Secretary of Defense Pete Adair was waiting, along with Air Force General Les Chalmers, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Overhead, they could hear the marine corps helicopter carrying the presidents national security adviser.
"What can you tell me?" Macklin asked, as he walked to his desk and dropped into his seat. "Any word from Brett or any of our other folks?"
General Chalmers deferred to Secretary Adair, his immediate boss in the chain of command.
"Sir, we haven t heard directly from anyone aboard the ship. We don't know any more than your basic briefing."
"How much time do we have?"
"The ship was scheduled to arrive in New York at eight A. M."
"That figures," Macklin declared. "If it's running at a faster speed than normal, we really dont know how much time we have."
Adair looked at his wristwatch. "According to our calculations, the ship is approximately ten to twelve miles southwest of East Hampton."
The president sighed. "What are we doing to get some answers?"
"General Chalmers?" Adair prompted.
"Sir, we have a coast guard helicopter approaching the QM2 as we speak. We expect to hear from the air crew in a matter of minutes. The coast guard is sending warnings to all shipping in the path of the liner. They're being told to alter course and be on the lookout."
"Has there been any communication with the ship, other than the passenger on the satellite phone?"
Chalmers paused while Hartwell Prost entered the Oval Office.
"No, sir. We haven't been able to raise anyone, and there hasn't been any other communication from the ship. We think terrorists may have taken over the ship. They're probably holding the crew and passengers hostage."
"Or," Prost interjected, "based on the jihad planned by Shayhidi, everyone's dead or incapacitated and no one is controlling the ship."
An uneasy silence drifted over the office.
Hartwell looked at General Chalmers. "Where Brett Shannon and our other friends are concerned, we'd better plan for the worst."
The president rose from his chair. "Let's adjourn to the Situation Room so we can have direct contact with all the players."
Operating from the deck of the Reliance-class cutter Dependable, the coast guard search-and-rescue Dolphin helicopter HH-65A was nearing the area where the crew expected to rendezvous with the Queen Mary 2. The two pilots, the flight mechanic, and the pararescue jumper (known as a PJ) were using night-vision goggles to search for the ship.
The pilot, Lieutenant Commander Jeffery Bergman, coupled the four-axis automatic pilot to the flight controls for hands-free operation while he devoted his full attention to scanning the horizon.
"There she is!" flight mechanic Petty Officer Earl Nogart yelled. "Eleven o'clock, just coming into view — that has to be the QM Two."
"I see her," Bergman said, slightly altering course. He disengaged the autopilot and began a slow descent. "Let's keep a close eye on this baby. Could be armed men on deck."
Lieutenant Tim McLain studied the oncoming ship. "Something's out of whack. They would never cruise at high speed in these seas."
They circled the liner once and then moved closer to the stern. Bergman slowed the Dolphin to match the ship's speed while they trained the spotlight on the QM2 and moved along the port side. The sun deck and the other exposed decks were littered with bodies.
"Judas Priest!" the flight mechanic said under his breath. "There are hundreds of bodies and no sign of life anywhere."
Petty Officer Stu Clements, the pararescue jumper, was stunned. "Man, I ain't never seen anything like this."
Appalled by the tragedy, Lieutenant McLain keyed the intercom. "They've struck us again — sorry bastards."
Bergman positioned the helicopter close to the bridge. They trained the searchlight on the windows and slowly moved across the span of the bridge. It was eerie not to see faces staring back. Whatever the cause, the ill-fated crew and their passengers had suffered horrible deaths.
"No sign of life," McLain said, with a lump in his throat. "What a terrible disaster. And it isnt over."
Bergman keyed the intercom. Tm afraid you re right. New York City, brace yourself."
"Again," McLain added in a tight voice.
Bergman eased the helicopter toward the starboard side of the bridge. "This is unbelievable — unfathomable."
McLain stared at the bodies. "How could human beings hate so much they would fly airliners into the World Trade Center — or kill everyone on an ocean liner?"
Bergman shook his head in disbelief "It s beyond comprehension."
McLain glanced at the pilot. "I'll contact our ship and give them the news."
The doctor and his bride yelled and waved frantically at the helicopter, but to no avail. In desperation, the pediatrician took off one of his deck shoes and heaved it toward the top of the bridge. It fell short, forcing the doctor to move a few yards closer.
"Down here! Look down here!"
He leaned back and threw the other shoe as high and as far as he could. "Down here! Were down here!" Don't leave us behind.
Lieutenant McLain thought he saw something bounce off the front of the bridge. "Stop — stop! I just saw something."
"Where?" Bergman asked.
"Turn the light on the bow."
The pilot inched the helicopter forward as the searchlight flashed across the deck. He spotted two sets of flailing arms. Til be damned! We have survivors but we dont have enough room to land — too many obstacles."
"And we dont have a bullhorn with us," the copilot added. "We can send Clements down with the basket."
"Hang on a second." Easing the helicopter away from the ship, Bergman turned the controls over to McLain while he contacted the cutter Dependable.
Chapter 6
After receiving the shocking news from the coast guard helicopter crew, President Macklin looked at his advisers. "Gentlemen, any suggestions? The helicopter is getting low on fuel and we re running out of time."
Hartwell Prost spoke first. "Sir, we have to place the two survivors on the back burner for the moment. Our first priority has to be stopping the ship before it plows into something along the Hudson River and contaminates everything from Wall Street to Yankee Stadium."
The president leaned back in his chair. "The rescue swimmer?"
"A possibility," Prost allowed, "but he has to volunteer."
Macklin nodded. "I agree."
"What if he cant get to the bridge?" Pete Adair objected. "What if he dies, and we accomplish nothing?"
"What if he gains access to the bridge and stops the ship, averts a disaster?" the president asked.
Macklin turned to General Chalmers, his close friend from football days at the Air Force Academy. "Les, any suggestions?"
"The passengers and crew are already dead. Sink the damn ship." The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was clearly uncomfortable. "Sir, we don t have time to get people out there who have the proper training and equipment to handle a contamination situation like this. It just isn't possible."
"I understand." The president accepted a fresh cup of coffee and sat quietly for a moment before looking at Chalmers. "Les, do we have enough assets available to sink the ship before it reaches New York, if the rescue swimmer can t get to the bridge or if he becomes incapacitated?"
"Yes, sir. We have a carrier—'Truman — steaming about seventy-five miles northeast of Norfolk. Its headed toward the QM Two and they're loading ordnance at this time. I expect the Hornets to be launched in the next thirty to forty-five minutes."
The president tapped the ends of his fingertips together. "Let's see what the rescue swimmers decision is."