Kozloff watched proudly. The safety of night … the diversion by the chopper … the nearly perfect anchoring … everything told him that this vital operation was going to be successful.
He allowed himself a smile as he activated his magnetic climbers and attached them to the hull. Instantly he felt the pull, the sense of safety. The damn things really worked. He launched upward, just as the first SEAL reached the ship’s deck.
Suddenly his minireceiver screamed in his ear, “Abort! Abort! Abort!”
With a wrench of his gut, he forced himself to reverse his drive to push onward. He made himself believe the incomprehensible: Success was withdrawal.
He flipped the switch, opening the line to his men. “Abort! Come back!
Abort, dammit. Abort! Get your asses back down here on the double!”
The men dropped down the wall, sliding quickly by reducing the magnetism in their hand-hold and foot-hold units. He worried about the top man, who had disappeared onto the ship. From the Zodiac, he stared upward, unconsciously holding his breath. Where was his point man?
When the point SEAL appeared, he was like a fireman on a greased pole, dropping straight down the hull, his expression pissed and trying to hide it. As soon as his feet touched the Zodiac’s side, one SEAL yanked him aboard, while another released the magnetic anchor. Kozloff turned the boat away from the freighter, fighting waves and the drag of the sea that tried to suck the Zodiac into the ship’s screws.
His people watched the hulking Empress without talking. They could still be seen.
When no searchlight appeared, Kozloff took a deep breath of relief. The only good thing as far as he was concerned was at least that part of their mission was successful — The Dowager Empress had not spotted them.
As he accelerated back toward the Crowe, the Empress thundered onward, leaving the Zodiac to pitch and yaw in the rough wake. Now that they were safe, his men began grumbling.
“What in hell happened?” asked the point man.
“We could’ve made it!” complained the anchor man.
Kozloff silently agreed, but he was also commander. “Orders, people,” he said sternly. “We had orders to abort. We don’t question orders.”
Commander Chervenko leaned over the shoulder of Hastings, listening to the submarine. He stiffened as he heard the enemy vessel slow. Had he heard right?
Hastings swallowed. “The sub’s easing up, sir. Falling back.” The radioman called, “Bridge says the Zodiac’s home. It’s signaling off the starboard bow. Commander Bienas says he’s slowing to pick up the SEALs.”
His voice radiating relief, Hastings added, “Looks like the sub’s dropping back to its original position behind us, sir.”
Chervenko inhaled. It was the most emotion he allowed himself in front of his men. He was drained by the last few hours. As he looked around at the tight faces, he knew they were even more so. At least he had years of experience under his belt buckle. “All right, let’s figure out how in hell that sub knew to threaten us just when our SEALs were about to board the Empress. Hastings?”
“No way they picked up the Zodiac or the Seahawk on sonar, sir.”
“The Empress saw the Seahawk hovering,” OS2 Fred Baum suggested. “They put two and two together.”
“That could’ve been it,” Chervenko agreed. “Good work everyone. Keep your eyes and ears open. Call me if there’s anything else.”
As Chervenko hurried down to his quarters to report to Washington, he knew there was no way The Dowager Empress could have detected the unloading of the SEAL team far ahead in the nighttime ocean. The Empress knew they had been hassled by the Seahawk, but that was all. The only way the Chinese sub would have known to move ahead to threaten the Crowe so the SEAL raid was stopped was if they had been warned in advance.
Someone had warned the Chinese submarine. Someone in Washington.
The president stood at the windows of the Oval Office, looking out over the Rose Garden, his back to the distraught Admiral Brose. “They failed?”
“The Chinese sub moved in.” Brose’s voice was wooden. “It loaded and armed torpedoes. Commander Chervenko thinks they knew the raid was coming and guessed the chopper overfly was the start.” “Someone here warned them?” “That’s how it looks.” The admiral’s remark suggested the president might know more than he did. The admiral had not been included in the recent information about the leaks. No one but the DCI and Fred Klein were tight in the loop.
“All right, thank you, Stevens.”
The admiral stood, but he did not leave. “What now, sir?”
The president turned, his hands clasped behind, his tall figure framed in the window. “We go on as before. Make sure all the services are ready and that we have a strong presence in Asian waters on a war footing.”
“Then, Mr. President?”
“Then we wait for China’s move.”
“The Empress should reach Iraqi waters Monday evening our time. Tuesday morning theirs.” Brose’s hard gaze fixed on the president. “Today’s Saturday, so we’re talking just one and, maybe, a half days. Things were bad enough when we still had almost a full week.”
“I know, Admiral. I know.”
The admiral heard the unspoken criticism and nodded slowly. “My apologies, Mr. President.”
“No apology needed, Stevens. Go see that your people are taken care of.
Were any hurt?”
“We don’t know yet. When I talked with Chervenko, the Crowe hadn’t picked them up yet. I thought you’d want to know about the abort as soon as possible.”
“Yes. I did. Thank you.”
When the admiral left, President Castilla remained standing. At last he let out an agonized sigh. He picked up his blue phone, the direct, scrambled line to Covert-One headquarters.
Fred Klein answered immediately. “Yes, Mr. President?”
“The SEALs had to abort.” The president repeated Brose’s report. “The Chinese were warned. Commander Chervenko is sure.”
“Was it Secretary Kott?”
“No. I sent him on a special mission to Mexico to keep him out of Washington. He’s completely off the page, and the CIA’s watching him, just to be sure.”
The president paused, feeling again his outrage and disgust at Kott’s misuse of power. His leaks had caused devastating damage, and the president intended to hold him accountable. But not yet. It was too early to tip his hand.
He continued, “I’ll tell Arlene Debo that a leak here in Washington may be the source for the sub’s aggression on the Crowe. Obviously, we can’t lay that one on Kott. Have you heard from Jon Smith?”
“Afraid not,” Klein told him. “Another hour, I activate my people.”
“We’d better both pray they find him and the manifest. He’s our last chance.”
“What does Arlene say about Mcdermid? Any news from Agent Russell?”
“More bad news. Russell has disappeared, too.”
PART THREE
Chapter Twenty-Nine
