Murdock wouldn't go for it, and earned his appointment to Annapolis instead. He almost got married once. Her name was Susan, a bright, vibrant girl who was Jewish, much to his father's discomfort. She was killed days before the wedding that was to take place right after his Annapolis graduation. It happened in a car accident as she was on her way to see him.
Now the SEALs were his life. He grinned. He had met a girl a few months ago in Washington, D.C., who had made him stop and think about getting serious again. But they had put it on hold. She'd hoped that in a year he'd have his fill of the SEAL excitement and be ready to settle down at some posh military job at the Pentagon. He snorted. Fat chance.
Murdock called his men together.
"At least we know our route. We'll be going over the Pole and drop in on London. From there we touch down at Cairo, probably for more fly juice, then on to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Don't ask me about which countries we can fly over and which ones we detour around. Not my problem.
"In Saudi Arabia we'll pick up our old friend Don Stroh, who is our CIA control on these pleasure cruises. For you two new men to our little family here, we are currently on a string for the CIA. Any dirty little job they don't want anyone to know that the U.S. has a hand in, they give to us. Not sure that this one will be all that covert, since CNN had the story of the hijacking all over the airwaves about six hours after it happened.
"We'll be getting more details on the harbor at Mombasa, which I hear is a good one and over three miles long. Plenty of dock space courtesy of our British friends, who built up the port in the fifties and sixties.
"From Saudi Arabia we'll be changing planes into the more familiar C-2A Navy Greyhound, our old reliable COD Navy turboprop transport. The Greyhound will land us on our home base, some carrier now steaming south just off the Somali Republic coastline heading for the waters off Kenya. As usual, the carrier has its normal protective task force. Any questions?"
"Yes, Sir, L-T." It was Torpedoman's Mate Third Class Les Quinley, one of the replacements who'd come on board after the Chinese picnic. "Does this shit-bird bad-ass Kenyan colonel have a name?"
"Right, Quinley. He's Full Colonel Umar Maleceia. He was a major last time I met him at a special training program in the States. He was a student there. Which means the U.S. trained him in the latest and best in weapons, communications, and tactics. Which he is probably putting to good use right now. Anything else?"
"Sir?" An airman stood at the edge of the SEALS. He had a piece of paper in his hand. "Lieutenant Murdock. I have some correspondence for you from Washington."
Murdock nodded, and the airman brought the papers forward, gave them to him, and retreated.
Murdock looked at the top sheet, read a few lines of it, and groaned.
"Gentlemen, our mission has just changed. Our Colonel Maleceia has just expanded his operation. Two hours ago he attacked the U.S. Embassy in Nairobi, the Kenyan capital. Now we are ordered to defend and if necessary recapture the embassy if it falls. The estimate in this report is that the embassy can't hold out more than about twelve hours. So our first mission will be on land at the embassy in Nairobi, which is about three hundred miles north of Mombasa."
"Damn long swim, L-T," Quartermaster's Mate First Class Kenneth Ching said. The SEALs all laughed.
4
Gunner's Mate First Class Pete Vuylsteke woke up first. His back hurt where he had slept on the hard floor. He poked Perez beside him, and looked around for Tretter. "Where the hell's the black kid?" Vuylsteke whispered.
Doc Perez rubbed his eyes. "Last time I saw him he was snoring over there. He sure ain't there now."
Vuylsteke looked through the broken window. "Damn near daylight outside. We gonna be safe in here? Where the hell is Tretter?"
They heard something at the edge of the broken-down building, and both dropped flat on the floor. The sound came closer, then Tretter stepped around the crumbling wall and waved.
"Hey, the two sleeping beauties have awakened. I should give you a medal already. Gents, I've been out and about on this fine day, and I bring back food.
"Had one hell of a hard time out there faking it. Nothing is open yet. Went down one street and looked in every small shop. Got to another street and saw a woman in an alley. She came my way. I waited and talked to her. She pegged me right away as an American. Clothes, she said. She pulled me into a doorway and we talked. Turns out she was looking for her milk delivery somebody forgot to bring.
"She said she wasn't at all sympathetic to the new military rule. She knew about our ship getting hijacked. She said the U.S. Navy would blow up half the town in two days to get the ship back.
"I asked her if she could help hide three of us. She frowned and said maybe. If I could help her. Hell, I said anything, we'd help her do whatever she wanted.
"So I found this fine little mama who says she'll help hide us, but, like, we have to play the game with her."
Tretter put down two plastic sacks. Inside were two loaves of bread, a small jar of jam, a dozen hot dogs, and three bananas. He pulled out another jar, a larger one, that contained some dark brown strips.
"Kippered fish, gents. A real delicacy. I didn't ask her what kind of fish. You dig?"
Already Perez had eaten one of the bananas. Vuylsteke had pushed two of the hot dogs inside a cut-off strip of the round loaf of bread, and had his mouth full.
"What's our security?" Perez asked as he broke off a chunk of the bread.
"This mama has a small place and neighbors. Nobody moving around when I was there. She says she can help us, but we got to help her."
"I smells me some trouble," Perez said.
"Oh, she said she heard the word last night. If any of the soldiers occupying Mombasa spot any U.S. sailors running around, they have orders to shoot to kill."
Vuylsteke waved his sandwich. "Yeah, figures. What does this broad want?"
"First she said I had to smuggle her on board our ship when we get it out of here. I told her not a chance. Then she said we had to get her a visa to come to the U.S. where she can be a recording star. She's a singer."
"Evidently," Vuylsteke said.
"I said easy. Just apply at the embassy in Nairobi."
"That do it?" Perez asked.
Vuylsteke waved his hand and pointed to the far end of the building. They could hear voices. Then somebody pushed over some boards and they clattered on the floor.
The three sailors gathered up their food, and edged behind a half-torn-down wall. The voices came closer. A few moments later they could see two black policemen in khaki uniforms. Neither one had a gun. Both had nightsticks. Now the sailors could hear the English words.
"They tell us to search the place so we search," the taller one said. "Otherwise we get shot. These guys have no brains."
"How long will this coup last?" the shorter one asked.
"Who knows. We be careful until then. Maybe the United States will come in to rescue their ship. Who knows?" The two policemen stood there a moment, then turned, and walked back the way they had come.
"We searched it. We tell them we searched the whole building and didn't find a thing except rat droppings."
"Yeah, that's good. Rat droppings." The smaller man shook his head. "Only, you can tell them, not me."
The sailors breathed easier as the two policemen went out the way they had come in.
Silently Tretter motioned for the other two sailors to follow him. They went to the near end of the building and Tretter looked out. It was daylight. Tretter rummaged around near a broken door until he found what he had left there. Straw hats, large and floppy.