Grant pointed to Novak, who opened the aft door not more than a couple of inches, then held onto it because of the boat swaying. “Don’t know if it’s gonna help much, Boss.”
“Better than nothing, Mike,” Grant answered.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Kwan announced. “There’s a gunboat heading north.”
“How far off our port?” Grant asked.
“A hundred yards or so.”
“What position?”
“Maybe eleven o’clock.”
“How about other fishing boats near us.”
“I’m trying to stay inside this fleet. They’re everywhere.”
“We should be okay then, but keep your eyes straight ahead. Ken, take a look with the glasses.”
Slade turned, got on his knees, then raised the binoculars until they were barely level with the bottom of the window.
“Anything?”
“Got him. He’s just passing our nine. Don’t see any ‘eyes’ on us, Boss. I’ll watch him as long as I can.”
Grant turned his attention to another possible problem. “Are we the only ones without deckhands?”
“They’re starting to come out,” Kwan responded. “I wouldn’t worry, though. We’re mostly surrounded by the commercial boats. Those men will start working hard from now until they dock again in Shanghai.” The commercial fishing boats were nearly twice as large, with twice the nets, some hanging from masts, draping on the decks.
“Still… ” Grant mumbled. Then, his attention turned to the three prisoners. “Sure as hell would like to run a G2 on those bastards, Joe.”
“So, why don’t you?”
“Can’t take the chance right now.” He squeezed the back of his neck over and over in frustration. “Just can’t put my finger on it.”
“On what?”
“How they knew about the plutonium and where our guys were being held, especially since the five of them were from Taiwan.”
“Well, at least part of the puzzle’s been answered.”
“You mean their reason?”
“Uh-huh.”
Grant nodded. “Yeah. Being declared part of China, and having the U.S. government side with Beijing. A shitload of good reasons, Joe.”
“We’re coming up on the channel,” Kwan said, as he backed down the engine.
Grant and Adler raised their heads, trying to see out the windshield. “Any indication which way the main body’s going?” Grant asked.
“Looks like the commercial boats are taking the southern route.”
“Stay with the others,” Grant said.
“Whatcha thinking?” Adler asked.
“Debating whether or not to contact the carrier.”
“Think it’s too soon?”
“That’s the debate.” He blew out a breath, then said, “Have to let them know we’re on our way, and what we’re delivering. Maybe President Carr can run interference for us if we run into a shit-storm.”
“You planning on taking our ‘passengers’ home?”
“Yeah, unless the ‘Cowboys’ want to personally pick them up.” He looked at Kwan. “How many boats are out there, Dao?”
Kwan swiveled his head. “I’d say at least thirty. Once we’re out of the channel, though, they might scatter. But I can’t see how many are behind us.”
“Mike, take a look, then I suggest you set up your rifle.”
Novak laid on his belly, and pushed the door open. “Wow! There’s a helluva mess of boats, Boss.” He did a quick count. “Maybe twenty, twenty-five. Don’t see any commercial types.”
“Okay, Mike.”
Novak immediately crawled over to the port side then attached the scope to his rifle. He crawled back to the door, then laid on his belly, comfortable with his rifle in his hands.
Grant got everyone’s attention. “Listen up, folks. I’m going to try to contact the carrier. I know it’s taking a chance, especially in broad daylight, but this whole op’s been one big freakin’ chance.
“Keep your eyes open. And I know that means looking out windows, but… Just be careful.” He took a paper from his pocket, then crawled over to the wheel. “Joe, get the GPS,” he said before pulling down a hidden panel underneath, exposing the marine radio. He dialed the frequency, flipped the switch, then extended the cable for the mike. He leaned back against the forward bulkhead, then pressed the mike button.
Petty Officer Felix (Flex) Riley sat alone in the Radio Room. Headphones were on top of his head, with the left side pulled back from his ear. He was thumbing through a stack of back issues of Sports Illustrated magazines. Being a fanatical baseball fan, one issue in particular caught his attention, and he pulled it out. Nolan Ryan was on the cover. A small statement said he’d just missed pitching his fifth no-hitter. Riley flipped through the pages looking for the article, when he heard a voice in his headphones:
“Alpha Tango calling Ageless Warrior! Come in, Ageless Warrior! Over.”
Riley dropped the magazine on the counter and straightened his headphones. “Ageless Warrior. Go ahead Alpha Tango. Over.”
“Bringing home deuce SEALs. I say again. Bringing home deuce SEALs. Do you copy?”
“Copy that!”
“Urgent you notify POTUS! We are in transit with deuce canisters. I say again! Urgent you notify POTUS! In transit with deuce canisters. Do you copy?”
“Copy that, Alpha Tango!”
“Request your coordinates.”
“Wait one.”
Adler was ready with the GPS, punching in the numbers.
“Received, Ageless Warrior. Request you keep channel open.”
“Roger. Channel remains open.”
“Alpha Tango out.”
Captain Gregson sat in his thick, leather-covered swivel chair. Flight ops were underway. An F-14 was poised in front of JBDs (jet blast deflector doors) on Catapult 2. The pilot brought the engines up to full power, saluted, then he grabbed hold of the “towel” bar. The signal was given to launch. The Tomcat went from zero to one hundred sixty-five miles an hour in under two seconds.
Gregson continued watching the Tomcat’s red-hot afterburners until he heard XO Dunham.
“Captain!”
He swiveled his chair around, seeing Dunham walking toward him, holding a piece of paper. “Captain! We received a message from Team Alpha Tango!”
Gregson took the message, nodding as he read it. “Steve, notify Air Boss and CAG. I’m canceling flight ops. Bring all the ‘birds’ back. I’ve gotta call Washington!”
Chapter 20
Fifteen minutes had passed since Grant contacted the carrier. The fishing boats were still ten miles from international waters when they began to head in different directions. Captains and deckhands hoped to find the perfect location that would fill the nets and their pockets.
Adler looked sideways, seeing Grant staring into the distance. The setting of the jaw, the narrowing of the eyes only proved Grant’s wheels were spinning.
“Care to tell me?” Adler asked quietly.
Grant glanced up at Kwan without responding, then lowered his head. Adler waited, knowing the thought process was drawing information from every corner of the brain.
Finally Grant whispered to himself, “That’s the only explanation.”
“Is this a guessing game, Skipper? You know I’m not good at guessing games.”
“What? Oh, sorry, Joe. Just thinking about one of our prisoners.”
“You figured it out, didn’t you?”
“Only thing I can come up with, and it isn’t a ‘pretty’ thought.”
Suddenly, there was a voice coming from the radio: “Ageless Warrior calling Alpha Tango. Come in Alpha Tango. Over.”