by Jan Coffey
Looking at Amy’s file, Sarah was reminded of what was missing in her own relationship with Darius. Even when their romance had been in bloom, she knew that he was looking forward to leaving the navy someday, moving into some three bedroom suburb, having half a dozen kids, and just spending time with them. He was looking for the kind of life he had growing up. Family mattered to him. A lot. The relationship he had with his siblings and his parents was unlike anything she ever had with her own.
He’d never popped the question with her. She didn’t think he’d ever even come close to proposing.
Sarah hadn’t been ready for that back then, anyway. Her career was on the move. She enjoyed the challenge of the job, the lifestyle. She wasn’t sure she would be ready for marriage now, either.
Across the table, she looked at the picture of the young women.
“I’m not accusing her of masterminding this operation,” Sarah said reasonably. “What I do believe is that there had to be some serious coordination involved to have the right players at the right places for this hijacking. She could have served a function at the EB end of things, and that was why she happened to be on board at the precise time Hartford left the dock.”
“What do you mean, ‘the right players in the right places’?”
“The most obvious is the X.O., Lieutenant Commander Parker,” she told him. “I find it extremely coincidental that a parked U-Haul truck should roll down the street and smash into his front door at three in the morning, resulting in McCann being called, in order for Parker to leave the ship.”
She saw Dunn scribble Parker’s name at the bottom of a long list he was keeping on a legal pad.
“Whoever is behind this wanted McCann there for the reasons that Admiral Meisner already listed. They also wanted a navigation officer and someone in maneuvering, and—”
“You’re implicating the entire crew. Basically, what you’re saying is that the hijackers wanted specific members of Hartford’s crew there, and these men are cooperating.”
She sat back, feeling frustrated. “No, what I’m trying to say is that there had to be someone knowledgeable enough to run the reactor and the engine room and fire a torpedo with accuracy. That means the hijackers have successfully gotten the right people on board. Now, as far as whether they’re cooperating or not, your guess is as good as mine.”
Dunn tapped his pen on the pad a couple of times. “I agree with your hypothesis regarding McCann. He is their key to arming any nuclear warheads, not that they can’t do plenty of damage with the conventional weapons they’re carrying.” Dunn thought about that for a second. “And I agree with your idea about the accident in front of Parker’s house. It looks as phony as a televised town meeting.”
Sarah was pleased that he was listening.
“I’ll even go so far as to question why Paul Cavallaro was left on board that sub.” He reached for the navigation officer’s file and opened it up in front of Sarah. He pulled out a copy of the rejection report that was left at the NAVSEA office in the shipyard. “It was his call that brought Hartford back to EB.”
She looked at the document. Darius’s signature was also on that piece of paper, but she didn’t want to go there. In her mind, McCann was one hundred percent innocent. She was going to be smart enough to keep that opinion to herself.
“At this point, it’s too big a stretch for me to believe every other person on that boat was put there for a purpose. Amy Russell, specifically, was only given the assignment the night before. She had specific qualifications that made her right for the job, but could have been one of several ship supers. In addition, Russell was only scheduled to be going aboard at 0600 with a crew and not before. No, I think she surprised them. I think she was in the wrong place at a wrong time.”
“And Darius McCann would never have escorted her aboard Hartford if he thought something was about to happen,” Sarah asserted.
Dunn scratched his chin and nodded gravely. “Unfortunately, if our assumptions are correct, then she’s of no use to them.”
“Which means…” she paused.
“Which means,” he continued grimly, “there would be no reason for the hijackers to keep her alive.”
He closed Amy Russell’s file folder and slid it across the table. As the file came to a stop, a sheet of paper protruded from the file.
Sarah glanced at the heading as she pushed the paper back into the folder. She’d read the information on that sheet. It pertained to the woman’s personal life and referred to her children. An unexpected sharp pang ran through her.
“Do you know if anything has been done about seeing after her twins?” she asked.
“We had the locals and the Family Services people pick them up.” He looked at her intently. “We wanted to bring them in before the sharks got to them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the media.”
She hadn’t considered that. The media was already all over this. Her thoughts shifted to Darius’s parents. They’d be in the Keys this time of the year.
“How about Commander McCann’s family? Has anyone been in touch with them?”
He nodded curtly and looked away. He was avoiding eye contact.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He paused before looking back at her. “I don’t know the details. But I received a text message about an ambulance being dispatched to the house.”
“Harry?”
“No. Mrs. McCann, Darius’s mother.”
~~~~
Chapter 21
White House Oval Office
9:00 a.m.
The hour-long meeting in the Situation Room with the Secretary of State, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of Homeland Security and a number of chief advisors had given President Hawkins all the information he needed. Now he knew exactly what he had to say.
The earlier news conference held at the Sub Base in Groton had only whetted the media’s—and the nation’s—appetite. In a prepared statement, the navy spokesperson had told the country only that a submarine had left the Electric Boat Shipyard ahead of schedule. The damage to the Coast Guard cutter and the New London Ledge lighthouse were under investigation. In the statement, no fatalities had been reported and no mention was made of any threat. There was also no mention of a hijacking.
Minutes after, however, the terror alert was raised to the highest level, and the public was repeatedly given the statement that the president would be speaking to them shortly. In the meantime, everyone should be observant but should go about their business as they normally would.
Now it was up to Will Hawkins to show them that calm heads were in control of the country. This was not going to be an ordinary briefing. The White House leaked word that the speech writers were taking a back seat on this one. The President would address the nation and tell them the truth—to the extent that he could without creating mass hysteria.
An impossible task, the president thought as he half listened to his aides remind him of last minute details. The director of the camera crew started his countdown. Fifteen seconds to air.
Hawkins downed half the cup of scalding coffee and handed it to an assistant to be taken away. He looked down at the notes he’d rewritten on a piece of paper. He glanced up at the door, behind the camera crew. His campaign manager, Bob Fortier, had just slipped into the room. He received a reassuring nod from him.
The director pointed at the president, gesturing to him that they were live in three seconds. Two. One.
“Good morning, my fellow Americans. Once again, our way of life is today being threatened by terrorist actions. One of our most powerful weapons of war, the fast attack submarine USS Hartford, has been hijacked from a pier on the Thames River in Groton, Connecticut. The nuclear powered Hartford is equipped with Tomahawk cruise missiles, vertical launch system missiles, and MK48 torpedoes.”
Hawkins paused, to make sure the significance of this registered with the audience. He’d been advised to make no mention of nu
clear warheads, since there was a possibility that the hijackers might not be aware of them. Even now, the president considered telling them. He told his cabinet that he believed the people of this country had the right to know the extent of the danger they were exposed to. He told them that he believed the hijackers knew a lot more than his intelligence advisors were giving them credit for. Hartford was hand-picked for this disaster. He’d let the country know when it was necessary.
“Of the regular crew of 121 enlisted and thirteen officers, only two officers and eight enlisted remain aboard. In addition to those, a member of Electric Boat Shipyard management is on board the submarine. At this time we have no information about their safety. We are concerned about their well-being, as we are concerned for the safety of others.”
He accepted a piece of paper that was handed to him by an aide. He glanced at it and put it down.
“As your president, I am not only concerned about those brave sailors and that innocent civilian. My fellow Americans, this hijacking of a powerful weapon in our arsenal of freedom represents a direct attack on our nation. I cannot express this clearly enough. The United States of America is under attack.
“At the present time, Hartford is traveling at the speed of approximately 15 knots in a westerly direction beneath the surface of Long Island Sound. Yes, the submarine is headed toward New York City. But the people of that great city and its boroughs aren’t the only ones in danger. Each of the VLS weapons on Hartford is capable of traveling 1300 miles and hitting targets with an accuracy of a bulls eye the size of a picture window.
“And what is within range? In short, every major metropolitan area and every nuclear power plant east of the Mississippi are within striking distance. Even as I sit here in the White House, my advisors tell me that Washington, DC, is a prime target for the terrorists’ missiles.”
Hawkins briefly looked down at his notes and then looked steadily into the camera, talking to each individual viewer.
“I’d like to remember now a clear, bright September morning in 2001, when hijacked airliners were flown into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and would have undoubtedly struck another target, were it not for the courage of a few Americans in the skies over Pennsylvania. I’d like to remember now the horrible images of fires burning, structures collapsing. I’d like us all to remember the thousands of lives that were lost.
“That said, I want all my fellow Americans to know that we’re doing everything possible to stop another act of mass murder before it occurs.”
He leaned forward in the seat, his voice rising.
“First of all, we will retake that submarine or destroy it before it can do harm to our cities, our towns, our people, or our democratic way of life. To that purpose, I have ordered the entire Atlantic Fleet in pursuit of USS Hartford. I have also ordered the immediate implementation of our nation’s emergency response plans. Our emergency teams are already in place in Boston, New York City, Philadelphia, and Washington, to help direct the orderly evacuation of those cities. Because of the dangers that exist in having a nuclear reactor in the hands of untrained personnel, state and local law enforcement agencies have also been mobilized to help our citizens vacate the areas on either side of the Long Island Sound.”
“Our two-prong goal right now is to stop any attack by these madmen and to take every precaution to protect Americans at home and around the world.”
“Despite the dangers we are facing at this very moment, I have ordered—under the provisions of the Homeland Security Act—that the government continue to function without interruption. Federal agencies in Washington are all open and will remain open. Though I am ordering the New York stock exchanges to remain closed today, the nation’s banks and businesses will remain open as usual. We will not allow these barbarians to succeed in disrupting our lives.”
The president knew this was more rhetorical than true, but he needed to present a forcefully positive outlook on the situation.
“In the meantime, the search is underway for the identities of those men or nations who are responsible for this evil act. I am directing the full resources of our intelligence and law enforcement communities to find and bring to justice these faceless jackals. I promise you that these men will not remain faceless for long. I also promise you that we will make no distinction between the terrorists who are involved with this act and those who have funded or harbored them.”
He sat up straighter, tried to brighten his expression. “On behalf of the American people, I want to thank the many world leaders who have called to offer their assistance this morning. As always, America stands shoulder to shoulder with our friends and allies in the ongoing war against terrorism.”
In a perfect world, he thought, Americans would be aware of any threat against them before the rest of the world even had a hint of a problem. But they weren’t living in a perfect world.
“Standing before you this morning and informing you that we are facing such a threat is not a pleasant duty. Nonetheless, with the clear and decisive plan of action that I have just laid out, we will move forward to meet this threat head-on.”
Hawkins spoke fiercely into the camera. “You who are right now listening aboard the USS Hartford, you who have chosen to bring your evil to our door, you will soon feel the full weight of American might. Surrender now, or prepare to pay fully for your actions.”
Hawkins took a breath and then spoke again in a civil voice.
“My fellow Americans, over the past four years I have worked tirelessly to make America strong and respected in the world. As your president, I come before you this morning prepared to fulfill my sworn duty now, as well. America has faced down its enemies before, and we will do it again this time. No one can stop us from moving forward in our defense of freedom and all that is good and just in our world.”
He nodded, without smiling.
“Thank you. And God bless America.”
The cameras stopped. The president sat back as one of the production assistants rushed over to disconnect the microphone from his tie. An aide handed him another scalding cup of black coffee.
Hawkins’ chief of staff stepped over to tell him that Rear Admiral Joseph Smith was on the line for him from the Pentagon.
The president answered the phone on his desk. “What do you have, Joe?”
“They’re talking. We have an official demand from Hartford.”
~~~~
Chapter 22
USS Hartford
9:10 a.m.
There was no safe hiding place where he could leave her on the submarine. Right now, the key to their survival was to keep moving. After Rivera and the other man who’d been working with him in the torpedo room ran past the crew’s quarters, McCann realized that Amy should indeed stay with him.
The two men were undoubtedly heading for the ship’s office, and McCann momentarily considered trying to surprise the two from behind, but then decided against it. He couldn’t risk a shootout with Amy on his heels. Not with the possibility of other hijackers coming to help. They’d be caught in a cross fire with nowhere to hide.
Now, however, they had to keep moving.
“They might be trying to fix the wiring I cut up there,” Amy whispered when he motioned for her to climb out of the bunk.
She looked wild-eyed and a little frightened. But she was holding up surprisingly well.
“We can’t worry about that now.” He looked her over. She had taken off her vest back in the ship’s office. The sleeves of her green flannel shirt were rolled up. He looked down at her steel-toed boots. “You’ve got to change those. They’ll be too noisy.”
“Change into what?”
“Check in the lockers, quietly. You might find a pair of sneakers that fit. If not, go barefoot.”
As she went searching the lockers, McCann looked out again. All was quiet in the passageway. He considered the officer’s wardroom. In it, one of the ship’s Multi-Function Display terminals was mounted on the outboard bulkhead. The unit, w
hich was tied into the BSY-1 combat system, showed current data on position, course, speed, heading, and depth of Hartford. The device also had different modes, including a new closed loop video hookup that showed views of strategically important spots throughout the ship. The purpose of the MFD system was for the officers to know the boat’s status even when they were away from the control room. He had an identical MFD unit in his cabin.
He could use that now.
Though it was impossible, McCann would have liked to get up to his cabin. His safe contained classified documents that should be destroyed, but also additional weapons. Even taking up a position in the officer’s wardroom was indefensible. He’d be in worse shape there than they were in the ship’s office.
There were a total of eight MFDs around the ship. He needed to access one of them, but it had to be one that was in a less obvious place. At the same time, they had to be really careful not to be caught on one of the small surveillance cameras providing images into the system.
“A size too big, but I think they’ll do.”
She was holding a pair of soft-soled sneakers. He saw her sit down on the edge of a bunk and pull off her work boots.
Seconds later, two others came along the passageway, also going forward toward the ship’s office. Hearing them come past, McCann waited behind the door, weapon drawn, ready to kill whoever poked their head in.
As the hijackers continued along, he turned to Amy. “Hurry up.”
Her face was pale with strain, but she quickly pulled on the second sneaker and laced it tight.
Whoever was running this show must be short-handed, McCann thought. There hadn’t been any kind of thorough search on this level, which meant the men they have must be needed to operate the ship. That was definitely one point in the good guys’ favor.