"Damn shame," Adler commented. "What's happened to the men in critical condition, sir?"
"They're at Subic, Joe. Doctors don't know if those men will recover fully. That drug had an atrocious affect on their brains and organs, I'm afraid. If they survive, they'll be having specific treatment of some type, then probably rehab for a long time."
"Wicked shit!" Novak quietly mumbled, but not quietly enough.
"You nailed it," Torrinson said. "Mike, right?"
"Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, Admiral."
"No need, Mike. I'm sure you weren't the only one thinking along those same lines."
Grant rolled his chair back. "Has anyone come up with a reason why? Who the hell would do this?!"
"We're stumped, Grant. Even D.C. is baffled. No one's claimed responsibility." Another knock at the door. "I asked Captain Conklin to join us, gentlemen. Come!" Everyone stood as Conklin walked in. Torrinson made the introductions. Once the men were seated, Torrinson asked, "What's in the folder, Jim?"
"Copies of sat images that came in for Captain Stevens." He handed the folder to Grant.
Grant sorted through the black and whites. "These seem to be newer images of the area NSA found. I think I can spot some differences now, but we'll have to compare them up close with the previous ones." Grant passed the top photo to Torrinson.
"Is this Burma?"
"The lower peninsula. After we examined the earlier set, all of us were in agreement that the area circled is at least one facility producing the drug." He passed the remaining images to Adler, then asked, "Is there anything you can tell us about inspections and searches that've been made? Have any sailors come forward, sir?"
"So far no one has, but Sid Edmunds is the man to talk with, Grant."
"Edmunds?"
"NIS."
"He must be a good man." Grant flashed a grin through perfect white teeth.
"NIS only hires the best!" Torrinson shot back, pointing a finger at Grant then Adler.
Time to get serious again. Grant directed his question to Conklin. "Captain, are we to understand that personnel on other ships haven't been affected?"
"No. Not one. Let me clarify that. We've received reports that pills have been turned in, but no incidents were reported."
"So, somebody's specifically targeting the carrier."
"Sure as hell appears that way," Conklin responded.
Torrinson swiveled his chair. "If I know you two, Grant, Joe, you've already got at least a partial plan in mind."
"Partial is right, sir." Grant focused on Conklin. "Would it be possible to use your radio room? I'd like to call my contact and see if he has any updates."
"Not a problem. Anything else?"
Grant raised his hand, and brought his thumb and index finger close together. "Just one small item. We might need to borrow a chopper, with crew, of course." Out of the corner of his eye, Grant noticed Torrinson smiling. "Nothing's changed, sir."
Conklin shifted his eyes between the two men, then answered, "That can be done. We can loan you a 'Phrog.'" ("Phrog" was the colloquial name for a Sea Knight.)
"That'll work," Grant answered with a thumb's up. "Took a ride in one not too long ago."
Conklin stood, immediately followed by the Team. "I'll make arrangements with CAG. It's good to have you aboard," he said, offering a hand to Grant.
Once he left, Torrinson asked, "Can you tell me who your contact is at State, Grant?"
"You won't believe it, but it's Scott Mullins, Tony's brother."
"Well, I'll be damned!"
"He's a good man, just like Tony. The Team could've been in serious trouble more than once without his quick response and knowledge." Grant looked around the table at his men. Expressions showed they were eager to get the op underway. "Would it be all right if we got started, sir? I'd like to call Scott."
Torrinson stood, followed by A.T. "Get going. We'll talk more later."
As the men headed down the passageway, Grant stopped. "Joe, go on ahead while I have a word with Doc. Something's bothering him."
"Meet you in the radio room."
Grant waited for Stalley to catch up. "Have something on your mind?"
"Just thinking about those sailors."
"C'mon. Let's get outta the passageway." Once they were inside the ladderwell, Grant picked up the conversation. "Okay. I'm listening."
Stalley's pained expression was obvious. "Those sailors … they were younger than me, boss."
Grant rested a shoulder against the bulkhead. Standing close to the young corpsman, he spoke quietly. "I know. But this isn't the first time you've seen or knew of young men dying. Why's it bothering you so much, Cal?"
"I don't know. Maybe because they didn't see it coming. Maybe because they were just trying to do their jobs and thought they found a way to help them do it."
"And do you think they made the right decision?"
Stalley shook his head. "Absolutely not."
"And that decision cost many of them their lives."
Stalley swiped a hand over the top of his dark blond hair. "Yeah, I know."
"Listen, Cal, you've saved plenty of men in your young life, including mine. But we both know it doesn't always work out for the best. We all like to think we can save the world. Then reality smacks us over the head.
"Unfortunately, we didn't have any way to stop these incidents before they did their damage. It'll make us all feel better when we find the bastards who caused it all. Right?"
"Roger that."
"Are we good then?" Stalley nodded. "Okay. Go catch up to the guys. Joe and I'll meet you when we finish with Scott."
"Thanks, boss."
Chapter 6
With headphones hanging around his neck, Grant was prepared to contact Mullins. He balled up a Snickers candy wrapper, tossed it into the trash, then finished off a small carton of milk.
"Think he's at the office?" Adler asked, as he took another bite of cheeseburger.
"He should be. If not, he'll have his calls forwarded." Grant slipped the headphones on. He set the frequency, placed the call, then adjusted the mike.
"Mullins."
"Hey, Scott!"
"Grant! Where are you?!"
"The carrier. We landed around noon. Listen, do you have any updates for us?"
"Nothing on your target. I didn't have time to tell you earlier, but NSA and CIA intercepted transmissions coming out of Bangkok, going to Olongapo. It's a town across the harbor from Subic and Cubi Point."
"Wait one, Scott. Let me put Joe on." Adler put on headphones, then plugged them in. "Okay, Scott."
"Whoever the individuals were, they discussed the production of a specific pill."
"Do we know who made the call, or who was on the other end?"
"The conversation was brief. No names were mentioned, but indicators point to that guerilla group, the PNA."
"Holy shit!"
"Thought you'd be thrilled."
"Is that what we're up against?! Are we …?!"
"No, no. Nothing's definite. You're to proceed with the original mission. I got some additional intel but nobody's sure if it has to do with drugs or your op."
"We're listening."
"The 'alphabet' folks went back over transmissions from months ago. Those initial chats between Bangkok and Olongapo went quiet just before Bangkok and Saigon started up."
"Saigon?! Is somebody suspecting 'Charlie's' involved?!" (During the Vietnam War, "Victor Charlie" was the designation for the Viet Cong, the VC.)
"Not yet. All I can tell you is those transmissions stopped, too."
"Damn! How many more 'players' are you gonna throw in the game?!"
"None for now, but I've got one more update. It isn't much. The image showing the plane is being examined more closely. They're trying to determine its design, plus looking for a tail number."