Brilliant New Light (Chance Lyon military adventure series Book 3)

by Van Torrey

  “Chance, I’m a trouble-shooter, not an operator like you. Half of being smart is knowing what you’re dumb at. Last time I was in Delta you were just a teenager. There’s a reason you’re the commander of this team, and I’m not. But, for what it’s worth, I think this is the best guess we have. I’m all in.”

  “Blackie, ladies, any reservations here?”

  “I’m with Max, Chance. Let’s do what you think,” said Olyphant.

  “If I want a career at CIA, I’d be a fool to buck Max,” remarked Peggy with a slight smile. Miss Joon looked over at Peggy and just nodded in agreement.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Miss Joon and Max will try to board the same ferry to the island tonight with Gamma and Park. The van should be easy to I.D., but we’ll try to get a visual on it with Argus or a GPS signal. Blackie, Peggy and I will take the other car back to Vancouver and either charter a plane or get a flight to Seattle. If everything goes as planned, we’ll meet the ferry just as it crosses into the U.S. on its way to Seattle sometime tomorrow.”

  “Did I tell you I’m qualified in a JetRanger?” asked Peggy. “I’ve also got three-hundred hours as a Black Hawk pilot in the Army.”

  Chance looked as if he had received a Christmas present he had only dreamed about. “Guns or slicks?” asked Chance referring to whether she flew gunships or troop transport choppers.

  “Whatever it takes, boss. Just kick the tires and light the fires and we’re gone!”

  “Oh, baby, is that going to come in handy!” said Lyon, clearly impressed.

  “Max, just keep your phones charged and we’ll communicate that way. Any concerns?”

  “Other than getting on a car ferry with a madman dragging around a nuclear warhead, and zero times ten to the minus six chances of survival if he lights it off, we’re good!” answered Max, as he looked at Miss Joon and raised his eyebrows. In two minutes they were on their way up British Colombia route ninety-nine toward Horseshoe Bay.

  *

  Craig Murphy contacted Clayton Wheatley’s administrative assistant and asked to be connected. “I have some urgent Hard Candy requests to discuss with the Director.”

  “Yes Agent Murphy, what do you have?”

  “Sir, Chance Lyon thinks the target might be the Seattle area and it’s possible the Koreans may be moving the nuke by car ferry over the weekend. Unfortunately this is a best guess scenario at the moment, but he has deployed his resources to achieve the mission parameters that have been established. He has made a request for some unusual support resources.”

  After two more minutes on the phone, Wheatley asked Murphy to hold on his encrypted sat phone connection. “Murphy, I want to get some others patched in on this. Some of this is out of my pay grade!”

  Five minutes later Murphy heard some buzzing on his headset and Director Wheatley came back on the line. “Murphy, I have patched some others into this conversation, namely the President of the United States, DNI Raymond Rollins, CIA Director Mitchell, the Secretary of Defense, and the Chief of Naval Operations. Will you please relate to us the requests that Mr. Lyon has made to you, and their situation at the moment?”

  Talk about above his pay grade, thought Craig Murphy, as he literally gulped at the idea of addressing this group. Here goes, he thought as he braced himself. “Ms. President, Director Mitchell, gentlemen, I have been acting as the liaison between Chance Lyon’s team and Director Wheatley’s office since the team arrived in Vancouver some time ago. We communicate over encrypted satellite telephones. As Director Wheatley may have told you, Gamma has infiltrated the KNT. He is traveling with the Korean nuclear warhead to its eventual destination as we speak. Based on our best surveillance information and what brief text messages Gamma has been able to send, the consensus is the ultimate target is Seattle and the timing is July Fourth weekend. This warhead could be as large or larger than the Hiroshima bomb, which was twenty kilotons.”

  “Where’s the warhead now?” asked an agitated Raymond Rollins.

  “Sir, Chance Lyon believes the KNT is planning on delivering the warhead by car ferry to Seattle from Vancouver through Vancouver Island in the next couple of days. The warhead, whose size has been estimated to be between a U.S. W-54 and W-80, can fit into a very large commercial ice chest and be disguised with a thin layer of anything contained in an insert over it. If the chests are opened and visually inspected....”

  Rachel Hunter interrupted Murphy and asked no one in particular, “Is this possible? I thought these things were huge.”

  “Definitely possible,” answered Marilyn Mitchell. “Think Tomahawk Cruise Missiles, or artillery.”

  “My God,” replied the President. “I thought the North Koreans were way behind the curve on missile warhead development. Pardon the interruption, Mr. Murphy, please continue.”

  “Anyway, ma’am, part of Lyon’s team is going to board the same ferry as the Koreans and I.D. them, while Lyon and two others are flying to Seattle tonight. Here’s where they will need the support, ma’am.”

  “We’re listening, Mr. Murphy,” Rachel Hunter responded.

  “He needs a fully fueled civilian Bell JetRanger Helicopter at either SeaTac or McChord Air Force Base...and, well,...a nuclear submarine out of Kitsap - Bangor.”

  “Is that all?!” asked Raymond Rollins skeptically. “Maybe he’d like us to throw in Battlestar Galactica as well. What’s the meaning of all this, Murphy?”

  “Sir, I...”

  “Just a minute, Ray,” said Rachel Hunter. “Let’s hear the man out. Mr. Murphy, just hold on for a moment, I want to ask the CNO if this is even possible. Admiral,...subs out of Bangor?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Kitsap is near Bangor, Washington, and is our nuclear submarine base on the west coast. We keep boomers and attack subs up there. They leave there and transit the Strait of Juan de Fuca before heading out on Pacific patrols. What the man is asking for is realistically possible within a few hours.”

  “Okay, now that we know this is possible, what is Lyon’s plan?” asked Rachel Hunter. “And by the way, why a JetRanger? Who is going to be piloting that?”

  “Well, ma’am, as I understand it, as soon as the ferry enters U.S. territory at approximately +48.252 West and -123.401 North, which is roughly halfway between Victoria, British Columbia, and Port Angeles, Washington, in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, Lyon’s team already on the ferry will take down the Koreans, rescue the technician, and secure the nuke. Simultaneous with that the submarine will surface in front of the ferry, forcing it to stop dead in the water. At the same time the JetRanger, piloted by one of the CIA operators on Chance’s team will land on the bow deck of the ferry and discharge Chance and Olyphant, disguised as DEA and FBI operators, to take operational control of the ferry.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” exclaimed Raymond Rollins, “this is tantamount to piracy. This will never wash with the Canadians or the media.”

  “Not so fast, Ray,” said Wheatley. The ferry system is owned by a U.S. company, the ferry will be in U.S. waters, and the submarine will merely be surfacing in a well-marked submarine transit area shown on all nautical charts, once again, in U.S. territorial waters. It would be hard to argue that this is anything even close to piracy. And don’t forget we have the moral high ground here.”

  “...Which we do not intend to disclose to the Canadians or the media,” interjected Rachel Hunter.

  “Let’s not forget, colleagues, this is a black operation being conducted primarily by civilian contractors, with a little help from our CIA,” as the President gave a nod of acknowledgment to Marilyn Mitchell, “and we are not going to advertise this even if it is a resounding victory. If we were doing this with our military, it would be too much of a story to hide. However, I’m sure that between CIA and FBI, we can rationalize this as a crime bust or minor intelligence gathering op to the passengers and news media. If necessary, I’ll take care of any problems with the ferry company owners. With all the Fourth of July festivities, this won’t even m
ake the front page of the Post-Intelligencer...especially since I’m going to be making a surprise visit to Seattle for the holiday,” Hunter announced to an astonished staff.

  “Mister Secretary,” Rachel Hunter said to Defense Secretary Justin Roberts, “please work with the senior staff in making sure Mr. Lyon and his team get everything they want. Mr. Johnson, please alert Air Force One and any of the Washington Congressional delegation still in D.C. that we’re leaving for Seattle tomorrow morning. I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

  *

  Max Jenkins and Miss Joon reached the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal at twenty-one ten hours after receiving a last minute briefing from Lyon. The last ferry was leaving in twenty minutes and there was a line queueing up to board for the hour and forty minute trip to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island. A brisk quartering wind out of the north portended a choppy ride to their destination. Many planned to ride out the trip within the confines of their cars, but Max knew this was a time for intelligence gathering, if the van containing Gamma and the nuke were also on board.

  “What if they’re not in this group of vehicles, Max?”

  “If we don’t find them with this group we go ahead. It’s possible they took the previous boat or are behind us. Either way, we need to get to Vancouver Island to either catch up with them or wait them out,” he said. “You stay with the car. I’m going to take a look at some of these other vehicles to see if I can spot the van.”

  Ten minutes later Lyon received a call on his sat phone. “Chance this is Max. I think I’ve spotted the van. It’s a white Ford Super-Cargo with markings on the side saying something about British Columbia Fish Exports. I don’t want to get too close. There is almost no pedestrian traffic and I don’t want to spook whoever is in the van.”

  “This confirms a GPS track we just got on Gamma. You’re both at the ferry terminal. The GPS signal keeps coming and going...I think it has something to do with it being in that briefcase he’s carrying. Right now we have a good signal, according to Craig Murphy.”

  Max Jenkins returned to the car and reassured Miss Joon that the van carrying Gamma was at the ferry terminal. All they could do now was wait in queue to board the ferry.

  Soon the line began to move and vehicles slowly took their place on the ferry. As the line of cars and trucks inched forward Max started to become uneasy about the capacity of the ferry and whether he and Miss Joon would be able to get on this departure with the van carrying the nuke. There were many more cars than Max had originally thought, it was closing in on departure time, and they were stuck near the back of the queue. Up ahead a yellow caution light began to flash indicating that the ferry was fully loaded and was about to depart.

  “Dammit, we’re not getting on with Gamma!” said a frustrated Max Jenkins. “The next departure is not until tomorrow morning, which is going to put these guys way ahead of us.”

  “Max, what about this?” said Miss Joon excitedly. “How about you stay with the vehicle, and I’ll get on board as a passenger? That way I can stay with the van at least until Nanaimo and keep the team informed. Depending on whether they stop for the night or proceed to Victoria, I can keep them in sight. I can be the team’s communication link between Chance’s unit, you, and Gamma.”

  Max thought for a minute and could see no reason why both of them should be sitting high and dry at Horseshoe Bay until the next morning. Miss Joon was a highly-trained, full-fledged CIA covert operator and there was no reason to handle her with kid gloves. Also, she knew Gamma was the same ethnicity as Park, if that meant anything, and could blend in well with the diversity of the passengers making the trip.

  “Go for it, girl,” Max said hurriedly. “But you’ll have to leave your gun with me, in case you have to go through a metal detector. Stay in touch with us. I’ll be there tomorrow on the first ferry. If anyone asks, tell them your phone battery is dead.”

  Miss Joon walked quickly to the ferry office and purchased a passenger ticket to Nanaimo, and boarded the ferry just as it pushed away from the dock, leaving behind Max Jenkins and the other members of Chance Lyon’s team who were already on their way to Seattle. As she stood by the rail of the departing ferry and watched the cold, black water swirling in its turning wake, she felt a hand touch her on her back.

  *

  Chance, Blackie, and Peggy had made it back to the Vancouver airport in light traffic while on their way plotting their move to Seattle. Both Chance and Blackie were carrying their Sig- Sauer P-226’s and some other personal protection items, so getting on a commercial flight would be a problem unless they stowed their firearms. They had to risk leaving their firearms behind.

  “Craig, this is Chance. We’re getting an Alaskan Airlines flight out of Vancouver for Seattle right away. We have to leave our Sigs up here. Can you have one of your boys meet us at the airport with some guns we can use on the op? We both prefer Sig- P-226’s, but any nine, like a Glock, will cut it. If you have some Galco shoulder holsters that would be great. Need some extra mags and new batteries for the sat phone.”

  “Got you covered, Chance. How many?”

  “There are three of us, Blackie and me, plus a CIA pilot. Speaking of which, we need an FBI or private JetRanger full of gas.”

  “That might be a little tricky on short notice, Chance. I’ll work on it.”

  “What the chopper, or the pilot?” Chance asked.

  “The pilot. We usually use contractors or fly somebody in from one of the field offices.”

  “You get the bird, I’ve got the pilot. My CIA operator is checked out on JetRangers, and she’s working the op with us. I don’t care who owns it, just requisition it. If it’s private we can’t use their pilot, this is too black for outsiders.”

  “Okay, Chance, Director Wheatley told us to give you everything you need, so I’ll get the chopper. When you get to SeaTac take the shuttle to the Private Terminal, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “One final thing, Craig, when we pick up the chopper, we’re going to fly to Kitsap to liaise with the submarine people. By now I’m pretty sure that the CNO has briefed the Base Commander on the mission. We need to get with them and set up some communications protocols for this op.”

  I’ve got a full plate, Chance, but I can handle it. Call me when you get to SeaTac.”

  *

  Captain Werner Hoffman was the Commanding Officer of Naval Base Kitsap, near Seattle, Washington, home of fleet ballistic missile submarines and other attack submarines operating in the Pacific theater. He was most recently the C.O. of the USS North Dakota (SSN-784), a Virginia class nuclear attack submarine. As C.O. of this vital naval base he was one “outstanding-rated” efficiency report away from receiving his flag, and becoming an admiral just as his father had been before him. Hoffman was on track to possibly becoming COMSUBPAC, or Commander, Submarine Force Pacific, and being stationed in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Jane Hoffman, his wife of twenty years, literally went to her knees every night before retiring, imploring the deity to do everything in his power to make their common dream come true.

  Captain Hoffman’s yeoman buzzed his phone and said urgently, “Commander, the CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS is on the line and wishes to speak with you!”

  “The CNO?! God, what is this?” Hoffmann gulped. The CNO...calling me directly!

  “Yes sir, Commander Hoffman, sir.”

  “Werner, this is Admiral Wheeler. Are we on your secure line?”

  Hoffman looked at his phone quickly and answered, “Yes,...yes, sir. We are secured sir.”

  “Good. Werner, this may seem somewhat unusual, not going through channels and all, but I have a direct order for you. The Navy has been ordered by the President to support a black paramilitary operation that’s in process in your geographic area. This operation is being run by the FBI and CIA using civilian contractors, of all things, with the support of some CIA covert operators. The op is being commanded by an ex-Navy SEAL by the name of Chance Lyon...”

  “Did you say Lyon, sir?”
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  “Yes, he’s Bernie Lyon’s son, a former classmate of yours at Annapolis.”

  Hoffman’s heart sank at the thought of becoming operationally involved with Chance Lyon again. Hoffman quickly pulled himself out of his pained reverie about Chance Lyon and got back to the conversation. “Yes, sir. I know them both sir. I’ve actually served briefly with Lieutenant Lyon on a recent covert op in the Arabian Sea.” “Well, he’s not a lieutenant any longer. He’s out of the Navy now... something about too many neurosurgeries that were duty related. Now he’s a contractor for the FBI-CIA cabal. Works with a former Army Ranger named John Olyphant. It’s a long story. When we have drinks someday I’ll tell you the whole story...you won’t believe it!”

  I’ve never even met the guy I’m talking to, and he’s going to tell me war stories over drinks. I hope this bodes well for my career, thought Hoffman.

  “Lyon will be flying into Kitsap sometime tonight or after midnight to meet with you and an attack sub driver that you select. This will be only you, your skipper, and Lyon...maybe his second baseman, Olyphant, and a CIA operator, too. This is Top-Secret-Nuclear. Just give them what they want. This op has been cleared by the President, and she has full confidence in Lyon. Call me when it’s over.” As Steve Wheeler clicked off he thought, I hope these people know what they’re doing.

  “Aye, sir. Thank you, sir,” sputtered Hoffman.

  *

  Chance, Blackie and Peggy landed at SeaTac in the middle of a driving rainstorm. “It may be wet, but it’s cold,” he said cheerily to a grumbling Blackie and a stoical Peggy. “We don’t have time for the shuttle, let’s get a cab.”