by Tom Carroll
“Colonel, I mean that every radar on the island is down. The screens just show interference noise, and there is nothing we can do to get the picture back!”
The colonel looked at each radar display to confirm what the young staff sergeant had just reported. “Have you reset the system and checked the data feed? It does not make sense that all our radars are down simultaneously.”
“Yes, sir, I checked everything, including the system reset. The communications center has attempted to contact Ulleungdo Island with no success. It looks like some sort of active jamming. Even landline communications are down.”
“Landline comms cannot be jammed! What the hell is going on?”
ROK Marine Corps Weapons Magazine Annex, Ulleungdo Island
Two young Korean marines were seated at a small table inside the weapons magazine annex, playing cards to pass the time. At three o’clock in the morning, they were playing Mighty, a game invented by Korean students in the 1970s and still popular on both sides of the Korean border. At regular intervals during their four-hour security watch, the two marines would take turns walking down the long corridor to the main gate, checking in with the sentry, and then returning back to the table next to the magazine’s large vault door. The duty was boring, but experience had taught the two young men that this was preferable to other tasks that might bring them to the attention of the company’s first sergeant, a man with a low threshold for error who took immense pleasure in finding creative ways to punish those who didn’t meet his standards. On one occasion, for example, he had made one of the company’s marines clean the parade grounds with a leaf blower — during a hurricane.
“Lance Corporal, I believe it is your turn to deal,” replied the private, a young man who had been in the marines less than a year.
“Thank you, Private, I believe you are correct,” said the more experienced marine as all the lights in the corridor abruptly went dark. He felt for the telephone on the desk and lifted the handset to his ear. “The phone is dead, too,” said the lance corporal. “Grab the flashlight from the gear bag, and we will walk to the gate to see what is happening.” Suddenly, a loud explosion rocked the entire enclosed space as a bright flash of light momentarily blinded the two marines. Both felt their heads crack before losing consciousness.
When they awoke, the two young South Korean marines found themselves sitting on the floor of the weapons magazine, their hands zip-tied behind their backs, their feet zip-tied together, and their backs propped against the wall facing the large vault door. The private opened his mouth to speak, but the lance corporal whispered, “Say nothing!” The surreal site before them appeared to be a team of ROK marines wearing special camouflage uniforms and black balaclavas hiding their faces, silently removing several large and obviously heavy containers from behind the vault’s doors which had been blown open with some type of explosive charges. Hushed phrases in Korean were being spoken, but the acoustics of the vault and corridor made the words unintelligible.
The men were removing the last of the heavy containers when one pulled his black hood off to speak into a radio. Although the two marines couldn’t make out what he was saying, they could clearly see he was Korean. As the mysterious warriors were about to leave the vault, one leaned down close to the lance corporal and whispered, “You are lucky this was only a training exercise. If this was for real, you would be dead! Be well, my brother!” The hooded man then cut the zip ties on both of the marines and ran out of the corridor toward the main gate. The two dazed guards looked at one another and then slowly stood up, thankful to be alive.
“We should follow them, but not too closely,” said the lance corporal. The two marines carefully walked through the darkened corridor to the main gate, where they saw several ROK Marine trucks leaving the compound. Next to the gate and tied to the chain-link fence was the gate sentry, who had also been gagged. After freeing their fellow marine, the three ran down the road to find a working telephone.
Sadong-ri Community Hospital, Ulleungdo Island
When the hospital lost electrical power in the early morning hours, the only person who noticed was the elderly guard sitting in the small security shelter near the hospital’s entrance. Power outages were common on the island, and since the hospital had reduced its services to only out-patient care during normal business hours, the hospital no longer made use of its emergency generator. About an hour after the power went out, the guard heard the sound of approaching helicopters and was amazed to see two large twin-rotor military helicopters land on the hospital’s helipad, which had been constructed to provide airlift services from the hospital to the mainland for island residents requiring advanced or emergency medical care. Heavily armed men then stepped out of the aircraft and established a perimeter around the helicopters as the blades continued to turn. Soon, several military trucks arrived at the helipad and parked close to the aircraft. The guard left his position in the security shelter and approached the scene of all the activity when a soldier in a camouflage uniform and a black hood over his face stepped forward and extended his hand. Speaking Korean, he said, “Please excuse our noisy machines, Grandfather, as we are conducting a military exercise. We will be gone in just a few minutes.”
The security guard stood motionless, watching the soldiers carry large boxes up the loading ramp and into the fuselage of one helicopter, and then gather their equipment and weapons and board the other aircraft. The helicopters’ blades began spinning faster and faster until both machines lifted into the air and disappeared into the night sky. The guard removed his notebook from his jacket and wrote down the words he saw on the sides of both helicopters: REPUBLIC OF KOREA ARMY.
U.S. Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni, Japan
As the two Chinook helicopters touched down, a group of people wearing civilian clothes waited nearby. Jim Farrell and his team of SEALs descended the leading Chinook’s ramp and walked over to meet the team and their trucks.
“I’m Master Chief Farrell. Which one of you is Ms. Becker?”
A woman in a dark business suit extended her hand. “I’m Judith Becker, and it’s good to meet you, Master Chief. I understand you have some items I can take off your hands.”
“Yes, ma’am. First, though, can you show me your identification?”
Dr. Judith Becker handed the battle-tested SEAL her credentials, which identified her as an employee of the Centers for Disease Control and Protection (CDC) Global Response Team. Master Chief Farrell handed the credentials back to the infectious disease specialist and said, “Looks good, Doc. Just being careful.”
“Being careful is critical in this business. So, how would you like to conduct the weapons transfer?”
“As soon as your team can unload these and check them out, we’ll count them together before you sign the custody document. We wouldn’t want to make any mistakes!”
Ms. Becker smiled. “Good point, Master Chief,” she agreed. “Oh, there’s some beer for you and your team in the back of that Suburban, after you complete decontamination.”
Primary Flight Control (Pri-Fly), the Reagan
Dawn was just breaking to the east as Colt Garrett searched the sky above and behind the massive aircraft carrier while it turned into the wind in preparation for aircraft recovery. He stood on an open-air platform known as Vulture’s Row, affectionately named because it was here that both crew and visitors could gather to watch the launch and recovery of the ship’s aircraft. Unable to see any sign of the approaching planes, Colt stepped forward into Pri-Fly, a small room located seven stories above the flight deck, where a group of Sailors tracked every aircraft, both on the flight deck and in the air. Their primary responsibility was to ensure that all aircraft would take off and land safely.
Colt was met by two officers wearing yellow flight deck jerseys that had, respectively, “Air Boss” and “Mini Boss” stenciled on their chests. The two senior aviators both held the rank of commander and were more correctly known as the air officer and assistant air office
r, responsible for control of all aircraft operations within five miles of the carrier.
“Good morning, Mr. Secretary! You’re up early today!” the air boss cheerfully greeted Colt.
“Good morning, Commander! I thought I’d watch the recovery from here if you don’t mind. I don’t want to be a distraction.”
“No problem, sir, happy you’re here,” the air boss said. “Can I show you around our little perch in the sky?” He went on to explain the sequence of events that led to a successful, arrested gear landing on a carrier.
“Because each type of aircraft acts differently when it hits the deck, we first need to know what type of plane is in the landing pattern. Our aft spotter is well trained to identify inbound planes, even in low visibility or during night ops. Next, that information is relayed to the arresting gear crew below decks who configure the arresting gear engines for that specific plane. At about three-quarters of a mile out, direct control of the approaching aircraft is assumed by the landing signal officer — or Paddles, as we call him — who is communicating directly with the pilot and providing recommendations for speed, line-up, and attitude. If everything goes right, the aircraft catches a wire with its tailhook, and it comes to a complete stop. Easy!”
Colt looked back at the ship’s stern at the small group of officers dressed in flight suits, white float coats, and sunglasses, standing on a platform near the edge of the flight deck.
“I’m pretty certain that ‘easy’ has nothing to do with it,” Colt stated. “I want you all to know how proud your nation is of the job you are doing here, and how honored I am to shake your hands.” The secretary of defense greeted each Sailor in Pri-Fly until the boss announced, “Okay, people, it looks like we have some customers coming this morning. Let’s get back to work and bring them safely aboard.”
Colt remained in Pri-Fly as several Super Hornets landed, then heard the aft spotter call, “Growler in the slot!” The mini boss handed Colt a pair of binoculars. “Your son just called the ball, sir. These will make it easier to watch his approach and landing.”
For the first time, Colt watched as Dan attempt an arrested gear landing. Although, as a junior officer, Colt had spent hours watching landing events, it was altogether a different experience watching his son perform what most believe is the most difficult maneuver in aviation. He could see that the Growler’s three wheels and tailhook were down and ready for landing as the plane continued down the glideslope while Dan made minor control adjustments. The plane then forcefully slammed onto the deck, caught a wire, and within two seconds, came to an abrupt stop. The air boss placed his hand on Colt’s shoulder and remarked, “Like I said, sir, easy!”
As Colt tried to absorb the fact that he had just witnessed his son make a perfect arrested gear landing, the mini boss came over to him. “Mr. Secretary,” he said. “There’s a call for you,” and passed him a handset. Colt listened for a minute or two and finally said, “Thanks, Lenny.” Giving the handset back to the mini boss, Colt turned to the air boss and said, “If you will excuse me, Commander, I need to return to my cabin to place a call to the president.”
After Colt had left Pri-Fly, the air boss shook his head and thought, That’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me! Suddenly, the aft spotter announced, “Rhino in the slot!” as the air boss picked up his binoculars and slid into his padded chair.
NCIS Offices, the Reagan
Anna DeSantis looked over the shoulder of Special Agent Kevin Orr as he manipulated the game controller connected to his workstation. Since the field office had tasked the local agents with finding out the identity of Geoffrey, Kevin had been playing the online game nonstop. Anna suspected her colleague’s enthusiastic dedication had little to do with identifying the suspected spy. Kevin had expended a few days getting approval from NCIS to load the game onto his issued computer. Now, it seemed to Anna that Kevin was focused more on earning game points and less on finding the agent.
“Will you tell me again why you think you need to continue playing this stupid game?” she asked him.
Kevin shot down the last enemy plane and put the game controller on the table. “Listen, Anna, like I’ve told you before, I need to earn my way up the player’s list until I can request a one-on-one fight against the mysterious Geoffrey. Once he agrees to play me, we can start an online chat, and then I may be able to gather enough information that may lead us to who he really is. Seems pretty straight forward to me!”
Anna smiled as Kevin started another game. She was about to head back to her stateroom when something on his screen caught her eye. “Your screen name is Iron Lotus? What does that mean?”
“You know, from Blades of Glory, the 2007 classic? Come on, Will Ferrell and Jon Heder? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it?”
Anna shook her head. “Okay, I won’t tell you I haven’t seen it,” and she left the office and closed the door. Kevin chuckled and thought, Philistine!
When Kevin finished the game, he was pleased that he had finally achieved top 20 status, and his screen name now appeared as number 19 on the game’s leader board. He crafted a message to Geoffrey, challenging him (or her) to a battle and pressed the “send” key. Now he just had to wait.
Russian Military Intelligence HQ, Khodinka Airfield, Moscow
General Korobov had spent the last 24 hours reviewing Colonel Petrov’s proposed idea to assassinate the American secretary of defense, Colton Garrett. GRU covert assets within the American department of defense and various other intelligence agencies had confirmed Moscow’s assessment that the president of the United States may be leaning toward making Garrett’s acting appointment a permanent one, which Moscow considered unacceptable. They wanted him removed before he could damage Russia’s plans to increase its global influence.
The success of Petrov’s plan seemed overly dependent on the skills and reliability of the civilian avionics technician onboard the Reagan. An asset whose role thus far had been limited to providing classified information to Russia, the man was clearly an opportunist seeking to add to his bank account, for no purpose other than improving his lifestyle. There simply was no way to determine if he was capable of completing the tasks indicated in the plan, and therefore, no real way to predict the likelihood of mission success. General Korobov had not survived decades of political intrigue and the associated political purges to risk his career — and potentially his life — on an unknown chance of success. Should the plan fail, he needed to have an alternative, and he looked around for another file on his desk.
Could Agent VADIM, who is also onboard Reagan, provide the necessary solution if the primary plan isn’t successful? Korobov wondered. He found the file, opened it to review VADIM’s background, training, and psychological profile, making notes on a pad of paper as specific items caught his interest. Traditionally, espionage agents were motivated by a variety of human considerations, including patriotism, revenge, fear, lust, and the desire for money. Blackmail had also been a successful tool for many years, but the liberalization of the west in recent years had made the threat of exposing a person’s secrets less effective. Blackmail didn’t work if the target didn’t care if others learned about his or her personal lifestyle or social activities. The file revealed that VADIM did indeed have several indiscretions as well as personal attachments that could be used as leverage. Everyone had their vulnerability, and General Korobov came to the conclusion that he had discovered VADIM’s. He began to write a series of instructions for Colonel Petrov that would create a viable, fail-safe alternative should his primary plan not succeed.
After processing the message for transmission to the deep-cover agent, Korobov imagined the high esteem in which he would be held should his plan become successful. He decided to contact his mistress, Ulyana, who worked in the Ministry of Finance, to plan a short trip to Korobov’s personal dacha on the Black Sea to celebrate his anticipated victory.
Neptune’s Grounds Café, Bremerton, Washington
Sitting in a booth in
the back of the coffee shop, Sara warmed her hands on the large ceramic mug filled with steaming hot coffee. By now, the morning’s customers had mostly passed through on their way to work at the shipyard and Naval base, allowing Sara to take her morning break. She was still feeling uneasy with the plan to take direct action against Colton Garrett, and it bothered her. She certainly had no feelings for or about him, and her thorough training had prepared her for this moment. But after sending out the execution message to the agents on board the Reagan, she felt an uneasy sense of guilt at the thought of her involvement in the death of another human being. She realized that her reaction was possibly triggered by the growing feelings of loneliness and discontentment she had experienced in recent weeks. Not being able to share an unguarded thought or moment with another person made her feel increasingly isolated, and she had started questioning her broader role in the world.
Sara was lost in her thoughts when the homeless man, whom she called Mr. Trench, sat down across from her in the booth, bringing his own cup of hot water with him.
“Good morning, Sara,” he said quietly. “Do you mind if I join you?” As always, the middle-aged man was wearing his threadbare trench coat and underneath it a faded and worn blue chambray shirt. He dipped his well-used teabag into his fresh cup of hot water.
“It’s not fair,” Sara replied, smiling warmly and looking at his face for possibly the first time. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours!”
“Well, let’s fix that,” he responded. “My name’s Sean, glad to meet you.”
“And I’m very pleased to meet you!” Sara said. She could see over Sean’s shoulder that Derwin was glaring at her. He clearly didn’t like Sara befriending the homeless customers. She ignored the glares and looked back at the disheveled man sitting across from her in the booth.