Operation Caribe (31 page)

Harry was baffled by the news. “At the very least, we have to let the Russians know we’ve located their boat,” he interrupted. “And that it’s not too pretty inside. But…”

He was stumped for a moment.

“… it’s like we’re dealing with pieces of a puzzle,” Batman continued the thought for him. “But we’re not sure if it’s the same puzzle everyone else is working on.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “Does this Russian sub thing have anything to do with what we’re dealing with here? Or is it a separate thing entirely?”

The Whiskey guys were at a loss.

“All I can do is run it up to Higher Authority then,” Harry said. “I hope someone up there can figure it out.”

He stood up, gathered his things and started toward the ship’s CIC.

“Actually, there’s more,” Nolan said, stopping him. “Also a little weird.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m getting used to weird,” he said.

Nolan began: “I know we don’t have to regurgitate our resumé for you. But when you hired us to do this gig, you must have been aware that we had experience in saving a large cargo-type ship, in saving an LNG ship, and even saving a cruise ship.”

“Yeah, so?” Harry answered.

“Well, it just seems strange to us that we weren’t the ones to look into those areas,” Nolan went on. “I mean, instead you sent us out to the Bahamian boondocks to find a guy who has trouble staying awake past lunch. Maybe it’s an ego thing, but still.”

But Harry was looking back at him like he had three heads.

“What the
hell
are you talking about?” he asked.

Batman told him. “The freighter recon in Havana? The LNG carrier off Florida? And that big-ass cruise ship? Those three things are right up our alley. Why weren’t we assigned to them?”

But still Harry seemed authentically perplexed. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just not following you.”

“The SEAL team,” Nolan said, reaching for his sat phone. “We know what they’ve been up to. Look.”

He showed him Crash’s text. Harry’s brow wrinkled dramatically.

“Freighter in Havana? LNG carrier off Florida? The fucking
Queen of the Seas
? What the hell is this crap?”

“It’s what the 616 guys have been doing,” Batman told him. “Our guy is with them, remember? That’s his firsthand report.”

But Harry just shook his head emphatically no.

“This is not the case,” he told them. “Impossible.”

Nolan and Batman looked back at him, totally confused.

“Now what the hell are
you
talking about?” Nolan asked him.

“SEAL Team 616,” Harry said forcefully. “I helped prepare their mission statements. Those guys are supposed to be setting out radio buoys, checking the sea lanes, interfacing with the drone fleet—and basically standing by in case we need to board a ship in a hurry. This stuff you’re telling me was already taken care of. We’ve had that Russian freighter under surveillance for weeks. And that LNG carrier had an army of DEA agents waiting for it in Camden. And there are so many CIA operators aboard that ‘mother of all cruise ships,’ they’re getting group rates on dinners and drinks.

“So, believe me, these things you just told me? That’s definitely
not
what 616 is supposed to be doing out there.”

The three of them just stood there speechless.

“Unless…” Harry added worriedly.

“Unless what?” Nolan asked.

“Unless … those SEALs know something we don’t.”

Aboard the SDV mini-sub

IT TOOK FIVE minutes for the lockout chamber’s water pressure equalizer light to come on.

When it did, Beaux opened the bottom-mating hatch of the SDV to find just what they wanted: an empty missile tube full of seawater.

At more than twenty feet in circumference, it was big enough for all six of them to float down into at once. There was a ladder to help them get to the bottom. As they were wearing scuba breathing gear but no flippers, the ladder would came in handy.

They started their descent, Beaux going first, Crash bringing up the rear. It was a slow climb down, as each 616 member was carrying his gear in a bulky waterproof case and the water was very cold. Once they reached the bottom of the chamber, Beaux hit the fluid depressurization panel and the seawater started draining out. This took another two minutes. When the water was gone, everyone removed his breathing apparatus and handed it to Monkey, who was in charge of collecting the gear. Then, on Beaux’s signal, they took their weapons out of the waterproof casings.

Following the Plan 6S-S specs, Beaux used a universal lock wrench to free the hatch leading into the submarine itself.

“Once this opens,” he told them, “we move quick.”

Now came a moment where everyone collected his thoughts. Crash took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This wasn’t like busting in on some Somali mooks or stepping on Zeek the Pirate’s hired army. This was big time. Something was wrong aboard this sub—and he prayed the 616 team, with his help, could end it quickly, for many reasons. The words bouncing around his head now were from Beaux’s conversation with him about rejoining the SEALs when all this was over.

Maybe it will happen
, Crash thought.

Everyone checked his weapon. Then they lowered their helmet blast shields. They waited one more heartbeat—the five members of 616 at the hatch; Crash behind them, the video camera catching everything. Then Beaux finally twisted the hatch lever free. Ghost and Smash used their combined strength to push the lockout chamber’s door open. A great rush of greasy steam enveloped them.

Beaux gave them a hand signal and then he burst out of the chamber and into the dark passageway. Elvis, Smash and Monkey followed, carrying all of the team’s underwater gear. But at that point, Ghost put up his hand, telling Crash to wait.

Crash froze in place. Had they spotted someone hostile on the other side of the hatch? He fingered the knife hanging from his belt.

Ghost turned and took the video camera from him. Then he stepped into the passageway and started to close the hatch on Crash, this at the same time Beaux hit the chamber’s outside water pressurization panel.

The water started gushing in. Crash’s first thought was he hadn’t moved quickly enough. He started to push forward on the hatch—but with no emotion, Ghost and Beaux pushed it back against him, keeping him in the chamber, which was filling quickly with seawater.

Crash panicked. He jammed his hand between the hatch and the seal, stopping them from locking him in. But the water was rushing in so quickly, some of it was spilling out into the sub itself.

Crash couldn’t understand what was happening. Again, he tried to push against the hatch to force it open, but now all five of the SEALs were on the other side, pushing the hatch against him. Crash tried to scream but nothing came out. He was suddenly holding on for dear life, but the hatch was closing on his hand. His fingers were being crushed; he could feel the bones breaking in his knuckles.

Then Beaux yelled to him: “Just give it up, man. It’s over.”

With that, the hatch was jammed so tight, Crash had to let go.

He was thrown backward and found himself totally immersed in seawater, with no way to breathe.

*   *   *

COMMANDER SHEPHERD WAS on the other side of the sub’s lockout chamber, alone, watching all this unfold.

From his point of view, the hatch swung open and these five soaking wet men in black camos and huge helmets, and carrying huge weapons, tumbled out—while one man was forced back into the chamber to drown. It didn’t make sense.

Up to that moment, Shepherd was ready to shake hands with the first man through the door—but now he realized something was terribly wrong. He felt a chill again, but this time it was different. Could there really
be
a security problem on his boat?

The SEALs pushed past him and took up positions in the dark passageway beyond the chamber.

Shepherd finally grabbed the first man out of the lock—the man he identified as the team leader.

“I’m the captain,” he said. “And I must know, right now—is this a drill?”

Commander Beaux took out his handgun and shot Shepherd twice between the eyes.

“No, Captain,” he said as Shepherd crumpled to the deck. “This is
not
a drill.”

PART FIVE

Battle in a Big Hole

30

Blue Moon Bay

FOUR PEOPLE WERE aboard the Blackwater vessel that had been shadowing the
Mothership
.

They were the same four men who’d walked out of the first briefing for “Operation Caribe,” short-circuiting the company’s involvement in the search for the phantom pirates. Their ship, a fifty-five-foot ex-minesweeper, had been converted into a “research vessel.” Jam-packed with intelligence-gathering equipment, it was highly automated. It took just two men to operate it; the other two men were simply eavesdroppers.

After abruptly leaving the briefing on Bunker Island, the Blackwater crew had no problem finding the
Mothership
cruising the waters of Blue Moon Bay. It was hard to miss a vessel of its size and design, especially if you knew what you were looking for.

Knowing its shadowy past, they’d stayed close to the super LSD ever since. Though they weren’t involved in Operation Caribe anymore, they’d decided it was in their best interests to keep an eye on those who were. It was the nature of their business to be curious.

The four men were up on the bridge, drinking their morning coffee and meticulously going through a box containing ancient writings of the Knights Hospitallers, when two shadows cut across the chart table in front of them. They looked up to see a pair of figures in odd blue uniforms standing on the bridge with them.

The Blackwater employees were startled. How did they not notice that the men had stolen up on them?

But then they recognized the intruders. One with an eye patch; the other with a mechanical hand.

It was Nolan and Batman.

“You guys?” the Blackwater senior man exclaimed.

“Sorry to crash the party,” Nolan said. “But we need to talk to you.”

The four men were still unnerved that the pirate hunters had been able to get so close to them this easily. They didn’t even know how the pair got on board.

“You want to talk, do you?” the senior man finally said, regaining his composure. “You’ll have to pay up like everyone else.”

His remark was followed by the sound of something hitting the chart table with a thud.

It was a packet of money.

“That’s twenty grand,” Nolan told them. “Consider it a down payment.”

The Blackwater guys were impressed. The senior man made some perfunctory introductions. His men were typical-looking hired guns, mid-thirties, obviously exmilitary special ops, shaved heads, lots of tats. The senior man’s name was Russell.

“So, boys,” he said. “What do you want to know? Who’s banging the Queen? The midnight menu at the White House? Where Bigfoot is hiding?”

“We’d like to know why you backed out of this Caribe operation,” Nolan asked him directly.

The four men suddenly lost their flair. This was
not
the question they wanted to hear. Russell pushed the $20,000 back to Nolan.

“Don’t want to tell us?” Batman asked.

Russell shook his head.

“On the contrary,” he said. “You don’t need to pay us for that. We’ll tell you for free.”

He pulled out two chairs for Nolan and Batman and told them to sit down.

“Why did we drop out?” Russell said, after a few moments of thought. “It was because of that crazy-ass SEAL team.”

“The 616 guys?” Nolan said.

Russell nodded. “That’s them,” he said. “You know those guys are just barely SEALs, don’t you? They’re more like part-timers or reservists. That’s why their team number is so high, so no one confuses them with the real thing. Their main job is training civilian newbies in port security—this while other SEAL teams are out in the field getting shot at. What does that tell you? The 616 have a rep as being troublemakers—and not the usual drunken bar fight stuff.”

“Like what, then?” Batman asked.

“Like they were suspected just recently of breaking into a bank in Virginia,” he said. “And the cops suspect they’ve knocked off at least a dozen ATMs around Norfolk, but there’s never been any real proof, because they’re too slick. They’ve also been caught with steroids and HGH, the same stuff the ballplayers use, but even though the Navy knew, they did nothing.”

“That’s insane,” Nolan said. “Why didn’t they get drummed out?”

Russell shrugged. “If they were regular Navy, they probably would have. But I guess it’s because
every
special ops guy is needed these days—the good and the bad. Look at these three crisis situations the U.S. has got going on right now and how thin everybody is spread out. The Navy can’t afford to get rid of guys they’ve spent a couple million dollars each to train. But that’s also why 616 gets all the shit duty, again while the real SEALs are off doing the authentic missions. Those 616 guys are forever doing training exercises, but they never get any real stuff.”

Batman shrugged. “Well, even the dumbest guy in medical school winds up working someplace.”

“Right,” Russell agreed. “And I guess to the Navy’s credit, they thought that by putting all the bad apples in one group, they wouldn’t infect the rest of the SEAL community.”

“But they wound up creating a monster,” Batman said.

“Exactly,” Russell agreed. “But there’s more, stuff the Navy
doesn’t
know about. We discovered that the small bank in Virginia that 616 broke into actually had its computer security systems compromised. Not so these guys could steal anything, but we believe they used it to hack into the U.S. Fleet Forces Command’s central mainframe so they could track Navy ships all over the world.”

“But why would they need that information?” Nolan asked.

“Who knows?” Russell replied. “Maybe they were planning on selling it, like the Walker family did back in the 1970s. In fact, we think they’ve been breaking into that same bank regularly. Somehow they learned they could hack into Fleet Command, and God knows how many other places, from this little bank’s little computer. Sounds strange, but it worked for them.”