One huge crane swung out and down; then a second moved into position. Men attached cables to each end of the missile and the dolly. Winches ground. Slowly the thirty-ton missile and dolly lifted off the dock. It wouldn’t fit into any of the holds on the ship, so they positioned it slightly aft on the main deck, secured it, and added more camouflage.
The Panamanian captain signaled, and a small crane swung down a pallet board with a wooden box on top of it. Inside the box were stacks of U.S. currency.
“There it is, fifteen million in hundred-dollar bills. Mostly used, but some with sequential serial numbers.”
“We’ll check it,” Chen said. The tow tractor pushed its lift bars under the pallet board and carried the money back to the Star of Asia.
A few minutes later it was loaded on board. Chen stepped into the ship through the side loading hatch, and the tractor pulled the loading bridge inside. The heavy steel panels on the side of the freighter closed, and the rusty camouflaged plates slid down into place.
It took another five minutes for the crew of the Chinese ship to cast off its lines. Aided by a tug, it worked its way out of the dock area toward the channel that led to the open Black Sea. Within ten minutes they had cleared the port, paid the pilot double his usual fee, and put him in his small boat.
All of the regular clearances had been filed. They checked out with the port master’s radio in faltering Russian, and were on their way.
For two hours, Chen stood in the bridge, listening to the radio and watching for fast-moving ships that might be overtaking them. He paced the small area, smoked one cigarette after another, and always looked to the rear. He saw and heard nothing unusual. Only when they were a half hour at sea did he take out a bottle of rice wine he was partial to and pass around drinks to the Chinese Navy captain of the ship and his executive officer.
“Due south?” the captain asked.
“Yes. Later we can change course to come to the Bosporus Strait.”
The captain tipped his second small glass of the wine and lifted his brows. “All goes well. You will be a hero of China.”
Chen’s face froze into a steel mask. “Not yet. We have a long way to go. We have the greatest prize any warship has ever won. We have the future of the Chinese nation’s place in history. We have fifty more nuclear warheads that we can retrofit and then use any way that we want to.
“They will give us flexibility. We have some nuclear weapons, but not as many as the Western nations believe. This will give us massive potential. They will fuel a power drive gobbling up nations and territories that no nation on earth will have the nerve to challenge.
“There will be no stopping this vessel in any port. We will go through the strait, then on into the Sea of Marmara and out the Dardanelles.
“Once in the Aegean Sea, we will be able to relax and to meet one other ship. We must avoid any suspicion by any government. We are an oily old rust bucket of a Chinese freighter making for the Suez Canal on our homeward trip. Nothing we do can alter that image. We are the future of China.
“We also saved the seventy-two million dollars we were to have paid for the stolen goods. We have sold one missile for another fifteen million. We will go down in Chinese history books as the key men in jolting China into the forefront of the world powers and in carving up the Far East in any fashion that China wants to.
“I make a toast, Captain, to China, the greatest nation on the face of the earth.”
“To China,” the captain and Chen said together. Then they drank.
When the rusty old freighter was fifty miles south of Odessa in the Black Sea, sailors from the ship held a short Buddhist funeral service and slipped the bodies of the three Special Forces men into the Black Sea. Chen watched. The bodies sank immediately. They were good men, good soldiers of China.
2
Senior Chief Will Dobler grinned as his eleven-year-old son, Charles, stared in wonder at the “0” course while a squad of tadpole SEALs scaled the walls and walked the logs and powered over the obstacles.
“Wow, Dad, I want to do that. Please?”
Dobler chuckled. “Not quite yet, mister. You’re not big enough to get halfway up that wall. When nobody is using it we’ll go out and you can give one of them a try.”
It was visitors’ day at the Navy SEALs training facility on the strand at the south side of Coronado, and the senior chief of Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven had his family on the tour. The Navy Special Warfare Section, Group One, was a secure facility. But the part of it that was the BUD/S training section and the home base for SEAL Teams One, Three, Five, and Seven was not actually a part of the secured area. It was a little more relaxed, and from time to time visitors were permitted to look over the training areas and the SEAL facilities.
Senior Chief Dobler’s wife, Nancy, and Helen, his fifteen-year-old daughter, were along as well. It was to be an all-day family outing. First the base, then a picnic and surfing and swimming down at the Silver Strand State Beach on the ocean side.
Gunner’s Mate Miguel Fernandez had brought his family along on this Sunday afternoon, and they’d teamed up for the tour. Maria Fernandez had been a help to Nancy, and now they were good friends.
At the fifty-foot-deep tower tank, Charles wanted to jump in, but his father gave him a curt no. The tank was little used now. The waterproofing of the tadpole SEALs was done in a new pool.
Helen had asked to stay in the car during the tour, but her mother had persuaded her to come. “We want you to know where your father works and what he does here,” she had said. Helen had pouted a little, but had gone along. She was tall, slender, and dark-haired like her mother. She had filled out during the past year, and Senior Chief Dobler had been worried about the boys who began to come to their house to talk to Helen. He knew they had more in mind than talking, and it bothered him. So far, no major problems.
The tour moved to SEAL Team Seven’s headquarters and the Third Platoon office. Jaybird Sterling sat behind one of the desks, working on his machinist’s mate specialty and getting ready for striking for first class. He stood as the civilians came in, then saw Senior Chief Dobler and relaxed.
The chief introduced his family and Maria and Linda Fernandez to Jaybird. While the chief told his family what he did in the office, Jaybird moved over beside Helen. Jaybird had felt his jaw drop in amazement when he saw the pretty girl.
She had to be eighteen, long dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful skin, and a face and figure that made him stop and look again. He grinned foolishly as he motioned to her.
“Hey, how do you like our digs?” Damn, what a stupid thing to say. She probably wouldn’t even look at him.
She turned and smiled, and Jaybird almost melted into a puddle on the floor. “Jaybird. Yes, I’ve heard Father talk about you. He wonders how you got your nickname.”
“That’s classified. Sorry. You like the tour?”
“First time I’ve been here. Seen a lot of the Navy, of course. Ever since I could walk and talk.”
Senior Chief Dobler looked at his daughter and frowned. He went on explaining what they did in the office. Then he looked at his daughter again.
“Jaybird, knock it off. I’m trying to talk up here.”
Jaybird waved, and looked at Helen and grinned. “I’ll get chewed out tomorrow,” he whispered.
Helen laughed softly, and her smile brightened. “I hear there’s a fish fry for the platoon coming up.”
“Yeah, someone is always having one. Oh, you would come. Yeah, I’ll look forward to it.”