by Van Torrey
Simultaneous with the breaching of the Vermont in the path of the ferry, Peggy approached the slowing vessel head-on nearly at sea level, breaking off only five-hundred feet in front of the bridge before making a sharp sweeping turn away from its port side. Then she banked the JetRanger around and made another frontal pass, this time breaking to starboard at maximum speed. At this point Captain Bjorklund was speechless as he stood on the bridge with the knowledge that all this activity was no coincidence. His ferry was under some sort of attack...but by whom and why, he wondered? Pirates?!
The Vermont was now sitting on the surface an and moving slowly within hailing distance of the ferry when Captain Montgomery came to the sail bridge with his bullhorn. “Attention Black Ball vessel,” he hailed, “you are commanded to come to a complete stop. Prepare to be boarded by United States Federal agents at this time. Acknowledge receipt of this and intention to comply with these orders by three blasts from your ship’s horn. Prepare to receive a boarding party.”
Bjorklund had thought he had seen everything in his fifteen years of piloting in the strait, but this was a first among firsts. If he had any suspicions of the intentions of the helicopter, these were allayed by a United States Navy warship blocking his vessel midway between Canada and the United States. One look at his track being displayed on the large video display on the bridge confirmed he was within U.S. territorial waters and subject to the commands of the American submarine and U.S. law enforcement.
“First Officer, sound three long blasts of the ship’s horn,” Bjorklund ordered. “We are about to be boarded...for what I do not know, but these people obviously mean business.”
*
Gamma was expecting some easing of the ferry’s way in connection with the initiation of Operation Hard Candy, and was sensitized to the momentum change of the vessel that he felt while tinkering with the various gizmos in the briefcase. Couldn’t come at a better time, he thought, as he was running out of bogus manipulations that were meant to show Park that he was, in fact, arming the warhead. Within moments he expected the van to come under attack but felt helpless that he wouldn’t be able to assist whomever Chance was sending to take Park down. Would Park detect that the act of terrorism had been detected and was about to be foiled? Worse yet, would he react to this knowledge by peremptorily killing Gamma in a last act of revenge? Being restrained with only one hand to defend himself was not conducive to self-defense, he reasoned reluctantly.
Miss Joon watched carefully from the opposite side of the vehicle deck as Max doffed his sweatshirt and hastily pulled the balaclava over his head. He gave her a thumbs up and she went into action as part of the team effort to take Park down quickly and without gunfire.
*
“Ferry acknowledges boarding party,” Montgomery radioed to Chance Lyon. “Proceed as planned,”
Chance tapped Peggy on the shoulder and pointed aggressively to the slowing ferry. “Take her down,” he said over the intercom. “After Blackie and I get off, turn the chopper toward the bow and wait for Blackie and Gamma to come back with Park. As soon as they are in get them to the Coast Guard station. Then get back here ASAP.”
“Got it boss,” replied Peggy. “Just like we rehearsed.”
Peggy settled the JetRanger onto the forward deck of the ferry discharging Chance and Blackie just as the skids settled onto the steel deck. As the two men exited the hovering chopper the whining turbine and the prop wash overwhelmed all other sound and lashed their blue jackets with the yellow DEA lettering against their straining bodies. With his black eye patch and the rest of his face covered by the knit balaclava, Blackie looked like an apparition out of a sci-fi movie. Chance Lyon had all the moves of the jungle cat from which his name was derived as he swiftly negotiated the steps leading up from the bow to the bridge deck. Lyon went left, Olyphant went right and they entered the bridge simultaneously with their Sig-226s drawn. “DEA agents, Captain! All engines stop and all crew to the bridge. Do not hesitate! This ship is under the control of the DEA and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Do you have any firearms or other weapons on board?”
Bjorklund looked at the two men with incredulity and stammered out an answer. “Yes,...we are at all stop. First Officer, gather the crew to the bridge.” Then addressing Chance Lyon directly, “We have no weapons... the company does not permit weapons aboard.” Apparently these men did not get the memo, he thought, darkly.
*
As soon as Max sensed a change in the forward momentum of the vessel he gave a hand signal to Miss Joon crouching in wait on the other side of the vehicle deck. Once again, Miss Joon was on-stage and she leapt into action like a trooper.
Several steps away from the passenger side of the cargo van she started screaming and crying out frantically in Korean, “Man-soo...PLEASE HELP ME...PLEASE, A MAN IS TRYING TO RAPE ME!” Park looked over from his driver’s seat and could see a woman stumbling toward the van with her blouse torn nearly off and her hair in a mess, screaming wildly. Then he recognized her unmistakably as Miss Joon, who, he was sure, had been left at the Victoria ferry stop. As she reached the side passenger window she began to pound on the glass and continued her loud cries for help. “HE’S TRYING TO RAPE ME, PLEASE HELP!” Gamma could hear her cries and could only watch incredulously as Park was momentarily distracted by the commotion outside the van. Then if came to him what was occurring outside was an elaborate ruse designed to take Park’s mind off Gamma’s prevarications of arming the warhead and distract him from what was coming next.
*
“Captain, I am Special Agent Thompson of the Drug Enforcement Administration and this is my colleague, Agent Anderson. We are taking control of this motor vessel for the time being. We have reason to believe there is a large shipment of illegal drugs on board headed for the United States and we’re going to search the vessel. It is very important that you cooperate with us and that you and your crew offer no resistance to these efforts.”
“Well, yes, of course,” answered Captain Bjorklund, still agitated about how swiftly his ferry had been successfully raided by these modern day buccaneers.
“Until you are told otherwise by your company’s Operation Office on shore, you will issue no orders regarding the further movement of the vessel. One of our agents is currently at your office in Seattle explaining this situation to your owners. Until you hear otherwise from them, I am in command of the ferry,” ordered Chance Lyon.
*
As with most coordinated, pre-planned paramilitary operations, split second timing was the key to operational success. In this case, Miss Joon’s seeming desperation carried out so convincingly within the confines of the nearly deserted vehicle deck was just enough of a distraction to give Max Jenkins the advantage he was looking for. As Park leaned over toward the passenger side window to try to understand Miss Joon’s desperate plight, Max violently pulled the driver’s side door open and placed Park’s head in a vice-grip around his neck. Park immediately knew what had happened and clawed violently for his gun. His legs kicked wildly and his body thrashed against Max’s iron grip as he hurled gurgling epithets at his tormentors. He looked wild-eyed at Gamma, his mouth foaming and contorted in rage, and Gamma knew his life would be over if Park could reach his gun.
As soon as Miss Joon saw that Max had control of Park she opened the door in an effort to help subdue the raging Korean. Park’s kicking and thrashing continued unabated and Miss Joon was worried that Max would not be able to control the Korean from his position outside the van for much longer. From the four-wheel drive truck parked next to the van she calmly pulled a shovel from its bed and opened the passenger side door of the van. As Park lunged for her, nearly breaking Max’s headlock, Miss Joon drove the handle of the shovel horizontally into the exposed groin of Park. Shrieking in pain from the blow of the shovel handle, his hands automatically went to protect his manhood, but Miss Joon dealt another crippling blow that hit him just before his hands could shield his testicles. Park gasped audibly and co
wered in agony as all resistance to Max’s death grip involuntarily ceased. When Miss Joon saw that Park was no longer struggling, she jumped up onto the writhing Korean, straddled his helpless body on his torso and looked him in the eye as his face became a mask of unmitigating pain. “Okay, motherfucker,” she said in perfect English, “this is as close as you’re going to get me to doing the reverse cowgirl on your sorry ass,” as she slapped him across the face violently. “That was for the insults I had to endure from you on the way to Victoria today.”
Max had some industrial size nylon cable ties with him and within a moment he had Park restrained by the wrists and the ankles as he lay writhing in agony across the two seats. Tying Park wasn’t really necessary. After the beating he had just taken from Miss Joon, he couldn’t have even crawled ten feet. Max then rummaged through Park’s pockets and came up with the key to the handcuffs and Miss Joon had Gamma free in a moment. Gamma looked at Miss Joon, winked at her, and said, “Remind me never to say anything of a sexist nature to you.”
“That might be okay, just smile when you say it,” she responded with a wink of her own.
*
Seeing that Max had the situation in the van totally under control, Miss Joon raced to the bridge to find Blackie so that the next phase of the mission could be carried out as Chance had ordered. As she entered the bridge all eyes were on her as she was still wearing the torn blouse that revealed more of her exceptional figure than she would have liked. Like the professional she was, she ignored that and instead caught Blackie’s eye and motioned for him to follow her. At the same time she looked over at Lyon and said, “Everything’s under control, Boss. Both men are safe and the cargo is secured.” What sounded like a mystery to the others made perfect and welcome sense to Lyon and Olyphant. “Okay, you know the plan, let’s get our guy on the chopper,” said Lyon. In less than five minutes Gamma, now wearing a balaclava of his own to conceal his identity, and Blackie were half dragging the gasping and hooded Park up to the bridge deck and then down the steps of the bow to the waiting JetRanger that Peggy had idling. Gamma climbed into the chopper, Blackie plunged the sedative into Park’s bare arm and in less than a minute he was fast asleep. “Have a nice flight, fucker!” said Blackie as he slung himself into the front seat of the JetRanger and gave Peggy a thumbs up. Ten minutes later they landed at the Port Angeles Coast Guard Station where a convoy of Black Chevrolet Tahoes and Suburbans manned by FBI agents took charge of Park Man-soo for his foreseeable future and, probably, beyond. At the handoff, Blackie mentioned to the FBI Special Agent in Charge that Park had “tripped and fallen” getting out of the van and had sustained a groin injury. “I don’t think our friend is going to be getting laid anytime soon.”
Gamma’s CIA handler from Pakistan, Doug Chambers, was also on hand to greet them and he immediately took Gamma to one of the waiting Tahoes and helped him in. As Gamma took off his hood he immediately recognized Doug Chambers and gave him a big smile. “Welcome to America, General Kim. We needed to keep a lid on your identity so if anyone on the ferry took any pictures, you wouldn’t accidentally be in any of them. After the debrief and a few days rest, we’ll have to talk about your future.”
“I’m very tired,” Gamma answered. “These past few days have been very stressful. I would like some single-malt scotch and a good dinner.”
“We can arrange that!” said Chambers. This is working out way better than we could have hoped for, he thought.
*
The Boeing maintenance people began swarming all over the JetRanger even as the rotors were winding down. The fuel truck topped her tank and within minutes they had the back seats out of the helicopter to make room for the ice chest and warhead. “Gamma thinks it might fit in while it’s still in the ice chest, but if not Peggy will have to come back and get a Black Hawk and fly back out there,” Blackie said to the Special Agent in charge. “They’re flying one up from Kitsap as a backup if we need it,” he said.
In minutes Blackie and Peggy were winging their way back over the strait toward the ferry, gearing themselves up for the last critical aspect of the mission, taking the warhead to the Bangor Trident Base.
*
Peggy landed the JetRanger on the bow of the ferry and kept it at idle as Blackie went to the bridge to confer with Lyon. “The two men are in the hands of the FBI and are being moved as we speak. We’ll go to the deck, and try to get the cargo up to the bow.”
“Roger that, Blackie,” said Lyon. I’ve been in touch with the sub skipper and they are going to keep station until we release them. The ferry crew is cooperating. No trouble here.”
Blackie made his way to the vehicle deck and met up with Max, who had gone through the van and bagged whatever evidence he could pick up. “The ice chest closest to the cab is the likely unit holding the nuke; the others are full of fish and ice. I say we pull them out and move them to the back of the ferry so the skipper can do what he wants with them before making way.”
“How much does the ice chest with the nuke weigh?” asked Blackie. “Are we going to be able to move it ourselves?”
“Gamma estimates three hundred fifty or four hundred pounds,” said Max. “Going to be a bitch moving it up to the higher deck and onto the chopper. I think it’s too risky. I don’t care what Gamma said about the safeties, we can’t take a chance on dropping this little guy and making it into a dirty bomb.”
“Dirty bomb?” asked Blackie.
“Yeah, there’s always the chance this could drop and the TNT explosive used to trigger the nuclear blast could go off and scatter the nuclear material around without setting off a nuclear blast itself. If that happened, this ferry would be radioactive for years and all the people on it, including us, would die of radiation poisoning. We can’t take a chance,” answered Max.
“Let’s ask the boss,” suggested Blackie.
After hearing the explanation from Max and leaving Miss Joon on the bridge to supervise Bjorklund and the crew, Chance Lyon went down to the vehicle deck to look at the problem. For ten minutes he and Blackie discussed their options and made a decision.
“Commander Montgomery, this is Chance Lyon,” Chance said on his sat phone to the USS Vermont’s skipper. “You have a winch on board don’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right,” he answered.
“This cargo weighs more than we can comfortably lift. Can you maneuver your boat around to the loading end of the ferry and we’ll lower the ramp to contact your hull. Then you can play out cable from the winch and we’ll winch the cargo onto your deck so your men can secure it for the surface journey to Kitsap. Is this possible?”
“Wait one, gotta check with the Chief of the Boat,” the Captain answered.
Two minutes later Montgomery was back on saying that he could do it, but they would have to place a bumper between the end of the ramp and the sub’s hull to prevent damage when the two surfaces rubbed against each other in the swells of the strait.
“No sweat, skipper. I’m sure the ferry has bumpers and life jackets that will do the job. We’ll have to lash the two vessels together for the transfer. There are probably lines aboard for that.”
“Okay...hold for a minute,” answered Montgomery. “We’ll start maneuvering to you, Lyon...and for God’s sake don’t ding up my boat or they’ll be hell to pay, and you’ll get the goddamn bill!”
“That’s a deal Captain, provided your people don’t get careless with this nuclear warhead and set it off in the process. Then there will literally be hell to pay!”
Chance went to the bridge and queried the ferry captain about his needs. “I’ll need twenty life jackets, all the dock bumpers you have, and all the heavy mooring lines you have aboard. Have your boson’s mate bring these items to the vehicle deck on the double.”
Although he was grumbling internally about the cavalier way he and his crew were being treated, Bjorklund stifled his objections and gave the order.
“And Captain,” Chance continued as an afterthought, “we ne
ed to move a few cars on the vehicle deck so we can winch a large object up the ramp and onto the deck of the submarine. Here are the license numbers of the cars to be moved. Please have the keys to those vehicles delivered to the bridge so my men can do this. If we can’t do this in cooperation with the owners, we’ll have to push them off the back of the ferry. I’m counting on your crew to arrange this with the vehicle owners.”
Added to Bjorklund’s indignation of what had transpired on his normally docile ferry today was the thought of these buccaneers joyfully pushing some passengers’ cars over the back of the ferry into the drink because they were interfering with whatever mayhem that was being visiting on his ferry today. Bjorklund quickly recovered from the shock of the thought of such an act and grabbed the ferry’s intercom and spoke, “Will the owner of a 20...”
Within thirty minutes the vehicles parked in objectionable positions were safely moved and the USS Vermont was positioned at the aft end of the ferry. With its deck some eight feet or more above the vehicle deck level of the ferry, the angle at which the ice chest containing the warhead would have to be shifted would be severe. Nevertheless, this was the only solution available due to the weight and fragility of the warhead.
Lines were passed between the ferry and the submarine and temporarily secured to the deck of the Vermont by the deck detail supervised by the Chief of the Boat himself. Dock bumpers had been draped over the side of the Vermont to prevent damage by contact of the ferry as the light swells in the strait moved the vessels up and down in contrast to each other. This was going to tricky, Chance thought, but it was the only way.
Max had rigged up a ramp from the deck of the van to the deck of the ferry so the ice chest could be evenly pulled out and gently slid down to the deck. Once the ice chest was on the deck, the winch from the Vermont could pull it into position in front of the ramp from the ferry. At that point the ramp would be lowered hydraulically so its leading edge would be placed against the hull of the submarine, cushioned by the life jackets from the ferry. The lines between the ferry and the Vermont would be cinched up so the two vessels would be moving as one. Once the connection was made, the winch would pull the ice chest up the ramp and the deck party could secure it on the deck for the trip to the Bangor Trident Base. That was the plan... in theory.