Nightwatch

by Richard P. Henrick

  “Any luck tagging the bogey that struck the Rhode Island, Mr.

  Bodzin?” asked COB.

  “Negative, sir. The current watch team hasn’t heard a peep out of them. While I was in my rack, I played the tape of the collision over and over. Whatever the Rhode Island hit, it came out of a black hole, and returned there afterward.”

  “Maybe they struck a whale, or a submerged wreck,” offered Shorty.

  “I seriously doubt that. Chief,” Bodzin replied.

  “The only thing that could have caused all that damage to the Rhode Island’s sonar dome was another submarine.”

  COB directed his next inquiry to their senior radio technician.

  “Hey, Shorty, what’s the skinny on that latest salvo of EAMs?

  Are they legit, or just another drill?”

  Shorty made certain that he had the undivided attention of all those present before replying.

  “The latest news is that this last alert was generated by a Russian test launch that was mistakenly thought to be the first wave of a full-scale nuclear attack. Lieutenant Ritter says our boomer was actually spinning up its missiles, and was less than ten minutes away from a launch when the termination order came down from TACAMO.”

  COB finished his milkshake and grunted.

  “Yet another reason to give some serious thought to that Global Zero Nuclear Alert Treaty that’s been making the headlines lately. With our hairtrigger nuclear response, we’ve been very fortunate all these years that we haven’t been the victim of an accidental war. Even if we have a legitimate crisis, at least if it took a while to marry up the warheads with the delivery bodies, there’d be some time for cooler heads to prevail.”

  “Bullshit!” replied the SEAL.

  “That fucking treaty is a oneway ticket to certain destruction. If such an agreement was signed, do you really think the Russkies or the Chinks won’t keep a few nukes stashed away for safekeeping? Then if they got a hair up their ass, they could hit us with a surprise attack, and we’d never have the capability to retaliate. Hell’s bells, they’d think nothing of blowing us to kingdom come, and we’d be down here stroking our cocks while our loved ones back home were being incinerated.”

  Chapter 35

  Friday, July 2

  Irish Wilderness

  Both Vince and Miriam shouted out in relief when the underground river they had been following dumped them and their canoe unceremoniously into the Eleven Point. It had been a wild ride, which reminded Vince of an amusement-park log flume attraction.

  With practically no direct lighting of any sort to illumine their way, they had been at the complete mercy of the narrow, swiftly moving subterranean spring. Vince steered from the aft position, and they somehow circumnavigated a twisting series of tight turns that ended with an incredibly sharp drop-off. They couldn’t begin to count the number of times that the keel of their canoe scraped rock, and the gunwale had a nasty dent in it after they crashed into a protruding boulder. But they had survived their ordeal, soaked and chilled but none the worse for wear, and Vince’s main priority now was to make certain they weren’t captured again.

  “Where are we, Miriam?” he asked from the rear of the canoe.

  Twilight had arrived at this portion of the Eleven Point, and Miriam scanned the riverbank, where a lowlying veil of mist was beginning to form.

  “It appears that we’re just upstream from Greenbriar Hollow.”

  A chorus of bullfrogs and cicadas sounded over the gentle rush of the water. Vince swatted at a pesky mosquito, and ducked when a small, brown bat flew close overhead.

  “Which way to the spot where we left your father?”

  “Freeman is just north of here, upstream a mile or so.”

  Vince peered upstream. Except for the spot where the spring joined the river, the water was slack, and Vince wondered out loud, “If we could paddle up there, it would sure be easier than traipsing through the underbrush. Any rapids to speak of upstream?”

  Miriam shook her head that there weren’t, and Vince dipped his paddle into the clear water. With Miriam’s help they made excellent progress, even with the added security precaution of hugging the bank whenever possible and proceeding with a minimum of noise. They spooked a doe and her fawn drinking from the river, and got an excellent view of a wicked-looking homed owl perched on a cottonwood limb.

  With the advent of dusk, their night vision sharpened. Miriam didn’t appear the least bit afraid of traveling on the river at night, and after rounding a wide bend lined with red cedars, she pointed toward an adjoining slough and whispered, “If we head up that backwater, we can pull up the canoe and go on foot to the Freeman overlook, where my Pa is hopefully still waiting for us.”

  They made landfall in a muddy swamp, and Miriam had to help Vince make his way onto dry land. She knew exactly where they were, and decided upon a route that would convey them to the overlook but keep them well away from the spot where they had been captured. Vince followed closely on her heels, this time being extra vigilant for booby traps.

  After passing over a scrub-filled clearing, they began their way up a steep ridge. Trees hugged the rocky soil, and the dusky sky was all but obliterated by the overhanging limbs, making visibility difficult. He tried to apply his Army training to make the best of his night vision. But even then he was unable to escape several painful lashings from projecting limbs and razor sharp brambles.

  Near the crest of the ridge, Miriam halted, cupped her hands around her mouth, and began softly cooing, like a turtledove.

  Less than a minute passed before an almost identical bird call answered from the ridge top, generating a broad smile on Miriam’s dirty face.

  “It’s Pa!” she excitedly whispered.

  The reunion that followed was a joyful one. While Amos Stoddard hugged his daughter, and Junior, Tiny, and C.J. waited their turns, Vince traded a warm handshake with Andrew Chapman.

  “Sir,” he said, “you don’t know how good it is to see you.”

  Before Vince could continue, Miriam could be heard addressing her father.

  “Pa,” said she, relishing the spotlight, “we almost got killed out there.”

  “When you failed to show up at the overlook to meet your brother, I thought the worse had happened,” admitted Amos.

  “If anyone harmed a single hair on your pretty head, they’re gonna hafta answer to me. Who captured you? Was it those damn foreign storm troopers?”

  “It wasn’t exactly the United Nations,” said Vince to Amos and the Vice President in particular.

  “But I’ve got to admit that you were right, Mr. Stoddard. There is an unlawful, clandestine organization based beneath Freeman Hollow, and I just happen to know one of them personally. He’s an ex-SEAL by the name of Dick Mariano. He was a bad seed when I served with him back in “Nam, and the years haven’t changed him any.” He added, “I guess he and Lewis Marvin met there also.”

  “You did say living beneath the hollow?” questioned Amos.

  “It’s a regular underground city, just like Meramec Caverns, Pa,” Miriam told him.

  “We were held in a cell with steel bars, and with Special Agent Kellogg’s help, we escaped on an underground river, which brought us to the Eleven Point right near Greenbriar float camp.”

  “I bet that was Graveyard Springs,” remarked Junior.

  “A couple of years ago, we followed it up from the river. It appeared to go for some distance, with plenty of clearance. And we would have explored it further till Tiny here thought he saw a ghost and we skedaddled.”

  “Hey, man, I swear I saw something weird in that tunnel,” said Tiny.

  “Besides, the place gave me the creeps.”

  “Well, the spring goes a good distance beneath this hollow, all right, and we had us one whopper of a float to get to the Eleven Point,” said Miriam.

  “Kellogg,” interrupted Andrew Chapman, “you never did say what this fellow Mariano’s agenda was.”

  “Sir, if what
he told us is true, we’ve got one hell of a predicament on our hands,” Vince cautiously replied.

  “Mariano professes to being part of a revolutionary movement, comprised of high-ranking military and government insiders who are attempting a coup d’etat. Remember that partial alert we received right before the Huey attacked? Well, what’s really disturbing is that Mariano admitted that their forces had already initiated the coup by assassinating the President in the Crimea.”

  Chapman appeared to be stunned by this revelation. The blood drained from his face, and he gazed blankly at Vince.

  “Did he give you any concrete proof of this?”

  Vince somberly shook his head.

  “Mariano might be a few cards short of a full deck, but I don’t think he’s a liar. He says that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff is the ringleader, and that he’s orchestrating the coup from Nightwatch.”

  Chapman’s expression suddenly changed to one of introspection.

  “That son of a bitch! No wonder they want me out of the way. Warner wants to take over himself. I should have seen it coming — the incredible hostility he’s shown to our defense budget proposals these last couple of months, and his abhorrence of SALT Two, the Global Zero Alert Treaty, and any other arms reduction agreement with the Russians.” Pausing for a moment to massage his forehead, he added, “A coup d’etat, of all things.

  But what can we do about it?”

  Vince beckoned to the case holding the SATCOM, then looked up to meet the curious gaze of Amos Stoddard.

  “First off,” said Vince with urgent firmness, “we’re going to need your trust and support. I realize that you have some legitimate gripes against some of the people in Washington, but I know down deep that you love the country itself.”

  “Bringing back my baby safely showed a lot of moxie,” Amos acknowledged.

  “And I guess all government employees aren’t that bad. I owe you one, Kellogg, so how can we help?”

  Vince gestured toward the SATCOM unit, and asked, “Can we deploy it?”

  Amos glanced at his son and his two associates, then turned his gaze back to Vince and nodded. Vince immediately knelt beside the case, unsnapped the lid, and anxiously switched on the battery pack. He allowed himself a brief smile when a green light began glowing from the “ready to transmit” port.

  “Now I need someone to climb that cedar behind me and place the satellite dish on the topmost accessible limb, pointing to the southwestern horizon,” he instructed.

  When no volunteers stepped forward, Amos looked at his son, and Junior meekly nodded.

  “I’ll do it, mister.”

  It was while Junior began his climb that Vince turned to the Vice President and said, “Now the million-dollar question is, who do we call?”

  “The only person I trust in Washington is my dog,” remarked Chapman.

  “And since the finger of blame appears to be pointed directly at our esteemed Chairman, I say we go right to the source.”

  “You want to contact Nightwatch?” Vince asked, his surprise most obvious.

  “Though I don’t think it’s prudent to talk with Admiral Warner, I do know someone on board who’s a trusted friend. I went to high school with Major William Foard, the plane’s pilot, and if anyone can unravel this mystery. Coach is the one.”

  Chapter 36

  Saturday, July 3 0157 Zulu

  Nightwatch 676

  Since most of the communications traffic aboard Nightwatch was generated to and from the operations staff. Red was a bit surprised when a High Frequency, satellite-relayed call arrived for the 747’s senior pilot. She connected it directly to the cockpit, and had all but forgotten about the call until Coach contacted her several minutes later and discreetly asked her to meet him in the upper-deck rest area.

  After temporarily transferring her duties to Sergeant Schuster, Red excused herself for a rest-room break and headed straight upstairs. Waiting for her in the flight crew’s lounge area was not only Coach, but Commander Cooper as well. Both of them looked worried, and Coach addressed Red in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “I don’t suppose it’s possible to trace that call I just received, to determine both its point of origin and its legitimacy?” asked Coach.

  “Did you get a breather?” This light remark didn’t break the barest of smiles, and Red added in all seriousness, “Though I’m unable to trace the call’s exact origin, I can tell you that it arrived on a Level One encrypted line, usually reserved for NCA personnel working out of the White House or Executive Office Building.”

  “Would that include the Vice President?” Coach queried.

  “Most definitely,” Red answered.

  Coach looked at Brittany and then back to Red.

  “Strange as this might seem, that call supposedly originated from a Secret Service SATCOM unit situated deep in the Missouri Ozarks, with the caller himself none other than Andrew Chapman.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” Red exclaimed.

  “Does either the Chairman or Captain Richardson know this? FEMA has been going absolutely crazy trying to locate the VP.”

  Coach put his right index finger to his lips to remind Red to keep her voice low, and he worriedly shook his head.

  “I think it’s wise if we keep this news to ourselves at the moment.”

  “But why?” Red countered.

  “If the VP’s still alive, that means we have a Presidential successor to swear into office, and that we can finally transfer the reigns of power from Nightwatch.”

  “Red,” said Coach, after accepting a solemn nod from Brittany, “I realize I’m taking a chance sharing this with you. But you’ve always been a trusted ally, and both Commander Cooper and I are going to need your unique expertise in a matter of the gravest importance to our nation’s survival. Andrew Chapman just informed me that he too has been the recent victim of an assassination attempt. He swears that the individuals behind this attempt are the same ones who killed the President, and that they’ve taken this extreme course of action in order to take over the United States government.”

  “Is it the Russians?” Red questioned.

  Coach shook his head that it wasn’t, adding, “Here’s the kicker. Sergeant. The Vice President seems to think that the coup is being orchestrated from this aircraft, and that our esteemed Chairman is the ringleader!”

  A look of utter disbelief filled Red’s face, and Brittany quickly chimed in.

  “I know just how you’re feeling. Red. Coach shared this with me seconds before you arrived up here, and I’m still stunned.”

  “Without us knowing?” Red managed to say, her voice filled with skepticism.

  “I have no doubt whatsoever that the man I talked with was Andrew Chapman,” offered Coach.

  “We went to high school together, and we had a chance to get reacquainted last summer, when I piloted Air Force Two during his trip to India.”

  “And I happen to know the Secret Service agent who originally fielded this SATCOM call on the VP’s behalf,” Brittany revealed.

  “Special Agent Vince Kellogg is a personal friend. In fact, his wife, Kelly, is closer to me than my own sister, and I’m even dating Vince’s brother, Thomas. Vince Kellogg is not the type of man who can be easily fooled, and if he says there’s trouble aboard Nightwatch, then we’d better take serious note.”

  “Do you think anyone else is involved? Do you think… even Colonel Pritchard?”

  Coach tried his best to ease her fears.

  “The Colonel might very well be. Red, though Andrew Chapman didn’t mention him by name. At the moment, the only thing we can do is to proceed as if everyone aboard this aircraft is suspect.”

  The cabin began shaking in the grasp of a sudden pocket of outside turbulence, and Coach alertly grabbed the nearest handset when the intercom activated with a loud chime.

  “Foard here … I felt it. Lucky. Go ahead and hit the seatbelt warning sign. And don’t bother to wake up Major Lassiter.

/>   I’ll be back up there in two shakes of a stick.”

  “Did the Vice President mention what his immediate plans were, or suggest what we can do to help rectify the situation?”

  asked Brittany as Coach hung up the handset.

  “The VP and Special Agent Kellogg were planning to remain incommunicado, investigating the plot from their end,” replied Coach.

  “They’re depending upon us to determine the true extent of the Chairman’s involvement.”

  “And if he’s indeed the ringleader?” Brittany dared to say.

  Yet another pocket of turbulence shook the cabin, and Coach answered while grabbing an overhead handhold.

  “We’ll address that when and if we have to. Right now, there are too many unanswered accusations, and we need some solid evidence. I’m going to get back to the flight deck before my associates get suspicious, and I’m relying on the two of you to see what you can come up with back in Operations.”

  “What can I do?” Red inquired.

  “For starters,” replied Coach, “how about compiling a list of all the Chairman’s outside telephone conversations? He can’t run a successful coup without being in constant contact with his supporters back in the CONUS.”

  “That shouldn’t be too difficult to come up with,” said Red.

  “I’m going to take a closer look at the Admiral’s tactical log,” said Brittany.

  “The strategic considerations in a plot of this magnitude are considerable, and if the Chairman is really attempting a military-backed coup d’etat, it should show up in his SIOP folder.”

  “Sounds good for starters, ladies,” said Coach, who momentarily lost his footing when the fuselage canted hard to the right.

  “Now I’d better go find us some stable air. Be careful. And remember, trust no one.”

  Chapter 37

  Friday, July 2 C.D.T.

  Irish Wilderness

  Thomas Kellogg stepped over the fallen oak trunk without breaking his stride. Considering the dwindling-light conditions, the nine-man Sapper squad that he was following was moving with an incredible swiftness, and it was taking a full effort on his part to keep up. The Sappers had been given the lead position, with Sergeant Reed walking point. They were moving in a modified wedge formation, an eight-meter interval between soldiers.