Both knew about aircraft transponders. Aircraft send out a signal that air traffic controllers use to accurately plot specific aircraft positions.
“Do all boats have to have one?”
“Don’t think so. I think it’s just bigger boats but I’m not sure if our guys would have one transmitting.”
“Oh, they will,” replied Sam. “These guys have fooled everybody, they wouldn’t make a simple mistake like not transponding if they have to. They’d be shining a big spotlight on themselves.”
“OK, well, we just need a computer then.”
“We can do it ourselves?” asked the Senator.
Rebecca was already half way out of the room as the others struggled to catch up. The manager was kindly asked if his computer could be borrowed. Faced with the three very anxious faces of Sam, Charles and Rebecca, he had little choice. He left them to his office and went for a break.
“You’ve done this before,” stated the Senator.
“A few times,” replied Rebecca with a smile as she logged onto marinetraffic.com and waited for the map to load.
“OK, I presume we want the East coast?”
“Definitely,” replied Sam as a number of boxes appeared on the map next to America, each with a number in the box, signifying how many ships there were in each sector.
“Jesus, there are hundreds, it’ll take us hours.”
Rebecca shook her head and selected the ‘Vessel’ tab.
“What’s the name?”
Rebecca typed in Sergey Vazlav and the details instantly appeared.
“Gulf of St Lawrence, Canada.”
“Holy shit, we did it!”
“How far are they from New York?” asked Sam, suddenly realizing that was the nearest city.
“Just over six hundred miles, give or take,” replied Rebecca, roughly working it out.
“Jesus, they’re just about in range and they’ll come in over land, not from the sea.”
“I need to use your phone!” The Senator put his hand out to Rebecca. She had assured them earlier that her phone could not be traced or tracked.
Senator Charles Baker made a phone call that made his stomach churn.
“I need to speak with the President urgently!” he said as the White House picked up his call.
As they were retrieving the name of the ship, Akram Rayyan was in the process of making the information irrelevant. They had sailed into the Gulf of St Lawrence and as they approached Prince Edward Island, he had called on his men to make the preparations.
The World War Two equipment was unloaded and the scaffolding blocks were bolted onto the deck as they had been during all their previous test runs. This time was for real. The empty containers which had blocked the outside world’s view were thrown overboard. They were now redundant. The scaffolding ran for sixty feet along the deck and protruded over the water below. While half the crew prepared the catapult, the other half prepared the aircraft. Two wings were removed from one container while the main body of the aircraft came from another. The Second World War fighter came to life as the wings were bolted on. The weapon had already been stored within the fuselage of the aircraft. What had been a deadly fighter in its day seventy years earlier had become the deadliest aircraft ever made seventy years later.
The Hawker Sea Hurricane had been devised as a fighter of last resort to protect the vital convoys plying the seas between America, Britain and Russia. It afforded protection to convoys against the marauding Focke-Wulf of the German Luftwaffe. The Hurricanes were flown by very brave pilots who knew there was nowhere to land once they were propelled into the sky. The Allies, without enough ships to launch aircraft, devised the catapult system, similar to the systems used on modern aircraft carriers. Rockets would fire the aircraft from standing to flight speed almost instantly.
Akram instructed the crew to lift the plane into position. They lifted the relic brought back to life after being found in Malta and guided it carefully onto the runners that now sat on top of the deck. The rocket mechanism was fixed to the base and the thumbs-up signaled around the deck. The plane was ready.
Everything that had to be said, already had been. The pilot, on seeing the thumbs-up, boarded the aircraft and immediately ignited the old but reliable Rolls Royce Merlin engine. It fired into life and warmed up. Akram instructed the ship to turn into the wind. The pins securing the plane were removed and the pilot applied 30 degree flaps and a 1/3 rudder, just as he had been taught during training. He then opened the throttle to full, pushed his head into the headrest and signaled for the rockets to be fired.
The plane surged forward under a hail of Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! And dropped from the end of the rail towards the ocean.
Akram’s heart sank with the plane but the power of the engine kicked and the nose pulled up and leveled before powering the plane up and away. A tear left Akram’s eye as he thought of the glory that would be with them all soon. Before the old plane was out of sight, the deck structure was broken down and discarded overboard. Sergey Vazlav turned and tried to get as much distance between itself and the floating containers as possible.
Chapter 89
“I have Senator Charles Baker for you, Mr President,” offered Nancy.
Fortunately, Johnson and Preston who were currently with the President were facing away from her and she did not see the look of horror on their faces.
“OK, put him through.” The President wasn’t quick enough to think of anything else.
“Charles?” said the President.
“Fuck you, Russell…” that was unfortunately the best Charles Baker could come up with on hearing the President’s voice. Sam waved at him wildly to calm down.
“…I’ve got the name and location of the freighter you need,” he added quickly, before the President hung up.
The President had the phone half down when he heard the name and location. He hit the speaker button so all could hear.
“Sergey Vazlav, Gulf of Lawrence.”
“Thank you, Charles,” replied the President with genuine gratitude. He of course was genuine. Charles Baker had just secured Russell’s re-election.
“Before you get too excited, we think they have probably launched. They’re in range of New York.”
“Christ!” said Russell, realizing that two million deaths was synonymous with New York.
Preston was already onto the Joint Chiefs as the President ended the call with Baker. Two minutes later, they called back. The carrier George H.W. Bush was nearest in the vicinity and had sent a squadron of F/A18 Super Hornets to the area. They would be in position in less than twenty minutes.
They were also scrambling every piece of kit that could spot or shoot down the Hurricane towards the Northern states.
Twenty minutes later the President’s office was patched into the chatter between the pilots and the carrier.
“Avenger, this is squadron leader, we have visual on Sergey Vazlav. I repeat we have visual.”
“Team Leader, this is Avenger, can you confirm status of launch?”
“Avenger, no aircraft visible but freighter is steaming North. I repeat steaming North.”
“Fuuuuuuck!” screamed the President, fearing the worst.
“Avenger, crew are on deck, gesticulating at us. Going for closer look.”
“Avenger, crew laughing at us. Fear aircraft launched, reports of containers floating south of here.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!!!” screamed the President slamming his desk. The phone buzzed. Preston answered.
“It’s the Joint Chiefs, Mr President. What do you want them to do? Our nearest asset is two hours away. The
