when we’re all set, then get the hell out before the bomb arrives.”
“Can we do it, Jake…I mean, illuminate the target?” asked Admiral Morgan.
“Yessir.”
The chairman was inclined to adjourn the meeting at 2300, because he wanted to spend a couple of hours with Admiral Bergstrom. But just as he began his summing up, there was a sharp knock on the door, and a uniformed guard entered with an envelope for the National Security Adviser.
He read the message swiftly, direct from Langley: “All prisoners observed leaving Canton jail by military trucks. Moved back to heavily guarded Navy dockyard — app. midday Saturday. Impossible to observe future movements in there. Our usual surveillance in place Pearl River.”
“Might be good, might be bad,” growled Morgan. “They’ve moved the prisoners out of that Canton jail, taken ’em back to the dockyard. And that’s not all bad. The Canton jail was just about the worst possible place for us to get ’em out, bang in the middle of a well-organized city with a lot of military personnel in residence. In my view they’re taking them somewhere else. And the only reason they’ve gone back to the dockyard is because they’re traveling by sea, otherwise they’da gone to an airport or straight on by truck, right?”
“Guess they could be keeping them incarcerated in the navy base,” suggested the President.
“If they’d had that facility, sir, they never would have moved ’em in the first place,” replied the admiral. “My judgment is they’re on the move to a military jail that’s been specially prepared for them.
“Jake, we have to find them. Fast.”
With that, the chairman called the meeting off for the night, and suggested they reconvene right there at 1100 tomorrow. “I want to get a few things done before we start,” he added. Then he stood, thanked everyone individually, and motioned for the exhausted Admiral Bergstrom to follow him down to his West Wing lair. “We got some serious talking to do. Same subject.”
Admiral Bergstrom rolled his eyes heavenward. And trudged after Arnold Morgan, who was now heading toward his second successive night without sleep. He sent for coffee and a couple of glasses of brandy to keep them awake. And then he spoke quietly to the SEALs boss. “John, you know my views about your guys. I’d rather have a couple of dozen SEALs than four thousand bombs.”
He referred of course to the elite warrior troops of the U.S. Armed Forces. SEAL stands for Sea Air and Land, and the U.S. Navy runs six teams, each comprising 225 men. Three of them work out of Little Creek, Virginia, numbered two, four, and six. Numbers one, three, and five operate out of the island of Coronado, San Diego, home of the U.S. Navy’s Special War Command — SPECWARCOM in the trade — which oversees all SEAL missions everywhere in the world.
The SEALs have had a short but valorous history, never once having left any man dead or wounded on the battlefield, not even in Vietnam. Their brutal training is comparable only to Great Britain’s SAS regiment, and military men always point out that it’s harder to become a SEAL than to graduate from Harvard Law School. John Bergstrom had earned his present command after serving with the SEALs as a team leader for several years. Now 61, he had retained his hard-trained physique. He stood six feet two inches tall, and his sleek dark hair was in the process of turning gun-gray.
His wife had died six years earlier, and he had never quite gotten over it. But he was a hugely popular man, both in the military and beyond. His personality was frequently lit up by a deep, amused chuckle, the kind of wry look at the world that comes essentially to those who have faced huge dangers and nowadays regard the rest of it as child’s play. He was probably the best Special Forces Commander the Navy ever had, which was why he had occupied the Big Chair at SPECWARCOM longer than anyone else ever had. He and Arnold Morgan had a profound mutual respect.
They sipped their coffee slowly, both men pondering the mammoth task that lay ahead. “Since you don’t want me to drive the Hornet up the Delta, Arnie, I guess you want me to get the guys out, right?”
Arnold Morgan smiled. “I expect you guessed from the conversation you just heard that the President’s son Linus is the XO on
“I knew that a month ago. And now he’s in a Chinese slammer. That, Arnie, is not good.”
“Not good. Much worse. He’s between Chinese slammers, and we don’t know where the hell the second one is gonna be.”
“First time I’ve ever been asked to attack a place that ain’t yet on the map.” Vice Admiral Bergstrom chuckled, somewhat mirthlessly. “But I’ll tell you one thing, if they keep them in the Navy dockyard at Canton, there’s no way I’m sending my guys in, because that would be a suicide mission. And my SEALs don’t do suicide. They’re too expensive.”
“John, there’s no way I’d ask that, mainly because an attack like that would damn nearly amount to a declaration of war on China. Anyway, I agree, SEALs are not intended for that kind of frontal assault. That’s the Marine Corps. Also, I would not want American troops going into a radiation zone, which that dockyard is going to become.”
“Then you’re telling me that we may have to sacrifice the crew of
“Yes, John. I suppose I am. But I’m also telling you that if it’s humanly possible to get them out, we’re going to do it.”
“Once we find them.”
“Correct. But in the meantime I want to get ready, and right here we’re looking at a project you and I have discussed many times.”
“You mean the formation of our treasured elite SEALs Strike Force, a big team of fifty guys, ready to enter a foreign country at a moment’s notice, stay undercover and then take out the enemy government, or leader, like Saddam, or Milosevic, or that fucking Saudi, whatsisname Bin Laden?”
“That’s the one, John. The elite of the elite. The finest team we can put together. Remember, we always said it would operate from an aircraft carrier, where the team’s commanding officer would form the mission headquarters. That’s what I have in mind.”
“You suggesting I start forming that team? And its first mission is to get the crew of
“Yes, John. That’s what I’m suggesting.”
“Jesus. This sounds big.”
“It’s the biggest. Our President, who’s without doubt the best friend the military ever had, is close to the breaking point…it’s the threat of the Chinese torturing his son for information.”
“You think they might?”
“Yes, I do…don’t you?”
“Yes, they might.”
“John, I also think the Chinese are never going to free them. When they begin the process of interrogation it will quickly move up to torture. And once that happens, they will make sure no one ever gets out to talk about it.”
“Will they put ’em on trial?”
“I would think so, then sentence them to long years of imprisonment, during which time they’ll all disappear. No one will live to talk about their experience.”
“Then we have to get ’em out.”
“Exactly. Which is why I want you to assemble the best team of guys you have ever assembled. Bring ’em in from Virginia Beach and Coronado, supplement them with two or three SAS guys from England, if you like. I wouldn’t mind a more international aspect to the team. But just make sure they’re the best we can get.
“If the Chinese move the crew to a military jail within striking range of the water, we’re going in, and we’re going to get the Seawolves out. And I do not give a sacred Chinese monkey’s ass if we have to kill every goddamned guard in the jail, we’re going in. And if we can’t find a leader with the balls for the job, I’ll lead ’em myself.”
“I didn’t realize you were still a serving officer, sir?” said Admiral Bergstrom, grinning.
“Recruit me, asshole,” replied Arnold Morgan. “I’m getting them out, and that’s final.”
“Two questions, Arnie. How do we get our guys in? And how do we get everyone out? We’ll probably need fifty SEALs in order to ransack a Chinese military jail. And there’s, what, a hundred, minimum, in the crew?”
“SUBMARINES, Johnny, SUBMARINES. Plus Zodiacs, using them as landing craft. CVBG parked a couple of
