The submarine surged forward, and everyone who was awake heard the distinct change in the rhythm of the ship. Lieutenant Pearson came hustling through the doorway, holding a chart. “Right here, sir,” he said. “We’re in two hundred feet of water, and we can go at least six miles on this course without even thinking about it.”
“Thanks, Shawn….” But he was cut off from further communication by the sudden appearance in the control room of Captain Reid, wearing his pajama trousers, shoes, socks and a Navy sweater.
“XO, might I ask where precisely you are taking this ship when our orders are perfectly clear to remain on station?”
“Sir, right now we are on a rescue mission. The ASDV just radioed in. The SEAL team leader, Lt. Commander Schaeffer, has been killed, and another of the twelve is badly wounded. They called to request we come in and meet them. They are afraid the second SEAL might also die. We’re going in six miles to a probable depth of one hundred fifty feet. If I have to, we’ll continue on the surface until we find them.”
“Lieutenant Commander Headley, you do of course realize that your orders are directly countermanding both mine and those of the flag?”
“Sir. There are ample provisions in Navy regulations to provide for emergency actions in order to save life. Especially one of our own.”
“XO. DO NOT REMIND ME OF THE NAVY’S REGULATIONS. I KNOW A GREAT DEAL ABOUT THEM. AND THE ONE I SUGGEST YOU CONSIDER IS THE ONE THAT GIVES THE COMMANDING OFFICER ABSOLUTE POWER ON HIS OWN SHIP.”
“I am well acquainted with that one, sir.”
“Then, for the second time in as many days, I am ordering you to turn this ship around and return to our correct waiting position at 26.36N 56.49E.”
“Sir,” interrupted Commander Bennett, “as you are well aware, I outrank Lieutenant Commander Headley and it was at my request he agreed to go on a rescue mission, possibly to save the life of one of my most valuable men.”
“Then I must remind you, sir, that you have no rights whatsoever on this ship. And I will not have this interference. What exactly is this? Some kind of damned conspiracy? Well, you’ve picked the wrong man to make a fool of…waiting until I’m asleep and then flagrantly disobeying my orders.”
“Sir, may I just—” But Rusty was cut off in midsentence.
“N-O-O-O. YOU MAY NOT. TWENTY-SIX THIRTY-SIX NORTH, SIR. FIFTY-SIX FORTY-NINE EAST, SIR. THAT’S OUR CORRECT POSITION. AND THAT’S WHERE WE’RE GOING. YOU CANNOT RUN A NAVY FOR A GUY WHO’S PROBABLY CUT HIS GODDAMNED FINGER…RETURN TO OUR DESIGNATED POSITION. AND THAT’S AN ORDER, XO!”
Admiral Morgan had been alone for two hours, since Admiral Dixon had returned to the Pentagon. Both men knew the SEAL team had gone into Iran and that the attack on the refinery was scheduled for the small hours of Thursday morning, an eight-and-a-half-hour time difference from Washington.
Both men knew it had already happened from several different sources: the satellites, the CIA, the embassy in Tehran, the Brits via Oman on the other side of the strait and a very sketchy item on CNN. The flight-deck crew and almost everyone else on board USS Constellation had seen the fireball from 20 miles offshore. The U.S. Navy knew comprehensibly, from Diego Garcia to Pearl Harbor, from Coronado to Norfolk, Virginia, that a 12-man team of SEALs had just destroyed the world’s biggest and newest Middle Eastern oil refinery.
What no one knew was the fate of the SEALs, and Admiral Morgan paced his office awaiting some news. In his mind he guessed they’d be back in the Shark by around 0800 their time.
As far as he could tell, that was a half hour ago, and so far he’d heard NOTHING. What the hell’s going on? That was Admiral Morgan’s question. He’d kept Kathy on duty, watching her e-mail screen, sitting by the phone, ever ready to bring in the message that everyone was safe. It was a curious trait in his character, since he was now, at least according to his job description, a political adviser. But he was not a political adviser in the place that counted. In his heart, he was still a Navy commanding officer. And that did not permit him to leave the bridge until he knew absolutely that the men were home unscathed.
So why is no one telling me they’re safe? Maybe they aren’t safe? And if not, why not? Again, what the hell’s going on? “KATHY!”
The door opened, and Ms. O’Brien came through it, still quite incredibly glamorous despite the late hour. “I do wish you wouldn’t yell like that,” she said. “It’s so…so…well, uncool.”
“Who the hell else would hear me in this goddamned graveyard?” he rasped.
“Only everyone.”
“Like who? You think they could hear me in the Oval Office, if the President’s still working?”
“My darling, they could hear you in the Rose Garden.”
“Oh, of course. I forgot we got that midnight pruning crew in there, snipping away until breakfast.”
“Arnold, I am merely suggesting that it might be unnecessary for you to sound like a drill sergeant, in the White House, in the middle of the night. And, by the way, sarcasm does not become you.”
“Yes it does. It becomes me better than anyone I ever met. And anyhow, where the hell’re my SEALs? Answer that, Miss Decibels 2007.”
Before she could answer, with something suitably pithy, the phone rang at her desk outside the main office. Secure line. She walked quickly out through the doorway, and instantly put the call through to the Admiral.
“Yup. Morgan. Speak.”
“Arnie, it’s Alan Dixon. Good news and bad news, I am afraid. The SEALs wiped out the refinery, but only ten of them got back.”
“Are they inside the Shark right now?”
“They are. But they lost the team leader, Lieutenant Commander Ray Schaeffer. And they lost one of the new guys, young Charlie Mitchell.”
Admiral Morgan was stone silent for at least a half minute while he composed himself. “They didn’t die in the fire, did they?”
“No. There was some kind of battle inside the refinery. The Chinese had a military guard patrol, which we were just not expecting. With attack dogs. The guys were cornered, but they took out all five guards and both dogs, blew up their jeep and then the entire oil plant. Apparently the guards managed to get a couple of bursts out of their old Kalashnikovs. Hit Ray and Charlie at less than twenty feet, point-blank range. They never had a chance.”
“They didn’t leave our guys behind, did they? Not in that godforsaken country?”
“No. They did not. They brought the body of Ray Schaeffer out. At the time Charlie Mitchell was still alive, but he died in the ASDV about fifteen minutes before they got back to the submarine. It was a long journey at only six knots, and they couldn’t save him.”
“Thanks, Alan. Let’s talk in the morning.”
“Good night, sir.”
Arnold stood up from his desk, and he walked to the window. He stared out into the darkness, and before him he saw the half-lit refinery, and he imagined the SEALs, out there alone, trapped in a firefight, and he imagined the gallantry of the young Americans, the terror, the air alive with bullets, Lt. Commander Schaeffer, the leader, charging forward trying to save his men. Ray Schaeffer. Goddamnit. He went into Russia for me. He went into China for me. And he’s gone into Iran for me. And now he’s dead.
Admiral Morgan heard Kathy return to the office. But he just stood with his back to her, staring out into the pitch-black of the White House garden, because he could not bear for her to see him this upset.