Unacceptable. Not fucking happening.
Crocker turned to Anders and shouted over the engine noise, “How many passengers?”
“Some 2,687. Another 857 crew members.”
Jesus.
“How many hijackers?”
“Unclear.”
“Who’s the Fox?”
“Don’t know. But analysts at HQ are narrowing the list of candidates.”
“Where’s the ship now?”
“It’s been turned around and is heading east.”
“It’s clear the terrorists are in charge?”
“Yes.”
“And the sarin is aboard?”
“We believe so, yes.”
Chapter Nineteen
Chaos is a friend of mine.
– Bob Dylan
Chaos reigned at MiT headquarters near the port of Kuşadası-Anders, Grissom, Janice, Crocker, Colonel Oz, the commander of the local Turkish coast guard station Captain Shamaz and two of his officers all crowded into one stifling command center, staring at radar screens and satellite images on computers while talking into cell phones in English and Turkish. Anxiety radiated from all of them.
It was a terrible atmosphere for clear analytical thinking.
Crocker’s head pounded from the confusion and the heat. Events were unfolding so rapidly. Rumors, shards of information, and possible opportunities ricocheted through the room like stray rounds.
A group of Turks perused passenger lists faxed from Disney headquarters in Florida, looking for the names of known Islamic terrorists.
Unlikely they’re using their real names. He understood the need in crises like this to want to do something, but he also knew the danger of wasting precious time.
As Crocker was downing a bottle of water, he was summoned into a corner where Anders, Janice, and Grissom were all huddled as if for a two-minute drill.
“Here’s the latest from HQ,” Anders announced, sweat beading on his brow and upper lip, his voice breaking up. “The Disney Magic is moving at eighteen knots, three-quarters speed, east southeast. According to the latest computer models, it’s headed back into the Mediterranean in the direction of Cyprus, and beyond that possibly the Syrian coast.”
“Why is that important?” Grissom grumbled, his jaw tensed, his blue eyes narrowed into slits.
“For various reasons,” Janice interjected, her white blouse wet with perspiration, strands of hair plastered to her forehead and neck.
“Let me finish,” said Anders, raising his voice. He cleared his throat and spoke with confidence this time. “The president’s in the White House situation room with his national security advisors-DCI, NSC, Defense, Homeland Security.”
Grissom cut him off again. “We know the players.”
“They’ve decided it’s impossible to concede in any way to the terrorists’ demands. Any sort of statement from the president or attempt at negotiation is off the table.”
Grissom: “I’m not surprised.”
Janice: “Me either.”
“So the question is: Are the terrorists willing and able to carry out their threat and kill all crew and passengers?” Anders continued.
“I believe so,” Grissom groaned.
“The conclusion arrived at by the president and his top advisors is yes.”
Janice nodded. “Totally agree. We have to operate on that assumption.”
“I agree. But are we sure they have the sarin?”
Janice added, “They said so in their statement.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“I know, but…”
“No one else has located it,” Grissom continued as if he were the one in charge. “We have to assume it’s somewhere and it was taken for a purpose. I think we can conclude the purpose is goddamn clear now. Agree?”
Anders nodded. “We have to assume the terrorists have the sarin onboard, and if not, some other means of destroying the ship.”
Crocker stood quietly and listened as his mind raced ahead, riffling through the hundreds of ship takedown exercises he’d participated in and the half-dozen actual ones he’d pulled off.
Anders looked at his watch, which read 7:14 p.m. “That gives us approximately eleven and a half hours to organize, plan, and launch some kind of rescue-which appears to be the only option we have left.”
Janice nodded. “Agreed.”
All the real ops Crocker had done involved freighters or oil tankers. None were on passenger liners with so many lives at stake.
“If we can pull off a rescue attempt in this small window of time, the question then is, Do they really have the ability to deploy the sarin?” asked Anders.
Grissom thrust out his chin and answered, “All they have to do is hook it up to the ship’s ventilation system. Take ’em five minutes if they know what they’re doing.”
“How long will it take to deploy?”
“Seconds, probably,” Janice observed.
“Damn right,” Grissom said. “We have to assume seconds. If they have it attached to some kind of mobile digital device, all they have to do is push a button.”
“So how do we get our operatives onboard without losing the element of surprise?” asked Anders.
“Good question.”
“Real good question.”
All eyes turned to Crocker.
“What do you think?” Anders asked. “You think you and your men can fast-rope onto the deck from helicopters?”
Crocker shook his head. “Not without being seen and heard. Not happening.”
Janice agreed. “You’re the expert.”
Anders scratched the side of his face. “There’s another problem. According to BBC Weather, if the Disney Magic continues on its route southeast, it’s going to run into a major storm that’s sweeping out of the Caucasus.”
“When?” Crocker asked, glancing again at his watch.
Anders answered, “Sometime before midnight.”
“How long is it likely to last?”
“It’s a big storm. Projected to continue into the morning.”
Grissom slapped his hand against the wall and said, “That’s terrible news.”
Anders nodded. “Yeah. Makes this real problematic.”
“Kind of rules out using helicopters, don’t you think?” asked Janice, looking at Crocker.
Grissom: “Or any other kind of rescue.”
“How about we block the ship somehow? Trap it, so it can’t go anywhere,” Janice suggested.
“Then the jihadists kill everyone aboard,” countered Grissom.
Anders turned to Crocker and almost pleaded, “What do you think? There must be something…”
Crocker remained calm. His mind quickly sorted through possible scenarios, none of which so far seemed appropriate. “I think that my men and I are going to have to board that ship before the deadline, but fast-roping onto the deck is not an option.”
Grissom: “Then what the hell is?”
“First I’m going to need a detailed plan of the ship. Then I’m going to need to talk to an engineer from Disney who knows how the vessel’s ventilation system operates and where the terrorists are most likely to have hooked up the sarin.”
Anders turned to Janice and said, “Call HQ and tell them to get us an expert from Disney. Get him or her up on Skype. Now!”
She hurried off as Crocker continued thinking out loud. “This person…this engineer needs to tell us the best way to quickly shut down the system in a way that can’t be overridden.”
“Check.” Anders wrote furiously on a yellow legal pad.
“We’re going to need to move lightning fast. The terrorists release the sarin or detonate any sort of bomb and the mission goes completely south.”
“Understood. We’ll get that for you. But you haven’t answered the important question.”
Grissom: “Yeah, Crocker, how the hell are you going to get on the ship?”