“Yeah, she is.” Mullins made another note. The carrier’s captain must be notified that the mission, the men, and whatever the outcome, were all Top Secret.
“The ‘Ageless Warrior,’” Grant commented softly.
“Right. She’s seen a lot of action in her day. By the way, that’s her code name—‘Ageless Warrior.’”
“Got it. Listen, Scott, see what you can do about that operative. If he’s in Shanghai, maybe he can meet us at our LZ. It’s imperative we know if those men are still in that building. The sooner he’s involved, the better chance we’ll have in finding them. I have a feeling CIA and NSA won’t be picking up much, if any, chatter from here on out.
“I’ll get with the Team and come up with our best LZ, then contact you.” Grant pushed back his jacket sleeve, glancing at his submariner. “I’ve gotta go. Hey! What’re the odds of getting copies of those photos?”
Mullins slipped the two photos inside the folder. “Here. You may as well take everything,” he smiled as he handed Grant the folder. “You’ve got a shredder, right?”
“Yeah, but I’ve gotta review all this with the Team, so that means we’ll be discussing it in flight. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll trust your judgment.” Mullins walked around the desk, and reached for Grant’s hand. “Be careful.”
“Hope you get more intel for me before takeoff, Scott.”
“I’ll try my damnedest.”
As Grant stood in the doorway, he held the folder up. “Thanks, buddy.”
Grant dug his keys out of his jacket pocket, opened the door, then tossed his ball cap on the passenger seat. Momentarily resting his arm on the car’s roof, he tried to sort it all out: the flight, the Team, the SEALs, the mission.
The slam of a car door in the next aisle brought him back to the present. He slid behind the steering wheel, closed the door, then started the engine. The ’74 Vette’s 454 “Big Block” roared to life, sounding even louder in the expansive garage.
He drove out of the parking garage, then headed for Highway 50. Rain, thunder, and lightning had nearly stopped, but heavy dark clouds still rolled across the sky. Headlights burned brightly. Windshield wipers swished back and forth, smearing road oils, and brushing away water kicked up by tires.
Crossing the bridge over the Potomac, he continued on Highway 50, following the road out of D.C. and into Virginia. Once the traffic thinned, he pressed down on the accelerator.
This was his time to think, to put everything in perspective, in order, before meeting with the Team. But his mind kept getting clouded with thoughts of the two SEALs. Prisoners.
Nothing had been on TV or published in the newspapers about the incident. The U.S. was going to keep it hush-hush as long as possible. If anyone made a first move, it’d probably be the ChiComs, denouncing the two men as spies. Unless they were going to use them as pawns, as leverage, in order to have — what the hell was his name? Zhu. Unless they want to have Zhu returned. With the information Zhu was turning over about the progress the ChiCom’s were making with their submarine program, that would hardly seem like an option for the U.S.
This was beginning to sound like his mission in East Germany and the five POWs. At least he and Adler had somewhat of a head start then, mostly because of Grigori.
This time the intel came from the CIA and the NSA from having “ears” on transmissions coming out of China. But the ChiComs were no dummies. They knew the U.S. was listening and watching. Was the Bridge House purposely mentioned just to send any rescuers in the wrong direction? “Christ!” he mumbled through clenched teeth.
Mullins had to get him more accurate intel before the flight. Grant needed a name. He needed a way to contact the operative. And he needed it before the Team’s boots hit the ground — hit the ground in Communist China.
Taking a quick glance at the speedometer, he eased back on the accelerator, bringing the speed down from seventy-five to sixty-five, but still ten mph over the limit. He diverted his eyes to the rearview mirror. No siren or flashing red lights yet. This stretch of road was a well-known hiding place for Virginia State Police. They no longer had plain black unmarked patrol cars. The new fleet of cars came in green, blue, white, gray, allowing them to blend in even more.
Traffic was increasing, but most of it was heading in the opposite direction, towards D.C. He picked up the mobile phone from the center console and punched in a number. The secure phone at the house rang three times.
“Adler.”
“Joe. I’m fifteen minutes out. Everybody show?”
“All present and accounted for, Skipper.”
“Good. I’ve got most of the info, but I’m hoping Scott can feed us more intel before we leave.”
“How’re we going? Ground or air?”
“The C-11 (Gulfstream). We’re gonna be a long time in the air, my friend.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah.” Grant glanced again in his rearview mirror. “Got plenty to talk about. But we’ll be doing most of it in flight. Do you think we’ll be ready to leave in an hour?”
“Less than that. We’ve already secured the Zodiacs to the Chevys. But are we gonna need them?”
“Negative.”
Adler was more than curious where the mission was taking them, but knew he’d have to wait for details.
“Okay. I’ll have them ‘unhitched’ by the time you arrive. Everybody’s already stowed their gear in the vehicles, including yours.” He cleared his throat before saying, “Uh, Skipper, by the way. Just so you’re not surprised when you get here, somebody new reported in.”
Grant shook his head, as if he’d heard wrong. “What the hell are you talking about?! How’d he even get access?!”
“Uh… ”
“Joe!”
“He had gate access to the property, Skipper! He… ”
“Tell me, Joe! Who?!”
“Garrett. Matt Garrett.” (Garrett was the officer in charge of Grant's Team when he first became a SEAL.)
Grant nearly drove off the road. He jerked the steering wheel as tires caught the edge of blacktop. Easing back on the accelerator, he asked with true surprise in his voice, “Matt’s there?!”
“He’s our new pilot for the Gulfstream.”
Doc Stalley stood by the dining room table, examining the contents of his medical bag. He meticulously checked that every item was in its proper place. How quickly he responded determined the outcome of any emergency. As fast as he could reload his weapon with his eyes closed, was as fast as he could find anything in his bag.
The door leading from the garage opened and closed. Slade and Novak walked into the living room.
“Zodiacs are secured, LT,” Slade said, giving Adler a quick thumb’s up.
“Thanks, Ken.”
“Christ! You can cut the humidity with a K-bar,” Novak said, wiping sweat from his face.
He and Slade rejoined Diaz and James at the kitchen table, who were almost finished eating their eggs, bacon and ham.
“Okay. Where the hell’s my egg sandwich?” Novak growled with his hands on his hips, as he spotted his empty plate.
Diaz shifted his eyes to the right and tilted his head toward the bar, where Adler was sitting on a bar stool.
Without turning around, Adler swallowed a mouthful and replied, “Thou shall not leave food unattended.”
“Damn!” Novak laughed, as he went to the fridge. “How could I be so stupid and forget one of your top Commandments.
Adler looked up at Matt Garrett and winked, before glancing at his diving watch. “Skipper should be here anytime now.”
Garrett stood behind the bar, drinking a cup of black coffee. His suit bag was draped over the back of the sofa. A black leather satchel was on the floor next to it.