The SEALs have had a short but valorous history, never once having left any man dead or wounded on the battlefield, not even in Vietnam. Their brutal training is comparable only to Great Britain’s SAS regiment, and military men always point out that it’s harder to become a SEAL than to graduate from Harvard Law School. John Bergstrom had earned his present command after serving with the SEALs as a team leader for several years. Now 61, he had retained his hard-trained physique. He stood six feet two inches tall, and his sleek dark hair was in the process of turning gun-gray.
His wife had died six years earlier, and he had never quite gotten over it. But he was a hugely popular man, both in the military and beyond. His personality was frequently lit up by a deep, amused chuckle, the kind of wry look at the world that comes essentially to those who have faced huge dangers and nowadays regard the rest of it as child’s play. He was probably the best Special Forces Commander the Navy ever had, which was why he had occupied the Big Chair at SPECWARCOM longer than anyone else ever had. He and Arnold Morgan had a profound mutual respect.
They sipped their coffee slowly, both men pondering the mammoth task that lay ahead. “Since you don’t want me to drive the Hornet up the Delta, Arnie, I guess you want me to get the guys out, right?”
Arnold Morgan smiled. “I expect you guessed from the conversation you just heard that the President’s son Linus is the XO on Seawolf?”
“I knew that a month ago. And now he’s in a Chinese slammer. That, Arnie, is not good.”
“Not good. Much worse. He’s between Chinese slammers, and we don’t know where the hell the second one is gonna be.”
“First time I’ve ever been asked to attack a place that ain’t yet on the map.” Vice Admiral Bergstrom chuckled, somewhat mirthlessly. “But I’ll tell you one thing, if they keep them in the Navy dockyard at Canton, there’s no way I’m sending my guys in, because that would be a suicide mission. And my SEALs don’t do suicide. They’re too expensive.”
“John, there’s no way I’d ask that, mainly because an attack like that would damn nearly amount to a declaration of war on China. Anyway, I agree, SEALs are not intended for that kind of frontal assault. That’s the Marine Corps. Also, I would not want American troops going into a radiation zone, which that dockyard is going to become.”
“Then you’re telling me that we may have to sacrifice the crew of Seawolf in order to destroy the submarine?”
“Yes, John. I suppose I am. But I’m also telling you that if it’s humanly possible to get them out, we’re going to do it.”
“Once we find them.”
“Correct. But in the meantime I want to get ready, and right here we’re looking at a project you and I have discussed many times.”
“You mean the formation of our treasured elite SEALs Strike Force, a big team of fifty guys, ready to enter a foreign country at a moment’s notice, stay undercover and then take out the enemy government, or leader, like Saddam, or Milosevic, or that fucking Saudi, whatsisname Bin Laden?”
“That’s the one, John. The elite of the elite. The finest team we can put together. Remember, we always said it would operate from an aircraft carrier, where the team’s commanding officer would form the mission headquarters. That’s what I have in mind.”
“You suggesting I start forming that team? And its first mission is to get the crew of Seawolf out of China?”
“Yes, John. That’s what I’m suggesting.”
“Jesus. This sounds big.”
“It’s the biggest. Our President, who’s without doubt the best friend the military ever had, is close to the breaking point…it’s the threat of the Chinese torturing his son for information.”
“You think they might?”
“Yes, I do…don’t you?”
“Yes, they might.”
“John, I also think the Chinese are never going to free them. When they begin the process of interrogation it will quickly move up to torture. And once that happens, they will make sure no one ever gets out to talk about it.”
“Will they put ’em on trial?”
“I would think so, then sentence them to long years of imprisonment, during which time they’ll all disappear. No one will live to talk about their experience.”
“Then we have to get ’em out.”
“Exactly. Which is why I want you to assemble the best team of guys you have ever assembled. Bring ’em in from Virginia Beach and Coronado, supplement them with two or three SAS guys from England, if you like. I wouldn’t mind a more international aspect to the team. But just make sure they’re the best we can get.
“If the Chinese move the crew to a military jail within striking range of the water, we’re going in, and we’re going to get the Seawolves out. And I do not give a sacred Chinese monkey’s ass if we have to kill every goddamned guard in the jail, we’re going in. And if we can’t find a leader with the balls for the job, I’ll lead ’em myself.”
“I didn’t realize you were still a serving officer, sir?” said Admiral Bergstrom, grinning.
“Recruit me, asshole,” replied Arnold Morgan. “I’m getting them out, and that’s final.”
“Two questions, Arnie. How do we get our guys in? And how do we get everyone out? We’ll probably need fifty SEALs in order to ransack a Chinese military jail. And there’s, what, a hundred, minimum, in the crew?”
“SUBMARINES, Johnny, SUBMARINES. Plus Zodiacs, using them as landing craft. CVBG parked a couple of hundred miles off.”
“Jesus, Arnie. You trying to start a war?”
“John, I’m not planning to get caught by the Chinese…at least not until we’re well clear with all the prisoners. Then they can do and think what they wish. And if they give us any trouble, we’ll sink ’em. Chinese pricks.”
“Arnold, what’s the time frame? Bearing in mind we don’t even know where they are right now?”
“The time frame is that we send in a recon team the first moment we locate the new jail. Then, three hours before the SEALs hit the beach, we bomb Seawolf in Canton, causing maximum panic and confusion. Under the cover of that uproar, the boys go in. Which means that right now you get back in your helicopter, go to Andrews, get back in your plane, and go to San Diego. You put together your hit team, no expense or effort spared. And you fly them all out to Okinawa forty-eight hours from now. They board the carrier instantly, and prepare to go in.”
“You gottit. I guess. Assuming we can find the prisoners.” The SEALs boss rose, drained his brandy glass, picked up his briefcase, and walked to the door. He turned back once and grinned. “By the way, it is the considered opinion of SPECWARCOM that you, Admiral, are a piece of work. Thank Christ you’re on our side.”
They had canceled the evening trip along the Pearl River on the big ferry that leaves from No. 1 Pier off the Yanjiang Road, east of the People’s Bridge, which left 170 mostly foreign passengers grumbling as loudly as it is wise to grumble in China. Softly, that is.
However, it was as well that they were not still on board, because this ferry was about to undertake a straight run to the ex-Japanese military jail on the northeast point of Xiachuan Dao, a six-mile-long island set four miles offshore, eighty miles west-sou’west of the port of Macao.