“I experienced this same decadence firsthand in Hollywood, and believe me, it will lead to your country’s eventual demise, comrade. We Chinese can only pray that we stopped the disease before it reached epidemic proportions. That’s what this takeover is all about — a last ditch, desperate effort by a group of dedicated patriots, who can’t just sit back and watch their beloved country swallowed by capitalism’s insatiable greed!”
Any further comment on Liu’s part was interrupted by his sighting of a scene on the screen at the console’s top, left-hand corner. It showed Monica in the midst of what appeared to be an angry confrontation with a group of Japanese security agents seated around a table in the Queens Grill.
“Damn!” cursed Liu. “Won’t those fools ever learn? Come on, Kristin.
We’d better get up there and teach them another lesson.”
Before leaving, Liu pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. He cuffed Ricky’s wrist to the solid, tubular steel edge of the main console.
“And don’t even think of participating in any foolhardy antics yourself, comrade,” he warned. “Remember that we still have your father.”
Ricky nodded that he understood, and accepted the barest of supportive smiles from Kristin. Once he was alone, he was able to use his right hand to address the keyboard, and he watched the encounter in the Queens Grill unfold with as many camera angles as possible.
So focused was his concentration on this effort that he didn’t notice the access panel to the room’s equipment space suddenly popping open.
First to emerge from this entryway was Tuff, followed closely by Thomas Kellogg.
Tuff found himself forcing back a boyish grin as he loudly cleared his throat and greeted, “Evening, lad.”
Caught totally by surprise, Ricky spun around, and his eyes opened wide upon spotting the ship’s security officer. Standing beside him was a tall, dark-haired stranger. This middle-aged male wore the uniform of a ship’s officer, though this was the first that Ricky had seen of him.
“If you don’t remember, lad, my name’s Tuff and I work with Robert Hartwell. I managed to escape right before the terrorists took over, and I’m most aware of your predicament. My accomplice here is Special Agent Kellogg’s younger brother, Thomas.”
Ricky appeared confused by this. “I didn’t know he had a brother who was a member of the crew.”
“He doesn’t,” replied Thomas. “I’m a federal agent myself, working for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.”
Ricky scratched his head. “Then how come you didn’t join us earlier?”
“Because, believe it or not, I only arrived on this ship a couple of hours ago,” Thomas revealed.
Before Ricky could further express his confusion, Tuff broke in. “Easy does it, lad. Special Agent Kellogg is the first wave of a rescue effort that the military’s about to attempt. And by the way, he joined us by parachute.”
As Thomas nodded that this was true, his gaze was distracted by the ugly scene continuing to develop on the screen. “Looks like there’s serious trouble brewing.”
“It’s another damn confrontation in the Grill,” observed Tuff. “As far as I’m concerned, midnight can’t get here fast enough.”
Tuff took a closer look at Ricky’s handcuffs before reaching into his pocket, pulling out his key chain, and handing one of the keys to Ricky.
“You’re lucky that the hijackers are using the ship’s cuffs.
Right now, my best advice is to stay here, lad. Use the key only if you really have to.”
“Isn’t there anything else that I can do to help you?” offered Ricky.
Thomas gestured toward the console. “Your presence here can make all the difference in assuring our mission’s success. Just stay out of trouble, and keep your head down once midnight comes around. That’s when things are going to get real interesting.”
35
Brad Bodzm’s second watch of the day called him back to the USS Folk’s sonar room at 2100. Together with Jaffers and Seaman Wilford, the team prepared themselves for what could very well be the most important watch of their entire patrol. In three more hours, SEAL Team Two was scheduled to disembark aboard their SDV for the crucial task of retaking the QE2.
In a sign of supreme confidence in Bodzin’s team, Captain Kram had personally asked for them to stand this vital watch, and the Texan proudly accepted this challenge.
To properly motivate his men, Bodzin gave each of them a couple of Kit Kat chocolate bars, as they settled in behind their consoles. A confessed chocoholic himself, Bodzin satisfied his craving with a mug of hot cocoa. With this beverage in hand, he assumed his usual standing position behind his two seated associates.
The first fifteen minutes of the watch were spent reacquainting themselves with the Folk’s tactical situation. They were presently monitoring five separate sonar contacts. Their primary target of course was the QE2. The ocean liner’s distinctive sonar signature was designated Sierra One. The QE2 was continuing on a north-by-north easterly course, and had slowed its forward speed to twenty-one knots.
Further TACAMO broadcasts had confirmed the fact that the ship had indeed been hijacked, and that a crisis of international proportions was taking place aboard the super liner In response, the Polk had settled into a position some 10,000 yards to the southwest of the QE2, proceeding on the exact same course. This was in anticipation of the transfer of the SEALs, at which time the Polk would substantially cut the distance separating the two vessels.
Because it was absolutely vital that no hostile submarines be encountered during the vulnerable SDV launch, Command had also decided to further tighten the positions of two of its submarine escorts.
Sierra Two was the designation for the Baikal. The Russian Akula-class boat was ordered to take up a point position, patrolling the northeastern sector, roughly 20,000 yards off the QE2’s port bow.
The French submarine was assigned the southeastern sector, with the Casablanca designated Sierra Three and lying some 20,000 yards off the QE2’s starboard bow. This left the Polk to take up the rear, almost directly behind the Rubis-class submarine.
The Talent had received permission to drop out of what had been a rectangularly shaped escort formation, with the QE2 smack in the middle. The Brits were designated Sierra Four, and were last picked up by sonar quietly following in the Folk’s baffles.
The fifth and final sonar contact they were aware of belonged to a pod of noisy whales. Designated Sierra Five, the high-pitched squeals and deep-bass bellows of this boisterous bunch emanated from the waters due north of them, a good ten nautical miles distant.
The mysterious sonar contact labeled Sierra Nine had been conspicuously absent from their screens, since last showing itself almost twenty-four hours before. Bodzin knew that this had disturbing implications, especially if this contact turned out to be the suspect Chinese submarine. Tagging this vessel was now their number-one priority.
The QE2’s further reduction in speed had given the Polk additional options to carry out this search successfully. No longer having to concentrate their efforts solely on keeping up with the ship, they could now initiate a proper sonar sweep in an attempt to locate their elusive quarry. The Polk’s two-hundred-and-forty-foot-long towed array was presently deployed, its thirty-seven hydrophones giving them a sonic picture of any potential underwater trespassers to the rear of the formation. They were also in the midst of a sprint-and-drift effort, whereby the Polk would travel at set periods of noisy flank speed, only to abruptly slow down to allow their hydrophones noise-free listening conditions.