by Van Torrey
*
John Olyphant was checking some cattle in the north pasture near his hacienda in southern Arizona in his so-called “command vehicle”, which was actually a run-down John Deere Gator ranch utility vehicle painted with Special Forces green and brown stripes, with too many jolts to its suspension to still be on the job. His cell phone rang at zero-five-hundred, way too early for any friendly chit-chat.
“Blackie, this is Chance. We’ve got a hot mission. Just our kind of job - bringing some bad guys to heel that have set off a bomb in a cruise ship somewhere in the Caribbean. The feds have Delta Force on the way and a SEAL team standing by for any maritime mischief. Wheatley thinks there’s going to be a need for a private contractor because of some delicate political situation down there and possible off-the-record follow-on work...maybe think Mexico. Can you let go of things down there, grab your tropical bug-out bag, and meet me at the private aircraft terminal at Tucson International? I’m leaving San Diego in a FBI Citation in a little over an hour. Bring your hand gun of choice - you won’t have to deal with any TSA pukes on this trip!”
“Sounds like a vacay from the ranch, Chance. Give me about two hours, and I’ll see you there.” Even after his setback of losing an eye in a gunfight in Iran, Olyphant still looked forward to the jazz of a covert operation.
*
Captain Orcharo doused the running lights on the Colon and pulled within a mile of the cruise ship just as the lights went out from the attack. He could hear the muffled sounds of the explosions as they drifted across the calm Caribbean Sea, amplified by the dense night air. That was his signal to continue to move closer to the cruise ship and launch the small boat piloted by his First Mate.
*
Even with scores of passengers killed or injured by the multiple blasts in the dining room, the majority of the diners and service crew were merely shocked and dazed by the effects of the explosions. In short order the crew began to produce flashlights to augment the faint light produced by the battle lanterns. The dim illumination revealed a thick fog of smoke and dust hanging over the mounds of disarray randomly spaced throughout the room where the explosions had taken place. Screams and moans of agony, shouts of outrage, and passengers shouting out the names of loved ones or pleading for help were the only sounds, now that the band was silent.
Anne Lyon rose to her knees and squinted into the semi-darkness hoping to make some order out the chaos surrounding what was left of the dinner table. As she rose further, sharp shards of glass and broken dinnerware rolled off her back and clunked to the floor. As Anne struggled to become completely upright, she found her vision improved slightly while she gazed through the eerie fog that encompassed the room. She could make out what appeared to be ghosts staggering around her as if trying to acquire their bearings and become reoriented. Gradually Anne’s attention returned to attempting the search for her sister. Anne called out Grace’s name, at first softly, then with greater emphasis, but she received no response. Another person moved close to her, and she could dimly make out the face of the doctor who had been sitting across from her.
“Doctor, I can’t find my sister,” Anne said urgently. “Can you help me... please?”
*
Captain Estevez surveyed the chaos of the ruined dining room from the mezzanine above and was shocked by what he saw. Surely this was no accident given the scope of the carnage he could only dimly make out. But his instincts were those of action, and he quickly was on his two-way radio, mustering the crew to converge on the dining room to render aid to those who were suffering below. Within minutes more flashlights dotted the gloom below and the scene transitioned from one of shock to one of slow rescue and recovery.
Estevez urgently radioed his Engineering Officer telling him the first priority was to restore some reliable lighting to the dining room. Next he sent a junior officer to find the medical officer to organize a triage and treatment protocol and to scour the passenger manifest for any persons who might have the prefix of ‘Doctor’ in front of their name or an ‘M.D.’ behind it. The incessant ringing of his satellite phone, which could only be from the Operations Center, would go unanswered for now. Estevez was focused on saving his passengers and his ship.
*
The Koreans, with the exception of one of Yim’s junior assistants, had gathered by the port-side cargo door within ten minutes after the explosions. They looked at Yim with expressions ranging from indifference to abject fear as they began their preparations to drop into the dark ocean ten-feet below and swim for their lives. Their only motivation for following Yim on this last stage of their tortuous journey was Yim’s constant reminder that when they reached Honduras they would be paid thousands of U.S. dollars and given passage back to Miami, where they would receive legitimate identification papers and new, more respectable work. As skeptical as some of the Koreans were, they had come too far not to place their final desperate hope in their countryman. In the confusion after the explosions no one in the executive staff of the ship’s crew gave any thought to the Korean crew members. Nothing much was ever expected from them, and they were easily forgotten. It was easy for Yim and his Koreans to escape their squalid quarters and assemble at the preassigned meeting place.
Yim had life vests for the workers and gave all but his two junior assistants a green light stick, admonishing them to hold them as high as possible over their heads while in the water. This, he said, would give them maximum visibility so they could be picked up by a small boat launched from the Colon. What he didn’t tell his men was that he and his two junior assistants would be holding up light sticks of a different color.
Maintaining the charade of compassionate leadership, Yim carefully checked the integrity of each man’s life vest and light stick. With his last instructions he encouraged each man to jump into the water and paddle away from the cruise liner toward the darkened freighter, now just a half-mile away.
After the last Korean had made his jump into the water below, Yim asked his junior officer if he had seen the other. “Yes, Mr. Yim, he told me he would be right here, but he had twisted his ankle and was moving slowly.”
“We can wait no longer, Mauk-soon. I will leave a life vest and a light stick right here by the door. He knows what to do,” said Yim impatiently. “Now remember, you have a red light stick, Hold it far above your head and try to swim away from the men who have the green light sticks. There is a good reason for this. Soon we will be in Honduras, safe and with good American money for our troubles. You have been loyal and a good companion.” With that the two remaining Koreans jumped in the calm Caribbean water and awaited their uncertain fate.
*
Technically, U.S. Army SFO-Delta, more commonly known in the special operations community as Delta Force, was based at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. This top-secret, anti-terrorist, Army Special Operations command was, among other things given the mission of being the first responder to any hostage rescue situation that was tasked to the U.S. military. Delta trained every day for the most impossible missions and was on par with, or vastly superior in resources and capability to any special op command that existed around the globe.
In order to respond to any anticipated mission in the Caribbean area, there was a contingent of Delta operators at the U.S. Naval base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Within one hour of President Rachel Hunter’s telephone conversation with President Carbone, the Delta operators on “Gitmo” were being spun up to take the Caribbean Star and rescue the Americans on the stricken boat.
The U.S. Aircraft Carrier Ronald Reagan and its strike group were on exercise in the Northern Caribbean conducting qualifications for a Navy Squadron of F-35C’s. The plan was for the Gitmo Delta Force Team to move to the Reagan as its base of operations, and then transfer to the cruise liner. This Delta unit was augmented with three extra medical specialists in anticipation of dealing with the expected high number of casualties that had resulted from the terrorist attack.
*
The FBI Cessna Citation-X
business jet rolled to a stop at the private aircraft terminal at Tucson International Airport just under three hours after Chance Lyon informed John Olyphant of their new mission. Olyphant had grabbed a pre-planned and loaded geographic and climate-specific bug-out bag containing his civilian and tactical gear, as well as his trusted Sig-Sauer P226 automatic pistol, and raced to the Tucson airport, beating Chance and the Citation by some thirty minutes.
As the Citation became airborne from Tucson winging its way toward the Ellington-NASA Field in Houston, Lyon and Olyphant conferenced with FBI Director Wheatley on the encrypted sat phone as Wheatley outlined the mission parameters. Wheatley filled them in on the delicate political situation that existed because the ship was Colombia-flagged and President Carbone had shown Rachel Hunter a reluctance to be cooperative in assisting the injured passengers and investigating the incident. Since time was of the essence, President Hunter made a bold decision and dispatched help in the form of the U.S. Military to bring order back to the ship and rescue the Americans on board.
Wheatley continued, “A Delta Force team is already on the way and will have the ship secured by the time you two get there. Reagan has been taken off the training mode until we can get this taken care of and will be the support vessel used by American assets.”
“Understood, Director,” replied Chance Lyon, “where do we fit in?”
“We’re sending FBI as well, Chance. However, if there are any bad guys still on board, we have made it clear that they are to be killed only as a last resort. They can’t get away, and eventually the Delta guys will flush them out and capture them. This is where you come in. After the Abu Ghraib incident the CIA came under an intense amount of pressure to stop enhanced interrogations, and they have - perhaps reluctantly so in the minds of some - but they have, as a matter of policy. As a private and covert contractor however you get intel is your business. If you get caught and exposed, I can’t vouch for you or support you, but that’s all part of the dynamic we’ve established with you.”
“Chance, we don’t have time to namby-pamby about this. Just get down there and if the opportunity is right - if there are any bad guys captured - you have the authority to take over the investigation and get whatever info you can get - however you can get it. The Delta guys and the FBI people have been made aware of this. In summary, they are government employees and subject to our policies. You are a private contractor and, well...those rules just don’t necessarily apply to you. As usual, we didn’t have this conversation.”
*
Captain Orcharo gave his orders to the First Mate, Reuben, a man of the sea and one of practical expediency. Reuben had worked for Orcharo for eight years, seen many unusual things, and had not moralized over the decisions he and the Captain had made to keep Colon, and the relative freedoms they enjoyed by living and working aboard, viable. In this case, Reuben saw the Koreans bobbing in the calm sea waving their green light sticks so they could be seen, as nothing more than cargo that was to be either loaded, unloaded, or otherwise managed according to the contract. In this case it was the last of the three.
Apart from the other men, Reuben could see two other swimmers in the water identified by red light sticks. Those he would manage in a different way according to his orders from the Captain. As he maneuvered the wooden Panga-boat by its ancient outboard motor among the green lights punctuating the darkness, Oscar chambered a round in his .45 caliber automatic pistol and approached the first light. He came upon the man whose face was eerily outlined by the lime green light and, after carefully taking aim, pulled the trigger. The silencer on the pistol prevented any noticeable report other than a dull thud that echoed across the water. The light stick fell floating next to the panga and Oscar picked it up, flinging it carelessly into the boat. He then purposely moved on to his next target. The executioner repeated the process until there were no more green light sticks to be seen floating near him and he refocused on the two red dots floating nearby.
By prearranged pattern, Mr. Yim waved his red light stick in broad strokes over his head so that the First Mate could easily set him apart from the other man. Oscar had been told to expect three red dots, but seeing only two, he headed for the one that was not waving and dispatched this target just as he had done with the others. He then called out in the darkness in the direction of the remaining red dot, “Ee’sat you, Senor Yim?”
“Si,...si,” came the answer across the water.
“I coming for you,” responded Oscar, as he gunned the motor.
Moments later, Oscar hoisted Yim into the panga and they headed at full speed for the safety of Colon and their get-away to Honduras, leaving in their wake seven bodies bobbing in the sea lifelessly in their buoyancy jackets and one wounded man clinging desperately to life.
*
President Hunter’s intuition had been correct in thinking it would take a full day or more for assets from the Colombian military or maritime police to reach the stricken ship. Just six hours after the incident had begun, the Delta Force team landed by helicopter on the cruise ship’s landing pad and quickly took control of the vessel while bringing professional medical aid to the victims. In the aftermath, such bold action would result in saving many lives and preserving vital evidence of the attack.
The initial report from the Delta Team leader, Captain Michael Sizemore, was grim. He called the Delta Force Commander at Guantanamo on his sat phone saying there had been many casualties from what looked like four or five separate explosions in the main dining room of the ship. The initial count was 36 dead, including 33 Americans, and over 40 wounded, 26 severely. Four Americans were also unaccounted for. Captain Sizemore’s report went on to say they were waiting for another chopper from the Reagan carrying the FBI Agents and much needed additional medical supplies. Captain Estevez and his senior crew were said to be cooperating, but Delta was mainly there to secure the ship and render whatever aid they could. Any detailed investigation would have to be done by the FBI.
*
As more and more portable lighting became available in the shattered dining room, Anne gradually came out of her shocked state and began to look earnestly through the dimness for her sister, as there had been no response to her frantic calls. Light from a flashlight abruptly shined in her face and she recognized the voice of the doctor from Chicago saying, “My God, Anne, are you hurt?”
“I...I don’t think so,” she stammered. “I can’t find my sister.”
“Anne, you’re covered in blood, are you sure you’re not hurt?” he said urgently.
“No...I’m okay. May I use the flashlight, doctor, to look for Grace? Last I knew she was sitting right next to me.”
Instead the doctor turned the light away from Anne’s face and began to shine it on the floor next to Anne. In a moment the beam of light revealed the glassy-eyed stare of Anne’s sister looking up at them lifelessly from the floor below. The rest of her body was strewn like a rag doll two feet away.
CHAPTER 22
ENHANCED INTERROGATION
“I abhor anything that constitutes torture. Waterboarding, it’s perfectly clear to me it is torture. I never supported extraordinary rendition to torture, always said that Guantanamo should be closed. There is no clash of ideals and pragmatism there.”
David Miliband (Member of Parliament)
*
When Chance Lyon and John Olyphant exited the two F-14s that had flown them from Ellington Field in Houston to the USS Ronald Reagan, a deputy to the Reagan’s Air Boss took them to the wardroom.
“We don’t get too many visitors via two-seater from the shore,” he said. “Word from Fleet came that we were expecting two VIPs and you were to see the Captain immediately. I’ll take you to his quarters, that’s where he wants to see you. You Congressmen?” he asked innocently.
“No, sir, we’re civilian consultants to the FBI,” said Chance evenly.
The commander took one look at the bulky John Olyphant with his black eye patch, and then at Chance, with a Navy
SEAL Trident embroidered on his ball cap, and laughed lightly. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” he said. “You guys look like you’ve done some serious consulting in your lifetime. Let’s go.”
“Is it that obvious?” asked Olyphant lightly.
“You guys have bad news written all over you. First thing, when you’re on the Reagan, if you’re packing, you can’t have a round chambered. That’s regs,” he said.
“Got it,” said Chance.
The commander knocked on the Captain’s door and was greeted with, “Come,” from Captain Leonard Ferguson, skipper of the Reagan.
The three men entered the Captain’s quarters and stood at loose attention, saluting when the Captain made eye contact.
“Thank you Commander,” he said, essentially dismissing the escort officer. “Please send up the Air Boss when he can break away from the bridge.”
Lyon pulled a set of orders from his jacket pocket that had been emailed and waiting for him at Ellington when they arrived earlier in the day, and presented them to Captain Ferguson. Ferguson looked at them for a moment and then asked, “You Bernie Lyon’s son?”
“Yes sir, one and only,” answered Lyon.
“I was two years ahead of him at the Academy,” said Ferguson. “I’ve heard the back-story about Pakistan. If what they are saying is half true, it must have been a hell of a ride. And your friend here, I assume he’s not a Clerk-Typist.”
“He’s working on his Eyes-Only Merit Badge, sir,” said Chance with a smile.