I guess she thought the island was getting invaded. I didn’t find the car until the next day. I spent twenty-four hours wandering the streets, looking, until a neighbor took me in his car to look for them.
We found my car inland. A Japanese pilot must have strafed it. Maybe he thought it was servicemen heading for Schofield Barracks. Maybe just to get rid of ammunition before heading back to his carrier.
“They were both dead. It was my fault. I should have been with them.
I had to tell George when he got back.”
She took a deep breath.
“God bless his heart. He stayed with me.”
She looked up at Boomer with tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
“It was my fault, but my daughter wasn’t the only one who died that day. They were still hearing the desperate taps from sailors trapped in some of those ships for weeks, until they finally died. And if this Line exists and it knew about the attack beforehand and allowed it to happen, then there’s no place in hell hot enough for those bastards!”
CHAPTER 14
The satellite dish in Maggie’s backyard shifted position slightly, then settled in place. Inside the house. Boomer sat on the couch and watched the pre-game show for the Army Navy game.
The front door opened and Skibicki walked in, looking like he had not had a moment of sleep.
“What’s up, sergeant major?”
Skibicki gratefully accepted the mug of coffee Maggie handed him.
“Thanks. Nothing. Everything’s quiet.” He looked at the screen.
“Let’s hope Trace made it there.”
“What’s the plan for today?” Boomer asked.
“I talked to Vasquez. She’s doing some more snooping.”
He threw a newspaper down on the table.
“I noticed an interesting article in the back pages. We’ve been concentrating so hard in one area, we’ve lost track of some other aspects of this whole situation.”
Boomer tore his eyes from the screen.
“What do you mean?”
Skibicki sat at the table and Boomer joined him.
“If there is a plot to get to the President, then what?”
“I don’t think the plot is directly against the President,” Boomer said.
“Just play along with me, then,” Skibicki bargained.
“All right,” Boomer said, “what if there is a plot to attack the President? What are you talking about?”
“I mean, what would their plan be after they got rid of the President?”
Skibicki said.
“They’re not going to do this in a vacuum. If the President disappears or is killed, what happens?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
“The Vice President takes over. And guess where the Vice President is going to be this weekend?” He tapped the newspaper.
“Vacationing on the North Shore of this island at the Turtle Bay Resort playing golf.”
“No shit?” Boomer grabbed the paper.
“Hell, he’s arriving this morning.” He looked up at Skibicki.
“Maybe those guys jumping in this morning weren’t going after the President. Maybe they had responsibility for a secondary target right where they came in.”
Skibicki nodded.
“That’s why I got Vasquez checking the Intel nets. We may have had tunnel vision about this jump, thinking it was the main event, but it just might be the sideshow.”
The sound of the football announcers filled the silence in the room.
“That sub,” Boomer said, breaking the quiet, “the one Vasquez said her friend had on the SOS US but wasn’t listed in the Navy books. That might be part of this.”
“Already thought of that,” Skibicki said.
“I’m having her do a complete check of the sea around the island. Not just what SOS US has, but imagery from the Intelsat. I’d love to have her do a Keyhole look at the island itself to see if we could find where those jumpers and their boats went to earth, but doing that would raise red flags all the way to the Pentagon. Plus, I don’t know if any of the Keyholes pass over here.”
“A Keyhole look,” Boomer said, referring to the latest spy satellite that could read the information off a cigarette pack, “wouldn’t be much good here. They probably sunk the Zodiacs anyway,” Boomer said.
“If they’re using F-470s, they can waterproof the engines, sink the boats, and then recover them when they need them using CO;, canisters on board.”
Skibicki nodded.
“Yeah, and the guys on land would be deep under cover.”
“You two can sit here and speculate all day,” Maggie said, her attention on the TV screen, “but if your cute young friend doesn’t get some solid information about The
Line from this colonel of Ski’s, you might as well be whistling in the dark.”
The doorbell rang and Skibicki opened it. Vasquez walked in. She had a briefcase that she carried directly to the table and opened. The others gathered round.
“Got some strange stuff going on at sea,” she began.
“That unidentified SOS US contact I told you about is closing in on the island. About two hundred kilometers due east now. Now there’s a second submarine contact.”
“Another unknown friendly?” Skibicki asked.
“Negative, sergeant major. This one is listed. The USS Sam Houston. I looked it up,” she added.
“It’s a missile carrier.”
“No, it isn’t,” Boomer interrupted, catching Vasquez by surprise.
“The Sam Houston is an Ethan Alien Class sub.
They used to carry Polaris missiles, but those are out of date now. The Sam Houston was taken out of service in the early eighties and reconfigured for Special Operations.
They removed the missile control system and most of the empty missile tubes. Some of the missile tubes were converted to act as air locks for swimmer exit. It’s also fitted to accept two DDS assemblies.”
Seeing Vasquez’s blank stare. Boomer explained.
“DDS stands for dry dock shelter. It’s something the Navy’s developed to be mounted on the deck of submarines to carry SDVS — swimmer delivery vehicles. You can go directly from the inside of the sub into the DDS, and load up the SDV while maintaining an airtight environment.
“You can also use the DDS to lock out a large number of swimmers from the sub, all at the same time.”
“Lock out?” Vasquez repeated.
“Exit the submarine while it’s still submerged,” Skibicki explained.
“So this sub is one of the ones the Navy has modified for Special Operations?” he asked.
Boomer nodded.
“After they retired the USS Greyback, the first Special Operations submarine, they converted the Sam Houston and the John Marshall, both Ethan Alien Class. They’ve also modified about eight of their Sturgeon Class to mount the DDS. I’ve done some work on the John Marshall,” he added to explain his knowledge.
Skibicki considered the information and tallied it with what he knew from joint exercises on the island.
“Navy Special Warfare Group One at Pearl has got two DDSS and four SDVS in a secure holding area, or at least they have space for them. They might be out there mounted on the Sam Houston right now.”
The sergeant major slapped his palm on the table.
“It makes sense. The Army guys get the land target, the VP, up on the north shore. The Navy boys get the target in Pearl. They could get right up to the Arizona Memorial in an SDV. Hell, they can mount goddamn torpedoes on the Mark IX SDV. They can sneak into the harbor, stand off, and fire a torpedo and blow the shit out of everyone standing on the memorial.”
“But I thought we were worried only about the Army?”
Maggie threw in.
“I thought The Line was from West Point.”
“Shit, I bet they got a chapter at Annapolis,” Skibicki growled.