"My main concern now is that he'll be more susceptible to infections. Doc Palmer probably told you the same thing, sir, and well, that could become a problem -- for him and us. The Team has to depend on everyone." Grant ran a hand across his face. "It might be best. His kid needs him."
"You planning to have a discussion with him?"
"I have to." Grant put the coffee cup on a side table, then abruptly stood, unable to stay still any longer, wanting to get the mission underway. Hooking his thumbs in his back pockets, with his eyes downcast, he started pacing.
Torrinson put an arm out, blocking his path. "Grant."
"Yes, sir?"
The locking of the square jaw, grinding of teeth, were a sight Torrinson was very familiar with. "You know you've got to wait for more information before you even think about going back out there." A knock at the door. "Come!"
Conklin rushed in. "Sorry, Admiral."
"Problem resolved, Jim?"
"Yes, sir."
"And none too soon. I thought Grant was about to explode."
Conklin looked at Grant, then Adler. "Before we get started, Admiral, there are two things I'd like to report. Doc Palmer said the only injuries the kids suffered were bumps, superficial cuts, and bruises. They're somewhat undernourished, and for now all he can do is give them vitamins and get some food and milk into them. The nurses outfitted them in the smallest size pants and T-shirts they could find.
"We contacted Family Services in Subic Bay for advice, since there's no way to tell where their families are, or even if they're alive. As soon as arrangements are finalized, we'll fly them to Subic by either chopper or the next COD."
"All right, Jim. What's the second thing?"
"One of Captain Stevens' men turned in a tin containing pills. They were red in color, not orange, but were analyzed anyway." He looked toward Grant. "I hate to tell you, but those didn't have the ingredients that our men ingested."
Grant went rigid, pounding a fist against his thigh. "Goddammit! The whole mission was useless?! A waste?!"
Silence in the room, until Conklin asked, "Did you find anything else?"
Grant didn't immediately respond, as the mission flashed through his mind, until he heard Torrinson's voice. "Grant!"
"Sir?"
"Jim asked . . ."
"Oh, right. Sorry. Ken said he saw a pill-making machine, and in the back of the room was a stash of ingredients. That was another reason the places exploded so violently. Chemicals. As far as evidence, well, just about everything was either blown all to hell, or went to the bottom of the river." Then, a thought came to mind, and he commented, "Just because those killer pills weren't in that tin doesn't mean they weren't produced there earlier, right?"
Conklin nodded. "Possibly."
"Maybe the red ones were for distribution among the local population. He couldn't take the chance of having locals dying."
Adler added, "His business would go right down the shit-strainer."
"Right, Joe."
Conklin tapped a finger against his mouth. "So you think the bad ones had already been shipped to Subic?"
"Like you said, it's possible, but unless we find the bastard, or get his connection in Subic, I can't see us proving it."
"Captain Conklin, did anyone question the kids?" Adler asked. "I mean, they must've heard names mentioned."
"They were quite traumatized, and justifiably so. Getting anything from them was a struggle, especially since it was determined they were originally from some out of the way villages up north. We had one of our stewards try to communicate with them but he only got two names: Myint and Hawk. We assume the 'Hawk' was a code name. Those poor kids experienced a lot of trauma in their young lives."
"They were treated like slaves," Grant said quietly.
Torrinson turned his attention again to Grant. "Okay, Grant. Start from the beginning."
"Well, sir, the mission was going just as planned." Grant sat down, then continued outlining the op, right up until the unknown chopper attacked. "Bad luck, sir, it was freakin' bad luck, and bad timing." He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs, rubbing his hands together. "The bastards in that chopper couldn't have known we were there. They were on the hunt . . . just like us."
"Any idea why or who, Grant?" Torrinson asked.
Grant shook his head. "It could be like any other drug operation, sir. Things go bad. Somebody gets ripped off. Somebody wants revenge."
"What about the supplier? Think he was there?"
Grant leaned back. "The guys my men 'took out' were definitely guards. Another guy on deck was Burmese, just like the others, but I don't think he was our guy. Anybody wielding the size of machete he had was possibly someone who handled the kids, and saw to it that production stayed on schedule.
"I did get a quick glimpse of a baseball cap and a pack of Tiparillos in our target shack but didn't have time to grab either one. They had to be the supplier's. He missed his appointment with us, but unlike us, he had one helluva lucky day."
"What about the chopper? Any identifiable markings?" Torrinson inquired.
"We all recognized the sound. It was definitely a Huey, but Mike was the only one who had the longest 'eyes on.' No markings." Grant went quiet.
"As a side note, sir," Adler began, "Mike said he managed to get off a round. He blasted the gunner. The bastard may have pulled the trigger but his brains . . . Well, you know, sir."
"Understood, Joe."
"Mike also took out the guy with the Uzi. According to him, there were only three others left in that chopper -- the pilot, co-pilot and a passenger."
"Anything recognizable about those men, Joe?"
"Don't think that was brought up, sir. I'll check with Mike."
Grant focused his eyes on Conklin. "Captain, I assume no messages have been received for us regarding this op?"
Conklin shook his head. "Nothing. Do you need to use the radio room?"
"Thanks, but don't think so. Lieutenant Ormond gave us permission to use their equipment."
"Very well."
Torrinson swallowed a last mouthful of coffee. "What do you have in mind, Grant?"
"Well, sir, I'm sure CIA and NSA still have their 'eyes and ears' focused on this part of the world. My thought is they may have picked up something from the unknown chopper. And second, the aircraft that was in the sat image near the shacks had to have flown from and to someplace else. It had to refuel."
"Was it at the airfield?"
Grant shook his head. "Don't know. We didn't have time for a recon. If a satellite made a pass just prior, maybe that question could be answered. Now that we've got the name 'Hawk' as an identifier, maybe the techs can review past transmissions. My contact can add that to his list."
"As an update," Torrinson said, "Sid and his search team haven't found any more drugs on board. Now, whether that means the ship is 'clean' is yet to be seen, but I highly doubt it."
Grant commented, "I know Sid's been working his ass off, but there are a million hiding places on board. Small packs of tins could be scattered all over the place. It might be an impossible task, sir. I guess no one's come forward reporting where or how they bought the pills?"
Conklin replied, "We believe once that young man went overboard, and word spread about his death, users and possibly other dealers decided to 'clam up.' As you probably know, snitches don't go over real well aboard ship. Thankfully, there haven't been any more incidents."
"I assume NIS will continue questioning?" Grant asked, looking at Torrinson.
"That's the plan."
"And still no other ships have been affected?"
"No."
Conklin started pushing his chair back. "Admiral, if we're done here, I'd like to get back to the bridge."
"Sure, Jim. Go ahead."
Grant and Adler stood, shook hands with Conklin, then he left.
Torrinson folded his arms across his chest, as he stood in front of both men. A look on Grant's face meant the "wheels" were
spinning. "Okay, Grant. Out with it."
"Well, sir, two things. The first has to do with those shacks. Joe and I are speculating an American was running the operation. We don't think his contact in Subic was Asian. He had to be another Westerner."
"And this is leading where?"
"Except for being popular in Southeast Asia, that drug came out of nowhere. There's the possibility you've had users on board from the first day you pulled into Subic.
"Petty Officer Ahrens could've been out on the town with some buddies, gotten shit-faced, and mouthed off about long hours aboard ship. He was overheard. Sales began."
Torrinson rubbed his chin in thought. "Then why didn't the killer pills start taking their toll at that time?"
"That's the second thing, sir. We've gotta go back to those transmissions intercepted earlier from the PNA. We might have to consider there's someone on board who's working for, or is a sympathizer of the group."
"You're serious?!" Grant nodded. "Just tell me how the hell you came up with the idea. Was it something from your past life as an intelligence officer for you to reach such a conclusion?"
"Probably," Grant smiled. "We think a person or persons already had a contact in Subic. Plans were completed ahead of time, so further communication wouldn't be necessary. He or they would go about daily shipboard life as usual."
"And?"
"Captain Conklin mentioned that one of the stewards tried translating for those kids."
Torrinson lowered his head as he let the idea roll around, then he looked up. "Are you specifically saying it might be one of the Filipinos?"
"We are, sir."
"So, you're intimating there's more than one contact in Subic?!"
"Yes, sir."
"Is this one of your 'grasping at straws' things?"
"Sounds that way, doesn't it?"
"I shouldn't be surprised," Torrinson replied with a slight shake of his head.
Grant continued, "You've got Filipinos on board who are not just stewards, but enlisted as well. Are any of them storekeepers or mail clerks?"
"I'm sure there are, but as soon as we're through here, I'll make inquiries to find out specifics. You've both certainly offered up a helluva lot to consider. Now, I almost hate to ask, but is there anything else?"
"Not at this time," Grant laughed.
"Very well. Now, confirm for me that you're both feeling okay, and you're prepared to continue this mission."
"We are, sir," the two men answered simultaneously.
"And your men?"
"They are," Grant answered.
"I don't know why I even bothered asking. All right, gentlemen. You're dismissed. Now get the hell out of here."
The two men snapped to attention, and saluted. "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Without another word, they turned smartly, and left.
Torrinson smiled to himself, "You're right, Grant. Nothing's changed."
Real Admiral John Torrinson went behind his desk, and stood there quietly, looking toward the door. It was the first time since he'd been aboard the carrier that he actually missed his other life -- Chief of NIS.
Chapter 15
USS Preston
EOD Locker
A WTD, with a deep sea diving helmet and two crossed bombs stenciled in black, designated the EOD Locker, located in the aft part of the hangar bay, one level below the flight deck. The 10 x 18 compartment had four bunk beds, along with a small 'head' and shower. All the diving gear and 'tools of the trade' were securely locked inside. Gear was methodically arranged inside the compact room, always ready on a moment's notice. Spare parts, assorted safing pins for the ship's ordnance, and various tools were stored in small bins. A row of metal trunks, stacked high, were against one side of the locker. A built-in safe held top secret documentation. Communications gear was arranged on the desk: radio, headphones, satellite uplink transmitter, and walkie-talkies placed in their chargers.
Lieutenant Ormond and Senior Chief Vance stood a few feet away from the steel door, closed, but not completely dogged down. Seeing the SEALs approaching, Ormond stepped forward offering his hand. "Captain Stevens?"
"Good to meet you, Lieutenant. Appreciate your allowing us to enter your 'sanctuary.'"
"Our pleasure, sir," Ormond smiled, as he reached for Adler's hand. "Always willing to help you SEALs."
Grant turned toward Vance. "Senior Chief."
"Sir."
Grant looked toward his men. "These are the other members of the Team."
"We never travel without them!" Adler chuckled.
"Good to meet you all," Ormond said, acknowledging the men with a nod.
"Can I assume it's okay for them to join us inside?" Grant asked.
"Affirmative, sir."
While Vance opened the door, Ormond walked with Grant and Adler. "If scuttlebutt's correct, you're both familiar with the Preston and our locker."
"Joe already told you he did a tour on board," Grant replied. "I, well, I just made a brief visit. Mind if we leave it at that?"
"Understood, sir." Ormond motioned with a hand. "There you go. It's all yours. Petty Officer Styles will be outside if you need anything. The rest of us will be on the flight deck."
A.T. followed Grant and Adler into the locker. The door clanged shut behind them. The men pretty much knew what this room contained. Curiosity wasn't an issue. They were here for one reason.
"Everything's still the same," Adler commented, as he perused the room. He sat on the edge of a bunk, and laid his cap upside down next to him.
Grant dropped a manila envelope on the desk, then slid a chair closer. He removed the sat images from the envelope, and spread them out, ready for a Q&A with Mullins. As he picked up the headphones, he glanced at Adler. "Having another one of your déjàvu moments?"
"Hope not. Last time here was none too pleasant."
"True, but we accomplished a helluva lot using this space, Joe, and pretty much undetected."
"Yeah, but there were plenty of conversations and incidents that . . ." He waved a hand. "Never mind."
"Aww, c'mon, LT," James chided. "You can tell us."
"Later," Adler answered, with a wave of his hand, then he immediately turned to Novak. "Hey, Mike. Was there anything recognizable about those bastards on the chopper?"
"Mostly saw just the back of their heads, LT, except for the 'Uzi' guy, and I'd probably say he was Asian."
Adler and Grant looked at one another. Maybe they were on the right trail.
Grant and Mullins had been on the call for nearly twenty minutes, with Grant mostly answering Mullins' questions about the Huey's attack. The White House would want details. Finally, Grant got the conversation moving forward. "Okay, Scott, here are a couple of suggestions for CIA and NSA."
"Fire away," Mullins answered, tearing off the top paper of the legal pad.
"They need to specifically listen for communication from that chopper. You've got the timeframe. I take it they haven't found a tail number for the plane."
"No, but they determined it was an O-2 Skymaster."
Grant swiveled the chair around, repeating to A.T, "A Skymaster."
"Vietnam plane," Slade said.
"Scott, that plane was flown in Vietnam. Some of them could've been left in country after we pulled out. Tracing it might be a dead end if it ended up on the black market. A tail number would help, but I don't see anyway in hell to trace it, plus, it could've been changed.
"But that sonofabitch had to have had it refueled. A gas station wasn't anywhere near those shacks, and being an unusual looking aircraft, somebody had to remember it. I'll brief Sid. Maybe his guy in Subic can start some inquiries."
"You don't think there might be more than one, do you?"
Grant glanced at Adler. "One plane, right?" Adler gave a thumb's up.
"Just one, Scott. Transferring cargo might not only take time, but it could draw attention."
"See what you mean. Do you think a sat image could've detected it in Subic?"
"
Possible, but it didn't necessarily have to land in that immediate area. Might be a helluva job finding it." Grant glanced at his watch, saying mostly to himself, "The satellite should be making another pass soon."
"Listen, where the hell should I contact you? You said you're in the EOD locker."
"We don't plan on staying here, and EOD isn't always available, so send an 'eyes only' message to the ship's radio room."
"Will do. How long will you be on board?"
"We can't leave until we have some direction."
"Don't forget about those two names," Adler said as he picked up a sat image.
"Oh, right. Scott, we've got a couple of names: Myint, that's M-y-i-n-t, and Hawk. I doubt there'll be anything on the Burmese name, but maybe 'Hawk' was in one of the transmissions. Hate to say it, but that could be a code name for an American."
"Jesus, Grant!"
"It's a real possibility, Scott, considering the cigars and ball cap I . . ." Silence.
"Grant?"
"Scott, wait one." Grant leaned his head back, and closed his eyes, trying to visualize the ball cap, trying to zero in on words or a word.
Adler and the men watched and waited for Grant to sort through pictures in his mind. Finally they saw the smile. Identification complete.
Grant blurted out, "FUBAR! How many foreigners know that word?"
Mullins scribbled a note, commenting, "Not a helluva lot, I expect. Any possibility the hat was found, or maybe used for a trade?"
"Anything's possible, but I'm betting he's American."
"It's something, anyway."
"Okay, Scott. I know it's gonna take time for the sat images to be examined, so maybe somebody can . . ."
"Wait!" Adler interrupted, shaking an index finger at Grant. "Okay, I might be really reaching here, but if he is American, and considering drugs . . ."
"DEA?"
Adler nodded. "Yeah. Why the hell not?!"
"Nice work, 'Sherlock'!" Grant laughed. "Scott, you heard that. The DEA."
"That really might be reaching!"
"Look, we haven't had many, but this could be a real lead. I could ask Sid to make inquiries, but I hate to spook anybody. You'll have faster, better luck on your end anyway. See what you can find."
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