“What was left? Yank the warheads out of those missiles and dump the useless carcasses overboard, then hide the warheads, welding shut the compartments required.
“Then I would stagger into port, asking for clearance to repair three holes where I had hit rogue mines left over from World War II. Once in port, I would be searched under some pretext, but I would win the day with my welded-shut compartments.”
“Better than anything else I’ve heard so far,” Admiral Tanning said. “This way, by waiting, we can’t lose and we might win. Will that Chinese ship-driver do it that way?”
“The destroyer captain probably isn’t in charge. I’d guess a civilian high in the government from Beijing is on board calling the shots with plenty of radio directions. He’s had four days to dismantle the missiles. Depends how many engineers he has and how afraid of the warheads they are.”
“That means how many more days, Commander?”
“My guess is three or four.”
Admiral Tanning had been making some notes. He stopped and frowned, picked up a pipe and filled it, then looked at Murdock.
“So, let’s say this boss Chinese does what you say, and comes into port here in Athens. International shipping laws being what they are, how do we board a foreign man-of-war and take off those warheads.”
“The Greek National Health Commissioner,” Murdock said.
“What? How could the health commissioner have anything to do with this ship?”
“The plague, the Black Death. We have strong evidence that one of the sailors on the ship has the plague, and he must be found and treated before he spreads the disease to the rest of the ship’s men and before it breaks out in Athens itself.
“In this case the health laws far outweigh the maritime laws, and the search could be carried out in an orderly fashion, or with Greek police and military backing them up. Along with the medical search parties would be your men with Geiger counters and other sniffers looking for the barest hint of radiation. Every warhead is going to leak a little. The most sensitive instruments can pick up the scent through steel walls.”
Admiral Tanning sat back in his chair and lit his pipe. He puffed two or three times, then blew a wobbly smoke ring at the ceiling and laughed softly.
“By George, Murdock, I think you might have something here. It’s a no-risk plan for three days or a week. We have nothing to lose and forty-seven nuclear warheads to gain.”
“Admiral, is Don Stroh still in the compound?”
“That he is. He was here earlier looking for you. My suggestion would be the officers’ mess.” The admiral puffed on his pipe and smiled. “Yes, Murdock, I think you have an idea that will work, and there shouldn’t be a single drop of blood spilled.”
Outside, DeWitt slapped Murdock on the shoulder. “When did you work out that neat little plan?”
“About the time he asked me for my suggestion. I just jammed myself in that Chinese guy’s shoes and tried to figure out what I could do with all of that military firepower aimed right down my throat.”
“The plague part?”
“The same time. It’s the most feared of the most deadly diseases. People hear about the days when it wiped out millions. Might work with the Greeks.”
“You hungry?” DeWitt asked. “I think it’s steak time.”
They found Stroh in the mess finishing a third cup of coffee. He beamed when he saw them.
“Heard the good news about the Syrian affair. You’ll ask about Yasmin. I don’t know yet. We’ve talked to our embassy there. They have sent an ambulance to that little town to transport her to a hospital. Last we heard, she was still alive and doing better.”
“Good news,” DeWitt said. “You keep us informed about her progress. Now, Stroh, I hear this is the day you buy us dinner. I’m having a steak and maybe lobster.”
Stroh looked confused. “This is the day? Did I lose a bet or something?”
“Yeah, a bet, you lost a bet,” Murdock said. “So sit tight and we’ll order. Then we can do our after-action report right here.”
“No, the admiral will want to be in on it. Dinner? I lost a bet?” He threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. I give. Order anything you want, I’m on an expense account. The CIA will never miss a few bucks. Speaking of cash, did you spend all of your Syrian pounds?”
“All gone,” Murdock said. “To the truck-driver friend of Yasmin.”
“Right, so order. I’ll just have a salad. I’m trying to cut back a little.”
The next three days the SEALs shuffled around their quarters, worked on weapons, and killed time. Then DeWitt took the platoon on a ten-mile hike just to keep them busy.
Kat showed up on the third day, furious at the doctors. “They finally let me out of jail,” she said. “Told me to stay off the leg and no marching and not much walking. My leg is fine.”
She wore the khakis of a Navy lieutenant, skirt and all, and had a new bandage on her right leg.
“Where’s Murdock? I have a couple of bones to pick with him.”
Nobody could find the commander.
“I’ll wait,” Kat said, and went over to talk to Senior Chief Dobler.
Chen Takung watched the men working on the last missile. They had the nose cone off, and were extracting the individual warheads with the utmost caution. They were so cautious, it seemed that they would never get the job done. Seven more warheads to remove and that part of the job would be done.
For days they had been stacking the warheads in three different compartments in the 528-foot-long warship. They buried the bulkhead in front of one of the compartments with stacks of supplies. A second compartment was filled with the warheads and their missiles and guidance system, and then the door was welded shut.
The third compartment was ready for the final ten warheads. They had taken more time on these, and separated the guidance systems and small rockets from them. They were placed in containers and positioned at the far end of the powder magazine, where the ship’s big shells and ammunition were stored.
Chen expected that there would be some kind of a search of his vessel once he docked. He had checked his plan with Beijing and it had been approved. It was the only thing he could do. He told his superiors that the holes in the hull were the result of frogmen planting mines there. He was not sure of this, but no one could prove otherwise. That had gained him more respect in Beijing. He had been aware from the first that he was hemmed in by U.S. warships. The closest cruiser was now less than four-thousand yards away, working a lazy box course to stay in close contact. He was sure that when the last warhead was sealed away and he pulled anchor for his three-knot move into Athens, the U.S. warships would shadow him, perhaps even escort him.
He had his schedule worked out. It would take a day in port to set up the repairs. Then a week for the repair work to close up the holes in the hull and make her seaworthy again. Then, on the eighth day after docking, his ship would once more be on the way back to China and with the load of forty-seven nuclear warheads intact. Yes, what a great day it would be when he docked in Tiantjin harbor.
He went to the bridge.
“We should be ready to sail in two hours,” he told the ship’s captain. “We will dock in Athens for repairs. Yes, Captain, we will be inspected. By whom, we don’t know. But it is my certainty that they will not find what they are looking for. The last of the missile bodies will be dumped overboard just before we sail.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the regular Navy captain said. His irritation and dislike for this civilian he had to take orders from had not improved over the past few days, with his ship wounded and anchored, awaiting the whim of this self-important politician. But to move to port for repairs, that would be good. He could be home in Tsingtao in time for his family’s celebration yet.