'Coming up on target,' the pilot said, with a lazy drawl, interrupting Mason's meditations. 'T minus ten minutes.'
Despite his calm demeanor, Mason couldn't avoid the adrenaline rush and excitement of a SEAL mission. He was what was known as an 'operator,' one who had joined the navy for action. He glanced at his Chase-Durer Swiss watch, turned and gave the men behind him a ten-fingered signal like a basketball player making a two- handed free throw.
Dressed in black uniforms, their exposed faces streaked with war paint, the SEALs were barely visible in the cabin's dim light. As an elite force, SEALs were given leeway in dress and weapon. Some wore 'drive-on rags,' Rambo-style around their heads, others the more traditional floppy hats with the brim turned up at front.
There was a rustle as the SEALs patted the pouches of their assault vests and laid reassuring hands on their automatic weapons. Most in the team carried Colt automatic rifles, the shortened version of the M-16 that fired rounds with no cartridges, allowing them to carry more ammunition. One man, who was built like a bull, carried the M-60 E3, a light machine gun that normally requires two men to operate. Another was armed with a 12-gauge shotgun whose slugs could penetrate metal. In addition to his own rifle, the explosives expert carried a rucksack that contained C-4 plastic charges and fuses.
Mason commanded the sixteen-man platoon that would board the starboard side. His executive officer, '2IC,' for second in command, headed the group that would secure the port deck. No matter how heavily armed they were, thirty-two men composed a small attack force for a target as huge as the Ataman Explorer. The last thing the SEALs wanted to do was get into a firefight with a vastly superior force. Their main weapon would be surprise; their allies would be confusion and shock.
'Comm check,' Mason said. Like the men in his platoon, he carried a Motorola MX300 radio with throat mike and earpiece. The men answered in order of their seating. Mason counted the answers. Sixteen. Everyone was connected. His 2IC called in from the other helicopter. He and his men were ready.
Mason slipped a cell phone out of his assault vest and punched out a number. The phone used a special encryption algorithm that connected Mason directly to the other assault teams.
As Mason's unit headed due east of Boston at the chopper's maximum speed of one hundred forty-five miles per hour, the other squadrons were on similar missions to the south. The Delta Force was in the group off of Charleston, South Carolina, and an air force special operations regiment was in the southernmost track east of Miami. On this mission, the navy would be in charge. Which meant Mason was calling the shots. If he got taken out of action, the Delta leader would take charge, then the SOAR officer.
'This is Omega One,' he said. 'Come in, Omega Two.'
'Omega Two, and how are you?'
Mason smiled at the bad rhyme. On joint training exercises, he had come to know and respect the Delta Force leader, a wisecracking African-American named Joe Louis, after the great champion boxer.
'We're right on schedule, Joe. T minus ten.'
'Roger. Hey, Zack, couldn't the navy brass come up with something more imaginative than Omega. Maybe something like the Three Bears?'
'Doubt if the admiral would like being called Goldilocks. Besides, it was the air force's turn to name this mission.'
'Figures. Fly boys. T minus eight.'
'Call when you make visual contact.'
'When we do, I will call you. Over and out.'
Mason punched another button and got Will Carmichael, leader of Omega Three. In contrast to Louis, Carmichael went by the book. Even his spontaneous comments seemed to be programmed. He reported that his team was right on schedule, then added, 'Pieceacake.'
Mason knew from hard experience that dropping out of the sky onto a huge and possibly heavily armed moving ship in open ocean and disarming an unknown explosive was not exactly a piece of cake. They had rehearsed boarding vessels at sea dozens of times, but this was the real McCoy. The mission depended on delaying detection until the last possible moment. The HH 60-H helicopter was ideal for the job. It was relatively quiet, had an infrared jammer and suppressor system, a radar threat-warning receiver and other electronic eyes and ears. In addition, the helicopter had sharp teeth: two M-60 machine guns and a Hellfire missile system.
'T minus four,' the pilot's voice droned.
Mason turned and held up four fingers. It was an unnecessary gesture because all his men were plugged into the helicopter's communications system, but he did it for emphasis. The tension was so thick he could have cut it with the knife at his belt. It seemed only seconds passed before the pilot said, 'Visual contact.'
Mason donned his night-vision goggles and ordered his platoon to do the same. He made out the silhouette of an enormous ship plowing wake through the sea. He called the other teams to report visual contact. Both had sighted their targets. He said he would call as soon as he was aboard the LZ, military shorthand for landing zone, and quickly slipped his phone back into its pouch.
They were seconds away from their target. At the last moment, when it seemed as if they were going to slam into the side of the ship, the Seahawks cut their speed, swooped up and over the vessel and hovered over each side of the wide stern deck. Thermal-imaging viewers scanned the ship for heat areas that would indicate human presence. Satisfied the deck was clear, the pilot maneuvered the aircraft past the masts and antennae and hovered at fifty feet.
Every man knew that this was when the teams were at their most vulnerable. As they had practiced dozens of times, the SEALs dropped a two-inch-thick rope that was secured to the hoist bracket down to the deck, then they donned heavy welder gloves. Mason stood in the door, got a good grip on the line and jumped. Using the upper body strength that was a product of rigorous SEAL training, he checked his controlled fall before his feet touched the deck, quickly moving aside to avoid the next man down.
Both helicopters were emptied within ninety seconds. As soon as they hit the deck, the boarders threw their gloves away. The first four men down adopted a circular formation that was reinforced as the others joined them. The helicopters darted off like startled dragonflies and hovered a few hundred yards from the ship on either side. They would await the word that the ship had been secured, or that the mission had failed. Their orders were to evacuate the assault team and sink the ship with well-placed missiles.
Mason swept his eyes around. He was glad to see that the ordnance expert, Joe Baron, had made it safely. Mason could handle explosives in a pinch, but Baron was a pro. The lieutenant pulled a light stick from his vest and snapped it back and forth so that the chemicals inside mixed and glowed a cold blue. He waved the light stick to let the port team know all was well. His signal was returned a second later. Radio talk would be kept to a minimum as they swept the ship from one end to the other.
Mason got on his cell phone. 'Omega Three. Stern LZ secured. No assets encountered. Report in, Omega Two.'
'Omega Two. Stern secured. No one home, so we will roam.'
'This is Omega One. Proceed according to plan and cut out the lousy poetry.'
'Roger,' Louis answered, although it must have killed him not to say 'Dodger.'
'Omega Three. All A-OK.'
Mason ordered the teams forward. They broke into two squads on both sides. One squad formed the base element, taking up firing positions to protect the other group as it raced forward. Then the assault team became the fire team and the other squad leapfrogged ahead in a maneuver that quickly covered ground.
Within minutes, they had rendezvoused in the bow of the ship with the port team. Mason ordered his 2IC to probe the bridge and superstructure while he took his squad to the decks below. Using the same leapfrog technique, Mason and his men made rapid progress through the storage areas and holds. They stopped in front of one door that was welded shut. Since they couldn't get in, no one could get out, so they moved on. They burst into the boiler room with guns ready. The engines were going, but there was no sign of boiler men or engineers.
A voice crackled in Mason's earpiece. 'Up Squad. Gone through the crew and officers' quarters. Beds all made. No one here. Spooky as hell.'
'Boiler room. Engines are purring away. No one here either.'
The squads continued into the ship, and still they encountered no one. After a thorough search, they climbed back to the main deck.
The voice of the 2IC came onto Mason's radio. 'Lieu- tenant, I think you should get up to the bridge as quickly
