—and has the most to gain from selling such a device.”
There was a moment of silence around the table and then Peter said, “Iran—and perhaps the Russians.”
“Right,” said Mack, nodding to his old roommate. “This is too big an operation to be run by one of the ‘evil capitalist companies’ the White House despises. It has to be run by a well-funded government entity—like the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps.”
“The IRGC?” Sarah asked, sitting bolt upright in her chair. “Isn’t that the group that sent people to kill James, our children, and me after those congressional hearings in 2026?”
“Yes,” said Peter. “The six individuals were officially in the U.S. as staff members of the Persian Students Committee in Maclean, Virginia. But the FBI Counterterrorism Division was convinced they were all part of an IRGC Quds Force sleeper cell. Since they got away, the connection was never—”
James interrupted his father. “Where does all this leave us, Mack?”
“Bottom line?” Caperton said. “My gut tells me this whole thing is an IRGC operation. But I can’t prove it. What we do know is, tomorrow the White House will announce the Houston attack and the Cohen kidnapping are part of an Anark-cartel cabal. What they won’t announce is last night the NSC sent out what’s called an all-source request for any new intelligence on Iran. Meanwhile, we seem to be the only people looking for Marty Cohen.”
“And after all this,” added Peter, “we still don’t know where he is and can only guess at who has him and why they took him.”
Caperton shook his head and said, “Right. We don’t know much for certain. I just hope our old Boat School roommate is not floating around in the Gulf of Mexico in the path of Hurricane Lucy.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THOSE IN PERIL ON THE SEA
ABOARD ILEANA ROSARIO
CAMPECHE BANK
21°24’06"N, 88°55’04"W
WEDNESDAY, 15 SEPTEMBER 2032
1500 HOURS, LOCAL
International law requires that every oceangoing vessel be equipped with a sufficient number of lifeboats and/or inflatable life rafts to accommodate all passengers and crew members. It’s been that way ever since the sinking of the RMS Titanic in 1912.
The International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea (SOLAS) and the International Life-Saving Appliance (LSA) Code specify the emergency equipment required to be carried on lifeboats and the schedule for how often the lifeboat and its equipment should be inspected or replaced. Enforcement of these rules is the responsibility of each signatory nation. The U.S. Coast Guard routinely inspects American and foreign-flagged vessels operating in U.S. ports and territorial waters to ensure compliance with SOLAS and LSA Code regulations.
A ship with the size and crew/passenger capacity of MV Ileana Rosario, operating in open ocean coastal zones, should be equipped with at least two six-person, self-inflatable lifeboats, packed in weatherproof, fiberglass containers. Lifeboats of this type are designed to be manually launched overboard by the crew or automatically deployed by a hydrostatic pressure-release mechanism if the vessel sinks. Regulations for inflatable emergency equipment require the crew to visually inspect all such gear weekly, send it to a certified inspection facility annually, and deployment-test it every six years.
In May 2015, the Ileana Rosario was detained in Key West, Florida, suspected of transporting cocaine from Cuba. The case was dismissed by a federal judge because the crew managed to dispose of the evidence in heavily weighted containers at sea before U.S. Coast Guardsmen boarded the ship. But the Coast Guard did cite the Venezuelan owners and hold the vessel for failing to comply with safety regulations. Before being granted permission to depart Key West, the ship was required to be outfitted with serviceable lifesaving equipment.
On 11 July 2015, a USCG officer duly reported, “All rescue equipment aboard Ileana Rosario has been inspected. Twenty-four new, USCG-certified, inflatable life vests are operable and correctly stowed. Three new, USCG-certified, six-man inflatable lifeboats are properly cradled in fiberglass containers, aft on the port and starboard rails and atop the bridge housing.” Since then, the Ileana Rosario avoided entering U.S. waters and undergoing inspections of any kind.
* * * *
Even before the captain’s breathless announcement that Ileana Rosario’s pumps had quit, Marty Cohen knew they were in serious trouble. From the sound of the howling wind, he estimated it was steady 40 knots with gusts to 50 or more. From the way the vessel was being tossed about, he sensed the seas were building. Though he could hear and feel the auxiliary engine still chugging away in the machinery space below, it was also evident from the way the vessel was wallowing through the crests and troughs of the waves that if they took on too much water, they were in danger of foundering.
About an hour after Ahmad-Vargas departed with the captain, Cohen was startled by the noise and tremor of a dreadful crash that reverberated through the entire ship. He thought for a few seconds they might have run aground or collided with another vessel but noticed they continued to pitch and yaw through the roiling sea.
Less than ten minutes after the terrible noise, Ahmad-Vargas reappeared in the cabin accompanied by one of his fellow kidnappers. Both were soaking wet from the wind-driven spray and rain that followed them through the hatch. Stan
ding in front of Cohen, and bracing himself against the bulkhead, Ahmad said, “You told me you were in many storms in your navy. That was true?”
“Yes.”
“You know what to do in a storm?”
Cohen shrugged and said, “Yes.”
“Then you come with me now.”
Ahmad instructed his accomplice to unlock the shackles holding Cohen’s arm and leg. As this was being done, the kidnapper-in-chief said, “We are going to the bridge. The captain is afraid we are going to sink. Are you afraid?”
“No. But we may sink anyway,” Cohen replied as he stood, unfettered for the first time in four days. Suddenly the deck dropped away beneath them and all three men collapsed in a heap as the ship pitched into a trough.
Ahmad scrambled to his feet, grabbed Cohen by the collar of his filthy exercise suit, and hoisted him, saying, “Be careful, Jew.”
The kidnapper then reached into one of the metal lockers secured to the bulkhead, pulled out a rubber foul-weather jacket and an inflatable life vest, handed them to Cohen, and ordered, “Put these on and follow me.”
When Ahmad opened the hatch, Cohen got his first glimpse of the Ileana Rosario’s exterior. They were one level above the weather deck, and his worst thoughts about the condition of the vessel were immediately confirmed. There was rust everywhere—to include the violently pitching steel catwalk on which they were standing—about eight feet above and fifteen feet forward of the stern rail.
In the lee of the wheelhouse, clinging to a rusty metal handrail welded to the superstructure, Cohen tried to get his bearings. Peering from beneath the hood of his jacket, he saw what caused the horrendous crash he heard and felt. The ship’s thirty-foot mast, bent and twisted, had crushed the starboard rail when it fell. The shrouds—four steel cables that once held the mast in place atop the pilothouse—were lethal whips thrashing wildly in the wind.
It took them nearly five minutes, sliding hand over hand along the rusty metal handrail, to make their way to the starboard side of the vessel, beneath the mangled mast, forward and up the open stairway to the enclosed pilothouse. There, to Cohen’s dismay, they found only the captain, seated in an antique, deck-mounted leather bridge chair, and a terrified helmsman standing behind the wheel.