Ghost Force

States of America…and, by any means, we have to stop it.'

All three of them nodded in agreement. 'Further defiance from us,' said Admiral Moreno, 'may very well mean the Pentagon will come out into the open and slam the entire Rio Grande base, not to mention Rio Gallegos and maybe even Mount Pleasant…and there appears to be nothing we can do about it.'

'Also, we scarcely have a leg to stand on,' said Admiral Aguardo. 'The USA will plead its case to the United Nations, explaining that Argentina committed an act of international piracy, smashed the Royal Navy Fleet in international waters, and stole a legal British colony, plus two billion dollars' worth of U.S. oil and gas.'

'I think we are of accord, gentlemen,' said the President. 'I shall accept the American terms for the future of the Islas Malvinas. Not because I want to, but because I have no choice.'

Again, all three men nodded their assent.

0900, THURSDAY, MAY 5

THE OVAL OFFICE

Admiral Morgan liked what he saw. He liked it very much. President Paul Bedford was just smiling and shaking his head. The communique from the President of Argentina was perfect:

My regrets for the delay in replying to your previous dispatches, and I trust you will understand my government has been totally preoccupied in reestablishing normal working and living conditions among the good citizens of the Islas Malvinas. Now, in the interests of peace and trade, we are prepared to accept your terms and suggestions for a lasting treaty, and a thoughtful handover of the islands from Great Britain to the Republic of Argentina over a two-year period. We do require international acceptance of the Islas Malvinas becoming a sovereign territory of Argentina by the year 2013, and we call upon both Great Britain and the USA to ensure this is understood by the Security Council of the United Nations. We regret the unfortunate events that led to the expulsion of the innocent personnel of both Exxon Mobil and British Petroleum from the legally owned oil and gas fields on the islands. And we agree to their immediate restoration — under fair royalty considerations for the Republic of Argentina. I will be joined by my senior envoys and advisers in Washington next week, beginning May 9, and look forward to a cordial meeting with you in order to bring these matters to a mutually agreeable conclusion.

'Thank you, Admiral,' said President Bedford.

'My pleasure,' replied Arnold Morgan.

MONDAY, MAY 16

EASTERN PACIFIC OCEAN

The Nimitz-class aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan steamed steadily north, a thousand miles off the coast of Peru. The eight-man Navy SEAL team had been on board for almost a week, and would remain so until they docked in San Diego, 2,640 miles and five days hence.

Commander Hunter was still recuperating from his thigh wound, and was undergoing daily therapy in one of the ship's gyms. The Navy surgeon had decided to insert ten stitches into the gash on Captain Jarvis's upper arm.

The two of them were watching a satellite broadcast of the evening news before dinner when the anchorman announced that terms had been agreed for the peaceful transition of power from Great Britain to Argentina over the Falkland Islands. He added that executives of ExxonMobil and British Petroleum had been present at the talks in the White House and that the two oil giants were returning to the oil and gas fields in both South Georgia and East Falkland.

There was a film clip of the men arriving at Mare Harbor in an ExxonMobil tanker, and a further clip of Exxon's President, Clint McCluskey, saying what a privilege it had been to work with the President of the USA and reach a 'one hundred percent oilman's deal.' Fair but firm, that's the Texan way, the way George Dubya himself would have done it. Yessir.

'You think we had something to do with all that, Rick?' asked Captain Jarvis.

'Wouldn't be surprised, kid. Not at all,' said Commander Hunter, knowingly.

SATURDAY, MAY 21

SPEED 7, DEPTH 400, COURSE 360

Captain Gregor Vanislav was tiptoeing slowly north up the Atlantic. They'd been running for five weeks now, and Viper K-157 was 8,000 miles north of the Falkland Islands, 8,000 miles north of the sunken war grave that was once HMS Ark Royal.

He had been ultra-wary all the way, sliding quietly through the deep waters, slowing and listening for the sounds of a U.S. or British attack submarine, staying clear of the land, following the line of the North Atlantic Ridge.

And now he was beyond the ridge, 450 miles west of southern Ireland, headed for the shallower waters of the Rockall Rise, and then 600 miles farther to the northeast, into the GIUK Gap.

Right now, moving stealthily in deep waters, west of County Kerry, Captain Vanislav was entering the most dangerous waters of his long journey. This was the business end of the North Atlantic, where the U.S. Navy's underwater surveillance system (SOSUS) was likely to miss nothing.

It was right here, many weeks ago, when Viper had first been detected, but then lost. If Gregor Vanislav could negotiate the next eight hundred miles safely he would have a trouble-free run home to Murmansk. If he were picked up on the grid of SOSUS wires on the seabed, he could expect the navies of the U.S. and UK to come looking.

The Russian submarine commander assumed that by now, someone, somewhere, knew that the Ark Royal had been sunk by torpedoes, and not by bombs delivered by the Argentine Air Force. The key to the safety of his ship and his crew was stealth, slow, quiet running.

And the farther north he went, the less suspicion there would be. Any Russian ship had the right to run through these international waters. Indeed, they had to run through here, since it was the only way the Russian Navy had to reach the rest of the world.

'Just get through the gap,' he muttered. 'That's all. And then we're safe.'

SIX DAYS LATER, FRIDAY, MAY 27

LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY

The U.S. Army's latest Bell Super Cobra helicopter came clattering out of the sky above the long lawn alongside the main house at Hunter Valley Farm. It had traveled eighty miles from Fort Campbell Military Base on the Tennessee border, and it was carrying just two passengers.

Diana Hunter had been worried almost senseless for the past five weeks, because the rigid secrecy surrounding highly classified Special Forces operations had made it impossible for her to discover anything, not even whether her husband and brother were dead or alive.

She watched the Cobra land with her heart missing every other beat, half expecting to see Admiral John Bergstrom emerge personally to break the worst possible news to her. But the first person to disembark was the unmistakable Captain Douglas Jarvis, lean, athletic, hatless, wearing a short-sleeved U.S. Navy white shirt.

She saw him raise up his left arm to assist the second passenger down the steps, and she watched the mighty figure of her husband step carefully down onto the grass, betraying only the slightest limp. And then she literally ripped open the French doors, flew down the wide stone steps, and ran across the grass, hurling herself into the arms of Commander Hunter, tears streaming down her face.

She could manage no words except, 'Thank God, thank God!' over and over. Until finally she turned to her beloved little brother, who was standing there grinning, a picture of health, his profession betrayed only by the bandage still covering his upper right arm.

Helplessly she shook her head, and asked lamely, 'Are you both injured? Were you in the most terrible danger?'

'Nah,' replied Rick Hunter. 'But I guess we had our moments.'

EPILOGUE

SATURDAY, MAY 28, 2011