"Any idea why or who, Grant?" Torrinson asked.
Grant shook his head. "It could be like any other drug operation, sir. Things go bad. Somebody gets ripped off. Somebody wants revenge."
"What about the supplier? Think he was there?"
Grant leaned back. "The guys my men 'took out' were definitely guards. Another guy on deck was Burmese, just like the others, but I don't think he was our guy. Anybody wielding the size of machete he had was possibly someone who handled the kids, and saw to it that production stayed on schedule.
"I did get a quick glimpse of a baseball cap and a pack of Tiparillos in our target shack but didn't have time to grab either one. They had to be the supplier's. He missed his appointment with us, but unlike us, he had one helluva lucky day."
"What about the chopper? Any identifiable markings?" Torrinson inquired.
"We all recognized the sound. It was definitely a Huey, but Mike was the only one who had the longest 'eyes on.' No markings." Grant went quiet.
"As a side note, sir," Adler began, "Mike said he managed to get off a round. He blasted the gunner. The bastard may have pulled the trigger but his brains … Well, you know, sir."
"Understood, Joe."
"Mike also took out the guy with the Uzi. According to him, there were only three others left in that chopper — the pilot, co-pilot and a passenger."
"Anything recognizable about those men, Joe?"
"Don't think that was brought up, sir. I'll check with Mike."
Grant focused his eyes on Conklin. "Captain, I assume no messages have been received for us regarding this op?"
Conklin shook his head. "Nothing. Do you need to use the radio room?"
"Thanks, but don't think so. Lieutenant Ormond gave us permission to use their equipment."
"Very well."
Torrinson swallowed a last mouthful of coffee. "What do you have in mind, Grant?"
"Well, sir, I'm sure CIA and NSA still have their 'eyes and ears' focused on this part of the world. My thought is they may have picked up something from the unknown chopper. And second, the aircraft that was in the sat image near the shacks had to have flown from and to someplace else. It had to refuel."
"Was it at the airfield?"
Grant shook his head. "Don't know. We didn't have time for a recon. If a satellite made a pass just prior, maybe that question could be answered. Now that we've got the name 'Hawk' as an identifier, maybe the techs can review past transmissions. My contact can add that to his list."
"As an update," Torrinson said, "Sid and his search team haven't found any more drugs on board. Now, whether that means the ship is 'clean' is yet to be seen, but I highly doubt it."
Grant commented, "I know Sid's been working his ass off, but there are a million hiding places on board. Small packs of tins could be scattered all over the place. It might be an impossible task, sir. I guess no one's come forward reporting where or how they bought the pills?"
Conklin replied, "We believe once that young man went overboard, and word spread about his death, users and possibly other dealers decided to 'clam up.' As you probably know, snitches don't go over real well aboard ship. Thankfully, there haven't been any more incidents."
"I assume NIS will continue questioning?" Grant asked, looking at Torrinson.
"That's the plan."
"And still no other ships have been affected?"
"No."
Conklin started pushing his chair back. "Admiral, if we're done here, I'd like to get back to the bridge."
"Sure, Jim. Go ahead."
Grant and Adler stood, shook hands with Conklin, then he left.
Torrinson folded his arms across his chest, as he stood in front of both men. A look on Grant's face meant the "wheels" were spinning. "Okay, Grant. Out with it."
"Well, sir, two things. The first has to do with those shacks. Joe and I are speculating an American was running the operation. We don't think his contact in Subic was Asian. He had to be another Westerner."
"And this is leading where?"
"Except for being popular in Southeast Asia, that drug came out of nowhere. There's the possibility you've had users on board from the first day you pulled into Subic.
"Petty Officer Ahrens could've been out on the town with some buddies, gotten shit-faced, and mouthed off about long hours aboard ship. He was overheard. Sales began."
Torrinson rubbed his chin in thought. "Then why didn't the killer pills start taking their toll at that time?"
"That's the second thing, sir. We've gotta go back to those transmissions intercepted earlier from the PNA. We might have to consider there's someone on board who's working for, or is a sympathizer of the group."
"You're serious?!" Grant nodded. "Just tell me how the hell you came up with the idea. Was it something from your past life as an intelligence officer for you to reach such a conclusion?"
"Probably," Grant smiled. "We think a person or persons already had a contact in Subic. Plans were completed ahead of time, so further communication wouldn't be necessary. He or they would go about daily shipboard life as usual."
"And?"
"Captain Conklin mentioned that one of the stewards tried translating for those kids."
Torrinson lowered his head as he let the idea roll around, then he looked up. "Are you specifically saying it might be one of the Filipinos?"
"We are, sir."
"So, you're intimating there's more than one contact in Subic?!"
"Yes, sir."
"Is this one of your 'grasping at straws' things?"
"Sounds that way, doesn't it?"
"I shouldn't be surprised," Torrinson replied with a slight shake of his head.
Grant continued, "You've got Filipinos on board who are not just stewards, but enlisted as well. Are any of them storekeepers or mail clerks?"
"I'm sure there are, but as soon as we're through here, I'll make inquiries to find out specifics. You've both certainly offered up a helluva lot to consider. Now, I almost hate to ask, but is there anything else?"
"Not at this time," Grant laughed.
"Very well. Now, confirm for me that you're both feeling okay, and you're prepared to continue this mission."
"We are, sir," the two men answered simultaneously.
"And your men?"
"They are," Grant answered.
"I don't know why I even bothered asking. All right, gentlemen. You're dismissed. Now get the hell out of here."
The two men snapped to attention, and saluted. "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Without another word, they turned smartly, and left.
Torrinson smiled to himself, "You're right, Grant. Nothing's changed."
Real Admiral John Torrinson went behind his desk, and stood there quietly, looking toward the door. It was the first time since he'd been aboard the carrier that he actually missed his other life — Chief of NIS.
Chapter 15
A WTD, with a deep sea diving helmet and two crossed bombs stenciled in black, designated the EOD Locker, located in the aft part of the hangar bay, one level below the flight deck. The 10 x 18 compartment had four bunk beds, along with a small 'head' and shower. All the diving gear and 'tools of the trade' were securely locked inside. Gear was methodically arranged inside the compact room, always ready on a moment's notice. Spare parts, assorted safing pins for the ship's ordnance, and various tools were stored in small bins. A row of metal trunks, stacked high, were against one side of the locker. A built-in safe held top secret documentation. Communications gear was arranged on the desk: radio, headphones, satellite uplink transmitter, and walkie-talkies placed in their chargers.
Lieutenant Ormond and Senior Chief Vance stood a few feet away from the steel door, closed, but not completely dogged down. Seeing the SEALs approaching, Ormond stepped forward offering his hand. "Captain Stevens?"