"Had plenty of opportunities to work with those gentlemen, Carl. I just hope they don't hold it against me. Oh, Sid, Jim, have either of you discovered any pattern to all this?"
Conklin answered, "The only pattern I see so far is the incidents have only affected enlisted men -- no chiefs or officers."
"Same for me, Admiral," Edmunds commented. "It sounds like the 'pusher' was specifically targeting men below E-7. That's pure guess on my part, but I don't have any other explanation."
Conklin ran a hand over his hair, commenting, "The younger crowd who wants to experiment, or those who think they need 'help' completing their duties. But it might be the direction we need to go for further investigation."
The phone rang. Every officer in the room locked his eyes on it. XO Justine answered. The conversation was very brief, and as he cradled the receiver, the expression on his face was positive proof of more bad news. "Petty Officer Helmon just died."
Torrinson lost his composure and pounded a fist on the table. "Dammit!" He lowered his head and quietly muttered, "All young men." He looked toward Conklin. "Jim, I assume the bodies have been stored in the 'chill' room."
"Yes, sir."
"If this were a time of war, we would bury them at sea. But it isn't, so we must do what's necessary, respecting those men and their families."
"Admiral, if you're thinking we need to fly them off the ship soon, a chopper can transport them to Diego Garcia. It's the closest base from our current position. From there a transport can take them to the States."
"It'd be best if we did, Jim."
"I'll make arrangements, then notify the families when those arrangements are finalized." Conklin shifted in his chair. "Admiral, what about the men in sickbay? Do you want to send them to the hospital in Subic?"
"Let's have Doc Palmer make that decision."
XO Justine had just sat down when the phone rang again. Everyone remained quiet, keeping their eyes on the XO. "Say again?!" He spun around, facing the men at the table. "Very well." He hung up, then quietly said, "Petty Officer Jacob Ahrens failed to report for his watch this morning. They just found one of his dog tags near the fantail."
"Holy Christ!" Conklin slowly shook his head, staring at his XO.
"There's more, sir," Justine said. "He left a note hidden under his pillow. He said he was sorry, but he didn't know this would happen."
"That's it?!" Torrinson asked, rubbing his hands briskly together.
"Yes, sir, except, he was a storekeeper."
"Supply," Edmunds commented. "I guess we know who our dealer was." But then he thought about the sailor who committed suicide. "I guess there's not much chance he could still be alive, floating out there somewhere."
XO Justine replied matter of factly, "If he went off the fantail, the churning of the screws would've sucked him under in a heartbeat. If he survived that, he wouldn't stand much of a chance being out there any length of time -- or survive whatever else was swimming around."
"Jesus! What a way to die," Edmunds commented quietly.
"I'll order a search and rescue chopper to head out now," Conklin said, as he rolled his chair back, then went to the phone. "We have to at least try."
"I hate to add this to the uncertainties already 'on the table,'" Torrinson began, "but why are we only considering there's one dealer? Or, were you all thinking the same?" Heads bobbing up and down proved the men agreed.
"He, or they could've hidden the supply anywhere," Edmunds commented, "and even if Petty Officer Ahrens wasn't working alone, he could've dumped it before jumping. It's not likely he let anyone know of his . . . intentions."
Torrinson agreed. "True, but it's possible he didn't have time to trash all of it."
"If anything came in during replenishment or on a COD, the hangar bay could've been the quickest place to stash the goods. I could start searching there," Edmunds said. "A few extra men should make the search go quicker."
Conklin came back to the table. "I'll see that it happens, Sid."
Torrinson looked at his watch again. "Hmm. Twenty-three hundred in D.C." He rolled his chair away from the table. "Unless there's anything else, gentlemen, it's time for me to wake up Vice Admiral Gamble, then he can send the data up the chain of command. Washington will have the responsibility of deciding when and if information is released to the outside world. In the meantime, we've all got work to do."
Chapter 3
Oval Office
White House
Washington, D.C.
0800 Local Time
President Andrew Carr read the report one last time, then placed it inside a folder. He leaned against the black leather swivel hair, as he smoothed down his blue and gold checkered tie. The incidents aboard the USS Preston set the intelligence community on its ear, and yet, none of the major networks had reported anything. He'd been down to the Situation Room, looking at the news, and questioned the men in the National Security Council room (Watch Room). Even they hadn't seen or heard any civilian reports coming out of the Pacific. Nothing. Absolutely nothing had reached the press or civilian population. But a verbal "lockdown" went into effect almost immediately aboard every ship under Admiral Torrinson's flag.
"Possible terrorism," he mumbled. "Christ!"
A knock at his door, then it opened. His secretary, Rachel Jacobsen, announced, "Mr. President, everyone is here. Shall I send them in?"
"Please, Rachel." He picked up the folder then walked across the Oval Office, dropping the folder on the coffee table. As he stood in front of his rocking chair, he mulled over the information he had, as the morning meeting attendees walked in.
"Morning, gentlemen," Carr said, motioning with a hand. "Have a seat."
Vice President Evan Forbes, SecDef Jerry Daniels, National Security Advisor Stan Hillman, General Trevor Prescott (NSA), and CIA Director Ray Simmons filed into the room. Simmons, 58 years old, had been the director for less than three months, assuming the position after Director Hank Bancroft and Deputy Director George Platt were asked to resign by the President.
Forbes and Hillman adjusted two wing chairs near the end of the coffee table then sat down, while the other three men sat on the two couches on either side of the coffee table. Files were removed from briefcases.
Carr rocked back and forth. "You've all been briefed, but let me start by saying as of twenty minutes ago the Watch Room still hadn't seen reports or heard any leaks. Amazingly, nothing's come across the news media about this. Have you heard anything, Stan?"
"No, sir. But I'd like to suggest that we consider putting something out there before we're 'caught with our pants down.' The media will be all over us once they get wind of the situation."
"I agree," Forbes said. "We can schedule a press conference whenever you're ready, Mr. President."
"All right," Carr answered. "I'll have Tom draw up a press release when we're done here." Carr motioned toward SecDef Daniels. "Jerry, I know you spoke with Bart (SecNav Barton Oliver) last night. Why don't you fill us in?"
Daniels opened a folder. "The last report from Admiral Torrinson indicated eight sailors were dead, four were in critical condition, and, I might add, their chances for complete recovery weren't looking good. There was one sailor who had been unaccounted for, but they found a dog tag near the stern and a note on his bunk. The note intimated he was probably the dealer on board. No word if there are any others."
"Are they assuming he jumped overboard?! Committed suicide?!" V.P. Forbes asked, astonished.
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Vice President. A search and rescue chopper was dispatched, but they never found him."
Forbes slumped back against the couch. "My God!"
Carr slowly shook his head. "Has there been any definitive answer what specific drug caused those incidents, Jerry?"
"The NIS agent and the doctor aboard the carrier were waiting for results and feedback from the DEA. I put a call through to the Agency directing that I be contacted first. What I can tell you is that all the symptoms and react
ions were the same, which should mean the same type drug was taken by each man."
Carr took a slow, deep breath. "How? Needles?"
"Doesn't appear to be the delivery method of choice. They either swallowed it whole, or crushed it. Three of the men had some residue in their nostrils."
A knock at the door, then it opened. "Excuse me, Mr. President," Rachel said, "but there's a call for Secretary Daniels on one."
Five minutes later, Daniels hung up. "Well, DEA has identified the drug." He sat on the couch, looking at his notes. "It's something called 'yaba' and appears to have started in the 'Golden Triangle' of Burma, Laos, and Thailand." He detailed the ingredients, the simplicity, and low cost of production. "This stuff's being sold in Bangkok for as little as $3 a pill."
"Affordable for the masses," Forbes commented.
"It's spreading like wildfire, and not just in Asia, I'm afraid," Daniels said. "Reports are it's in Australia and the U.K."
Carr formed his hands like a teepee, tapping his fingers against his mouth. "Did you give the go ahead for DEA to contact the Preston?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right." Carr turned to Prescott. "General, does the NSA have anything to report from that side of the world?"
Prescott opened a folder, with a stack of black and white images inside. "The NRO (National Reconnaissance Office) went back through a month's worth of sat images and recorded air traffic." He tapped a finger on the images. "Now, we were assuming any shipments from the Golden Triangle departed by aircraft. So, NRO weeded out brief transmissions from private planes, any that were in the area of the carrier, and transmitting anywhere near Subic Bay, Diego Garcia, and Manila." He sorted through intel paperwork and the images, finally handing two images to Carr. "With the information Secretary Daniels just relayed to us, I think we can narrow down our search, Mr. President. The first photo is of Burma. We were looking for either private airports, or anything that remotely resembled an airstrip. The first pass by the satellite showed what could be a small airfield. Now, take a look at the next photo, showing the same airfield."
Carr drew the photo closer. "A plane."
"Yes, sir."
"General," V.P. Forbes interrupted, "are you saying that out of those three countries, and all the possible airstrips, you weeded out that particular place?"
"I was about to ask the same question, Evan," Carr said, as he looked again at Prescott. "Should we consider ourselves lucky in finding this, Trevor? I mean, what are the odds?"
"Well, I can't give you the odds, but I can tell you that plane was tracked from that location to Brunei, then another stop before reaching Subic. The pilot spoke English. We didn't pick up any call sign or identification number, but NRO is examining the photos, trying to determine the type of aircraft. I don't know if they can get a tail number, but they're working on it."
"Ray," Carr said, looking at Simmons, "what about CIA? Have you intercepted anything that could give us more?"
"I think General Prescott will agree with me, Mr. President, when I say that until a few days ago chatter seemed to be limited to a very few. But transmissions picked up recently between possible parties could indicate plans were underway.
"Our listening post in Manila zeroed in on transmissions about the same timeframe as NSA, and from the same general area." Simmons picked up the airfield image showing the coordinates, then checked his paper. "These coordinates are pretty damn close."
"What are you comparing, Ray?" Carr asked, wrinkling his brow.
Simmons held the image toward Carr, circling a small area with his finger. "There was a recent transmission from here."
While Carr looked at the sat image, Prescott thumbed through additional images. He withdrew two that showed a larger area near the airfield. "Excuse me, but you might take a look at these." He passed one to Carr. "There's a waterway just west of the airfield. Now if you look closely, you can just distinguish what appear to be houses along the water."
Carr glanced at Prescott, and then Simmons. "You really think this is where the drugs might be coming from?"
"I can't say for sure," Simmons answered, "if they're being produced there, but those places are in a fairly remote location where any illegal activity might be going on. And with it being right near that airfield, well . . . " He put the folder on the coffee table, then stood. "Mr. President, would it be all right if I made a quick call?"
"Sure, Ray," Carr replied, motioning toward his desk.
Five minutes later, Simmons rejoined the group and sat down. "Sorry for the delay, but there was something about that waterway I wanted to check."
"What'd you find out, Ray?" Carr asked.
"Transmissions. They were always brief, and they originated from those coordinates. Most went to Bangkok but also to different locations within Burma, and even Manila. Could be a possible trail."
"Does that mean the odds have turned in our favor, Ray?" Carr asked, with a hint of a smile showing.
"Very possible, sir."
"Bangkok," Prescott mumbled.
"What about Bangkok?" Carr asked, reaching for a glass of water on the coffee table.
"We intercepted a transmission from Bangkok. What made it interesting was it was directed to the Philippines, a place called 'Olongapo' which is across the harbor from Cubi Point and Subic."
"Near the base," Carr commented quietly. "Do we know who might be involved?"
"Possibly, sir. Director Simmons can fill you in."
Simmons handed a paper to Carr. "Olongapo is one of the places where the PNA has a small group assigned."
"Jesus! I know they've wanted us out of Cubi and Subic, but do you think they're actually involved in this?!"
"Let me put it this way, Mr. President -- we're listening a helluva lot more closely now," Simmons replied. He started shuffling through papers, lifted one, then ran a finger along the page.
"What are you looking for, Ray?"
"Something I read. Here it is. We've all been going back through earlier transmissions. Now, I don't know if this will add to that trail but not long ago transmissions were going back and forth between Olongapo and Saigon. Those transmissions were always brief. They never used any codes that we could detect. They were more like general conversations, confirmations." He handed the paper to Carr. "Then they suddenly stopped, but as you can see, the transmissions picked up again, only this time, between Saigon and Bangkok. Those eventually went quiet."
Carr continued perusing the report, as he asked, "What the hell does it mean, Ray?"
"Well, it's possible the PNA was preparing to set up a location in Bangkok. And knowing how they operate, it's possible they were buying weapons from the black market in Vietnam. Only a theory, sir."
"Any idea if they transported weapons back to the P.I.?"
Simmons shook his head. "If they did, it had to be by cargo ship. I could have an agent in Manila try to make inquiries. Records could be examined, but that would be extremely time-consuming. Our best option, sir, is to keep listening. The next time there's a transmission, we might be able to triangulate the location."
Carr handed the paper back to Simmons. "There's a helluva lot going on, gentlemen. I'm not sure if we should be concerned about those weapons for now. It's the drug that's doing great harm to our men. But the PNA, or whoever initiated this atrocity, had to expect it to be a 'one-time shot' only." Carr shook his head. "One time. Did they actually have the audacity to think they'd wipe out an entire crew?! No. It doesn't make sense. I can't believe they're planning to use this method of attacking again."
"Maybe it was a warning," SecDef Daniels suggested.
"And what would that warning be, Jerry?" Carr asked, with an angry tone.
"I'm sure they realized that out of the thousands of men on board, there would be those already 'hooked' and were willing to risk it. Maybe it was their way of saying this could happen any time. What if users were in ordnance? Or fuel? What if calculations for setting 'traps' were wrong?" (Arresting cables for landi
ngs were adjusted for every plane's weight and speed.)
"Okay. Okay, Jerry," Carr finally said, holding up his hand. "I think we get it."
"The consequences could have been disastrous, Mr. President."
Carr got up and walked to the window behind his desk, with all eyes following him. He rested a hand on the window frame, as his eyes followed drops of rain running down the glass.
"Mr. President," Secretary Daniels called.
"Yes, Jerry?"
"If you're thinking about sending in a team . . ."
Carr turned around, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. "I'm thinking along those lines."
"Well, to make your decision somewhat easier, word is that Admiral Torrinson had made a suggestion."
Carr responded with a hint of a smile. "The name 'Grant Stevens' wasn't the suggestion, was it, Jerry?"
"It was. I guess the time the two of them worked together at NIS carried over. What do you think, sir?"
"You know," Carr said walking back to the middle of the room, "every time those men have been called, they've accepted the mission. But they've already started moving forward with their training facility, so I don't know if that'll make any difference in the response." He lowered his eyes, then quietly commented, "Sending anyone over there with the little we know is undoubtedly extremely risky."
He stood next to his rocker, looking into the eyes of each man, as he drew in a deep breath. "When we're done here, I'll call Jim Maclin at State. His man can contact Captain Stevens, and see if Alpha Tango is willing to accept.
"If there's nothing else, gentlemen, we'll consider the meeting over." As everyone started for the door, Carr called, "Stan, ask Rachel to have Tom come in. We'll work on that press release."
Chapter 4
Skiatook Lake
Northwest of Tulsa, Oklahoma
1115 Hours - Local Time
Gentle rolling hills, covered with blackjack oaks, white oaks, and interspersed with tall prairie grass, surrounded Skiatook Lake. The 10,500 acre man-made lake was accentuated by steep picturesque bluffs. An abundance of bass, crappie, channel catfish, and several species of sunfish made it one of the best sport fishing lakes around.
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