Operation Caribe (22 page)

“Est-il trop serré?”
he asked them in their native language. “Is it too tight?”

The man at the controls grimaced and replied: “
Nous saurons bien assez tôt,”
as in “We will know soon enough.”

What followed was five minutes of nail-biting as the Senegals fought the ship’s suddenly rolling wake to slip into the confines of the LSD’s interior dock.

They made it, somehow—but with only a few inches to spare. As soon as the
Dustboat
was inside, the ship’s aft hatch closed behind them. They floated up to the dock, where men in unmarked Navy work clothes helped tie up the boat. The other ship was bobbing on the other side of the dock parallel to them, but the team couldn’t tell what kind of vessel it was because it was draped in loose plastic similar to shrink-wrap.

Agent Harry was waiting for them on the dock.

“Welcome aboard the USS
Mothership
,” he said, with a straight face. “This is a Security 5 vessel, so I don’t have to remind you, if anyone ever asks, you were never here.”

“But what
is
this ship?” Nolan asked him. “There’s nothing this big in the Gator Navy.”

“I guess you’d call it a super LSD,” Harry replied. “We built it for the Israelis years ago, so they could move their nuclear-armed submarines through the Suez Canal. We intentionally made it look like an oceanographic survey ship. They’d put their subs inside here at one of their Mediterranean ports and then they’d sail down the canal, to the Red Sea and then into the Persian Gulf, right under the eyes of the Egyptians and everyone else, without anyone knowing what was going on. The Israelis built their own a few years ago, so they gave this one back to us.”

Nolan was amazed by the story. They all were.

“Freaking Israelis,” Nolan said. “Always thinking…”

*   *   *

TEAM WHISKEY FOLLOWED Harry up a series of ladders to the top deck of the strange ship.

From there, they were escorted to the vessel’s Combat Information Center, or CIC. The ship might have looked innocuous on the outside, but inside it rivaled the U.S. Navy’s most modern vessels. Its design and equipment was universally high tech and the crew, all of whom were dressed in sharp but unadorned combat suits, exuded confidence and élan.

They walked into the CIC to find SEAL Team 616 already there, the five doppelgangers taking all the good seats up front. Nolan wondered if they owned the plastic-wrapped boat they’d seen tied up below.

A SEAL team with its own ship? he thought. That might be a first.

They had a quick round of introductions, something the two groups weren’t able to do properly in the rush after the briefing on Bunker Island. It was mostly an exchange of grunts and nicknames. Snake, Batman, Crash, Gunner and Twitch meet Bowdog, Smash, Monkey, Elvis and Ghost. Whiskey was wearing its old-fashioned blue battle suits, a gift from the Russian mob before the team took on the cruise liner security gig. The suits were poorly made, thick, and fairly uncomfortable, but they were all they had. The SEALs, on the other hand, were wearing what looked to be brand-new black camouflage battle fatigues—a slick, very stylish modern design. In the fashion war, the SEALs definitely had Whiskey beat.

The CIC had room for only about a dozen people, so it was a tight squeeze. Much of the space was taken up by literally
tons
of futuristic surveillance and spy gear: There were twenty-two VDT screens jammed in here, each one monitoring some trouble spot around the world. It was obvious the ship was heavily tied into the U.S. intelligence services’ galaxy of spy satellites, as many of the monitors were marked NRO—for the National Reconnaissance Office, possibly the most secretive of all of America’s spy agencies.

Three uniformed Navy officers stood on a slightly raised platform in front of a Plexiglas situation board. Devoid of any rank insignia or nameplates, each man wore a gold crucifix on a chain around his neck. They were all in their mid-50s, all looked extremely serious and determined—and, in a strange way, they all looked alike, too. Buzz cuts, slightly windburned faces, tough as nails, and well aware of it. It was clear from the start that they would be running the show.

Nolan knew that for reasons of security, there’d probably be no formal introductions, so he had no idea what to call these people. Sensing this, Agent Harry leaned over to him and whispered: “These three guys are the superstars of the new ONI surface warfare special ops division. They’re experts in kissing the right asses, from every big shot in the Pentagon, and right up to the Joint Chiefs. People either call them ‘The Three Kings’ or ‘The Three Stooges.’ Take your pick.”

Whatever their handle, they started off the briefing with a bang.

“Everyone here knows the situation,” the officer in the middle said, beginning the briefing. “So there’s no need to read you the Bible again.

“But I will tell you this: This mission ain’t for those chicken-shit civilian types.
This
ship is all about finding things, sometimes things that no one even knows are there. And I promise you, we’re gonna find these pirate assholes before those civilian pansies move into their luxury suites in Miami. Any questions?”

The SEALs let out their version of ‘hoo-rah!’ ”

Whiskey remained silent. Except for Crash, who whispered to Gunner: “Hey,
we’re
civilians, aren’t we?”

Nolan just groaned under his breath. He already missed the spooks on Bunker Island.

“This will be an exercise in sharing,” the King went on. “We will all have total access to all intelligence concerning shipping activity in the Caribbean and southern East Coast area for the next three days. We are lucky in this regard because, except for the USS
Carl Vincent
due in Norfolk in two days and the boomer sub, USS
Wyoming
arriving about the same time in Kings Bay, Georgia, we are free of any major U.S. Navy ship movements within the crisis time frame. Everything else is routine commercial shipping: LNG ships, supertankers, cruise ships, probably thirty potential targets in all.

“All we have to do is identify, through the use of good, solid intelligence, which of these ships is the target, and how the pirates plan to get aboard. If we achieve these two objectives, we got this bitch in the sack before she can get her panty hose off. Any questions?”

There were none.

“Now, if it gets hairy, we have the authority to reroute any shipping from Cuba up to Virginia in accordance to this mission. In other words, if we need a clear area of open sea to make some noise, we can make that so.

“We will also have support from Naval Air Stations from Jacksonville to Norfolk. This will include P-3 maritime patrol planes, C-130s on loan from the Coast Guard, and I’m told, TR-1 high-altitude recon platforms. Plus the usual array of recon satellites. We also have a total of thirty non-capital surface ships at our disposal up and down the entire East Coast.

“And finally, we will be launching small drones from this ship, while larger Predator and Reaper drones will be launching from McDill, Langley and Charleston air force bases.

“So, we will have a lot of eyes in the sky and feet in the water. Believe me, once we spot them, these pirates won’t have a chance.”

He produced two folders. He handed one to Commander Beaux and the other to Nolan.

“What we need from your two teams is HUMINT—good old-fashioned human intelligence. These folders contain your mission points; we believe these are good places for you to start. Hopefully, they will provide leads that will produce results. But just like the fairy ground team in Miami, it’s paramount that any intelligence you come across is passed on to us here as quickly as possible, so we can disseminate it to all interested parties.

“In conclusion, if there is a successful pirate action so close to the United States, just in future resource allocations alone—for anti-pirate patrols up and down the East Coast and things of that nature—it will break the Pentagon’s piggy bank. And the fact that we have those three other hot spots happening around the world all at the same time makes this entire matter that much more pressing. Whenever it rains, it tends to pour, but I’m sure everyone in this room knows that already.”

He looked up at both groups.

“Are there any questions?”

Nolan was already looking through his file. It contained the coordinates of a Bahamian island where a resident claimed to have intelligence on the possible pirate hijacking of a large vessel off the East Coast. It appeared the team’s mission was to find him and get the information from him. It seemed simple. Almost too simple.

“Nothing here,” he finally replied.

The SEALs, meanwhile, had been furiously taking notes, writing down just about everything the King had said. They also appeared to be surreptitiously recording the meeting with their video camera.

Commander Beaux was still going through his team folder, which appeared bigger, thicker and more detailed than the one for Team Whiskey.

“Everything is nominal here,” he finally said.

The King was about to wrap up the meeting when he stopped and said: “There’s just one more thing. It occurred to us that Whiskey has more experience in finding and fighting pirates than SEAL 616. So, we’re recommending that one of the Whiskey members accompany the SEAL team. This person would jump over and join 616, and keep Whiskey informed of what they are doing.”

The room fell silent. Nolan never expected anything like this—and looking over at the SEALs, he could tell that neither had they.

Before anyone could say anything, Crash spoke up: “I’d be glad to do it.”

Crash was a former SEAL. He’d spent two years with them before joining up with Delta Force and Team Whiskey. After the misadventure at Tora Bora played out, he was drummed out of the service along with the rest of them and had been doing private mercenary work until Whiskey got back together. But he’d never made any secret of the fact that the SEALs had been his first love.

“Sounds good,” the King said.

He turned to Commander Beaux. “That square with you, Commander?”

To his credit, Beaux didn’t hesitate.

“Great idea, sir,” he said. “We’d love to have him along. He’ll be an asset—and we’ll learn from him, for certain. Plus, he can work our camera.”

And just like that, Crash got up, walked to the front of the CIC, shook hands again with his new mates, and then went out the door with them.

As he was leaving, he looked over his shoulder to Whiskey.

“See you in the movies,” he said.

19

TEAM WHISKEY’S STAY on the
Mothership
lasted less than three hours.

The briefing itself was just thirty minutes, start to finish. But there was another reason the
Dustboat
had to visit the Super-LSD.

The Three Kings wanted to install a secure antenna on the little coastal freighter. This device was deemed essential, as it would allow the team to communicate with the
Mothership
anywhere in the mission operations area without fear of messages being compromised. Looking like an extra crow’s nest, the antenna was installed atop the
Dustboat
’s bridge and wired to bypass its existing onboard communications system. This way, no stray or unintentional messages about the secret mission could leak out.

Arriving back in the
Mothership
’s docking bay soon after the CIC briefing to wait for the antenna’s installation, the four remaining members of Whiskey were surprised to see the mysterious shrink-wrapped vessel had already departed. They were sure now it was the SEALs’ mode of transportation.

“Those guys are in a hurry, aren’t they?” Batman said dryly. “I guess they want to get to the good part quickly.”

Twitch just shook his head and said, “Yeah, something like that.”

The
Dustboat
finally set out just before midnight.

Backing the freighter out of the enormous
Mothership
again took all the Senegals’ expertise. Once it was free, they opened up the ship’s two diesel engines and kicked in its turbine-assisted water jets. Then with the team gathered on the bridge, they turned northeast and were off.

As they were leaving, they spotted a darkened vessel about a half-mile to the south, shadowing the
Mothership
. Studying the vessel through their night vision goggles, Nolan and Batman were surprised to see the flag of Blackwater USA flying from its mast.

“For people who weren’t interested,” Batman said, “these guys seem pretty interested.”

*   *   *

AGAIN, WHISKEY’S MISSION was to get to an island known as North Gin Cay and find a resident who’d claimed to have information about the impending pirate attack.

North Gin Cay was located at the far northeastern tip of the Abaco Islands. It was a string of cays that met the Atlantic with names like Strangers Island and Double Breasted Cay.

The trip by boat would take about five hours, or about five times as long as it would have taken by helicopter. But the Three Kings had emphasized that security was the most important aspect of this mission. And Whiskey’s assignment was a pure intelligence-gathering operation. This meant they had to arrive on North Gin Cay without making too much of a fuss. Landing in a heavily armed OH-6 gunship would certainly attract attention.

Upon arriving on the island, the plan was for the team to pretend to be a crew from a typical coastal freighter while quietly seeking out the informant. The mission file contained precious little information about this informant, though. He had approached an off-duty U.S. Navy officer earlier in the week and said something to him about pirates—“real pirates” and not the typical local gangs. This led the officer to contact ONI, and in turn spurred ONI to tell the Three Kings.

If the informant could be found and if he appeared legitimate, Whiskey would reveal itself and get whatever information he had. If not, the mission would qualify as a fire drill, nothing more.

As the team members joined the Senegals in drinking a pot of coffee on the bridge, they tossed around theories as to why Whiskey had been given this specific assignment. The team
did
have experience dealing with undercover informants—after all, that’s what had led to their disastrous mission at Tora Bora. They were also good at presenting themselves as non-military types, again key to the mission’s overall security. And they had successfully tracked down one of the islands’ most notorious local gangs just weeks before. But it still seemed like not a lot of work, especially for $5 million.