“We don’t have that kind of explosives onboard,” the third Captain said. “We can’t use our usual ordnance, too much risk of bomb fragments.”
“Dig up what black powder you have, C-four and C-five,” Murdock said. “Wish we had a battle wagon around. The sacks of powder on those big guns would be about right.” He frowned.
“So, we gather up all the safe explosives you have here, get shipments from the other ships in your fleet, and then ask India to supply us with the difference, three or four tons of dynamite.”
Ed DeWitt sat there shaking his head. “Captain, this is too big, too long, too many chances for foulups. We can do the same thing with a quarter-mile-long front. Get the point across. Cut our powder needs to three tons and still have all the generators and loud speakers we need to ram the point across the border.”
“How many speakers?” Jaybird asked.
“Four and four generators,” DeWitt said. “Do the job. We set the charges, work them in sequence through the half hour. We’ll have a hundred charges, set every one hundred ten feet apart.”
Captain Robertson looked at Murdock. “You go along with the shorter field?”
“Yes. Fits better. We’ll still need twenty Marines to help us lug and tote. We’ll need trucks to haul the men and explosives up to the front.”
“What about Indian approval?” Jaybird asked.
“This was their idea,” the carrier skipper said. “They said they will cooperate with us in any way they can. They have a spot picked out, two hundred and seventy miles from Calcutta on one of few roads that crosses the border.”
“Timing,” Murdock said.
“We’ll ask Calcutta to furnish the three tons of powder and let them drive it north. Give them two days. By then we’ll have the SEALs and twenty Marines on hand in Calcutta. You’ll fly up in choppers we’ll bring to Calcutta from our ships offshore.”
“We set up one night, then set them off as soon as it’s dark the next night,” Murdock said.
“Generators and speakers?” DeWitt asked.
“We can furnish those from the carrier. Send them in the COD with the SEALs,” one of the Captains said.
Stroh listened to the plan, made some notes.
“This was Indian Intelligence’s idea. I’ll coordinate it with them. They said they could furnish us with most of what we need if we ramrod it. Timing?”
“As soon as you can set it up,” Captain Robertson said. “We’ll have the SEALs and Marines from one of the ships down there in Calcutta by noon tomorrow.”
“Mr. Stroh,” Jaybird said. “Don’t forget we’ll need radio detonators, a radio signal board for one hundred, and all the other material for the radio detonation.”
“Yeah, Jaybird. Coming up.” He nodded at the captain and hurried out of the room.
“Captain, we’ll be ready to get on the COD on two-hour notice,” Murdock said. “You said sometime about daylight?”
“Right, Commander. You’ve made the run before. This time I think we’ll leave you in Calcutta for a while. Cheaper than flying you back and forth.”
A half hour later in their SEAL compartment, DeWitt had just finished briefing the rest of the men about the job coming up.
“So that’s it, a no-sweat, no-return-fire kind of operation. We should be scaring any border guards pissless up there on the front line. As soon as the show is over, we pick up our toys and go back to Calcutta.”
“We don’t do any small arms work ourselves?” Howie Anderson asked. “Damn be a good time to knock over some Chinkomen.”
“They might not even have border guards up at that point,” Murdock said. “India picked out the target.”
A messenger came into the room and looked around, went up to the nearest SEAL and asked him a question. Canzoneri pointed the messenger to Murdock.
The sailor handed Murdock an envelope, and hurried away.
Murdock frowned, opened the sealed business-size envelope and took out the paper. It was a radio message. He read it quickly. His face sagged and his eyes closed for a moment. No reason to tell the men just before a mission. At once he changed his mind. There also was no reason not to tell them.
“Hey, gather around.” He waited for the men to come up in a group around him.
“Just received a radio message from Master Chief Petty Officer Gordon MacKenzie. It reads: ‘Regret to inform you that Nancy Dobler killed herself in her home Tuesday night. She had just been released on bail from police custody after her DUI auto wreck where a young man was killed. She was charged with second degree murder. Will Dobler is devastated. More to follow.’ ”
22
Detective Sergeant Mad Dog Sanchez sat in his rented car across the street and down three cars from the apartment where the gringo killer lived. A secretary in the lieutenant’s office who spoke perfect English had made the contact for him on an extremely secretive basis. Her brother could be pulled in on drug charges at any time. Sanchez was sure that she would not tell anyone she made the call.
The San Diego Police had been most helpful with the telephone number and the address it produced. They also had confirmed the name of the man who lived there, Howard Anderson.
Now it was simply a matter of waiting. Twice now he had come to San Diego through the international port of entry. It was easy. Twice he had waited all day and all night but no one appeared at the apartment. He could not make inquiries at the adjacent areas. Someone would remember. It could take him half a dozen trips on his days off, but he would find this gringo killer.
Now he ate the tacos he had bought from a stand downtown. Coronado was a small place across a long bridge from San Diego. He ate the second taco and thought it through again. The prostitute at the cantina had given him the phone number. He had the right name now and the address. All he could do was wait. But he must remain invisible. No one must remember him. He rented a different car for each trip and parked in a different spot. Sooner or later he would find the man. Detective Sergeant Sanchez settled down for a long wait. He was good at this. He would win in the long run.
Six blocks away on another Coronado street, Will Dobler sat with his arms around his two children. Helen had not recovered from the shock of finding her mother. That afternoon she had run from the house to a neighbor’s place screaming all the way. The woman there had checked, then called the police. There was no need for an ambulance, she knew.
Helen whimpered and burrowed against her father, trying to gain from him some confidence, some reassurance. She looked up at him and asked the question she had asked him dozens of times.
“Why, Daddy. Why did Mom do that?”
He shook his head and hugged her tightly. “I’m not sure, honey. I just don’t know. I wish I did.” She whimpered again, and shivered, then relaxed against him.
Charlie was in better shape. He put up with the group hug but he wasn’t all that thrilled with it. He had cried when he found out about his mother, but had recovered well in two days.
Will hadn’t figured out how he felt yet. He’d been too busy making arrangements and taking care of the kids. Maria Fernandez and Milly had been tremendously solid friends helping him. The kids insisted on staying in the house. Helen refused to use the downstairs bathroom where she had found her mother. Late at night when the kids had finally gone to sleep, Will paced the living room. Sometimes he went out and walked with his crutches around the block as well as he could. Several times he had cursed the Navy, and the SEALs. It was their fault. The whole damned Navy had caused this. He should have seen it coming. He knew Nancy was on a teetering edge. But she’d been there before. His leg wound had been the clincher, he decided. It had been just enough to blow her over the edge. Maria said she thought that Nancy had taken the news that Will had been wounded extremely well. She hadn’t even cried. But then after they left each other she must have splintered into a thousand pieces and gone back to her one friend who never let her down, alcohol. Will doubled up his fists and punched the air.