There wasn’t any way in hell for him to change the LZ at this point. Trying to get to Bridge House would take too much time without the transportation he requested from the operative. But even if they had to walk — come hell or high water — they would find those two SEALs.
“You’re pissed, aren’t you?” Adler asked, interrupting Grant’s thoughts.
Grant gave somewhat of a nod, and sat down. “That obvious, huh?”
“Listen, one of these days those pearly whites are gonna be nothing but nubs from all the grinding you do with ’em.”
Grant held his chin, moving his lower jaw back and forth. “You’re right… on both counts.”
“The ‘Cowboys'?”
“Yeah.”
The other men were watching Grant and Adler, when Grant motioned them closer. “Okay.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got two and a half hours until our jump. Since it doesn’t look like we’re gonna have any help from the Agency, we need to come up with some alternatives.” He handed out the photos, then pointed toward them as he said, “You’ve memorized those. I’m open to any suggestions.”
Suddenly, the flight engineer came rushing through the cabin. He stopped in front of Grant. Putting a hand over his mouthpiece, he spoke loudly over the engine noise. “Sir, you’ve got a call!”
Grant hurried with him to the cockpit. The engineer handed him a set of “Mickey Mouse” ears. Grant adjusted them on his head, fingered the mouthpiece and answered loudly, “Stevens!”
“Grant! I got it!”
Grant’s shoulders went slack. “I’m listening.”
A few minutes later, Grant walked into the cargo bay. All six men were standing, watching him, hoping for good news. He gave them a thumb’s up.
“What happened, Boss?” Novak asked anxiously, as he unscrewed the top on a small bottle of orange juice.
Grant sat down and leaned back. “According to Scott, my request went all the way to the President. It didn’t take long after that for Scott to get the name.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. As he spoke, his eyes went from man to man. “We’re to meet up with Dao Kwan, code name ‘Shizi.’ Translated it means ‘lion.’ I didn’t get background information on him, only a description: thirty-five years old; about 5’7”; black hair; dark brown eyes; scar on left shoulder blade.”
“Do we have to ask him to show us his scar?” Slade asked with a raised eyebrow, as he ripped the paper from a Hershey’s chocolate bar.
“We’ll have Doc look for it!” Diaz laughed, as he pointed to the young corpsman.
“You can decide when the time comes, guys,” Adler said, bringing the conversation back on track.
Grant continued. “We’re to meet him at the LZ. He’s supposed to verify our men were still being held inside Bridge House. He’ll be driving us to an old factory within a block or two of the building. As long as Kwan is on time, I would think we’ll have enough time to do some surveillance before we make the rescue.”
Adler and Grant had worked together long enough to know basically what the other was thinking.
“This one won’t be like ’75, Skipper,” Adler said.
“I hear you, Joe. But the VC were able to relocate our guys without us knowing about it. It’s possible it could happen now.”
“But what about our contact?” Diaz asked with surprise. “Shouldn’t he have up to the minute info?”
“That’s who we’ve got to count on, Frank.” Grant leaned back. “Why don’t you all chow down on some of those sandwiches, and make sure you get enough fluid. We’re looking at some hot, humid weather ahead of us.”
Chief Don Risoli, Loadmaster, tapped Grant on the shoulder. “Fifteen minutes to jump, sir!”
Grant gave a thumb’s up. The men knew it was time to go through final checks. The whole process would be repeated again, ensuring the integrity of fasteners on the RAM air chutes. After checking the reserve chute, they gave the crotch straps one more tug, then checked the O2 in the tanks. They’d be breathing oxygen from a belt tank flowing into aviator-style masks and continue using it until they reached a breathable air level.
Risoli signaled he was about to lower the ramp. Instinctively, the men put on their masks, tightened the straps, then cranked open their O2 bottles.
Standing close to the bulkhead, Risoli adjusted his mask with built-in mike, and continued talking with the flight deck crew. Interior lights went out. Small red lights were all that glowed.
The sound of the engines changed, as the plane started decelerating. The Loadmaster hit the switch. A motor began whining, and the ramp started lowering. A tremendous rush of noise swept through the cargo bay. Once the ramp was fully lowered, Risoli scooted toward the edge, got on a knee, and made a visual inspection of both sides of the ramp and locking mechanisms. Satisfied, he moved back toward the control panel, pressed a hand against his mask, then alerted the flight crew.
Now the men of Alpha Tango kept their eyes on the Loadmaster, who glanced at his watch then held up two fingers. Two minutes to jump. The Team attached their rucksacks to the D-ring on the reserve chutes. Walking closer to the ramp, they spread out, leaving some space between one another.
The lights of South Korea and Japan faded in the distance. Below them now was nothing but blackness. Nearly twenty-six thousand feet under them was the East China Sea.
Risoli held up a fist. Thirty seconds until jump. The Team moved more forward. Then, getting final confirmation from the flight deck, Risoli folded his right arm across his chest, and in one swift motion, swung his arm out to the side, pointing to the exit, the signal for the Team to jump.
With adrenaline surging, they dove head first within seconds of one another, falling into the dark emptiness, with a tremendous blast of cold air pressing against their bodies. Ten seconds later they each pulled the ring, releasing their black RAM air chutes. The sudden force of the chutes opening jerked their bodies. Crotch straps dug in.
Then, silence surrounded them as they swayed in their harnesses. Their breathing became steady and controlled. Total concentration took hold, as their heartbeats returned to normal.
Loadmaster Risoli knelt on the ramp, watching with NVGs, seeing all chutes had opened. He stepped back and confirmed with the flight crew it was a good jump. Then he hit the switch, and the ramp started raising. The C-130 began accelerating, making a slow wide turn, setting its course back to Atsugi.
Chapter 7
John Becket sat on the floor of his cell, licking away blood oozing from a cut on his lip. He swiped at it with a knuckle, then drew his knees toward him. His left eye was nearly swollen shut. His head throbbed incessantly. Nothing helped relieve the pain, even when he rested his forehead against his knees.
He leaned sideways just enough to get his legs under him before pushing himself up, sliding his back on the wall for support. He felt dizzy, unsteady. Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he finally regained his balance. He had to stop a moment to lean his head back, resting it against the wall until his vision cleared. He tried taking a few short steps, but he stayed close to the wall just in case.
Right now he was more concerned about Jake. He’d lost track of time since the bastards had dragged Jake from his cell. Words echoed in his mind, the words he shouted at the young petty officer: “Hang tough, Jake! You’re stronger than those fuckers!”
A loud noise overhead made him flinch, but he was certain Jake wasn’t in the room above. A fight. There was definitely a fight going on. By the sounds, there had to be more than two men involved. Loud thuds meant bodies were being slammed on the floor. Furniture crashed. A man yelped in pain. Then a moment of silence before he heard footsteps hurrying around in the room.