onto transports within the Black Sea?
And why were ground troops concentrating not only on the coast but to the north as well?
Of course Turkey was not going to invade the United States?that was beyond even the most grandiose of Turkish plans. But ground troops?why?
His thoughts took a new direction as he contemplated the map of Turkey. To her east, Iraq, always an uneasy neighbor. To her north, the smaller former Soviet states of Georgia, Azerbaijan, and Armenia. North of that, Ukraine.
Ukraine?she was the key, he suddenly knew. Ukraine was the only other powerhouse nation, or what passed for it, in the vicinity of the Black Sea. Since the breakup of the Soviet Union, Ukraine had suffered through horrendous economic and social turmoil. Her relations with Russia had been cool, verging on uneasy at best.
Russia?another wild card. He pondered that one for a moment, trying to trace out the circuitous and subtle motives and objectives of the nations involved.
His contact was Russian?definitely Russian. Normally reliable, but not above using his sources?and Mike knew that the attache viewed him as just that?to achieve his own objectives.
What, then, was the hidden agenda behind the attache’s call?
The sudden conviction seized him that if he could unravel that part of the puzzle, the rest of the pieces would fall into place.
Reaching a decision, he walked back in a crouch into the newsroom, waddling duck-like over to his number- two man. “I’m going out.” Packmeyer made it a statement, not a question.
His assistant editor nodded. “Be careful. It’s not going to be any better out there than it is in here.”
Mike nodded. “I know.” He managed a small chuckle. “It’s been years since I’ve been a field reporter, but I think I remember the drill. There’s a story out there, and somebody needs to get it.”
“Our viewers?” The assistant editor wore a wry, sardonic look. “Anything for the scoop, heh?”
“Something like that.” Mike followed this cryptic pronouncement with a detailed list of instructions, finally patting the fellow on the back and saying, “Just run things like they ought to be run, George. You know how to do it.”
He stuffed a cell phone and pager into his satchel as he spoke.
Packmeyer hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and crawled over to the door, standing upright once he went out into the passageway. There was a back stairway. He turned and crept down it, feeling unexpectedly excited and adventurous.
Yes, the ACN viewers depended on the bureau to get the story. But there was more at stake than that?more than Pamela Drake certainly would have ever admitted. With his sources and contacts inside Istanbul, Packmeyer knew without a doubt that sooner or later he’d tumble onto the link between Russia, Ukraine, and Turkey. It was just a matter of time.
And as urgently as the ACN viewers might want to absorb his in-depth analysis from the safety of their Stateside homes, there was one other entity that would value the data even more?the United States Navy.
“Little bastard’s gotta come up sometime,” Rabies muttered. He turned partway in his seat, throwing a dark glance at the TACCO and enlisted technician in the backseat. “Harness, you got your head up your ass? Haven’t heard you say a word back there.”
Harness shrugged, the gesture almost imperceptible in his ejection harness. “I can’t find what isn’t there.”
“He’s there, all right,” Rabies said firmly. “I can feel it?dammit, do I have to do your job too?”
“No, sir,” Harness answered, putting slightly more emphasis than was necessary on the last word. “I think I’m probably capable of handling this.”
“Then find me a submarine.”
Rabies put the S-3B Viking into a tight turn, maintaining station above the line of sonobuoys strung across the Strait. “He was in the Med last time we saw him. He’ll be after the carrier?that’s his only mission in life. Unless you want those helos to claim all the glory, shut us out of the prosecution like they did last time, we need to come up with something. And fast.”
He shot a glance in the direction of the carrier, now only a vague blur on the horizon. “Trapped in that strait, she’s got nowhere to run.”
“And we’ve got lousy water, sir,” Harness said sharply. “Sir, I recommend we try something radical. Acoustics aren’t gonna cut it in this environment?not a bit. Let’s reverse-engineer this?figure out what distance she wants to be from the carrier to shoot, and start running MAD runs across the area. We’ll come up to altitude intermittently, take a look at the buoys, see if there’s anything interesting. But in this circumstance, since we’re not going to get a visual during daylight hours, I think MAD is our best bet.”
“Now you’re thinking,” Rabies said approvingly. “Any objections?”
The magnetic anomaly detector, or MAD, was the sensor of choice in this situation.
“Go for it,” the TACCO said.
Rabies put the S-3 into a steep dive, heading for the deck. Finally, five hundred feet above the water, he pulled her up, leveling off a mere fifty feet above the water. “East and west okay with you?”
“Just fine. Here’s your first fly-to point.”
A small symbol blipped up on Rabies’ screen, transmitted by the TACCO.
“We’re going hunting bear, boys,” Rabies said softly. “Sometimes you get the bear, and sometimes the bear gets you.”
Halfway through the second pass, Harness yelled, “Bingo! Boss, we got him bigger than shit.”
“Madman, Madman,” the TACCO sung out. “Rabies, I need a cross-fix?turn zero, zero, zero, then come back south on him.”
The nimble ASW aircraft reversed the plane of its search, cutting north-south lines in a ladder pattern above the point at which Harness had first gotten the positive detection of the submarine. On the third pass, Harness sang out another Madman call. “We got him cold.”
“Hold on, boys.” Rabies’ voice was jubilant. “It’s time to call home and get our marching orders. I think I know what they’ll be?Let’s get that torpedo spun up.”
“In conclusion, Admiral, we’ve-“
Lab Rat broke off abruptly as the insistent, high-pitched ringing of a cellular telephone cut through his briefing.
Pamela shrugged impatiently, reached into her pocket, and withdrew a tiny cell phone. Without even glancing at the admiral or Lab Rat, she flipped it open and answered tersely with her last name.
“Pamela?thank God I got you.” Mike Packmeyer’s voice was low and urgent. “You’re still on the carrier, right?”
Pamela drummed her fingers impatiently on the tabletop, and finally looked over at Tombstone. Her fingers stopped when she saw the rage growing in his face. “I am. And I’m kinda busy right now, Mike,” she said quickly.
“Listen, I just need to tell you a couple of things.”
Pamela cut him off. “I said I’m busy.” She punched the power button, breaking off the connection. “My apologies for the interruption, Admiral. I’ve turned the power off?it won’t happen again.”
The unexpected apology spun Tombstone’s temper down three degrees. He nodded, softening his frosty glare slightly. “No telephones in the briefing room, Miss Drake?that’s my policy.”
Pamela nodded courteously. “It won’t happen again,” she repeated.
She turned back toward the front of the room.
“Just out of curiosity,” Tombstone added as an afterthought, “who was it?”
Pamela shrugged. “Just another reporter. Jealous, I think.”
