They can hover a few meters overhead and lower commandos on ropes. With two aircraft they could have a dozen men on deck in a matter of seconds.”
“Well then, your men would just have to fight them off. Besides, how would they know about this ship? You said that security is perfect.”
“I said no such thing, Captain Zikri. I said that security is as perfect as we can make it. But there is always the possibility of a leak. A careless word, one greedy man. We can take nothing for granted.”
Zikri massaged his chin again, chewing his mustache. After a moment he said, “We can do certain things. We can change course from time to time; we can slow down during the day or the night. We can put into port to refuel more often. And we can have anti-pirate watches. Or anti-Zionist watches, as you might say.”
“Extra lookouts, day and night?”
The captain nodded. “Certainly. But it takes more men, especially at night. And that means more cost. I do not know if our clients will support such things.”
“Oh, I think they will. Considering what they are already spending, and what’s at stake, a few more men will be a small expense.”
Zikri accepted the logic of that argument. “I will make some calls.”
“Please do, Captain. As soon as possible.”
61
“Victor Pope to see you, Colonel.”
Frank Leopole did not bother to respond to the receptionist’s intercom message. He strode to the front of the building and greeted the former SEAL.
They exchanged strong-man grips — an agreed-upon tie, Navy one, Marines one.
“Good to see you, Vic.”
Pope feigned astonishment. “Go on, Colonel. When was a jarhead ever glad to see a squid?”
Leopole was ready for that one. “When the liberty boat’s headed for shore, of course.”
“Speaking of boats, what’s this I hear about Jeff Malten? Building boat teams from the waterline up?”
“We don’t have any time to spare, Vic. The admiral arranged for a crash course in boat handling and deep- water survival down at Little Creek. The team we’ve assembled so far will be there a couple more days.”
Pope nodded in approval. “Who’re they working with?”
“A Master Chief Bitow. You know him?”
“Know of him,” Pope replied with an informed smile. “I think he’ll take good care of them.”
“Okay, let’s get you briefed.” Lieutenant Colonel Frank Leopole and Lieutenant Commander Victor Pope adjourned to Lieutenant Colonel Sandra Carmichael’s office. Without preliminaries, she laid out the situation.
“Vic, as you probably have guessed, this is a priority job. Here’s the short version: we have a training team in Chad under Steve Lee and Dan Foyte. They were doing all right until word got out about a plan to smuggle yellow cake out of the country via Libya. Destination probably Iran.”
Pope’s face, ordinarily frozen in a mask of self-control, registered the implications. His blue eyes reflected as much light as his bald head.
“So,” Carmichael continued, “State tasked our counterinsurgency training team with seizing the yellow cake. But they got there a little late and there was some shooting. One of the helos was shot down and our pilot was badly injured. Half of the yellow cake got away, driven to the Libyan border.”
Pope leaned against the desk, hands clasped before him. “So now we’re going to chase down the ship before it reaches an Iranian port.”
“Right,” Leopole interjected. “But this is pretty much a hail Mary play, Vic. We have to deploy both teams without knowing the ship’s identity or its route. We’re planning on sending your team to the Med and Jeff’s to cover the Suez route. If we get hard intel that the shipment goes one way or the other, we may be able to commit both teams but right now we can’t count on it. We’re also getting a Brit named Pascoe: Special Boat Service.”
Pope shifted his gaze between the former Marine and the former Army officer. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Glad to have you aboard,” Leopole said. Carmichael merely smiled.
“I wouldn’t miss it, Frank. Not for anything.” He looked at both officers, then strode toward the door. “I’ll get started on requirements right away.”
As Pope left, Carmichael looked at her counterpart. “Did you notice anything unusual?”
Leopole shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he never even asked about the money. Pretty unusual for somebody in our business.”
“Pope’s not about money, Sandy. He’s about doing the Lord’s work. He believes in setting things right.”
Carmichael allowed the drawl back in her voice. “You know, I was raised a Baptist. Southern Baptist, actually. When I heard folks talk about doing the Lord’s work, I learned to start looking for the collection plate to pass by.” The corners of her mouth curled slightly. “I guess it’s different with some Catholics.”
Leopole’s mouth did not curl. “Sandy, when they declare Vic Pope KIA, they’ll find a pistol with the slide locked back in one hand and a rosary in the other.”
He paused for a moment, then added, “You know, it takes all kinds to float a boat like ours. Most of our guys are operators like Bosco and Breezy: ‘hey-dude’ types who like the guns and gear and enjoy the down time. Farther up the ladder are the dedicated pros like Gunny Foyte and Steve Lee. Then there’s a few like Vic Pope: true believers. Frankly, some of those make me a little nervous.”
“How’s that?”
“To them, this is more than a profession. It’s more like… a calling. That’s how Vic Pope sees the war on terror. Christianity and Western civilization against Islamo-fascism. I’m not saying he’s a fanatic or anything, but he might bear watching at times.”
Her forehead furrowed. “My gosh, Frank. If we can’t trust him, how can we justify putting him in command?”
“Oh, I trust him. Absolutely. I’m just a little worried that when we finish this job, he may not know when to stop.”
“How do you take down a ship?”
Victor Pope stood before a three-view drawing of a typical merchant vessel, with interior layout depicted in dotted lines.
“With a submarine?” Breezy looked around, appreciating the laughter to his flippant response.
Pope decided to ignore the former paratrooper. The SEAL veteran had read each man’s SSI file, and clearly Mark Brezyinski was a qualified operator. But the California surfer persona that Breezy projected did not sit well with an intense, focused leader like Victor Matthew Pope.
“There’re two approaches to a ship at sea,” Pope explained. “By small craft and by helicopter. The advantages and disadvantages are obvious. Helos are fast but they’re noisy, they can’t surprise anybody who’s half awake. On the other hand, boats like a Zodiac can approach pretty quietly, especially with a muffled engine, and avoid visual detection depending on the approach angle. It’s best done at night, which of course is when the ship’s crew expects an attack.”
Pope used a red marker on the white board displaying the schematic. “I like to think of a ship as a moving bridge.” He gave the audience his teacher’s look again. “How do you take a bridge?”
“BOTH ENDS AT ONCE,” the class chanted. Everybody present had attended the same schools.
“Correct. But most ships have an elevated platform.” He tapped the marker against the bridge and pilothouse. “From here, the duty watch can see forward past the bow. As soon as anybody pops up over the railing, they’re going to be spotted. So, what we do is…”
He marked an X on each side, just behind the bridge. “… come aboard from port and starboard at the same time. If there’s enough operators, we come over the stern as well.”
Bosco raised a hand. “But what about the lookouts? I mean, don’t they have guys walking guard around the deck?”
