“Only one ship sailed from the port of Venice this morning, and she was the Greek freighter Thaxos,
a vessel we’ve long suspected was used by the STASI for contract work.”
“It could be them.”
“Yes, sir. We have a satellite shot several hours old showing the Thaxos entering the Mediterranean past Brindisi. I’d like to intercept them before they land on Santorini.”
“How?” the President asked.
“The Sixth Fleet is nearby. I’d like authorization to use a unit of SEALS to board the Thaxos, without warning, under the assumption that McGarvey’s ex-wife and daughter are aboard, held by Spranger and his people.
“That’s piracy,” Cronin blurted.
The President ignored him. “There’ll be casualties.”
“Yes, sir. Almost certainly.”
The President thought about it for a moment or two. “What about McGarvey?”
“He’ll be on the island a few hours ahead of time. If something should go wrong, he’d act as backup.”
“Unknowingly.”
Murphy nodded. “Yes, sir. For the time being I would leave him out of the operation.”
“Not very fair.”
“No, sir. But I believe that we have very high odds of success if we act now. Any move against Spranger once he got to the island could complicate our relations with the Greek government.”
“Do it,” the President said. “But keep me informed, General.”
“Will do, Mr. President. What about the Japanese?”
“I’ll stall Ambassador Shiro this afternoon, but I’m going to have to have some results.
And damned soon.”
Chapter 46
The weather system that had moved in over western Europe was sinking unexpectedly to the southeast, and U.S. Navy meteorologists were predicting thickly overcast skies and rain by midnight over the entire Aegean Sea.
Moving silently, almost as if phantoms in the deepening twilight, the CVN Nimitz and her abbreviated task force were on station fifty nautical miles south-southwest of the island of Crete. They had spent the better part of the past eight months sailing back and forth just off the coast of Lebanon, showing the American flag during the latest round of fighting in the ongoing civil war there. It was time to be rotated home and they’d been steaming for Gib when they’d been given their temporary mission orders.
Lieutenant Edwin Lipton stood hunched over a weather radar-scope in operations with the Nimitz group’s chief meteorologist Lieutenant Commander Brent Eastman, and the chief of Air Operations, Commander Louis Rheinholtz.
Lipton was a SEAL, a fact that would have been obvious to the most casual observer, even if he hadn’t been dressed all in black. Physically he stood out. Although he was only of medium height, his body was in perfect athletic condition, and with the way he held himself like a boxer ready to spring it was clear that his reflex speeds, coordination and endurance were probably very good. The look in his eyes and the expression at the corners of his mouth were those of a man utterly and totally committed to the task at hand, and completely devoid of any nonsense whatsoever. He and the five men in his elite strike group were highly trained professionals in the highest sense of the word.
“What are the chances for a break in the weather?” he asked. “We’re under a full moon tonight.”
“Less than ten percent, Lieutenant,” Eastman said. “In fact the cloud cover will begin moving in over the region within the next hour. In two hours moonlight will not be a significant factor at all. Your real problem is going to be the next satellite overpass. It’ll be blind.”
Lipton studied the screen for a moment longer, then turned and crossed to the chart table where their present position was electronically updated on a continuous realtime basis.
The last known position of the Thaxos was about sixty miles southeast of Piraeus.
She’d made a shortcut through the Gulf of Corinth and the Corinth Canal.
“On that course and speed she’d make Santorini around oh-one-hundred hours,” Commander Rheinholtz said. “Another five hours, if that’s where she’s heading, if she doesn’t change her speed, and if she takes the best direct-line course through the islands.
There’s still a lot of sea out there between us and them.”
“Yes, sir,” Lipton said.
“We’d attract too much notice if we sent out patrols to find them. You do understand that.”
“Yes, sir,” Lipton nodded. He stabbed a blunt finger at a spot just north of the island. “We’ll wait here. When she passes, we’ll get aboard.”
“You’re betting they won’t put in at either the old port of Thira of the new port of Athinos.”
“I don’t think so. They’d have to figure they might run into some trouble with the authorities. I’m told that these people are sharp, and I’ll have to go with that until it’s proved differently. But it’s my guess they’ll disembark five miles offshore and come in here, or here.” He pointed to the island’s only two beaches. Everywhere else tall cliffs plunged into the sea, making a landing next to impossible.
“What if you miss them?”
Lipton shrugged. “Then it would be out of our hands. My orders are that we are not to conduct any operation on Greek soil. But we won’t miss them, sir.”
Commander Rheinholtz studied the chart. “We’ll put up a couple of LAMPS III choppers to give you a steady over-the-horizon radar coverage to the north, and we’ll splash you down around midnight.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“These two women are VIPs, but there’s no telling what condition they’ll be in.”
“My people are briefed.”
“Very well, Lieutenant,” Commander Rheinholtz said, and he glanced over at the plotting board they were using for this operation. “Where is Brightstar at this moment?” he asked. Brightstar was McGarvey’s operational codename.
“He’s just approaching the port of Thira, sir,” the plotting board rating replied.
“No telling what he’ll do when he finds out the Thaxos hasn’t docked yet,” Rheinholtz said. “I’ll be glad when this night is over.”
“Yes, sir,” Lipton said, and it was clear that he meant it.
The moon was blood red on the horizon as the aging 37-foot fishing boat Dhodhoni chugged into the dramatic harbor of Thira. Once the crater of a volcano, the cliffs rose a thousand feet out of the sea, and from across the water McGarvey could hear the sounds of music echoing off the rock faces.
“You are looking for somebody,” the grizzled old captain said, his broad grin nearly toothless. He’d been drinking ouzo most of the way over, but he didn’t appear to be drunk.
“Two ladies,” McGarvey said.
“Ah, the ladies. Not from this island. So they have come by water.”
There were several boats in the harbor, but nothing McGarvey thought Spranger would have used. Of course the East Germans could have landed at Athinos, if they had already arrived and if the black diamond had not been a false clue, or if he had not misinterpreted it.
“Who do I see about them?” McGarvey asked.
The old man’s grin widened. “If you are a policeman it may be difficult, you see.”
McGarvey shook his head. “I’m not a policeman.”
“But there is a stench of… trouble on you.”
McGarvey was certain the old man had been about to say death, instead of trouble.
“This is important to me. One of the ladies is my daughter, and the other my ex-wife.”
The captain nodded. “When you find them…?”
“Someone may have brought them here.”