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

by Van Torrey

  As soon as the submarine edged its port quarter next to the rear of the ferry it became obvious to Chance and Max that the height difference from the deck of the ferry to the deck of the Vermont was going to be a problem. The angle of the ramp would be too great to safely winch up the ice chest with the warhead in it. We’ve come too far to be stuck by an engineering problem like this, Chance thought. The obvious plan would be to simply leave the ice chest in place on the ferry and take it off with a fork lift at Port Angeles, but the President had vetoed any idea of bringing the warhead in to the United States except to the Bangor Trident Base by assets owned by the United States, so what do we do now?

  All of a sudden the solution dawned on Chance as clearly as a cloudless sky. He looked up at the Chief of the Boat who was looking down on him from the deck of the Vermont as if to say, Okay, smart guy, what do we do now?

  “Master Chief, how deep can this boat of yours dive?” shouted Chance as he looked hopefully at the Master Chief Petty Officer who was the senior enlisted man on the submarine.

  “That’s classified, sonny,” the salty Chief replied.

  If Chance would have been on active duty he would have reminded the Chief that it was not appropriate for even a Master Chief to address a Lieutenant as “sonny”, but then he wasn’t on active duty and, anyway, the Chief of the Boat didn’t know him from a bicycle mechanic.

  “Well, let me ask you another way,” Chance said with a smile. “Would it be disclosing classified information if I asked you if you can dive your boat eight or ten feet?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” shouted the crusty old Chief, “we wouldn’t even be fully submerged.”

  “My point exactly, Master Chief. If you can get your dive officer to flood your tanks enough to bring your deck level with the ramp of the ferry, we can slide the ice chest over on a level plane by lowering the ramp to, in your language, zero bubble. This will be a lot faster and a whole lot safer.”

  The Chief looked at Chance as a twisted grin began to form on his rugged face and said, “Spoken like a true landlubber, sonny. I’ll adjust my piece of billion-dollar machinery to meet you half-way for your half-baked project”

  Ten minutes later the decks of the two vessels were at the same level as a result of the the Vermont flooding her ballast tanks enough to sink the giant sub the few feet necessary to do so. The crew of the Vermont cinched the lines connecting the two vessels, and Max Jenkins lowered the ferry ramp so it was level with the Vermont’s deck while resting on the dock bumpers acting as cushions between the lip of the ramp and the hull of the submarine. The submarine’s winch slowly but steadily pulled the huge ice chest containing the warhead across the ramp onto the deck of the Vermont.

  As Lyon, Blackie, and Max watched the deck detail secure the ice chest in place just feet in front of the conning tower, the Chief of the Boat walked over and spoke to the three men. “Hey, who are you guys, anyway? I see one of you is a ring-knocker. Is that the Annapolis, or are you one of those shave tails from up on the Hudson?”

  “Just fishermen with a load of fish we don’t want to spoil,” Chance answered. He pointed to Max and said, “He’s MIT, I’m Annapolis, and old One Eye here, he’s from the University of Hard Knocks.”

  “Oh, I guess that rates a “sir” then,” the Chief said. “What’s in the ice chest, if I may ask...sir?” queried the Master Chief.

  “That’s classified, Old Man,” answered Chance, who gave him a sharp salute. “See ya around some time, Master Chief.”

  *

  “You guys police up all our stuff from the deck and head for the chopper. I’m gonna release the ferry, and I’ll meet you down there. Miss Joon is baby-sitting the Captain and crew. We’ll meet you at the bird. It’s pretty crowded even with the seats out, so she may have to sit on someone’s lap,” Chance said, looking at Max with a wry grin.

  Chance and Max exchanged a fist bump, while Blackie Olyphant looked on and said “Arrgh!”

  Chance went to the bridge and spoke directly to the ferry skipper, “Sorry to have inconvenienced you today, Captain Bjorklund. Difficult business we’re in sometimes. As far as I’m concerned you’re free to go, but I’m sure you will be hearing from your people in a few minutes.”

  “No harm, no foul,” replied Bjorklund, “but I don’t think it takes a winch from a nuclear submarine to pick up a load of drugs.” All he received in reply from Chance Lyon was a mysterious wink of an eye and a loose salute.

  With that Chance turned and walked briskly to the waiting helicopter. On the way he radioed Captain Montgomery, saying, “Thanks for all your help today, Skipper. I sent the ferry on its way, no worse for wear. Be careful with my fish. See you at Bangor.”

  CHAPTER 40

  BANGOR TRIDENT BASE

  “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.”

  Winston Churchill (August 20, 1940)

  *

  Chance Lyon’s team was reunited late in the afternoon of the conclusion of their mission in a crew quarters of the Marine Guard Company at Naval Base Kitsap-Bangor.

  Lyon and his team had previously arrived by various routes. Gamma came by motor convoy from Port Angeles accompanied by Doug Chambers, his CIA handler. Chance Lyon, Max Jenkins, Miss Joon, and John Olyphant by the JetRanger piloted by Peggy. After arrival they were given the opportunity to shower, freshen up, and were given identical green jumpsuits before being served a sumptuous hot meal in a private mess area. For all of them the last seventy-two hours had been a period of high stress, uncertainty, and finally, moments of exhilaration with knowledge of an important and sensitive task exceptionally well done.

  Marilyn Mitchell and her FBI counterpart, Clayton Wheatley, had previously decided to let Chance’s team have some downtime among each other and then eat dinner in private. There was a lot of decompression for all of them to do, and having some informal bonding time was indicated. Each member of the team would be individually debriefed by their respective supervisor and be asked to provide an after-action report that would be read and carefully scrutinized by Wheatley and Mitchell and, finally, by Raymond Rollins, the DNI. Rollins would then distill these reports down to a one or two pager that he would present to President Rachel Hunter, along with recommendations for further action. That is where the buck would eventually stop.

  After their dinner was over, Mitchell and Wheatley came into the private dining room to chat with the team, and in some cases, meet them personally for the first time. After considerable hobnobbing, Clayton Wheatley asked if he could say a few words to the group. “All of us here are very aware that the events of the past weeks considering the matter concluded by your team this afternoon may never be spoken of to anyone outside of this room again. For those who have participated in similar events in the past, this is just another non-event that never happened. For some of you this is the first of other non-events in your respective careers that will, no doubt, never happen. I think I can say with confidence that none of you here got into this business looking for validation from your peers. For this brief moment, however, you are free to savor your success.”

  Marilyn Mitchell also asked to speak to the group. “I echo the Director’s words to you here today. You may notice that neither of us has expressed any thanks to any of you individually or collectively. There is someone else who probably wishes to do that on our behalf. If you will join Director Wheatley and me, we’ll be driven to another building so that can take place.”

  She turned to Gamma and said, “General, I would like to see you alone for a moment.” Then, turning to the others, she said, “Why don’t the rest of you go ahead, and I’ll catch up in another vehicle.” After Chance and the others had gone, Marilyn Mitchell turned to Gamma and said. “The team is going to another building where they will be meeting privately with the President and some of her senior aides. It isn’t prudent for you to be seen by anyone outside the very small group who know of you. Even fewer know what a valuable intelligence as
set you are. It is essential that we keep this information close to only a select group who have a need to know. I hope you are not offended by this, but the President wishes to meet privately with you later today. It will be just the three of us and Mr. Chambers.”

  “Of course, I completely understand,” answered Gamma.

  It was a five minute drive from where the team had dined to the Missile Containment Building. Here was stored, underground, behind the most elaborate electronic and human security ever devised, the Trident intercontinental ballistic missiles that were housed within the hulls of the Pacific Fleet of the Ohio-class ballistic missile submarines that made up part of the U.S. Naval strategic deterrent. The brilliant fluorescent lighting, the gleaming, grey epoxy painted floors, and the stainless steel racks of specialized tools were complementary to the spotless, sinister-looking missiles themselves lined up in rows within the building. Located throughout the building were computer workstations used by missile technicians to record every event involving maintenance of these weapons of death, and potentially, mankind’s ultimate destruction.

  Few personnel ever got to within one hundred meters of the exterior of the building, let alone inside. An entire company of United States Marines stood guard on the building every minute, twenty-four-seven, to ensure that only those with proper authority ever entered the building.

  As they passed through two levels of vehicular security they entered the parking area of the building where several other black SUVs were parked, attended by uniformed Marines as well as what appeared to be Secret Service personnel dressed in dark suits and sporting sunglasses to protect against the glare of the setting sun. Chance Lyon and his team looked at the sterile exterior of the heavily secured building and could only wonder at its content, as they were ushered in by a uniformed Naval officer with a gold Trident on his dark blue tunic. Chance noticed he was the same officer who escorted them when they met Captain Hoffman over a week ago. “So, Mr. Lyon, we meet again. You and your people are getting to be regulars around here.”

  “Hello, Commander Ratliff. We came for the food,” answered Lyon.

  Inside was an anteroom with simple furnishings and a greeting area separated from the entry area by a thick polycarbonate barrier, much like a bank teller’s area. Behind the barrier were three uniformed U.S. Marines armed with automatic pistols. Their standard issue M4 weapons were nested in a holding fixture on the back wall. “I’m going to have to ask all of you to please sign the register that the senior guard will pass through to you before we enter. It’s regulation,” he said evenly, with a hint of apology, as he recognized both Wheatley and Mitchell as being Administration Executives.

  After signing, each person in the group walked through a metal detector and when the group had finished, the senior Marine guard buzzed them through a hefty steel door that opened into another small empty room leading to an elevator door.

  The escort entered a coded number into the control panel of the elevator and the door slid open with an audible hissing sound. Once the group was inside, he entered another code and the elevator began its silent descent. In less than a minute, the elevator stopped and the officer entered yet another code, which allowed the door to open once again. The team exited the elevator and, in addition to the inanimate weapons of war, saw a group of people that included the President of the United States, Rachel Hunter, as well as a few men in suits and two uniformed military officers.

  The escort officer asked his group to follow him and, as they grew closer, moved off to the side and said, “Ms. President, may I present your invitees?”

  Rachel Hunter moved away from her group and walked over to meet those who had just entered, acknowledging Marilyn Mitchell and Clayton Wheatley, by saying softly, “Director Mitchell, Director Wheatley.”

  Wheatley acknowledged the President’s greeting by saying, “Thank you, Ms. President, very nice to see you again. As you can see, Director Mitchell and I have brought the Operation Hard Candy Team with us as you requested.”

  He turned his attention to the team and said, “I’m sure you all know President Hunter, at least by reputation.”

  Rachel Hunter took the unusual step of moving forward and introducing herself to each member of Chance Lyon’s team. “Mr. Lyon,” she said, “we meet again,” and smiled broadly. “How are you feeling these days?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Great to see you again. I’m feeling fine.”

  “And this must be your colleague...Mr. Olyphant, I presume?”

  “Ms. President, may I present John Olyphant? His friends and colleagues call him Blackie...for obvious reasons.”

  “I know you by reputation, Blackie. I’ll be glad to know you as a friend,” Rachel said graciously. “I heard about your...accident in the Middle-East, I hope you are adjusting well.”

  “No problems, Ma’am. I’m just an old, one-eyed cattle rancher now.”

  “Just a rancher...right,” she said knowingly.

  “Hello Max,” she said next. “I have to say I’m not surprised to see you here today. Perhaps we could have dinner sometime soon when we’re both back in D.C. Got any new war stories?”

  “Of course, Ms. President...now that you’re back and cleared to my security level,” he said jokingly.

  Marilyn Mitchell introduced Peggy and Miss Joon to the President, simply saying that they were “new colleagues” at the CIA.

  “Marilyn, the next time we have Ladies Night over at the White House, perhaps you will bring your new colleagues along.” Rachel said. As she looked at Peggy and Miss Joon, she added, “But you’ll have to leave your significant others at home, we ladies have drinks and dinner, and then we gossip...mostly about Max and other interesting people!”

  With the introductions and small talk over, Rachel Hunter said she wanted to make some remarks to the group.

  “I have been told by Admiral Wheeler, the CNO, that the warhead is to arrive within the hour at the Bangor Trident Base, where we are at this moment. After it is unloaded, it will be brought to this building where our nuclear technicians, advised by one of your peers, will go over it with a fine tooth comb to understand its provenance and the technology this represents. I’m confident we will learn a great deal about North Korea’s nuclear capability by dismantling this weapon in the next week or so.”

  “You should all be proud of the fact that your team accomplished this difficult mission and did so while observing the goals we established from the outset of taking the warhead as it entered U.S. territorial waters, taking Mr. Park alive, and keeping the whole incident dark with no information leaking to the media. My sincere hope is that nothing about this matter will ever leak out and that General Fhang will have no clue about what happened to this terrorist mission.”

  “Having said that, I wish to express my personal heartfelt gratitude, and that of an equally grateful - but unknowing - Nation for a job well done. You all deserve a rest and a commendation of some sort. I’ll have to think about how to do the latter in an appropriate manner,” she concluded.

  “Now, if we may be excused, Director Mitchell and I have some other business to attend to.”

  *

  Admiral Wheeler had secured Captain Hoffman’s office for the President’s private use that afternoon, suggesting to the Captain that he and his whole staff, “take a break away from the office for the entire day. Sorry I can’t tell you more, Captain, but some members of the Presidential staff will be meeting at the base for a conference above my pay grade.” Well if it’s above Wheeler’s pay grade, it’s a helluva high level conference, Hoffman thought.

  After Marilyn Mitchell felt that President Hunter had settled herself in to Captain Hoffman’s office, she went to the conference room where she had parked General Kim and escorted him to the office. “Ms. President, may I present General Kim Dong-sun of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, otherwise known to a select few of us as Gamma.”

  Breaking normal protocol, Rachel Hunter rose from her chair and approached Gamma with
an outstretched hand, which he took, giving her a slight bow in return. “I am much honored to meet you, President Hunter. I have read a great deal about you and have developed a great admiration for your accomplishments. I never dreamed we would meet in person,” he said.

  “General, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you personally for all the assistance you have been to our government. I hope the sacrifice has not been too great. I know this is very dangerous for you.”

  Gamma gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and answered, “Thank you, President Hunter. I have no admiration for General Fhang and for what he is doing to my country. In time, I would like to see positive change in North Korea and would be proud to be a conduit for that.”

  “Then I assume this means you will be open to continuing to serve us in the same capacity as before, if we can make a plan for making that happen seamlessly,” Rachel Hunter replied cryptically.

  “Hopefully, I can continue in your service,” he replied evenly with another slight nod.

  “I am a public servant and tomorrow we begin the celebration of our great national holiday, so I must be going. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, General,” Rachel Hunter concluded. “And good day to you, Director. We’ll meet again soon,” she said.

  *

  After the President and her entourage left the building the escort officer approached Chance Lyon and said, “Mr. Lyon, I have been instructed to escort you and your group out of the building and to the vehicles. I’m afraid we can’t allow you to stay. Of course, we made an exception for the President and her entourage.