by Tom Carroll
“Are you going to chew me out for not supporting your idea, Mr. Secretary?”
Colt Garrett smiled at his old friend. “Not at all, Steve. I asked for your honest opinion, and that’s what you gave me. But have a gut feeling about that island, and I need to confirm it, one way or the other. If I’m wrong, and we waste the SISTINE BEACON time, the president may appoint you as secretary, effective tomorrow!”
Steve Holmes ended the video call and thought to himself, I hope not.
Undisclosed Safehouse, Seoul, South Korea
Colonel Chang was thinking back to his childhood. He and his friends would meet on Saturday afternoons to play cowboys and Indians, mimicking the American westerns they liked to watch on his uncle’s television set. It didn’t matter then on which side you played, although being an Indian meant you could tie up any cowboys that were captured during the game. In those days, the boys used small pieces of twine to secure their captives. They were much easier to break than the firm leather straps which now bound his hands behind his back.
Worse than being bound, was the fact that his hands were also tied to a hook and rope that were threaded through a pully secured to the room’s ceiling. As the rope had been tightened, it lifted him several feet off the floor, swinging him back and forth like a limp rag doll on a string. The pain he had initially felt in his shoulders as he was lifted off the floor hours earlier had ceased, replaced by the brutal and relentless beating being inflicted on him by two of General Cho’s associates. He suspected they were former ROK marines, dismissed from the service for some serious, violent offense, but he couldn’t identify them, though, due to the black hoods that covered their heads. The steel rods they were using to strike Chang’s torso, legs, and genitals had broken countless bones and torn his flesh. He wondered if he would die before the actual interrogation began. He started to hope he would.
Just as the colonel felt he was about to lose consciousness, a door opened at the end of the darkroom. General Cho entered and pulled up a chair. He looked at Chang bound tightly and swinging slowly from the ceiling and he saw blood dripping from the man’s battered body onto the cement floor.
“So, Chang, what can you tell me about the young woman who shares your bed in exchange for our state secrets? She must be extremely skilled to be able to convince a man of your dedication and patriotism to dishonor himself and turn traitor against his country — and our beloved marine corps.”
Chang lifted his bloody head slightly and looked at the general with his one eye that would open.
“General, believe me,” he uttered weakly, blood trickling from his lips. “I had no idea. I thought she loved me.”
General Cho looked back at the beaten man with disgust. “Why would a pretty, young woman such as Kang Ji-woo take you into her bed? Did you really believe your colonel’s uniform would blind a woman to your age and appearance? You are a fool and a traitor, and I have no use for either!”
Colonel Chang suddenly realized the general had arranged his beating as a punishment rather than as an interrogation. His exciting love affair with Ji-woo had been nothing more than a ruse to get information from him. Now, most likely, he would never leave this room alive.
He was still thinking of Ji-woo as a heavy steel rod came down and crushed his skull.
Forward on the Flight Deck, the Reagan
As the massive aircraft carrier plowed its way through the icy cold sea, its flight deck raised and fell in rhythm with the ocean swell. No matter the size of the ship, every vessel that sailed felt the effect of the waves. Colt and his son Dan stood at the forward edge of the flight deck, directly over where the ship’s bow was cutting through the water, while the ever-present Anna DeSantis stood a few paces back, watching over the secretary.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I was on the Eisenhower in the Mediterranean in the 80s?” Colt asked Dan. “We were steaming at max speed to the eastern Med to support the evacuation of one of our embassies, and Ike was the only ship that could get there in time.”
Dan Garrett had heard the story more times than he could count, but he enjoyed watching his father retell it because he always seemed to be re-energized by the vivid memory from his days in the Navy, so many years ago.
“I think I remember something about it, Dad. Wasn’t it about how fast the ship was going?”
Colt exclaimed, “Yes! That’s right! I was standing right about here with the admiral, and we were going so fast that we could lean forward and not fall over. We spread our arms out wide, and our flight jackets became our wings. The admiral leaned so far forward, I was afraid he was going to go right over the bow and down into the sea!”
Colt extended his arms and started to lean forward, but Dan grabbed him just as he seemed to lose his footing. “Let’s not tempt fate, okay?” Dan offered.
“I guess we were going faster than we are now,” Colt laughed.
“Or maybe you weighed a little less!” Dan teased.
Colt glanced around and walked over to a young Sailor who was wearing a sound-powered headset and microphone.
“Sailor, are you the lookout? Are you talking with the bridge right now?”
“Yes, sir,” the lookout said. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Colt leaned close to the Sailor and said, “Tell them this.”
The Navigation Bridge, the Reagan
Captain Johrita Solari was enjoying her tour as commanding officer of one of America’s eleven nuclear-powered aircraft carriers. The path that led her to the chair she now occupied began over 20 years earlier at Annapolis. One of the very first women to attend the Naval Academy, Johrita had learned how to successfully navigate what previously had been a man’s world. Her bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering from the academy, followed by a master’s in operations research at the Naval War College in Newport, provided a solid foundation for a series of challenging assignments and eventually, her command of an E-2C Hawkeye squadron. Her selection for deep-draft command and eventual command of this ship marked her as one of the Navy’s very best, and certain for promotion to rear admiral.
And what a ship this was: The Reagan could go wherever and whenever Captain Solari desired, with unlimited range. Powered by two Westinghouse A4W nuclear reactors with four steam turbine engines driving four shafts connected to four bronze propellers, the Reagan could easily steam at more than the published 30 knots. 260,000 shaft horsepower was available to the captain at a moment’s notice.
Hearing some commotion, Captain Solari looked forward through the bridge windows and noticed a growing number of Sailors gathering at the ship’s bow. She asked the officer of the deck to find out what was going on. What looked like almost 50 people had assembled at the bow, and she was becoming concerned that someone had been injured.
The officer of the deck soon reported, “Captain, apparently the secretary of defense is down there, bending forward and leaning into the wind. He says he used to do it when he was a junior officer.”
Captain Solari looked back down at the crowd on the bow and smiled. Since the day Secretary Garrett had come aboard, the ship’s routine had somehow changed. His impromptu visit to the mess decks and later his weapons qualification participation demonstrated that he enjoyed interacting with the crew, something Solari didn’t expect from such a senior DOD official. On the other hand, Admiral Carlisle clearly was not pleased with the arrangement. After all, he had been booted from the prestigious flag cabin. For days, Carlisle had been wandering the ship like a lost dog in search of a place to lick his wounds until Garrett would finally leave for D.C.
“And Captain, you’re not going to believe this, but the bow lookout says that Secretary Garrett wants you to increase the ship’s speed. He wants to see if he can lean further into the wind!”
Captain Solari stared back at her officer of the deck, and then belted out a laugh so loud the bridge team thought she had hurt herself. “Well, mister, I guess you better do what he asked. I’m just thankful he doesn’t want to
go water skiing!”
With that, Captain Solari climbed down from her chair. “If anybody needs me,” she said, “I’ll be on the bow trying to see how far I can lean into the wind!”
Schriever Air Force Base, Colorado Springs, Colorado
Master Sergeant Margaret Pulrang stared at the monitor as it tracked the progress of SISTINE BEACON scanning a remote island off the coast of South Korea for the specific signature of a biological weapon. Master Sergeant Pulrang had served for more than 20 years in the Air Force and loved her work at the 50th Space Wing, which was responsible for the operation of more than 180 Department of Defense satellites. There was continued speculation that the 50th would be absorbed into the new Space Force. In fact, some of her fellow airmen were already wearing different versions of a Space Force patch on their civilian clothes. Air Force, Space Force, or wherever the 50th Space Wing ended up, Master Sergeant Pulrang wanted more than anything else to keep working on her favorite program, SISTINE BEACON.
The revised tasking had the system searching a small island in the Sea of Japan named Ulleungdo. Margaret suspected this was just another routine test of the system’s capabilities. She had just refilled her coffee cup and returned to her workstation when her monitor suddenly began flashing the message, SUSPECTED CONTACT. Margaret pushed the coffee cup aside and typed in a series of codes to intensify the search in the contact area so the system could more precisely determine the location of the device. When she was certain of the contact’s accuracy and location, Margaret pressed four digits on her desk phone and announced, “Watch Officer, this is Sergeant Pulrang. SISTINE BEACON has a confirmed contact. I’m forwarding you the report as we speak.”
Secure Video Conference Room, the Reagan
Colt was out of breath from his unplanned sprint from the ship’s bow to the video conference room. Anna had told him that Steve Holmes was waiting to speak with him and had good news. He had just sat down when Lenny appeared at the conference room door dressed in work-out gear. Lenny explained when he saw the surprised look on Colt’s face, “I was working out when I heard Steve was waiting for us, and I didn’t have time to change.”
Colt turned on the conference system and said, “No problem, Lenny! It’s just that I had no idea you ever worked out!”
Steve Holmes appeared on the video screen and announced, “You were right, boss! SISTINE BEACON has detected a significant signature on Ulleungdo Island that approximates what we’d expect from nine Anthrax warheads. The warheads appear to be located in an old weapons magazine that the Japanese built when they occupied the island in the 40s. The location is not very isolated. I gather that the population has grown dramatically through the years since the island started becoming a tourist destination. What was once a secluded spot is now the middle of a city. Michelle Walker has redirected her CIA team to gather everything we will need to develop recovery options. I’ve asked the Joint Staff to have recommendations ready for us first thing tomorrow morning, your time. I think it’s going to be a late night for some people!”
Colt slammed his fist on the table and shouted, “Outstanding! Have you told the president yet?”
“I just briefed him, Mr. Secretary, and he asked me to pass his congratulations on to you. Looks like you get to keep your job for a while! And when you have the opportunity, General Schmidt would like to speak with you. He feels he might have been a bit disrespectful and wants to apologize.”
“Just tell him to forget about it, Steve — I already have. Let’s focus all our efforts on getting those damn warheads back!”
Secure Video Conference Room, the Reagan
Steve Holmes looked tired, and Colt was anything but surprised. Steve had most likely not slept in a day or two, and sleep was also something that wasn’t likely to happen for anyone else, at least not for the next two days.
The secretary of defense and his special assistant Lenny Wilson were seated at the same table as the day before, in front of the large video screen on which they could see and communicate with Colt’s deputy, Steve Holmes, and General Schmidt, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “Well, gentlemen, what are we looking at?” asked Colt.
General Schmidt began, “Sir, before we start, I’d like to apologize to you for my comments at yesterday’s meeting. I hadn’t considered your background as an analyst, and on reflection, I was acting as if I was responding to questions from oversight staff, instead of the secretary of defense. Your assessment of President Kim’s conversation and actions was spot on, and we’re only in the position of developing warhead recovery options because you pressed forward.”
“Thank you, General,” Colt replied. “I sincerely appreciate that. Let’s schedule some time together after I return to D.C. — I’d like to get to know you better and to get your perspective on defense force realignment and the president’s defense appropriation. But now, I’m eager to hear about your plans to recovery those biological weapons.”
General Schmidt looked relieved after hearing Colt’s comments, and he was glad he wouldn’t need to submit the resignation he had prepared hours earlier and was now in his vest pocket.
“Mr. Secretary,” the general began, “we’ve developed four alternatives for your consideration. With your approval, I’ll walk you through each one, listing positives and negatives.”
Colt nodded his head and reached for his pen and notepad.
“Go ahead, General.”
“Option one is simply to do nothing. The advantages and disadvantages are obvious. There is no risk whatsoever, but it means the weapons remain out of our control. We realize option one isn’t really viable, but we feel we should keep it on the table as we consider the other actions.”
Colt was familiar with military plans including the option of not taking any action at all. It was a prudent practice that reminded decision-makers that the lack of action was sometimes the best alternative.
“Thank you, General. Please proceed.”
“Sir, option two is a Tomahawk cruise missile strike on the munitions magazine where the warheads are being stored. In this option, the biological agent would be incinerated. The primary advantages of option two are that no U.S. forces are in danger, and it has a relatively high degree of mission success. The primary disadvantage of option two is the likelihood of collateral damage to nearby buildings and to South Korean nationals.”
“By damage to South Korean nationals, do you mean injury and death?” Lenny Wilson asked.
“Yes, Mr. Wilson, I most certainly mean death.” General Schmidt glanced at Steve Holmes and then continued.
“Option three is an insertion of a special operations team with Explosive Ordnance Demolition (EOD) specialists, possibly by small boat, to covertly gain access to the munitions magazine and then incinerate the warheads with conventional explosives before the team’s extraction. We like this option because it limits damage to just the munitions magazine itself. Disadvantages are the increased risk to our people on the ground, plus we’d lose the ability to deny our involvement — a big hole in the ground is a hard thing to explain. We’d also likely run the risk of severly injuring South Koreans in the process.”
“And that leaves us with option number four,” said Colt.
“Yes, sir, option four. This scenario has us inserting a special operations/EOD team via parachute and have them gain access to and custody of the warheads, render them safe and then remove them from the island. Option four definitely puts our people at risk, but if executed successfully, it would allow us to not only plausibly deny our involvement in the warheads removal but ultimately, the fact that they were ever stolen in the first place.”
“How would our people get the warheads off of the island? Those things must weight a ton.” Lenny was sensing that option four would be the preferred plan, but he wanted to be sure it was feasible.
General Schmidt responded. “The insertion team would use either boats or helicopters to remove the weapons and then get them back to us. If Secretary Garrett select
s option four as our primary scenario, the planners and operators would work through the details of the plan and apprise the secretary before seeking final approval.”
“I understand that, General,” Colt interjected, “but you must have some preliminary thoughts regarding the actual removal process. The plan’s success hinges on that central element.”
“Mr. Secretary,” Steve Holmes said, “I’d like to let the planners continue to flesh this out and then get back to us with their conclusion. We’d just be guessing at this point if we try to be any more specific.”
“Is that it for now?” Colt asked.
“I’m concerned about one other matter,” Steve added. “I understand that Admiral Carlisle has a news team onboard Reagan at this moment. No matter what we eventually decide to do, the Reagan will be involved. We’ll have to take the news team’s presence into account if we expect to plausibly deny our involvement.”
“Good point, Mr. Holmes,” General Schmidt responded. I’ll make certain the operations security plan includes a cover story to explain any Reagan operations associated with the weapons recovery.”
“Okay,” Colt agreed. “Go ahead with further development of option four. Let me know when I can hear more details, and what the force package will look like. After we finish this call, I’ll contact the president to get his approval to execute the operation. Nice work, gentlemen. Thank you.”
After pushing the button on the control panel to end the call, Colt turned to Lenny, “Lenny, contact the White House to schedule a call with the president. And let Commander Robinson know I’ll meet him in my cabin in ten minutes.”
Defense Secretary Cabin, the Reagan
Commander Tom Robinson felt slightly intimidated in the cabin of the United States secretary of defense. This wasn’t something he was accustomed to doing. Raised in the small town of Kalispell, Montana, Tom preferred to remain out of the spotlight and had developed a reputation as a quiet and highly competent professional Naval officer.