by Van Torrey
Fifteen minutes later the three arrived at the private aircraft terminal seeking refuge from the rain. There to meet them as promised was FBI Special Agent Craig Murphy. “Welcome to Seattle! I have a conference room reserved. We can talk there. No one’s here this time of night,” said Craig.
“Okay, I’ve got a JetRanger belonging to Boeing that is completely fueled and ready to go,” said Murphy. “I talked to the head of their security department and told him we needed it for a matter involving national security. He was skeptical at first, but I got him on the horn with Director Wheatley, and he agreed. Wheatley’s going to call the Boeing CEO in the morning.”
Peggy returned to the room and said the rain was abating and she had filed a flight plan for Kitsap, thirty miles away. “If Craig can tell me where I can find this chopper, I’ll go out and prep it. Whenever you guys are ready, I’ll be idling.”
Craig hauled the large canvas backpack he was carrying up on the conference table and dumped the contents on the table. “Here, Peggy, take a Glock and a Galco holster. It’s the latest in ladies sportswear.”
“I’m qualified with this, too, Chance...just in case.”
Chance and Blackie adjusted the shoulder holsters to fit their athletic frames and holstered their unloaded pistols. The extra magazines went into their jacket pockets along with the heavy gloves Craig had brought in case Chance and Blackie would need to fast rope out of the JetRanger. Chance put fresh batteries in his sat phone and did a comm check with Craig. He also checked in with Max wherever he was.
“Max, this is Chance. What’s your situation?”
“Couldn’t get on the same ferry with the van, it was full,” he said. “Miss Joon got on as a passenger, and I have to wait until the first ferry out tomorrow. She’s going to try to keep an eye on the van until we can link up. We’re sure the van is on the ferry. What’s up with you?”
“We’re at SeaTac. Peggy’s going to fly us to Kitsap Naval Base tonight where we will liaise with the sub driver. Once we have that arranged, he’s going to take his sub out to the rendezvous point and wait for the right ferry with the van on it. After I clear the plan with the sub driver, I’ll call you back and we’ll finalize the plan. How’s the battery on your phone?”
“I got about fifty percent, Chance, no spare. Takes a special battery.”
Okay, shut the unit down and I’ll call you back at zero-six-hundred in the morning. Meanwhile I’m going to send an FBI guy out of Seattle with extra batteries to Victoria. When you get to the Island, meet him at the ferry terminal. He’ll be wearing an orange windbreaker and a red ball cap. He’ll be Steve and you’ll be...Max! We need to have these phones up!”
Lyon switched gears, “Craig, can you dig up one of your boys, get him some sat phone batteries, and head him for the ferry terminal in Victoria? He’ll need an orange windbreaker and a red ball cap, and will be looking for a crusty CIA operator named Max, who will find him coming in on the first ferry tomorrow morning.”
“Have I let you down so far,” asked Craig.
“No, and don’t,” answered Chance, perhaps too seriously.
“Come on Blackie, we’ve gotta go find us a friendly sub driver and some hot breakfast, Navy style.”
*
Miss Joon felt a hand touch her through her windbreaker on her back and carefully turned around to gaze upon the smiling face of Gamma. “May I buy you a cup of coffee? It’s way too cold out here for me,” he said softly.
“Hello, I’m Miss Joon,” she said. “Have we met before?”
“No, but you appear to be Korean and it would be nice to speak with someone from home,” Gamma continued with the charade, in case someone unknown was listening. “I am Kim Dong-sun.”
The ferry had a snack concession in the corner of the passenger lounge and the two found some seats away from the others and sipped their coffee, speaking quietly, sometimes making hand gestures and laughing softly to disguise to others the otherwise seriousness of their conversation. It was simple tradecraft.
“We couldn’t get on the ferry, it was full,” said Miss Joon softly. “I got on as a passenger and Max is coming tomorrow morning. Where are you going?”
“Park is obsessed with getting to Seattle. We’re driving to Victoria as soon as we land in Nanaimo.”
“Can you figure out how to slow him down so Max and I can get on the same ferry? That’s key to the success of the mission. Chance says it’s critical that Max and I are on the ferry when it crosses into U.S. territory on the way to Port Angeles. Also, Park is armed and neither of us has a gun, so we have no way of defending ourselves unless Max makes it onto the ferry. Otherwise, we’re going to have to count on Chance or Blackie.”
“We’ve got a little over an hour to figure out how to make me a damsel in distress that will distract Park long enough to make him want to delay getting to Victoria,” said Miss Joon. “Perhaps you should go back to the van while I work this out. Just remember to be vulnerable and flexible the next time you see me,” she concluded with a wink.
*
After the rain abated to a slow drizzle, Peggy flew Chance and Blackie to Naval Base Kitsap in the Southwest reaches of Puget Sound. As they approached the helipad near the base headquarters they could barely make out the sinister, mostly submerged shapes of three dark grey nuclear submarines docked nearby at an outcropping of man-made wharves named Delta Pier, part of the Trident Submarine Base. Two were Virginia-class attack submarines and the largest of the three, enclosed on four sides by docking, was one of the eighteen American Ohio-class ballistic missile submarines that regularly patrolled the oceans of the world providing a sobering deterrent to any foreign power with designs on attacking the United States.
As Peggy expertly brought the JetRanger to a pinpoint landing and throttled down the whining turbine engine, a U.S. Marine guard in Multicam BDU’s carrying an M4 assault rifle strode professionally toward the helicopter and greeted Chance and Blackie as they exited onto the tarmac. Even though they were not in uniform, both Chance and Blackie greeted the Marine with a sharp salute. “Good morning, Corporal, I’m Chance Lyon and this is my colleague John Olyphant. I hope you were expecting us.”
The young Marine returned their salutes and responded, “Good morning, sir. Yes, the Base Commander is waiting to meet with you. Does your pilot wish to join you?”
“Yes, Corporal, she’s with us and should be in on the meeting. She’s CIA, so don’t be put off by her attitude,” Chance said with a broad smile.
The Marine guard walked them to the front door of the headquarters building where they were met by a Navy Captain who introduced himself as Captain Radcliff. Chance noticed the Captain was wearing a U.S. Navy SEAL Trident on his tunic and greeted him professionally. “Sir, I’m Chance Lyon. I’m out of the Navy now, but I previously served in SEAL Team Two in Little Creek. How did you wind up with these sub drivers in Bangor?”
“I know you by reputation Mr. Lyon,” Radcliff replied. “I understand that you and your partner here are still running around looking for trouble,” as he looked at Blackie and smiled. “I’m here on a cross-duty assignment. The Navy is concerned that there’s a little too much misunderstanding between SEALs and the submariners who drive them around, so I’m here as an adviser to Captain Hoffman, the Base Commander.”
“Did you say Captain Hoffman, sir?” asked Chance. “I think I may know him.”
“Let me show you to the conference room gentlemen...and Ms...”
“Peggy Smith...just call her Peggy, sir. She’s CIA and working with us on a project,” said Chance.
“Right,” said Radcliff. “Step this way, if you will please, and you’ll meet with Captain Hoffman.”
The conference room was a well-lit, windowless, area with a long oak table and plain chairs. It was guarded by another Marine dressed much like the sentry at the entrance of the headquarters building. Without a word he opened the door for the Captain and his party and silently closed it behind them after they had ente
red.
“Please help yourselves to coffee and pastries. Captain Hoffman will join you in a moment.”
As Radcliff turned to leave, Chance spoke to him, “Won’t you be staying for the meeting, sir?”
“This one is classified out of my pay grade, Mr. Lyon. This is eyes-only the Base Commander and Commander Gordon. See you back at Little Creek one of these days.”
As Radcliff exited, Captain Werner Hoffman and another uniformed Naval Commander entered the room and quickly introduced themselves. “Good morning...early morning, I should say, gentlemen...Miss.”
As Chance began the introductions of his team, he noticed Hoffman was looking at him with a sly grin. “Well, Lyon, we meet again,” Hoffman said. “Back then it was Lieutenant Lyon, but it appears now that it’s Mister Lyon...in the civilian sense of Mister.”
“Yes, sir, back on the North Dakota...in the Arabian Sea.”
“Perhaps we should explain...if your colleagues are cleared for it, that is. By the way, it’s evident you have recovered from the serious wound you received in that operation.”
“Yes, sir, the surgeon on the Abraham Lincoln saved my life. Regarding clearances sir, they don’t have a need to know, but they are cleared for nuclear, if that’s what you mean.”
Captain Hoffman looked at the group and more specifically, John Olyphant before saying, “This crew looks like they’re cleared for Armageddon, wouldn’t you say, Commander?”
“Gentlemen...Miss Smith, please let me introduce Commander Montgomery, the skipper of the USS Vermont. His boat is currently berthed here at the Bangor Trident Base, and will be supporting your operation. A dubious honor, I might guess.”
“So we’re all on the same page to begin with, perhaps I should tell you how this meeting came to be and then I will let Mister Lyon take it from there,” continued Captain Hoffman. “Yesterday, I received a personal phone call from Admiral Steve Wheeler, the Chief of Naval Operations. For those of you who are civilians, let me begin with the obvious fact it is HIGHLY unusual for a Captain in the U.S. Navy to receive a direct telephone call from the CNO. After subduing the panic of the yeoman who answered,” Hoffman said with faux amusement, “of course I took the call.”
“The CNO told me that we were to give Mister Lyon - and these are his direct words – “whatever they needed”, as the operation had been cleared at the highest level of civilian authority. To me, people, that means the President of the United States.”
“I have to tell you people, as Mister Lyon has alluded to, this is the second time he and I have met professionally, and the second time my orders relative to working with him have come directly from the CNO. One could surmise that either I am a very close personal friend of the CNO, or the entire command structure of the United States Navy has completely broken down. Well, I can put your minds at ease about the former by telling you that I have never met the CNO, and, as for the latter, I seriously doubt that, as the piles of paper on my desk will attest. Finally, the fact that Captain Radcliff - a Navy SEAL with every security clearance known to this Navy - is not in this meeting, should indicate that whatever we are about to discuss is very unique indeed.”
“Having said all of this, perhaps Mister Lyon can enlighten us about how our humble little submarine force can dovetail with his latest adventure. You have our undivided attention, Mister Lyon,” concluded Hoffman with a grim smile.
Chance Lyon was a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy and had served on active duty in the Navy, albeit with the Navy SEALs, a branch of the Navy not always completely understood by the blue-water Navy, and he appreciated the subtle complexities of working outside a clear cut chain of command. At some point Hoffman’s commanding officer would become aware of Hoffman’s direct contact with the CNO and Hoffman would have to navigate this fact diplomatically to stay on the good side of his C.O. Hoffman was at a critical stage of his career, having command of the North Dakota, and now a shore assignment as a Base Commander as a captain. His next step would be either promotion to Admiral, or stuck in grade until retirement. Hoffman wanted no glitches to get in the way of the former.
Captain Hoffman had made his statement, albeit sarcastically, while expressing his veiled displeasure at participating in a mission that could potentially have so many negative consequences, most of which would be out of his control. Twenty-five years in the Navy and on the cusp of achieving flag officer status was enough to make a man very nervous indeed when being part of high risk paramilitary situations.
Lyon sensed that the preliminaries were finished and now that Captain Hoffman had made it quite plain to everyone that none of this was his idea, it was time for him to lay the plans on the table.
“Thank you, Captain Hoffman, for meeting with us this early morning and agreeing to support this operation. What I am about to tell you is known to approximately a dozen people within the command and intelligence structure of the United States. You gentlemen make it about an even fifteen.” Chance Lyon looked at Captain Hoffman and continued, “This, sir, is why your orders came directly from the CNO and not through normal command channels.”
Both Hoffman and Commander Montgomery nodded in recognition of the seriousness of the situation.
Lyon continued. “A couple of months ago the CIA became aware that the government of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, the North Koreans, had successfully smuggled a nuclear warhead somewhere into the North American Continent and was actively engaged in a campaign to deploy it somewhere into the United States and detonate it. I cannot go into the details of what follows due to the sensitivity of the intel, but I can tell you that we have successfully infiltrated an agent of the CIA into this operation as a vital component of the potential deployment and detonation of the weapon.”
“So how does the United States Navy fit into this, Mister Lyon?” asked Hoffman.
“For those who don’t understand the structure of nuclear weapons, it may seem impossible to make one very portable when one looks at the physical size of a bomb or a guided missile. But the fact is that it is the warhead that packs the punch, and the rest, the larger component of the bomb or missile, is simply the delivery system and ancillary components. The size of the nuclear warhead is actually quite small compared to the overall package. This warhead the North Koreans have apparently developed with the cooperation of the Pakistanis, has an explosive power greater than the Hiroshima bomb, and is small enough to fit inside a very large commercial ice chest. Once again, to simplify things, we believe that this warhead is in the process of being infiltrated into the U.S. from Canada as we speak. Some of the people working on this operation with the three of us are actually with the warhead right now as it is making its journey,” continued Lyon.
“One of the major aspects of this operation is that the United States has not informed the Government of Canada that we are conducting this operation...for several good reasons. As you know, our current President was the Director of National Intelligence before she took the position at Stanford, as well as serving as President Braxton’s Vice-President until his assassination. During that time she developed a healthy skepticism of the Canadian government’s capacity for keeping secrets, especially about ultra-sensitive matters such as stray nukes. The fact is that this warhead has been sitting in Vancouver, British Columbia, for a few months. We have been keeping an eye on the Koreans who are babysitting this device without the knowledge of the Canadians. As you might imagine, this could be very indelicate if they found out we were conducting a counter-intelligence operation on their soil without their knowledge. Also, and again, I can’t go into details here, but if this became public knowledge, it would jeopardize one of our most closely guarded covert intelligence sources. The President and her national security team have decided that we can’t make a move on securing this warhead unless and until it gets within the boundaries of the United States.”
“So why don’t we send the military to secure it when it crosses the border? Sounds simple enough,” said Hoffm
an.
“Too much potential for the media finding out about this and it becoming a huge news story. The other factor here is containment of the story. At the moment only a very few with the highest security clearance are aware of this, and we want to keep it that way. Finally, if and when we secure this warhead, they’re going to run some tests on it, figure out exactly where it came from, and then we are going to conduct a very quiet operation to retaliate against those in the DPRK who planned this. This operation has been ultra-black from the start and will be so going forward. None of us will even be able to allude to this in our memoirs, Captain.”
“So, are we still in danger of this warhead getting detonated?” asked Commander Montgomery.
“Not so much that, but maintaining the secrecy of the op itself is the big worry. If it became public about a smuggled nuke, or if the guys in the DPRK knew we compromised their plan, this could create a host of unintended consequences,” answered Chance.
“Okay, so how can we help you?” said Hoffman with a hint of impatience. So far I see no upside for me, he thought.
Once again, Lyon began to explain. “Our best knowledge is that the warhead is hidden from sight in a utility van that is on its way to or already on Vancouver Island. From there we think it will board another car ferry and leave Victoria in the next day or so on the way to Port Angeles, Washington. Our plan is to stop the car ferry dead in the water as soon as it passes into U.S. waters in the Strait just south of grid coordinates +48.250 degrees north, -123.401 degrees west. That’s where Commander Montgomery and the Vermont come in. After buzzing the ferry a couple of times, Peggy will land the JetRanger on the deck of the car ferry just after it crosses into U.S. waters. Blackie and I will go to the bridge and take it down, hopefully with no casualties, posing as DEA operators. Concurrent with our final approach to the ferry, we’ll fire a green flare from the helicopter that Commander Montgomery will see through his periscope, and he will surface right in front of the ferry and turn perpendicular to its path which will hopefully be stopping by then. Simultaneous with taking down the bridge and stopping the ferry, we have colleagues on board the ferry who will take control of the van and the personnel in it. The ice chest with the warhead will be transferred to the helicopter and it, along with my team, except Mr. Olyphant, who will stay with the van until Port Angeles, will depart for Kitsap. Once we’re airborne, Commander Montgomery will turn and proceed on the surface back to Trident Base Bangor. We want to use the submarine just so the ferry crew has it in their head that perhaps these two things are tied together. If the news media starts nosing around after the ferry gets back to Port Angeles, the cover story is that this was a major drug bust. The three of us on the assault team will be wearing our DEA windbreakers.”