Another voice, male and heavily accented, replaced Peg’s. “You will order your submarine SAN FRANCISCO to surface and head immediately for the nearest Indonesian port. It will contact Indonesian Naval Control as soon as it surfaces. You have twelve hours. Then we will kill a hostage every six hours until we hear that it is in port.”
Admiral O’Flanagan answered, “But SAN FRANCISCO is in the Aleutians, off Alaska. She is conducting exercises up there. We can’t even contact her until her next communications cycle in ten hours. We can’t…”
“Don’t play us for fools, Admiral,” the terrorist interrupted. “We know that Hunter and SAN FRANCISCO are in Indonesia. We know their mission. You have twelve hours!” The phone was slammed down.
Admiral O’Flanagan turned to his Chief of Staff and Commodore Calucci. “You heard what he said. I doubted very seriously that they went to all this trouble to carry out a bluff.
“I see that we have two problems to solve. One is how to get Peg and the children out of there. PACOM will handle that problem. Commodore, you coordinate with them and give them all the assistance that they need. You have my authority to use every asset in SUBPAC.”
Calucci answered, "Yes sir." This was a plum. If all worked well, he could be a hero.
Admiral O'Flanagan continued, “The other problem is to find out where the security leak is. They have information on a mission that has the highest possible classification. Not a dozen people in the country know about it. Chief of Staff, you take charge of finding the leak. Don’t leave a single stone unturned. I want to find the bastard who leaked this and then fry him. Do you two understand me?”
The two nodded as they rose to leave. Commodore Calucci felt the cold, clammy sweat of fear trickle down his back.
23
22 Jun 2000, 0430LT (21 Jun, 2130Z)
The targeting information from the SEAL squad on the island arrived as a data stream on SAN FRANCISCO. The pieces were correlated and passed to the Tomahawk Afloat Targeting Group onboard the NIMITZ, still racing across the Timor Sea. The targeting group took the information and revised existing mission profiles to refine the target locations on Nusa Funata. After four hours of number crunching, a Mission Data Update (MDU) message flew back to SAN FRANCISCO. The revised data and imagery gave each missile the information that it needed to precisely locate its assigned target.
Two of the three elements needed to conduct the strike were in place. The last step was to insert Roland and the rest of his squad with the weapons and explosives needed to attack the factory cave.
21 Oct 2000, 1120LT (2220Z)
She wasn’t answering her phone. He had tried a dozen times. He had to know for sure. He had to see her again. The horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach was getting worse. It was gnawing at his ability to think.
Commodore Calucci slammed the phone down in disgust. He stalked out of his office, growling at his yeoman that he was going to lunch.
Her apartment was only a ten-minute drive in his Porsche 944. The spinning tires peppered the guardhouse with gravel as he accelerated out the Supply Depot Gate onto Nimitz Avenue. He parked in the “Residents Only” underground garage and ran to the elevator. Sweat blurred his vision as he punched the button for her floor.
Somehow he knew, as he slipped his key into the lock, that she was gone. But he didn’t expect to see the Chief of Staff sitting on the couch under the broad window looking out on the bay, polishing his glasses. The same couch that he had shared with her so many times.
“Thought it might be you,” the Chief of Staff said as he stood. “She’s gone.”
A pair of plain-clothes Naval Investigative Service agents stepped out of the bedroom, handcuffed Commodore Calucci, and shoved him roughly out the door.
22 Jun 2000, 0645LT (21 Jun, 2345Z)
Dawn was just breaking over the mountain ridge behind them when Stuart spotted a squad of soldiers ambling down the path from the compound. The men were smoking and talking as they leisurely strolled along the mountain path. Their automatic weapons were slung across their backs, out of reach for quick use. The dirty, unkempt appearance of their motley uniforms completed the picture of a ragtag outfit.
As they approached the end of the path, another equally ragtag squad emerged from the brush. The two squads met at the end of the path and carried out an exchange that appeared to be a changing of the guard. The first squad then entered the brush while the second ambled up the path toward the compound.
The team had found something that warranted the need for a continuous guard. Perhaps they had found the hostages. The only way to know was to go down and take a look.
Silently Wood and Tagamond slipped off into the waning darkness while Stuart reported this new development back to SAN FRANCISCO.
Moving scant inches at a time, the two slithered through the undergrowth. They were approaching from two different directions to better observe and to provide each other cover fire. By noon they had almost reached positions to observe what was beyond the path.
Unexpectedly, another squad came over the ridge from the direction of the compound. Stuart and Heigle watched in dread from their observation point over 500 yards away. The squad approached the end of the path and the SEALs hiding places. It must be time for another changing of the guard. Would the two scouts be detected? Each of the two
