Peter bent down and pulled a key from the wreckage. “You can’t make a nuclear omelet without breaking an egg.”
Joey approached them. “A safe deposit key.” He grabbed it and checked it out. “It’s foreign… could be Swiss.”
“I thought you said we were looking for a key
“Key code, Key to code, or Key where code is. All within the error of Hungarian translation in broken English.
Joey turned to Brooke. “Have them finish up here by the numbers. We have either found it or found where Kasiko kept his darkest secrets.”
On the ride back to the copter, Brooke was in the back seat next to Peter. Joey was riding shotgun as another agent drove. Peter looked upset about something.
“What is it, Mr. Remo?” Brooke asked.
“Call me Peter, please. It’s just that these guys must be monsters. Kasiko was a hero and no pushover. Even at 80 years old. He was really nice to me, and how Brodenchy — or whatever he is calling himself now days — could have him killed is mind-boggling. Kasiko saved his life and his brother’s life. Protected them in Europe and their committee here in America. What kind of animal can turn like that on a friend and protector?”
“Unfortunately, Peter, sometimes religious fervor or dogma can allow a person license to do the most heinous things in the name of their cause,” Brooke said trailing off in self-conscious censorships over the few “un-lady-like” things she had done to protect her country and its citizens.
“If this key leads to the code, you will have gotten even with the killers big time, Pete.” Joey added.
A silence came over the car after that. Peter eventually broke it when he leaned over and said in low tones to Brooke, “Sorry about before. You know, the vest thing. I didn’t mean any offense by it.”
“No offense taken, Peter.”
Brooke looked out the window and added with a smile, “Boob man.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Seaman First Class Orville Hayes was weary and bleary-eyed. He had stayed up all night studying for his petty officer exam. Still, he reported for duty as starboard fantail lookout at dawn. As he scanned the horizon for anything that wasn’t wet or blue, he swore that as soon as his watch was over he’d hit the bunk and catch some heavy ‘z’ instead of attending the steel beach picnic the crew had planned for tonight.
At first, he panned right over it…then he swept back. He rolled through the focus of his Nikon binocs and, when the image was sharp, he saw that there was something out there. He flipped down his polarizing sunglasses and saw the bouncing bow of a zodiac type boat. No, wait, two zodiac boats heading right at the “Big Stick” right out of the wash of the rising sun reflecting off the inky blue waters of the Persian Gulf. He pressed his chest- mounted, sound-powered microphone and reported to the captain of the watch.
“Sir, this is starboard fantail. I have two bogeys, surface craft, incoming direct vector. I make them to be zodiac type, sir.”
“Roger that, starboard.”
A claxon horn sounded, and the P.A. system called for “Force Protection.” This was a call to stations just shy of battle stations, in which the known threat was not a heavy displacement surface or submerged ship or an airborne intruder like a plane or missile.
Immediately, the radio shack started hailing a warning on all frequencies and in many Gulf languages. “
Out of the corner of his eye the U.S.S.
“Sir, bogeys are not veering away.”
“All starboard guns: train on incoming boats and await my order to fire.”
The Officer of the Watch turned to the captain of the ship, Commander Wes Halbrook, who had just made it to the bridge. “No response to hailing; they have not changed course and are heading straight in.”
“Weapons loose, Captain. Boatswain, make sure we are running tape.”
“Roger that, Commander.”
“All guns, weapons are free. Fire at 500 yards.”
All there was to do now was watch and hope that maybe these guys would turn away. But they didn’t.
Orville winced as Cook’s five-inch gun and the 20 mm PHALANX Gatling gun auto-cannon, amidships, opened up as the ocean 496 yards away went up into a wall of blue water, white steam, and orange flame. Then something happened that scared the crap out of him and the better part of the 5,500 men and women who were the crew of “the Big Stick,” U.S.S.
“Nuclear Radiation Detected. Take appropriate measures. Nuclear Radiation Detected. Take appropriate measures.”
Instantly, sprinkler heads started washing down the flight deck and superstructure of the ship. Everyone scrambled to get inside. Orville slid down the railings outside the ladder rungs like a trapeze artist and scurried onto the deck, closing and sealing the hatch behind him.
Bill’s government phone went off as he was leaving his office.
It was Li. “I just got another spike.”
Bill grabbed a pencil as he swung back around his desk. “What’s the location?”
“Persian Gulf.”
“What country?”
“No, in the Gulf. In the middle.”
“Do you know what it was?”
“No, just a radiation event. Not small, but not mega-tonnage either.”
“Like a suitcase nuke?”
“Possibly.”
“Thanks. Keep me updated.”
Bill ran out of the office and barged into a meeting of Ray’s. “Li called with another spike” was all he had to say to get Ray’s full attention.
“My God, where?”
Six minutes later, Hiccock, Reynolds, and the President were being briefed by the Secretary of the Navy.
“The Nimitz Class carrier,
“Are the men all right?” the President asked.
“All who were on the deck are going through standard de-con, right now. Time will tell.”
“Mr. Secretary, was there a secondary explosion?” Hiccock asked.
