Nightwatch

by Richard P. Henrick

  Still serving his country at an age when most men would be counting the days to retirement, Mariano could escape the ravages of age by the strength of his convictions. There were serious affairs of state to attend to, and he would somehow channel his energies to keep his worn body going. After all, final victory would soon be theirs, and there’d be plenty of time for rest in the halcyon days to come.

  With this hope in mind, he exited his quarters and headed for the detention block. The rock-hewn passageway was lit in red, and Mariano’s eyes needed time to adjust to the dim conditions.

  With brisk, clipped steps, he passed by Operations, where a trio of technicians were seated at their workstations, needle shaped stalactites hanging from the irregular ceiling above them.

  The cavernous rock-walled room in which they worked had been built by the Defense Department in 1963. It was one of seven so-called Delta Operations sites, secretly constructed beneath the United States to offer top military brass safe haven during a nuclear conflict.

  The Freeman site was within easy driving distance to the Whiteman Air Force Base ICBM fields. Government architects had taken advantage of a naturally occurring limestone cavern to create a self-sufficient, blast-proof command post. An ample supply of pre stocked foodstuffs, auxiliary power generators, and an unlimited source of fresh water from its own underground river guaranteed the site’s survival should the unthinkable come to pass. In the event of war, select VIPs and their families would be evacuated to the cavern city, to ride out the attack and wait for the fallout to settle.

  Along with billions of dollars of obsolete weapons systems, the Delta sites had been retired in the early ‘70’s. Today, few in the Pentagon even knew they existed, and it was because of this anonymity that Mariano and his forces were able to clandestinely base their operations here.

  The advent of computers and satellite communications allowed them to work with a minimal staff. Supplies were stored in bulk, and except for an occasional visit by one of their helicopters, the locals had no reason to suspect that this subterranean complex existed.

  As site Commander, Mariano had many responsibilities, security among them. When the hand of fate, and a well-placed insider on the White House staff, conveyed Andrew Chapman practically into their backyard, Mariano’s forces expanded their duties. The elimination of the Vice President was his top priority, and until he received concrete proof that Chapman was dead, he couldn’t rest — so important was this to their mission’s ultimate success.

  In a cramped cavern offshoot that previously had held radiation-detection gear, they had built a detention cell. Except for the incarceration of an occasional drunk co-worker, this was the first time it had been officially put to use.

  Mariano silently slipped into the darkened passageway outside this cell, and peered through the steel bars of the locked entryway. There were two individuals confined inside. The redheaded female appeared to be in her early twenties, and was dressed in tattered blue jeans and a skimpy halter top. She looked like a local, and he focused his attention instead on her companion.

  Mariano guessed his age to be about fifty. He was attired in wrinkled khakis and a dark blue polo shirt, with an empty leather holster clipped to his belt. He was in superb shape, and it was while studying his face that a relieved smile crossed Mariano’s bearded face. Somehow his men had succeeded in capturing one of the very men he had been so desperately seeking these past couple of hours.

  “First Sergeant Vincent Kellogg, if I’m not mistaken,” greeted Mariano from the shadows.

  “Or should I say Special Agent?”

  The shocked look on his prisoner’s face was all the confirmation that Mariano needed to see, and he stepped toward the bars and added.

  “It’s been much too long, Kellogg. I believe the last time I saw you was back at Long Thanh, when my team was headed in-country and you were on your way on the gravy train back to the States.”

  Mariano grabbed the cold steel bars, where there was just enough light for his prisoner to see the face of the man who was addressing him.

  “Chief Mariano?” Vince spoke like a man seeing a ghost.

  “That’s me. Sergeant Spit and Polish. You know, there’s one thing I always wanted to ask you. Why would a Special Forces soldier of your caliber turn down an opportunity to join SOG and command his own team?”

  Vince wasted little time replying.

  “I guess I couldn’t stomach the idea of earning my rice bowel being a cold-blooded assassin.”

  Mariano grunted.

  “You’re still a fucking geek, Kellogg. You swallowed the company philosophy hook, line and sinker, didn’t you, my fine cunt-eating friend. It never did get through that thick skull of yours that it’s impossible to win the game unless you’re playing on a level playing field.”

  “Since you two obviously know each other, would you mind releasing us from this place? You have no right locking up us like this,” protested Miriam.

  “And who are you, anyway?”

  Mariano laughed.

  “Let’s just say I’m a ghost from the past, sent here to torment your Boy Scout companion.”

  “Listen to the girl, Mariano,” urged Vince.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you certainly don’t have the right to lock us up like this.”

  “You’re going to lecture me on human rights, Kellogg? That’s a laugher, coming from one who serves the great deceiver himself.”

  Mariano halted for a moment to regain his composure, and when he continued, he did so with a contained calmness.

  “We’ve been fated to meet again, my friend, and you might as well make the best of it. You’ve stumbled into a real goat fuck this time, Kellogg. But you don’t know how lucky you are.

  “I don’t know what candles you’re burning, but you were spared a certain death in the Crimea. Our mutual friend, ole spit and polish himself, Sam Morrison, took your bullet, Kellogg, as did our esteemed Commanderin-Chief and the rest of his pencil pushing butt-fucking entourage.”

  “Hold on a minute, Mariano. The President’s been assassinated? And you’re responsible?” Stunned, Vince suddenly remembered the partial alert they had fielded just before the black helicopter attacked.

  “I warned you that it was a real goat fuck, Kellogg. And you still don’t know the half of it. The only reason I’m even sharing this with you is that I need your help to complete my mission.

  I’m gambling that there’s an ounce of unadulterated patriotism left in you, and that you’ll listen to me with an open mind.

  “The movement to which I’ve dedicated my life seeks to redirect priorities, and put our beloved country back on the path to greatness. Only a total fool could believe that America is headed in the right direction. The country has turned its back on God, selling out for a quick, self-serving buck. We’re spiritually bankrupt, and you have only to look to the top to see that ethics and morality are no longer a prerequisite for leadership.

  “Like a malignant cancer, outside forces are at work undermining the foundations of Lady Liberty. For the first time in our history, foreign officers in the service of the United Nations, are leading American troops into battle. A so-called World Court attempts to order one of our states not to execute a convicted rapist and murderer, while the World Bank is busy redistributing our hard-earned wealth to undeserving nations far from our shores. We’ve lost our way, and have forgotten the last words of Founding Father John Adams, who went to meet his Maker proclaiming, “Independence forever!”

  “By the good grace of God, a group of patriots has gathered together to save America in its hour of need. I’m proud to be a part of this movement, whose ranks include dozens of high placed government officials, military officers, and select civilians.

  With a nerve center here beneath America’s heartland, we’ve taken that all-important first step in a second revolution. And even though many brave citizens have already died for the cause, their blood shall nourish America’s rebirth.”<
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  “If I’m hearing you right,” interrupted Vince, “you’re talking about a coup d’etat. What could possibly motivate you to go to such an extreme?”

  Mariano tightened his grip on the cell’s steel bars, and his powerful voice rose in response.

  “To tell you the truth, we could have lived with the encroachment of One World interests and the moral corruption of our leaders. But the one thing that spurred us into action was the proposed Global Zero Alert treaty.

  With America’s military might already decimated by foolish budget cuts and shortsighted planning, the treaty would have left us wide open to another Pearl Harbor-type sneak attack. A truly determined enemy wouldn’t think twice before breaking the agreement, no matter how strict its tenets are. And hell, it’s the threat of a nuclear war that’s kept the peace for the past five decades!

  “We urged the President not to support this dangerous experiment in arms control. But he wouldn’t listen. So we were forced to intervene, by utilizing an assault force in the Crimea, to terminate his command and redirect the ship of state from a certain catastrophic collision.” He paused, slowly smiling.

  “We thought it would be difficult to arrange, you know. But you can buy anything in Russia these days.”

  “What’s a Global Zero Alert treaty?” asked Miriam, perplexed by the exchange.

  Vince answered her.

  “It’s an idea first proposed by the President of Russia, to prevent an accidental nuclear war by removing the explosive warheads from all the various delivery systems.”

  “Could you really sleep soundly at night knowing that our nuclear forces would be unable to immediately retaliate in the event of a surprise attack, Kellogg?” asked Mariano.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think as an individual,” Vince replied.

  “If such a treaty were to be ratified by our Congress and signed by the President, I guess I’d learn to live with it.”

  A look of disgust filled Mariano’s face.

  “Spoken like the good sheep that you are, Kellogg. Thank goodness there are others who see this treaty as the dangerous folly that it is, and have dared to act on their convictions.”

  “I still can’t believe that any high-ranking military men would ever go to the extreme of actively supporting such a cause,” remarked Vince.

  Mariano grinned.

  “You’d be surprised, my friend. Our leadership comes right from the very top, and extends all the way down to the individual unit level.”

  “Certainly you’re not talking about the Joint Chiefs?” Vince said.

  “No. Their Chairman,” returned Mariano, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

  “And not only does Admiral Trent Warner bring his years of experience to our movement, but also his own flying command post — Nightwatch.

  “Now that the President has been eliminated, the Chairman has control of the nuclear football, making him the temporary head of state until the next in line is sworn in as Commanderin-Chief.”

  “But that’s the Vice President!” blurted Vince.

  “Precisely,” Mariano retorted.

  “We know you’re the Special Agent in Charge of Andrew Chapman’s security detail. And as such, surely you can tell us where we can find him.”

  Now that Vince was aware of the favor Mariano wanted from him, he reacted instinctively.

  “You really think I’d tell you, after you sent Lewis Marvin and one of your teams to blow us out of the water?”

  “Damn it, Kellogg! You always were a stubborn, pigheaded asshole. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to reconsider. Then we’ll kill the girl, with you to follow.”

  Mariano disappeared into the shadows, and Vince looked at Miriam, sensing both her fear and her confusion.

  “Who was that guy, and what on earth was he talking about?” she questioned, tears clouding her big green eyes.

  Vince hugged her.

  “He’s a man I served with during the Vietnam War, and he’s talking about taking over the United States government.”

  “I guess Pa was right, and the enemy really does have a base beneath Freeman Hollow,” she remarked, unwilling to break Vince’s protective embrace.

  “Was he serious about killing us?”

  Vince checked his watch, and answered while scanning the cell’s interior.

  “I imagine we’ll find out in about fourteen minutes.

  But instead of just waiting around until then, I say let’s see if we can break out of this joint.”

  A hurried inventory found a filthy mattress rolled up in a corner, and a rusty bucket — their toilet facilities. A shelf had been carved into the rock beside the bucket, and they were somewhat surprised to find a half-filled plastic soda bottle on it, along with a brown plastic packet that Vince identified as an MRE.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked while using his teeth to tear open the book-sized packet.

  “Mister, I’m so nervous I can’t even think about food. Don’t tell me you’re gonna eat?”

  Vince emptied the MRE onto the floor and began sorting through its contents.

  “Let’s see now, we’ve got a packet of beef stew, some apple jelly. Tabasco sauce, cherry-flavored beverage powder, a slice of pound cake… and here’s some spearmint gum.” He tossed Miriam this last item, and while she removed a piece, he pulled out a clear plastic envelope and eagerly tore it open.

  “What in the world is that?” she said, referring to the four by-five-inch, thin gray wafer he proceeded to remove and hold up like it was a precious gemstone.

  “My dear, this MRE heater could be our ticket out of this dungeon,” he whispered triumphantly.

  Vince checked the cell’s locking mechanism before unscrewing the half-filled bottle of soda and sniffing the contents.

  “It’s flat and warm, but I guess it should do the trick. Give me a piece of that gum, and do me a favor and chew up the rest of the pack.”

  Miriam did as ordered and, after chewing three more pieces, handed over the entire wad. Vince added his piece to this collection, rolled the sticky wad into a ball, and stuck it to the side of the plastic soda bottle.

  “Now go and unroll that mattress, pull it in the far corner, and get behind it,” he instructed.

  Vince began crumbling the gray wafer, and he deposited the broken-up pieces into the bottle. He then shook the bottle, and as soon as all of the gray chemical residue had dissolved, he tightly capped it. As expected, the plastic started to get hot from the reaction that was occurring inside, and Vince stuck the bottle directly on top of the cell’s locking mechanism, then took off to join Miriam.

  No sooner did he duck behind the mattress than a loud explosion sounded. A cloud of fetid smoke filled the cell, and they had to wait for it to dissipate before seeing if the lock had triggered.

  At first glance, it appeared that the explosion had failed. The door remained in place, and Vince found it hard to hide his disappointment. He went up to the entryway, grabbed the steel bars, and when he yanked them toward him, the door swung open with a loud click. They were free to go, and both of them didn’t tarry.

  No alarms sounded as they began their way down a dark passageway. The rough limestone walls were solid, and Vince guessed that they had absorbed much of the blast’s report.

  Blind luck brought them to a long passageway where a cool draft of moist air invitingly beckoned. They headed directly into the breeze, and they heard the sound of rushing water long before seeing the current responsible for it. The stream itself was a narrow, quick-moving ribbon of white water, a good quarter the width of the Eleven Point. It snaked off in both directions, through a smooth limestone tunnel, and Vince supposed that it could just fit one of the three dark green fiberglass canoes he spotted sitting on an adjoining ledge.

  Chapter 34

  Saturday, July 3, 0137 Zulu

  U.S.S. James K. Polk

  Because of the rote nature of submarine duty, meals were something to look forward to. Of all the submarines in the fleet, the Po
lk featured an award-winning dining facility, with the best food ‘service beneath the seven seas.

  Brad Bodzin and Jaffers were certainly looking forward to their meal as they arrived in the mess, got in line for the steam table, and picked up their trays. They were scheduled to take the next sonar watch, and a full belly would keep the hunger pangs at bay throughout this six-hour shift. Both of the sonar men filled their trays to nearly overflowing with hamburgers, baked beans, corn on the cob, onion rings, and French fries.

  The only one of the twelve elongated, picnic-style tables that had two vacant places left was the one usually reserved for the Chiefs. COB was already seated there, along with the senior radio technician. Chief “Shorty” Hassler, and one of the boat’s SEALs.

  “Can we join you, COB?” Bodzin asked.

  “Make yourselves at home,” COB answered.

  They wasted little time setting their trays on the red-and white-checkered tablecloth, and they dug into their food like they hadn’t eaten in a week. They were well into their respective meals when Mallott came over, wearing his customary khakis and royal blue polo shirt, complete with a crest displaying a palm tree and a colorful parrot, with jimmy’s buffet embossed in gold below.

  “Well, gents, how do you like your chow?” Mallott queried.

  “I’m not complaining any, Howard,” said COB.

  “But whatever happened to that low-fat, reduced-cholesterol menu you were promoting? Why, we haven’t had turkey in a whole three days.”

  “Who said anything about abandoning my low-fat menu, COB?” replied Mallott with a wide grin.

  “Those are lean bison burgers you’re scarfing down, with those rings and fries cooked in pure canola oil. Why, even your shakes are made of reduced fat ice cream. Inside Jimmy’s Buffet, you eat good and healthy at the very same time.”

  Mallott excused himself, leaving the diners to sip their shakes and reflect on their full bellies.