the existence of such weapons has been confirmed by HUMINT-human intelligence.
Spies and informers, to give them their common name.” Lab Rat paused to let them absorb the implications. “Let me remind you that all of this information is classified ‘top secret.” Given the political instability in Cuba, with the fighting between factions over control and the presence of military advisors from Libya, we have warnings and indications that Cuba may be advocating the nuclear option.”
“Nuclear?” Batman’s tone of voice left no doubt as to the depth of his concern. “Is that a probability, or just a possibility based on capabilities?”
“A strong probability, unfortunately. While I can’t confirm that there are nuclear weapons inside Cuba, examination of two freighters making port in the United States immediately after Cuba indicates small traces of radioactivity. The Coast Guard picked them up after they became suspicious during a routine drug search. Evidently they saw something they didn’t like and ordered a full detention and search. After the first click on their Geiger counter, they called in NEST the Nuclear Emergency Services Team.
They confirmed that something radioactive has been in that container within the last thirty days. Unfortunately, they can’t tell us exactly what. But the levels indicate” Lab Rat spread his hands open before him” that there’s a strong possibility it was weapons-grade material.”
Batman turned pale. “And I thought we’d solved this forever with the Cuban Missile Crisis,” he said wonderingly. He shook his head as though to clear his thoughts. “So we can’t be certain, but that evidence combined with the missile launchers gives me a really rotten feeling in the gut.”
The room was deadly silent. Not an officer moved, and some barely seemed to breathe. Lab Rat glanced around the room, noting the pale, shaken faces. He understood completely-he’d felt that way himself not an hour before when the first satellite imagery had been faxed into the highly classified CVIC. He felt an odd, incongruous sense of relief.
It was nice not to be the only one who knew.
“I think I’d better talk to SOUTHCOM right away,” Batman said slowly.
He stood up, dismissing the rest of the staff with a gesture. “Pull up the contingency plans. All of them, even Bird Dog’s. Be ready. This is a surprise, but it’s not one we can’t handle. I want full reports from all departments in thirty minutes.” He turned and walked rapidly toward the door leading to his cabin.
“A rotten feeling in my gut,” Lab Rat echoed slowly. He walked to the back of the room and took the floppy disk from the technician who’d been operating the computer.
“Sir?” The young enlisted man’s voice shook slightly.
“What does it mean? Do they really have nukes?”
Lab Rat clapped the man on the shoulder and forced a smile onto his face. “I don’t know, Benson. But whatever they’ve got, we’ve got a cure for it. There’s not a damned thing they could possibly have that could get through the Jefferson battle group not a damned thing.
Remember, if they start pulling any shit on us, we can turn the whole island into glass.”
The man looked slightly less worried. “That’s right, they can’t get past Jefferson.” He paused for a moment, then said, “But what about that major there? The Marine?”
And that, Lab Rat thought, was the two million dollar question. What about Thor?
The angry chatter of gunfire cut through the dull roar of wind across the flight deck. Lieutenant Commander Brandon Sikes, officer in charge of the USS Jefferson SEAL detachment, paused at the hatch leading out onto the hot tarmac and surveyed the scene. The forward portion of the deck was crowded with aircraft, wings-folded Tomcats nose to-nose with similarly configured Hornets, the bulkier E2C Hawkeyes taking up the space just aft of the island.
Helicopters with their rotors folded like broken mimosa leaves edged the deck, with the exception of two ready helos positioned slightly behind the rest of the pack.
Even with the hangar bay below crowded with aircraft, it was an impressive display of weaponry and force. Almost a football field away, a small group of men clad in tattered khaki shorts and faded brown T-shirts stood in a line facing aft. Even from here, he could make out the outlines of the different types of weapons they carried45s, M16s, and AK-47s. Had they not been U.S. SEALs his men he would have been worried.
Sikes trotted down the tarmac. The safety observer spotted him immediately, and with a sharp motion terminated the exercise. He could hear the men grumbling good-naturedly, a sound that faded away immediately as they saw his face.
“What’s up. Skipper?” Senior Chief Petty Officer Manuel Huerta asked.
He motioned toward the broad wake behind the ship with his free hand, carefully keeping the AK-47 in his other hand pointed aft. “A no-fly day figured we’d get in some weapons practice. Never can have too much.”
Sikes drew to a halt. “You may have a chance sooner than you think.
Quick, huddle time. I need some fast thoughts.”
He motioned for the men to close around him.
Within the elite SEAL community, rank made little difference when it came to planning an operation. Even the most junior man might have some valuable insight to contribute. He looked around the circle of faces like a quarterback, noting the keen interest on each one of them.
A good team hell, maybe the best team. His team.
“Here’s what’s going down.” He briefly outlined the strategic scenario, then settled into the business of discussing tactics. “As I see it, there are two main objectives. First, we find our man. Get him out if we can. Second, we disable the weapons systems.” He saw a few frowns across faces. “I know it may not be reasonable, particularly if they’ve got nuclear weapons on there. Still, I want to plan for it. Failing that, we can at least bring back the admiral some hard info on them. We’ve got the gear?”
“Sure, we’ve got everything we need. Radiac equipment, the new version fits in the palm of your hand, it does.”
The man who’d spoken smiled. “I’ve been wanting an opportunity to field-test them.”
“You’ve got it. Any thoughts on how to get the pilot back?”
“It will depend on where he’s being held,” said Felipe Garcia, a petty officer second class and SEAL for three years.
“Garcia, you may be the whole key to this.” Sikes studied the man carefully. He was shorter than most, a fact Sikes noted simply for its reference value. In the SEALs, size made no difference. He’d had his own ass kicked by men far smaller than Garcia. “You grew up in Havana, didn’t you?”
Garcia nodded. “And I’ve been back there since then.
Five times in the last two years. To different parts of the island.”
Sikes nodded sharply. Given the diverse and dangerous nature of the SEALs’ normal missions, he had a good idea of what Garcia might have been doing in Cuba. Not that he’d ask he wouldn’t have to. Only Garcia knew how highly classified his mission had been, and what details he could release to his fellow SEALs. Even if Garcia couldn’t give them a blow-by-blow account of his mission, he’d factor every available detail into the planning of this one.
“Good. I expect you to vet every step of this.” Sikes looked around the circle again. “How do we get in?
Helicopter and HALO would be my preference,” he said, referring to a high-altitude low-opening parachute drop.
“But that’s not going to be practical, not with those radars ringing the island.”
“Small boats might be better, but still not entirely safe,” Garcia said thoughtfully. “The whole littoral area is patrolled regularly by Cuban gunboats. We might be able to outrun them, but there’s a good chance we would be detected.”
“How much of a chance?” Sikes pressed.
“Maybe fifty-fifty.” Garcia shrugged. “I’ve had worse odds.” He looked up and met his skipper’s eyes. “A submarine and lockout in an SD Va swimmer delivery vehicle is better.”
Without asking, Sikes knew that was exactly how Garcia had gotten in last time. It made sense, too. The few remaining U.S. diesel submarines would be particularly valuable for this mission. Quiet and undetectable while operating under battery, it carried a docking station bolted down onto the conning tower that contained the small swimmer delivery vehicles favored for team insertion in an operation such as this. “That would be my preference,
