Final Statement By Bobby Clark Chapter One Under the English Channel, Friday, 12:15 A.M. Jacques DuMont shook his head in disbelief as he gazed through the windscreen. He spoke quietly into the handset, "Tell me again what this man wanted. You say he has a gun?" The train captain repeated the demand in the same flat voice as if he were reading: "The man with the gun says, 'Stop the train immediately!'" The line abruptly went dead. Jacques stared for a few moments at the seemingly endless concrete walls that formed out of the darkness ahead to speed past him. "What a crazy idea!", Jacques slowly reasoned. "Why would anyone want to interfere with this train? The rail line runs a mere fifty kilometers! This shuttle can only travel from one end to the other: there are no stops!" In his mind's eye, Jacques pictured all of the passengers and vehicles leaving the train at the ends of the line. If they wanted to go farther they had to transfer to a regular train or drive themselves. The train captain sounded so strange over the intercom that a very puzzled Jacques, despite his misgivings and company rules, and fully expecting to be met with a practical joke, engaged the automatic controls and stood. He turned and carefully unlocked the protective steel door to investigate for himself. Without warning the door opened with a hard shove from the outside, throwing Jacques violently backwards against the locomotive control panel. He felt a sharp pain in his side, caught himself on a sway handhold and tried to rebound. Suddenly, the gun was no longer an imagined joke: it now pointed at him. Jacques glanced at the train captain whose head was bleeding. "Mon Dieu, this is real!" He looked into the black eyes that seemed to burn through him from behind the mask. He immediately sensed that the man holding the gun was deadly serious that the train stop. Jacques' life depended on it. Jacques slowly reached for the speed control and pulled it gently toward the "All Stop" position, carefully applying the brakes. His eyes remained fixed on the black automatic weapon. As Jacques gently massaged his badly bruised side, the man holding the gun spoke, "Unless you do exactly what you are told my helpers throughout the train will kill the passengers and your crew. We have the guns and the explosives to do it! Now, backup the train to this exact position!" A gloved hand pointed to a detailed map. Jacques grudgingly, but efficiently, backed the train to the precise point the gunman specified. In response to the repeated calls from Folkestone Station on the telephone-viewer questioning his unscheduled, highly irregular, and very hazardous stopping, Jacques read from a very brief note which the gunman handed him: Have been hijacked. Do not interfere or we will all be killed. More information at six o'clock in the morning. He read the statement twice, and then the telephone-viewer link was abruptly closed. London, Friday, 1:45 A.M. "Those damned chimes!" Nelson Bartlett muttered sleepily to himself as he slipped out of his warm bed. He moved quickly and quietly into the sitting area of his flat to answer the insistent telephone. "Why did I ever let Sarah talk me into such a hideous noise maker? It isn't proper to be awakened at this unholy hour by chimes!" In his heart, however, Nelson knew that he was seldom home long enough to hear the chime telephone and that his wife, Sarah, had forgone far too many amenities in their postings throughout Europe and the Middle East. He was almost smiling at the American specialty export when the telephone defiantly chimed one last time before he could snatch the gray receiver. "Hello. Bartlett here." Nelson was awake by this point but was not prepared for the Brigadier's suave, measured voice. "Nelson, I do believe we need your assistance in the office to tidy a few items before tomorrow's briefing. Be a good chap and join me there in half an hour. Do put the coffee on." "Happy to, Sir. We all want it to go smoothly." Nelson reflected that whatever was happening in the world must be extremely important for his superior, the Brigadier, to have been alerted before Nelson. Probably the Prime Minister had rung him up. "Good lad, and my best to Sarah. Good-bye." The Brigadier always remembered the wives. He knew Sarah would have been awakened, too, and that she would worry that Nelson was being called out at two o'clock in the morning. Nelson admitted to himself that all too often over the past twenty years his calls to the "office" had meant days or weeks away from home, living and working in shadowy situations during the terrorist confrontations that had become the "Third World War". "Good-bye, Sir." Nelson cradled the receiver and then paused a moment to take stock. He had achieved reasonable status and stability as a Lieutenant Colonel in the British Army. He could almost feel the trust for his abilities reflected in the Brigadier's brief conversation. Nelson had worn the sand-colored beret of the elite 22nd Special Air Service Regiment most of his career. Defeating guerrillas and terrorists was the SAS specialty. His combat skills were first honed in the gravel deserts of Oman more than twenty-five years ago. He and Sarah had shared the more comfortable postings in Germany, Italy and the Middle East. He alone had attended to the frequent six month assignments to Northern Ireland: oh, how he grew to hate the Irish Republican Army! Life had become much quieter now that he was assigned as Chief of Staff to the Director of Special Forces. He knew that Sarah was quite pleased with the Ministry of Defence posting as it meant spending weekday evenings together in their comfortable London flat. They could almost always count on getting away to their country home for refreshing weekends. Sarah seemed to fancy being a full- time wife again after all the years laced with separations. Nelson chuckled as he padded back into the bedroom that he fancied being a full-time husband, too. He truly loved this woman who was now sleepily watching him as he moved toward the bath to quickly freshen and dress. "Not a problem, love. Just some work that needs to be attended to before the 'old man' briefs in the morning. You know how he can be. I'll take compensatory time in the afternoon and we'll catch that matin,e performance at the Aldwych Theatre." "Nelson, that would be lovely!" Sarah replied softly. "I'll call 'round for tickets. Do you have time for a cup of tea or a roll?" Nelson knew that Sarah was being her wonderful self, but he sensed her concern. He had not been called out like this since the bomb scare at the last May Day celebration. He knew it. She knew it. He was sure that Sarah had caught the surprise in his reply on the telephone that could have only indicated that the caller was not the watch officer at the Ministry of Defence. Her question was meant to reassure him, yet measure the urgency of his call. "No thanks, love. You get back to sleep. I'll get something later." He looked her way and caught her eye for a moment in the dim light from the bath. "Too bad I have to hurry," he thought, as the warmth of her inviting arms crossed his mind. Reluctantly he pulled the bath door shut. Ten minutes later Nelson stepped from the shelter of the lobby of his apartment house and walked briskly through the light rain toward the entrance to the Underground. Fayetteville, North Carolina, Thursday, 8:10 P.M. The beeping seemed to be coming from somewhere on the control panel of the helicopter carrying Lieutenant Colonel Jim Grissom. He strained to look past the pilots to scan the gauges, but the vibrating dials remained a blur. The sound was becoming too distracting. Lush Vietnamese jungle vegetation was racing perilously close below. Jim's mounting concern for his team's night mission to search for a downed airman deep in enemy territory was cut short by his wife, Katherine, applying a well-placed kick to his shin. The pain brought Jim abruptly forward in time to the stuffy banquet room of the Fort Bragg Officers Club. Jim's pocket beeper was sounding its annoying alarm. Fortunately, only his immediate table seemed to notice that he was allowing it to compete with the balding Major General, who was explaining to the audience in excruciating detail how the Army budget system worked ... or did not work. Katherine offered Jim a stern look in return for his grinned apology as he excused himself to find a telephone. Jim recognized the number on his beeper screen: the J3 at Delta. Good news and bad news. The good news was that the Operations Officer would probably tell him to skip the rest of the boring banquet. The bad news was that he would have to leave Katherine to catch a ride home with one of the neighbors. He quickly confirmed his suspicions with the Duty Officer and returned to break the news to Katherine. Jim whispered, "Have to run by the office for a little while, Sweet-K. I'll ask Gordon and Candy to see you home. I'll call if I'm going to be really late." He pecked her ear and looked quickly into her eyes. Her stern look was gone, replaced with her biggest, "I love you, Jimmy Grissom!" smile. No matter where Jim was called to go, or what Katherine was left to face alone, she always gave him the same reassuring smile. "What a lady!" Jim thought as he stepped into the cool drizzle of the North Carolina November night. Jim remembered how pleased Katherine had been with this latest assignment back to Fort Bragg. Two of their kids had been born here. This sprawling Army post had been his first assignment after Vietnam. He had resumed courting Katherine, his high school flame, from 3000 miles away and had finally won her hand. He spent his first paycheck as a Captain on the airfare to claim her and fly her triumphantly from Astoria, Oregon, to their home together in Fayetteville. It seemed that his second, third and fourth paychecks were spent as the kids began arriving! From the time he earned the coveted Green Beret as a Second Lieutenant, his career had focused on Army special forces with short tours at "charm schools," boring professional Army schools, to make him respectable to the rest of the Army. Even the relaxed tour in Italy was a special forces billet. Now that he was finally the Executive Officer to the Commander of Delta Team he felt that he had reached the top of his field. He grimaced as he acknowledged silently to himself that his dogged avoidance over the years of a Pentagon duty tour would undoubtedly prevent his promotion to Colonel. Still, his current demanding job appealed to him since he could pass on his experience and knowledge without the family separations required by those who had to leave to execute the operational missions. His current duties involved keeping the paperwork flowing while other men, the operators, dealt with the terrorists and missed family birthdays, recitals and soccer games. Jim had paid his dues in this difficult business over the years. He could easily handle these infrequent late night recalls that kept him away from his Sweet-K for a few hours. He reflected that his skills would undoubtedly be needed to get the Delta Commander off and running in the right direction, then Jim would return home to rest so that he could fill the "day shift" slot on the Crisis Action Team. Jim wondered about the nature of the situation that was the cause for his happily skipping the boring lecture as he slipped into the driver's seat of his red Ford Mustang convertible. He quickly and expertly navigated the short drive to the Delta compound with his car cruising about 10 miles per hour above the posted speed limit. Chapter Two Under the English Channel, Friday, 2:20 A.M. Jacques was now beyond shock. He was scared. He was afraid that he might not see his wife, Melissande, again. And, he was afraid for his crew and passengers: they were his responsibility and he had never let anyone down. Jacques had been moved roughly from the engine and handcuffed to a teenage German girl in the center passenger car which was outfitted with a small serving counter. He had no way of knowing it then, but over the next two days Jacques and the German girl would become famous as videos from the train would show them as a human shield in front of the terrorist leader. The remaining passengers and crew were being handcuffed in pairs to windows, seats or door handles in the passenger cars. Jacques thought he saw two well-armed, masked hijackers in each of these cars, plus the leader in his car. Six of the hijackers, including the leader, appeared to be men of Middle Eastern extraction. "Algerian?" he wondered to himself. The remaining terrorist, strangely enough, was a young woman, judging from her voice, who seemed to be the second-in-command. From her accented English Jacques guessed she was American. The female terrorist, Sheenah Roberts, glanced at Jacques at that moment as if reading his thoughts, and Jacques felt a cold chill as her eyes burned at him from inside her mask. Her attention quickly returned to the Uzi automatic pistol in her hand. She laughed to herself at how easy it had been to smuggle the weapons through the X-ray and visual checks. All had been hidden in band instruments and their steel cases for this special "jazz ensemble." Sheenah had been born in the United States but was now in her true element. She could not explain her need, yet she knew she loved confrontations and punishing people for their poor treatment of her "brothers," those people she chose to affiliate with and represent at the time. The hijacking scheme which Andar Salim had suggested provided the perfect opportunity to lash out from her deeply felt anger. They could make demands on the world that would humiliate world leaders and ensure notoriety for her latest cause. She had found a true soul-mate in Andar. Or rather he had found her, soon after his arrival in Sofia. It was almost as if he had come looking for her. She welcomed Andar's advances and was aroused by his frequent anger with white Europeans who had systematically raped and looted Africa. They became lovers and had lived together for nearly a year. They shared anger and the desire for revenge on the world. He seemed to always have sufficient money from his family in Libya to travel and they had made several trips to England preparing for this train seizure. He had flown home, he had explained to her, to visit his family, just prior to this trip. Andar seemed to have the right connections necessary to find trusted helpers when he needed them for an assignment. Andar made her his deputy on this hijacking, stressing that she must destroy the train and hostages in the event he was killed. She almost relished the thought, although she fully intended that she and Andar would survive this hijacking to return to Bulgaria where they had real identities working together for the United Nations. They had talked for months about making a number of statements through terrorist actions, returning to obscurity each time as a continuing act of defiance against the world. Their Bulgarian friends had easily believed the excuse when she said that they were leaving for a vacation in the United States. She and Andar made a good couple. Their future was full of promise. Sheenah's reveries abruptly ended as one of their accomplices entered the car to report. "Commander, all of the peoples have been chained," the stocky hijacker stated in heavily accented English. "Very good, Tiger. It is time to move the crates. Please assemble the work team. Bring these two with you," Andar said, indicating Jacques and the girl. He smiled. "I want the engineer to see all that we do so he can tell the world that this train and all the good people are in grave danger ... unless our demands are met." The hijacker called 'Tiger' chuckled with glee and grabbed the girl, thereby dragging Jacques along with them. Tiger was thinking to himself that this blonde girl must surely be one of the hostages that they would take with them when the time came to leave. Andar, Tiger and two other hijackers, along with Jacques and the girl, moved briskly to one of the train cars carrying vehicles. Sheenah and two others were left in charge of the passengers. Jacques was obliged to unlock the car providing access to the vehicles. The hijackers quickly moved to a small lorry bearing Belgian license plates and opened the rear doors. They carefully lifted out six heavy crates marked "Oil Well Test Equipment". Using two-wheel baggage trolleys, two of the crates were moved from the train about one thousand meters in either direction, back toward Calais, and forward toward Folkestone. Black cables were retrieved from two of the crates and run the thousand meters back to the center passenger car. Andar supervised the unpacking of each crate to reveal what appeared to be video cameras, microphones, and antennae. All were quickly attached to large, heavy containers from the other crate. Andar carefully explained to Jacques that the sensors would detect the slightest movement, sound, or magnetic change near them in the tunnel. He said the large containers were sophisticated computers, and the entire package was filled with plastique explosives that could be remotely detonated from the train, or could be set to explode if any intruder approached the detector system. Of course, he added, an explosion in the tunnel would lead to catastrophic failure of the concrete ring walls, rupturing the seabed and allowing the English Channel waters to crush and drown everyone. Once the cameras and sensors were positioned, Andar opened the control panel on each of the large containers and set several dials and typed in a series of numbers and letters. After the second container had been set, he led them all back to the stranded train's center passenger car. "See, my friend, how I can control the sensors from this central detonator?" Andar smiled as he inserted the cables into the master control panel and flipped the switch to the 'test' position. All lights blinked green. He turned the switch to the 'system operational' position and nodded to Sheenah. "We are ready, Number Two. Intruders will automatically trigger the system. The 'fire' button can override and detonate at our command. In case we need it." His finger hovered dangerously close to the "fire" button and a thrill of exhilaration filled him. He fixed his eyes on Sheenah's and seemed to burn right through her as he sought to confirm her readiness to push that button when the time came. "We are ready, Commander," Sheenah whispered hoarsely as a rush of sensual excitement swept over her. Chapter Three London, Friday, 3:30 A.M. Nelson sipped coffee and listened attentively as the MOD watch officer, especially summoned from the Ministry of Defence, briefed the small group now assembled in the SAS headquarters on the scant details available: the midnight shuttle train from France had been stopped about one third of the way into the Eurotunnel, the tunnel under the English Channel now affectionately called the "Chunnel". The train had been disabled by an unknown number of individuals. Approximately 100 passengers were on the train, plus the train crew of eight. Telephone-viewer contact with Folkestone Station had informed the authorities that the train had been hijacked and that no actions were to be taken to approach the train or else the passengers would be summarily executed. Further demands would be stated at about six o'clock in the morning, less than three hours from now. The next briefer, the Intelligence Officer, speculated that the timing had been chosen to give the terrorists time enough to secure and booby trap the train, yet make a statement that would get maximum media coverage with the captive rush-hour audience. Upon notification of the incident, both ends of the Chunnel had been immediately secured by Eurotunnel security forces, who were now augmented and under the direction of the police authorities. The waiting game had begun. The MOD staff psychologist reviewed typical terrorist actions. The British and French governments could expect a call for media coverage of the terrorists' demands, reinforced by the possibility of some violence to the hostages to convince the world that the hijackers meant business. A stand-off for 24 to 48 hours was probable until the terrorists realized that they were trapped. They always were. The terrorists would then start dealing...or else the real violence would begin and the special forces teams would go in and take them down in a hurry. "That damned Chunnel!" Nelson thought to himself, reflecting a large and vocal slice of popular opinion. "We didn't want the bloody thing in the first place! We're losing our independence as an island!" However Nelson grudgingly admitted to himself that the Chunnel was the engineering marvel of the 20th Century. Eurotunnel, a partnership of British and French engineering and construction interests, had built the three-tunnel system in just over three years. The north-bound and south- bound tunnels had required specially designed drilling machines some eight and one-half meters in diameter. The smaller-sized service tunnel, running between the two rail tunnels, handled the rubber-tired vehicles necessary for constant maintenance to keep the Chunnel in near perfect repair and operating condition. Small access tunnels and air pressure equalization passages linked the three tunnels. At its peak the project had employed about 14,000 workers, and the budget had supposedly remained under 8 billion pounds Sterling. Nelson's attention was re-focused to the briefing room. As soon as the MOD duty officer had departed, the Brigadier closed the briefing with his initial requirements. "I have asked Brigadier LaRoche, Director of Groupement D'Intervention De La Gendarmerie Nationale,to stay close to the interrogation of witnesses on the French side. As you will remember, GIGN is our counterpart. "The police have begun media calls for family members and friends of passengers to come forward immediately so that they can assemble a detailed manifest and obtain photographs. Our Int boys will sit in with the police on our side to provide screening for intelligence details that we especially require for intervention. As usual, this remains a police matter until we are asked to send in our chaps to tidy up the dirty work. "Major Davness and his J Squadron at Hereford have started studying Chunnel plans and preparing for the takedown. The French GIGN are doing likewise. We will settle the responsibility split later. I have requested that a French liaison be posted to this office as soon as possible, and I have sent our NATO staff officer as our liaison to Brigadier LaRoche. "We must work as a tight-knit team on this one. Two French Int collection teams have started in from their end to set up on the train. Our Int teams are en route from Hereford now. We'll get combined live intelligence here and in Paris. "Colonel Bartlett will be my focal here. The Americans were flashed initial details and I would like for you to call them, Nelson, and give them an update. It is up to you if, and when, you think we should have their liaison. "Pick your night teams, gentlemen, and set up a 24-hour CP. I will brief the PM as soon as he is available. Questions, please." He paused only for a moment. "None? Very well. "Discretion, gentlemen, discretion. This will be a difficult diplomatic situation. Shall we say, the Chunnel is not the most popular topic and this situation could become very emotional." All nodded. "We must be discrete. And we must work as a team with the French and other European allies." The Brigadier left no doubt as to his seriousness as he looked hard into each person's eyes as he concluded the briefing and moved confidently toward his office. After ensuring that the Brigadier's orderly provided a carafe of coffee and several croissant for the Brigadier, Nelson slipped behind his own desk and opened his Rolodex, a useful souvenir from his last orientation visit to the United States. The US Air Force special operations staff at Hurlburt Field, Florida, had thoughtfully noticed his fascination with the useful telephoning aid. His hosts provided him with his own gadget at a sumptuous farewell dinner party at a place they called, "The Dirty Bird." Selecting the telephone number for the Delta J3, he lifted the receiver on his American Secure Telephone Unit, known as the "STU III," and quickly dialed the overseas number. While he waited for the connection, Nelson removed a black plastic key from his top desk drawer and inserted it into the telephone. He turned it one quarter turn. Almost immediately a distinctly Southern drawl answered with the telephone number that he had just dialed. "May we go secure?" Nelson asked crisply. "Yes, Suh. You initiate, Suh." "Pushing." Nelson sat back from the STU III and watched the amber light flicker. Finally, the green light glowed steadily and he stated, "Green and Top Secret." "Green and TS here, Suh. Who would you like to speak to?" The drawl was still clearly discernible even in secure mode. "Lieutenant Colonel Bartlett calling on behalf of the Director of Special Forces in London. May I please speak to the J3?" Nelson knew that the ID window on the Delta STU III was confirming to the Southern drawl that he was, indeed, calling from DSF-London. "Just a moment, Suh. The Chief of Operations is in the next office. I'll get him." Nelson rubbed his temples and reviewed the scanty details of the hijacking. Somehow it just seemed too crazy to believe. It had been several years since any terrorist group had pulled anything of this magnitude. Although he reviewed the intelligence message traffic daily and knew that terrorist cells were active around the globe he had let himself believe that the world had reached a plateau free from major terrorist undertakings. People were now able to reach the negotiating table, making terrorist actions unnecessary and far less effective. Even the IRA has lost popular appeal and resumed a long-term truce following the series of terribly destructive bombings. "Nelson! Hey, come va old buddy? Colonel Johnson is tied up for a few minutes so I thought I would jump on here and make you feel welcome!" Nelson recognized the voice immediately and the Italian phrase for 'How's it going?' was part of the banter they used to share in Naples as they practiced their newly- acquired Italian language skills on one another. He and Jim Grissom had shared responsibilities for planning and exercising all unorthodox and psychological warfare activities for the Southern Region of NATO. Their unique partnership had proved extremely effective in gaining support of allied governments and special forces units. The NATO southern commander, a US admiral, was extremely pleased with the results the two officers had achieved over their two years together. "James P. Grissom! I am now happy that this action occurred at night if it has gotten you out of bed!" "Well, it really got me out of a boring formal dinner party at the O Club. I am missing sharing my bed with Katherine at the moment, though. I'll tell her that it's all your fault, Nelson." Jim smiled. He knew it was very early in London and that Nelson had probably been called away from Sarah, too. "I don't know how much you have made of this one, but it is a bit strange ... and could be a bit of a diplomatic tangle for us. I'll bet that there will be a hue and cry by tonight to have the Chunnel filled in with concrete! We haven't a clue yet as to who is in charge and why they have targeted the Chunnel. Could be rejuvenated IRA bastards or radical French farmers, for that matter. I just have a funny gut feeling about this. Perhaps when we start receiving current intelligence reports from the probes and taps it will make more sense." Jim bit his bottom lip and mulled over Nelson's comments for a few moments before replying. He knew Nelson well enough to respect his uneasiness and speculations. The initial reaction at the Delta J2 intelligence briefing a few moments ago was that it was probably a case of one or two crazies wanting to have their fanatical demands published before surrendering to a transit authority policeman. They'd get a couple of months in a psychiatric ward and then be off to write a book. "Nelson, our official line is that we understand the seriousness of the situation. We always do. But, to tell you the honest truth, I think most of us here have this figured for a couple of loonies. "You know, like the fellow that slipped into Buckingham a few years back to have a bedside chat with the Queen. If that story is not playing well at the Aldwych, then I guarantee you that Delta will be squarely behind you. We'll provide whatever resources and encouragement you need." Jim paused to see what his old friend thought. "The French have a liaison officer coming, of course. And we originally thought all we would need would be an open line to the 'Colonies' ... just in case. Nelson reflected a moment. "Perhaps we need more. Do you think you can spare a liaison?" Nelson paused. "You've got it." "Jim, would you be willing to fill the position, and get here just as quickly as you can? You have been vetted into our system for years and I won't have to miss a beat getting your security clearances activated. The point is: I trust your judgment." Without hesitation, Jim guaranteed, "I'll make it happen, Nelson. If I can't get a commercial flight I'll bring my own C-141." Jim knew that for a terrorist situation like this he would could be sure of US Air Force support to get him to London as soon as possible. "In any event, do you need any bulk quantities of any particular 'American' goodies? A bushel basket of Scotch, perhaps?" He grinned as he awaited Nelson's reply, knowing that he could buy imported Scotch for one-half the price that Nelson was forced to pay even though it was distilled only a couple of hundred miles north of London. "One bottle will do nicely, James. Give my regards to Colonel Johnson. Kiss Katherine for me. And do hurry." Nelson replaced the receiver and smiled. It would be good to have Jim back working with him. He knew he would feel at ease discussing details with his trusted friend. Nelson sensed the need in the hours and days ahead to work through this puzzling situation. You beat the terrorist first in your head, then in the alley. Few of his compatriots could match brain power or street-smart psychology with this talented American. Jim's folksy and vivacious enthusiasm, when blended with Nelson's more deliberate and careful nature, had produced highly accurate appraisals of enemy intentions and efficient use of special forces during their previous work together. Chapter Four Broadcast from Under the English Channel, Friday, 6:07 A.M. Millions of families in England and France interrupted their Friday morning rituals to pause in front of their television sets. It was an awesome awakening to the day. A French Chunnel chef de train, identified as Jacques DuMont, and a frightened German teenager stood in the foreground. Viewers could see in the curving, surrealistic background, several armed hijackers in dark clothing with ski masks covering their faces. Automatic weapons were clearly visible, and one hijacker appeared to have grenades hanging from a weapons belt. The obviously tired hostage pair read in stilted, deliberate English from a prepared letter. Dear Freedom and Peace-Loving Peoples: Dear Brothers and Sisters in the Struggle for Justice: We have stopped a train in the Eurotunnel to bring to the attention of all a most terrible situation that must be corrected, and corrected now. Three of our Arab brothers, patriots in the cause of freedom, were unfairly accused of attacking an American Pan American airliner in Scotland. They were convicted based upon Jewish lies and now languish in English dungeons. The patriots must be pardoned by your Queen. They must be set free immediately to join us in leaving from Heathrow Airport to Algiers aboard a standard airline flown by Lufthansa Airlines. Three aircraft must be parked on the tarmac and we will choose one after arriving in a motor caravan with police escort. All freedom loving peoples will understand that twelve of the passengers from this train will accompany us on the flight and will be released with the air crew and aircraft in Algiers. We must immediately receive two television sets receiving all BBC channels so that me might stay informed on the Queen's decision. Also, these televisions will insure that the untrustworthy police do not attempt any schemes that could endanger the passengers. We must set a deadline for your Queen's action in correcting the terrible injustice to our brothers. She must make her pardon over the television network by six o'clock this evening. Delay past that hour would be unjustified and will result in endangering the passengers. Unfortunately, they would suffer needlessly and mercilessly for the offenses committed by the authorities. We urge and demand solidarity with freedom-loving peoples around the world. The stunning telecast would later spark heated debates in trains, offices, and homes across Europe. The Chunnel, often praised as an engineering marvel, had cost a number of lives during construction. It had cost double the original estimate and only massive governmental outlays had salvaged the final year. If the German financial resources had not been discretely offered to help in the financing required for the high speed rail networks linking the Chunnel with London, it was doubtful that commerce would have made the switch from the ferries. Now in light of the hijacking, the old arguments were resurrected and old antagonisms resurfaced. Somehow the Pan American bombers and the current hostages were lost amid the hype. Jacques was allowed to answer a few questions posed by the television crew. In response to their queries, he described how the hijackers had set up the monitoring systems and computers well away from each end of the train. The system could be vaguely seen in the background. He explained that the monitors could automatically trigger explosives packed into the devices, destroying the Chunnel and drowning everyone in it. He was explaining how the master control was wired and its appearance when he was cut short by the man in black directly behind him who abruptly spoke out. "You have convinced the world that we can destroy the peoples on the train unless the Queen acts today. That is enough! Stop the cameras and leave now!" Andar had spoken. In fact, he had spoken too long. His few words were sufficient to create a clear recording enabling the voice analysts to start unmasking him and his friends. London, Friday, 6:20 A.M. Nelson, viewing the broadcast in the Brigadier's office, knew that the terrorists' demand for freedom for their compatriots could never be met. It had taken years and millions of pounds Sterling to bring the terrorists to trial. It had taken the marshaling of world opinion to force Libya to turn over the suspects. British and American reputations were on the line to make this an example that no further terrorist acts would be forgotten ... or forgiven. The bombers simply could not be freed. "Brigadier, the hijackers must know that the Queen has no authority to pardon. That fact was headline news in all the newspapers during the debates curtailing her powers and financial support. I remember the tabloids shouting out, 'Queen Beheaded!' to show how powerless the monarch had become. The hijackers must know the demand is impossible!" The SIS liaison officer had summed up what all were thinking, and his vivid reminder of the headlines brought weak smiles to the group. It was only after nearly every power was stripped and most public financial support removed, that the Queen had been allowed to retain the throne. Only the Prime Minister had the power to pardon, and the current occupant of Number 10, Downing Street, would not likely pardon the men whose prosecution and conviction he had championed in his rapid rise to power. The Brigadier nodded thoughtfully. Nelson looked around at the others assembled in the room. Sitting on either side of the SIS liaison were the Deputy Director of Special Forces and the Intelligence Officer. The French liaison officer and the 22 SAS Regiment commanding officer flanked Nelson. A newly arrived Royal Marine officer representing the Special Boat Squadron and the Directorate Sergeant Major filled the remaining two seats. "Int, can you summarize what your chaps have assembled so far?" The Brigadier looked toward the Intelligence Officer. "Yes, Sir. Both French and British intelligence teams are positioned along the tunnel. They have approached the train, which is stopped in the northbound tunnel, from both ends. In addition, they have gone along the service tunnel and have crossed over to the northbound tunnel ventilating system ducts through accesses from the service tunnel. We are getting back fairly good video and excellent audio." The Captain had moved to the briefing easel and was pointing to a cross-sectional rendering of the Chunnel as he spoke. "We have the hijacker's monitoring boxes under surveillance, but do not want to approach them as they might actually be rigged to blow automatically. Since we can leap frog via the service tunnel to approach the train, they do not pose a problem to us at this time. As Major Davness and his French counterpart develop their takedown plans we will begin to focus on how to safe the explosives. We will be running risks trying to collect more information on the devices. "Thus far we have not identified the terrorists. From their language and accents we know that several are Libyan. It is strange that much of their communication in the center car, here," he indicated the car on the chart, "is in English, and we are striving to determine the purpose of that. "We have confirmed 43 passengers and eight crew members on the train, but our best guess so far is that we are dealing with a total of 85 on board, including the train crew and an estimated five terrorists. Sound reports indicate that all of the people are in the three passenger cars. We have no signs of life from the engines or vehicle transport cars." The French liaison officer spoke up: "I thought the French video team was able to see the passengers through the windows?" "Our video coverage is excellent outside the train," the Captain continued, "but the view from the ventilating ports does not give much coverage at all inside the cars. We can see that people are tied somehow to the windows, but cannot get much of a count. We are working at dropping cameras down to eye level but that will take some time and must be accomplished with great discretion. We need the hijackers to tire a bit and be less on their guard or they could spot our efforts." "Are there any other questions?" The Captain paused. "Int, how valid is their threat to blow the tunnel?" Nelson asked. The Captain pursed his lips and replied thoughtfully, "Our demo experts are still working that with Chunnel engineers. The hijackers have picked a point some fifteen kilometers from the French coast just beyond what is called the 'French crossover.' The sea bottom is still thirty-five meters above the tunnel, but the Blue Chalk layer at this point has a sharp bend and thus might fracture more easily. The hijackers' explosives are placed in at least two, perhaps three locations, along a two kilometer stretch of the tunnel. With timing between explosions, the shock wave from the first detonation could be amplified by a second or third. "Colonel Bartlett, the short answer is that in a tunnel even a small explosion can kill all of the passengers. We must consider the threat to tunnel integrity also real, until we get better information." Nelson nodded. As expected, the passengers and train crew were at very grave risk. "What about traffic in the southbound tunnel setting off the explosives by tripping the sensors?" The Deputy Director had spoken up. "All rail traffic has been held up from when the hijackers first announced their takeover. You can imagine the shipping problems created as we have gotten so dependent on the train service to and from the Continent through the Chunnel." The Captain looked for other questions and then continued, "We have asked authorities at both sides of the Chunnel to continue sending in some reduced maintenance crews at their normal intervals, but with no vehicles in the service tunnel within two kilometers of the sensors. Security officers are mixed in with the crews just to make sure that no outside assistance is provided to the hijackers, and to desensitize the crews to the special teams when they go in. These efforts will, hopefully, provide cover when our teams need to move forward into position. Heavy equipment that could generate too much noise is being kept well clear of the Chunnel. "Police have sealed all three tunnels at the entrances and again at final security points approximately five kilometers back from the train's location. "You'll notice that television coverage is live from Chunnel Portals on both sides of the Channel. Our movements will have to be coordinated with that coverage, too, or the hijackers could get a clue. We can use service shafts, but the reporters keep checking all entrances. The hijackers were smart to demand television sets as the television news teams unwittingly work in their favor." The last remark brought a scowl to the Brigadier's face. "Perhaps we will get more cooperation this time than last May." Nelson knew the Brigadier was referring to the bomb scare last May Day when the television crews tagged along with sniffer dog teams and had provided excellent standoff timing for the bombers. Fortunately, the IRA perpetrators had evidently not counted on the television reports for targeting assistance. Only one team member had been injured due to a remote triggering, but the police had been up in arms over what they saw as a betrayal by the media. Since the loss of one reporter back in 1993, the broadcasting corporations had promised to more carefully conduct their coverage. This present crisis was likely to be the ultimate test of that promise. "I would like to brief the PM on our takedown plan at two o'clock this afternoon, gentlemen. Shall I commit to that?" the Brigadier asked. "I will confirm with Major Davness that he can be ready and available at that time, Sir," Nelson stated. "I will brief for the French GIGN team, Brigadier," the French liaison officer assured. "I will give the briefing which is to be presented to our President, and recommend that he be briefed at the same hour." "Thank you for your assistance in this matter. We must make it a coordinated venture. I know that Major Davness and his counterpart will make it tactically coordinated. We must ensure that it is fully politically coordinated. Tricky, that." He surveyed the room. "Any questions, gentlemen? If not, please reconvene in the briefing room at half past one to prepare for the PM." The group eased out of the Brigadier's office. Nelson lingered behind to speak to the Brigadier privately. "Sir, I'm pleased with our French liaison. He is a sharp chap and has been spending half his time telephoning back to Paris to make sure we understand each other. I am confident that the plans are going well. We should have a good briefing for the PM. "I have asked the Americans to provide a liaison from Delta. Lieutenant Colonel Grissom will be arriving at RAF Northholt about three o'clock this afternoon. I'll meet him and bring him down to brief up. I don't see any particular help that we will need, but Colonel Grissom is an old friend and has a keen mind for this sort of operation." "Very well, Nelson. It will be good to have a liaison in place. I have heard of Colonel Grissom and his work with you in NATO. Seems that I also remember hearing that he is the best officer in the American Army. I believe that came directly from your wife, Sarah!" The Brigadier chuckled. Nelson smiled. Sarah was a great public relations agent for those people of whom she thought highly. Jim and Katherine Grissom were two of those special people. Chapter Five Canyon, Texas, Friday, 12:30 A.M. Sandy Mitchell sat in his recliner chair watching re- runs of television shows that were not worth watching the first time through. "Who cares where you are, Linda!" he said to himself as if in reply to another question. "Not me. Me and Jack are doing just fine!" Sandy felt so good that he toasted his wife with a glass now just half full of Jack Daniel's whiskey on the rocks. It had become his favorite drink. He knew that after this glass he would be able to sleep. Lately, sleep had been elusive unless he had his friend, "Jack," with him. He knew, even in his "relaxed state", that he and Linda had been having "relationship" problems for quite some time. Still, he could not easily reconcile himself to her being out all night. Through the alcoholic fog he kept thinking to himself that he still loved his wife. Perhaps if they had only had children she would not be so pushy now. "It's not right! A woman should be at home with her husband and not ...." He left the rest unspoken. He couldn't quite face verbalizing where he visualized Linda to be at that moment. Sandy liked knowing he had the next day off from work. His supervisor had called several hours ago and told him to pack a suitcase and standby for another telephone call. He had done this at least a dozen times over the past two years. It meant special pay and special training with the military. He liked the extra pay and the way the Army guys treated him. He was a member of the team whenever he went for training, about every three months. These alert things, though, meant having time off with pay. He usually sat home, blissfully unaware of what the crisis was, because it usually did not even make the newspapers. He thought it was funny that he was sitting on his backside in Texas waiting to go save the world! His employer, Pantex, near Amarillo had the contract. So he was on the team. Ha! In Canyon, Texas! Ha! Ha! Sandy soon fell asleep in the chair, his glass empty on the floor next to his recliner. Chapter Six London, Friday, 11:45 A.M. Just as Nelson had anticipated, the hue and cry was raised across England to close the Chunnel. As the morning progressed, slick, but patently ill-informed, commentators took to the airways and filled the television screens. Live coverage continued from the Chunnel Portals, with special reports flowing in from around the Continent, showing trains and freight, mostly food stuffs, piling up, awaiting shipment through the Chunnel. Old ferries, now sadly bulging in cocoon storage, were proclaimed to be far more reliable. Ferry disasters, such as the terrible 1988 sinking just outside the port of Zeebrugge, Belgium, were forgotten or minimized. Strikes and the treacherous Channel weather that had often delayed and disrupted ferry transport were glossed over. As the morning wore on, reports of food and medical shortages were aired. That, of course, set off a wave of panic buying as people began to perceive that the island was now isolated. Those members of Parliament who were accustomed to speaking out against every subject took to the airwaves with vigor to criticize the government's handling of the present crisis. They sounded the call for an immediate clearing of the Chunnel. "We must act now to protect our children from the threat of imminent starvation," intoned one lawmaker from Leeds who thought he saw a Cabinet position in his future. Stock film footage from Somalia was aired. Commentators speculated on how long the British population could survive without the Chunnel commerce. By lunch time, Tee shirts featuring "I Survived the Chunnel Closure!" began to appear on the streets of many towns, including London, and Folkestone. London, Friday, 2:00 P.M. "Prime Minister, our briefing will be in three parts. My Intelligence Officer will first overview the situation. Next, the Officer-in-Command, 22 SAS, J Squadron, our counter-terrorist force, will brief the resolution plan from our side. Finally, our French liaison officer will explain the plan of attack by the Groupement D'Intervention De La Gendarmerie Nationale. The GIGN is our SAS counterpart in France. "Captain." The Brigadier moved to his seat to the left of the Prime Minister. "Prime Minister, this is a combined assessment with the cooperation of the French Intelligence Service." The Prime Minister nodded. "The train has been stopped at this point in the northbound Chunnel," he pointed to the point along the more westerly tunnel in the schematic on the wall, "with the monitoring and explosive devices an estimated one kilometer forwards and aft." He continued along with the pointer, "It is a Chunnel shuttle train consisting of front and rear engines, 12 automobile transport cars, and two bus carrier cars. In the center of the train are these three cars: passenger car, modified passenger car with food service, and a final passenger car. "We have cooperating English and French surveillance teams positioned here, here, here...and here." He indicated locations near the monitoring devices and along the train itself. "They are obtaining excellent audio results and good video intelligence. We would be willing to risk a bit more and get first class video if a takedown were imminent." The Captain continued, "We have definitely confirmed fifty-five passengers, plus eight crew members. We expect that there are at least ten more unidentified passengers on the train. All appear to be bound in some manner and are located throughout these three cars." The Captain pointed to the passenger cars. "We had reckoned there were a minimum of five hijackers, but we now believe there are seven. Our lads viewed the "demands" video over and over and it seems that the engineer and the girl were signaling us. Each time they spoke and could hold up their hands they held up seven fingers, thusly." The Captain held up his hands in the same manner. "We think this was a sign to us since they both used the same unusual way of holding their hands. Our French counterparts agree. "Voice analysis confirms two suspects in each car, plus we are getting a dominant female voice in the center car. All of the suspects appear to be Arab, except for the female who is, based upon voice analysis, definitely an American. The terrorists use English when communicating in the center car, probably because the American does not understand their language. Her role must be reasonably important for them to go to this extra effort." The Captain paused for a moment for this proposition to be considered. He then continued, "Voice location puts the hijack leader and, most probably, the master control panel, which the engineer described, in this food service area of the center passenger car." He pointed to the small cubbyhole created by the service bar. "This arrangement perhaps provides a little extra protection for the control device. "We have a possible identification of the leader. Our French brethren made a voice analysis and comparison with suspects in their surveillance library. They think he is Andar Salim, probably Palestinian or Lebanese by birth. His last known location was Tripoli, where he was a confidant of Colonel Khadafy. "Khadafy brought Salim out of one of the Palestinian refugee camps and treated him almost as a son. We think he has been involved in other terror activities, but have no firm evidence. Other background information is not available. Salim has been out of circulation for the past year. If we could get a clear video of him without his mask we can confirm this identity." The Prime Minister smiled faintly at the thought of the hijack leader unmasking himself before the cameras. The officer continued, "We have a calm situation in the train. Salim, if that is his name, seems to be playing this low key and not agitating the passengers. Perhaps he is convinced that he will win easily, so he does not need to stir things. This is speculation on my part, but I am sure that men at his level in the Libyan structure must be aware, to some degree, of our surveillance capabilities and our capacity to quickly and decisively intervene if things get too sticky." The Captain stepped aside and stood quietly. "Captain, do these ... hijackers ... do they have enough explosives to destroy the tunnel and kill the passengers?" The Prime Minister had posed the key question very quietly. "Yes, Sir. We believe their threats are real." There was another heavy pause. After a few moments the Intelligence Officer stated, "I will be followed by Major Davness, OIC, J Squadron, Hereford." Major Davness stepped to the front. The silence was absolute. "Prime Minister, this will be a coordinated and closely timed intervention. I will lead my prime team against the subjects. GIGN have graciously yielded this to us. GIGN will isolate and safe the explosives behind the train. An SAS explosives team will isolate the explosives forward of the train. My 2-I-C," he paused and flashed a short smile, "my second-in-command, and the secondary team will man the entrances which my team uses and enter approximately 15 seconds after the prime team. They will take over clearing the subjects should the prime team experience problems and will then be available to help with clean up operations. "The teams will come through the ventilating shafts into the westbound tunnel in these locations." The Major pointed to accesses just behind the cameras at the two monitoring points, and in the middle of the train. "Three men will be in each of the explosives teams: two demo lads with one security. This is the minimum number required but provides a backup capability. The explosives teams will move in just before my prime team in order to look over the devices. If they encounter a problem my prime team will act at once. If no problems are encountered we may be able to isolate the explosives before we take down the train. I must emphasize that this will be a very closely timed operation. "Twelve men will go in along with me to handle the suspects. Two men will enter each car from each end and put down the suspects. I will enter the center car with the other two lads from this end nearest the bar with my object being to secure the master control panel before the charges can be detonated. "Up to this point we have detected no booby traps placed on the train or passengers but we must have confirmation of this prior to knocking at their door. This is one of my priority taskings for Int. If booby traps are indicated among the hostages or on the doors we will go to an alternative plan and blow entrance holes into the cars in these areas, which are mostly clear of passengers. This would delay our entry by three to five seconds but would have the same impact as the flash-bang grenades: stun and immobilize the subjects long enough for us to take charge. "My timing will be based upon my Int assessment of current audio and video. We must have distance and distraction between the suspects and the master control. "Just a moment before execution and on my command all power will be cut to the train. We will use tear gas and flash-bang grenades. We expect the combined effect of the sudden darkness followed immediately by flash-bangs to really put the suspects off." The Major looked steadily at the Prime Minister. "It is vital that normal television coverage continue while we are positioning and executing the plan. We count on this to keep the suspects calm right up to the moment that we strike. Perhaps the broadcast corporations need to be approached for their cooperation." The Prime Minister nodded and his Secretary noted the request. Major Davness continued, "We expect that it will take thirty to forty-five seconds to secure, quickly shakedown the train and call for restoration of electrical power. Choking gas will be present so the hostages will be a bit uncomfortable until they can be moved clear. "As soon as we have secured the train we will call for the French police to move forward and take charge of the situation. The GIGN team will join my two teams and will move toward the English side where we will be picked up at a crossover to the service tunnel. French officials will join us there. Our entire force will immediately move off to Hereford for debrief. "Civilian police and medical personnel will clear the hostages. The police will conduct required hidden explosives and crime scene searches." The Major paused and stepped aside from the graphic. He looked expectantly at the Prime Minister. "Questions, sir?" Everyone was deep in thought. Finally, the silence was broken. "If I may, Prime Minister," the Brigadier posed the question, "Major Davness, how much lead time do you require to position for the take down?" "Sir, we have the teams taking down a replica train this afternoon. We want to stay at Hereford practicing live firing just as long as we possibly can so that we are all fresh at it. We can move forward to Ashford in about two hours' time. From there we can be in position in three hours. "From Hereford give me four hours. If we move forward to Ashford, I'll need three." The Prime Minister spoke next: "Is there any hope of capturing these hijackers so we can find out who put them up to this?" The Prime Minister wanted to hang more than the underlings. "No, Sir. They will not survive. Any other tactic could jeopardize the rescue." The Prime Minister frowned but Major Davness held steady his gaze. Finally the major moved toward his chair and said, "I will be followed by the French liaison officer." The French officer stepped forward. "Monsieur Prime Minister, I have been instructed to confirm that the French government yield leadership of this mission to the SAS. I believe this courtesy was extended at the request of your Brigadier and approved by our President moments ago." He paused for effect. Nelson realized that a true courtesy had been extended. The officer wanted to ensure that the Prime Minister knew it and appreciated the magnitude of the favor. The Prime Minister smiled briefly and nodded his acknowledgment. The French liaison officer began, "The GIGN team and the SAS team will follow identical procedures. They will move into the tunnel behind the monitoring devices and move quietly toward them. The two demolition experts will disable the microphones and cameras, and enter and disarm the explosives. The teams will be in 'hot' radio contact with microphones open so that they are learning from one another and working as one big team. They are practicing this now at Hereford. "We expect that the monitoring devices and cabinets have been booby-trapped and so are prepared to deal with that. Safeing could take up to fifteen minutes. This means perhaps our timing may provide a difficulty for the prime team. This is quite an unusual situation, but the demolition experts agree that it is a feasible option ... or else they wouldn't to go into the Chunnel." He continued, "If problems arise that could imperil the mission, the teams will act to isolate the monitoring devices with small charges to scatter the effect of the explosives. This will be tricky and extremely risky, but it may be the only alternative available to avoid a complete detonation. "Questions, Sir?" The French officer was obviously eager to start the operation. "If one team is, ... well, ... unsuccessful, will the explosion be powerful enough to destroy the tunnel?" The Prime Minister had posed a difficult question. "I'm not sure that it would destroy the tunnel, Sir, but in my opinion, if the devices are packed full, a blast would create a shock wave and fire ball that would kill all of the people in the tunnel within a couple of kilometers. That would include all of the people on the train and all of the team members. I am basing that on the size of the cabinets from television reports and the amount of plastique that we could fit into a similar sized crate. It will provide quite a bang. No one can tell for sure how the air pressure equalization vents will affect a blast." The French officer quietly took his seat. The Home Secretary asked, "At what point do we surrender civil control?" The Minister of Defence stood and replied, "When the OIC calls for "power off" the military would appreciate having control. When the OIC calls "train secure" we will return control to the civil authorities. Is that agreed?" "Agreed," nodded the Home Secretary, formalizing the arrangement that all had expected. Still, it had to be quite clear, and it had to be in the meeting minutes. The Brigadier again took the floor. "Prime Minister, will you approve our continuing this plan to resolve the hijacking crisis with proviso that you and the President of France must approve execution?" "Gentlemen, further comments?" The Prime Minister looked around the room. No one spoke. "I approve the plan," he said crisply. "Thank you." He rose and walked briskly out of the room. Chapter Seven RAF Northholt, England, Friday, 3:00 P.M. Normally, Nelson would have driven himself out to the close-in Royal Air Force airfield to meet Jim. However, he realized that he was tired and too deeply preoccupied with the terrorist situation to deal properly with the agressive London motorists. It was, therefore, nice to have the civilian-attired corporal maneuver the unmarked Army Jaguar through the heavy afternoon traffic. Nelson arrived at the RAF Operations Building just in time to see the gray and white American C-141B Starlifter drop out of the leaden November overcast and settle onto the slick runway. Within minutes he was hugging his old friend and shaking hands with the crew, thanking them for their help. The United States Air Force crew members did not know why they had been summoned from ground alert duty to fly to London, but they knew that the easy-going Colonel must have important business with the Brits to warrant exclusive use of their craft. The United States Navy liaison officer met the crew to help them clear the British customs process and escort them to their downtown hotel. The air crew waved good-bye and reminded the Colonel to ask for them whenever he needed to fly to London! Once in the car and with the friendly chit-chat out of the way, Nelson confided in his old friend, "Jim, I am really glad to see you. Either the years have taken their toll or this hijacking has got a sour ring to it." "Nelson, I haven't had an update since we last talked. I couldn't get secure comm with anyone while I was airborne. Besides, I slept most of the way. You know, just in case we decide to paint the town." Jim eyed the driver. "Where do we stand?" Nelson nodded that they were free to speak. "The hijackers have demanded that we release the three chaps we pinched and convicted for the Pan Am 103 bombing. The whole lot is then to fly off to Algiers with a dozen hostages on board a Lufthansa airliner. They haven't specified what they will do to the train passengers if we don't comply, but they have set a six o'clock deadline this evening for the Queen to go on television and pardon the three. "The Queen doesn't have the power to pardon: only the Prime Minister does, and he hasn't indicated any willingness to do so." "What do the 'good guys' plan?" Jim looked thoughtful. "Davness, you'll remember him, and his boys will take down the train: classical 'double tap' routine with Davness securing the master control. We can gain unobserved access right to the train through the ventilating system." Jim nodded as he visualized the terrorists each catching two quick bullets to the head, then asked with a slightly puzzled look, "What is the 'master control'?" "Aye, that's the rub!" Nelson replied. "About a kilometer forward and aft of the train the hijackers have placed monitoring devices which they say are for their protection. Each has what appears to be microphones and television cameras set up to monitor the approaches along the rail line. "The train engineer was allowed to say that the cabinets holding them were packed with explosives sufficient to rupture the tunnel and seabed. If they are triggered the whole lot inside the tunnel will be drowned. We figure that they do have enough force to kill everyone on the train through concussion even if they can't rupture the seabed. Jim listened intently and nodded his understanding as Nelson continued. "The Int lads believe the master control is located in the center passenger car, which the hijackers are using as their base. The train driver was cut off before he could say more about it. He and the teenage girl he is handcuffed to are pretty savvy, though. They signaled to us that there are seven terrorists. They've been on the telly twice more today to re-emphasize the demands and both hostages have given the same signal." Jim was thoughtful for a long while seeming to watch the parade of shops flow past his car window. Finally he spoke: "Nelson, this all sounds pretty standard. The explosives being remoted is a bit bizarre. That may make life interesting for your boys. But it doesn't sound too out of the ordinary. On the surface it seems to be a straight-forward terrorist confrontation." He turned to look at Nelson, "What about it is bothering you?" Nelson was thoughtful, too, for a moment and then said quietly, "The 'Why?' of it. "What I mean is, 'Why are these blokes doing this?' Jim, that's the question that keeps snipping at my heels. I can't shake it. "The French did a neat bit of voice comparison and think that the hijack leader is Andar Salim, a Palestinian of some importance with connections to the top in Libya. He and Khadafy were evidently close at one time, but Salim has been out of sight for the past year. "I keep asking myself, 'Why would a man of his position and standing be doing this?' He isn't the type who would consider himself expendable enough to die or go to prison just to attempt to free three bombers. Surely he knows we will identify him." John interjected, "Maybe he thinks that it will be easy to get you to back down and free the bombers." "Suppose that we do capitulate and the three bombers and their hijacker friends make it to Algiers," Nelson continued. "Your people and ours, together, we'll track them down to the ends of the earth and either bring them back or kill them. Your government and mine have made the Pan Am bombing a line in the sand." Jim nodded. "Salim must know that he cannot escape. He cannot win. So, I continue to ask this most difficult 'why?'" "Nelson, terrorists are crazy people. They aren't lovable guys like you and me. They don't always think straight. Maybe Khadafy is trying to tweak our noses on this one even though he knows that the three bombers and his good friend Salim will pay for it. That would be thinking like him." "Perhaps you're right, Jim, but it just doesn't set well." "Have your Intel folks come up with any other reasons for the hijack that could shed any light?" "No. But they are questioning why an American is among the hijackers. Her presence is evidently forcing them to use English whenever she is in the conversation." Nelson got the rise he expected from his old friend. "Hey, wait a minute! What do you mean an American female is working with them?" "Our probes and taps lads have good audio on the train and are picking up a distinctly American female voice that is dealing with the other terrorists. She seems to always stay close to Salim. Their conversations are strictly business." "Nelson, are you throwing in an American just to get me emotionally involved?" Nelson chuckled, "I'm afraid that the hijackers have chosen the cast. We just try to sort them out, give them names, and a final resting place." He went on, "The hijackers are not advertising her presence, though I am sure they knew Int would quickly know she is American. She is evidently dressed in black, including ski mask, in the video broadcasts from the hijackers. She does no talking during the televised 'demand' sessions, if she is one of the hooded individuals in the pictures. "Why have her there, forcing the use of a difficult foreign language if they do not want to make a statement that an American is on their side? Again, Jim, the 'why?' is eating at me." "Perhaps we will hear from her later. But now you really have my attention and maybe I can be of some help in trying to identify this American lady hijacker. Do you have voice tapes that I can send for computer analysis?" "Yes, we'd appreciate your help and I'd rather go through you than SIS and the CIA chaps. Could take months!" Now Jim chuckled. "I have to go pick up my shift in the HQ in a few hours and I'd like you to come on in at that time, Jim. I'll finish filling you in on the rest of the details while we drive downtown to my flat. "We'll see if Sarah can put together an early supper," said Nelson glancing at his watch. "I spoke with her just before I left the office to remind her that your favorite is curry. We have a spare bed unless you'd rather spend your per diem funds." "Curry? You know I can't turn down curry, Nelson. That bottle of Scotch is my bread and butter gift, but I guess we'll have to await another day to see if the Scots did good work on it!" Chapter Eight Brest, France, Friday, 4:15 P.M. Small, but efficient, Marshal Foch Airport was totally, unbelievably overwhelmed. Every television network and major newspaper in the world was represented on-scene to cover the day's events. Security forces outnumbered the press by two-to-one. Genuine travelers trying to reach Paris or Lyon were completely lost in the confusion. It was rare for the President of France to visit the Brittany sea port of Brest. His political party was not strong in this part of France. Today, however, he was not only present, but was presiding as host. He was greeting the world's key leaders, members of the Group of Eight, as they arrived at Marshal Foch and loaded into the fleet of limousines for the short drive to Brest harbor. At anchor lay the Louis Catorce that would be the meeting site and home for the dignitaries and their closest advisors for the November gathering of the leaders of the world's top eight industrial powers. Freed from the pressure of daily business, the leaders would, hopefully, be able to work out solutions to some of the thorny problems currently disrupting the world economy. The ship was scheduled to sail promptly at seven o'clock that evening and would not put into port again until reaching Rotterdam, The Netherlands, at eight o'clock Sunday morning. The watchful eyes of two destroyer escorts would continuously, but discreetly, gaze upon the Louis Catorce. The President of France had personally overseen all details of the planning for this session in hopes that this would be a voyage that all would remember as a highlight in their public service. The President had been concerned that he would be delayed leaving Paris due to a briefing from the GIGN on the Chunnel crisis. However, it was an especially good job by the French Brigadier and he had concurred with the recommendations, tentatively approving military action. He and the British Prime Minister would be together for the next two days so they could easily confer and approve joint action, if armed intervention were to be required to resolve the crisis. He felt very good about the level of cooperation that his GIGN staff had achieved with their SAS counterparts. "This is the way we should workout all of our mutual problems," he had confided to his aides. Chapter Nine London, Friday, 5:10 P.M. Sarah was truly enjoying the early curried chicken supper. It was good to see Nelson relaxed and able to share his job pressures with his dependable old friend. What a pleasant surprise it was to her that this unpleasant "Chunnel business" had brought Jim Grissom for a long- overdue visit. "If you only could have managed to bring Katherine in your kit bag," she joked brightly, "we girls would make the Saturday matinee at the Aldwych while you men are off sorting out the terrorists." "I tried to convince her to ride in my duffel bag, but you know how touchy she can be about fresh air!" Jim did truly wish that his Sweet-K was here. They would have a wonderful time catching up with the Nelson and Sarah. However, he knew this was no vacation despite the efforts of the three to make supper pleasant and light. "I guess we will just have to make do and take loads of photographs for you to take home. At the very least your visit has cheered Nelson. He sounded very down when we talked earlier on the telephone." "I'm sorry, love. This hijacking has just got me puzzled. It all seems so unnecessary. I thought we were into a different era, what with all the dialogues and court cases settling disputes. The 'broad and sunlit uplands' that Churchill predicted. This Chunnel situation is so useless and so ... well, unnecessary. The terrorists can't gain a whit. It just seems such a frivolous situation, yet can easily be fatal for all." "Maybe the terrorists have misjudged the importance of the Chunnel to our economy, Nelson. After all the debates and discussions over the past several years, I must say that I was very nearly convinced that we had to have a dozen of the silly things if the nation were to survive!" Sarah was smiling to reassure him. "Dear, you know that I can't go into details, but the people we believe are involved in this wouldn't make a miscalculation like that. And I doubt that they would be seriously trying to disrupt our economy in such a foolhardy way." "Then perhaps the hijacking is only to draw your attention, dear. Maybe something else really worthwhile is happening while all you experts are busy worrying about this." Nelson perked perceptibly at Sarah's observation. His eyes narrowed as he looked to Jim who was now also obviously deep in thought and nodding agreement. "Love, you may have hit on something there. That could be the most sensible aspect of this whole mess." Nelson shifted mental gears. "Jim, let's go down to the office and see what else is going on in the world. If you like, we can jog over. The cool air will clear our minds. As you know we do not wear uniforms in the Headquarters, and we can shower and change there. I have a nice thirty minute route that will take us through the park and we will almost match the Tube schedule. Much safer than American parks at night, I might add." Nelson was up and ready for action. "Let me change into some fashionable running clothes and I'll be ready for a Friday night out in London!" A grin was slowly spreading across his rugged face, as his mind worked through the possibility that Sarah was right. Under the English Channel, Friday, 5:55 P.M. The six o'clock deadline was rapidly approaching and the Queen had not appeared on television. Andar was not surprised. What could the Queen say? She did not have the power to pardon anyone, and he was quite sure the Queen would not want to make any other statement at this point. It would not be a very popular thing to do if she went on the air to say that she was sorry the passengers would die but she had been stripped of her powers to save them. The Prime Minister had not gone on television to offer anything, but that was to be expected. He was known as a hard-liner who had pushed relentlessly to apprehend the men who had bombed the airliner. Andar knew he would have to take the next step once the deadline passed but he knew it would have to be carefully played. He would get television coverage and that would make it powerful. He could not push too hard or the SAS teams would be forced to attack. He guessed they must be watching the train pretty closely by now. Andar knew that their surveillance was about the best in the world. He must keep things rolling along ... but no unnecessary violence triggering intervention ... or the whole scheme could fall apart. He knew Colonel Khadafy had trusted him with this undertaking because he knew how far to push the Europeans. And no further. They had planned this event for over a year, since the Colonel's first visit to Switzerland. They had focused on this hijacking as soon as they were sure of their targets. He picked up the train telephone, which was now interconnected to the video phone circuit, and was immediately answered by a French police inspector. "The English Queen has foolishly placed innocent passengers at the point of death! I demand a television crew be sent down the Chunnel ... from the British side ... now!" The line went dead as Andar slammed down the receiver, closing the circuit. The French police inspector nodded to his British counterpart who immediately lifted the receiver for the direct line. He was instantly speaking with the Scotland Yard Command Center to relay the demand. Chapter Ten London, Friday, 6:10 P.M. Nelson and Jim reached SAS headquarters in the quaint old compound just as the deadline passed. The television commentator standing at the Folkestone Portal was announcing that a television crew was now heading down the westbound tunnel to meet with the hijackers. Live coverage should begin in about forty-five minutes. Nelson and Jim slipped into the shower room, quickly freshened and dressed in extra slacks and shirts which Nelson kept in his locker. Nelson then led Jim around the facility introducing him and assuring the staff that Jim was vetted in to all aspects of the hijacking and the SAS operation. He wanted to ensure no one held back vital information from his trusted ally. Nelson quickly scanned the wire service reports as he began to gather what information he could on what else terrorists could be planning around Europe. He located the SIS liaison officer whom he invited into his office. Nelson established Jim's bonafides with the liaison officer and outlined his own nagging concern that the hijacking made little sense. He proposed that possibly the hijacking was a deception to cover another, more important, terrorist act. He asked the liaison officer to query his sources as to what unusual activity was being reported from around the British Isles or on the Continent. The SIS liaison officer did not seem to share Nelson's enthusiasm for the quest, but he respected Nelson's judgment and set about to get him answers forthwith. "May I?", Jim asked as he reached for the familiar American telephone. "Everything in this Headquarters is at your disposal, my friend." Nelson smiled. Jim smiled in reply and picked up the receiver for the STU III. He quickly dialed the American Embassy number which he retrieved from a card in his wallet. He asked for the Watch Officer. Once he was in secure mode he asked for the CIA representative. The Station Chief was not in, but the deputy was available. "Colonel Jim Grissom here." Jim knew the telephone indicated he was calling from the Director of Special Forces. "I'm liaison from Delta working the Chunnel hijacking with DSF." "Yes, Colonel Grissom. What can we do for you?" The woman's voice sounded helpful, efficient, and slightly familiar. Jim puzzled over the voice for a moment, shook his head, and went on, "We are concerned that today's Chunnel hijacking may be only a decoy. You know, a ruse to keep us looking one direction while the real thing goes down in another. Can you please carefully sift through everything you can lay your hands on in Europe and see if you can come up with any clues for me? "We need options, and time is really short." Jim stressed the word "carefully" because he knew he was asking the intelligence officer to find a needle in a haystack. "Colonel Grissom, without your request this would have been a long, boring Friday evening. I'll give it full attention until I can come up with something. What is your number there at DSF?" Jim passed the number from the telephone plate, and added, "It's a pleasure talking to you. Thanks for your help." He returned the receiver to its cradle. He was thoughtful for a moment. The voice seemed so familiar, but he simply could not place it. He looked over to Nelson who summed up their situation. "With any luck at all, in a couple of hours we should have some feel for all the nasty business abounding in Europe, Jim. "Let's go catch the live telecast from the train and then check with Int to see what they are getting on their circuits." Chapter Eleven Under the English Channel, Friday, 7:03 P.M. Thanks to trumpeting by the television networks, the hijackers had a worldwide audience nearing 400 million viewers when the live broadcast aired via satellite Friday evening. In the Americas, midday activities very nearly came to a standstill as all eyes were fixed on the television screen now filled with the haggard faces of Jacques and his blonde teenage companion. Once more they read from a prepared statement. Dear Freedom and Peace-Loving Peoples: Dear Brothers and Sisters in the Struggle for Justice: Our primary concern these past difficult hours has been to extend kindness and loving hospitality toward the innocent passengers aboard this train. Our time together is destined for a happy place in the history of human achievements. We have provided excellent food and beverages from the train stocks so that all of the passengers remain healthy and in good spirits. All of their discomforts have been attended to, and good faith has been shown at all times by the "Guardians of Eternal Freedom" while we have patiently waited for the Queen to pardon our compatriots. We are highly disappointed that the Queen has not seen fit to comply with our request, or to even make a public statement apologising for this necessary, but most distressing, situation. We had expected more compassion from Her Royal Highness based on her many public declarations of love for all peoples in the world. She seemed such a champion of the people against the faceless tyrants running this world. It is most unfortunate that the Queen has not stepped forth to greatness in this most solemn and special hour. That was the end of the statement! At this point a surprised Jacques and the girl, still handcuffed together, were allowed to lead the television crew on a tour of the three railway cars. The window shades were open. As the crew approached the train with their glaring television spot lights, anxious faces could be seen peering cautiously over the window ledges. The broadcast crew entered the rear car and moved slowly forward. Black-garbed guards stood back discreetly, their automatic weapons at the ready. At first the passengers stared blankly at the lights, not comprehending what was happening: that they were being televised. As understanding and hope grew within the group, the first quiet words were spoken. The wary hostages grew bolder and motioned to the camera and began to speak up to loved ones who might be watching at home. By the time the crew moved into the center car, the passengers were shouting, smiling, waving! Somehow they felt that this television crew represented a return to freedom and normalcy in their lives. The cameramen, police officers pressed into this special duty, had been prepared to get as much of the situation on tape as possible for their fellow officers to use, but this was beyond their wildest dreams! They were trying to record every face and every word shouted at them. They kept sweeping past the guards to ensure that their actions and positions were recorded, too. The going became more and more difficult as the passengers stretched out from their manacle lock downs to touch the crew for further reassurance. By the time the television crew had finished working the forward passenger car the atmosphere had evolved into a joyful celebration: "All is well!" "Es geht uns gut!" "Hello, Mom! I'm okay!" "Merci, mon Dieu!" "Don't worry!" "We will soon be home!" Tremendous emotional power had been released that was even now touching hearts and evoking strong emotional responses around the world. Standing in the SAS conference room, Nelson was astounded by this turn of events. He, Jim and the other counter-terrorist professionals in the room were awed at the deftness of the hijackers in orchestrating such a telecast. Nelson said quietly, "I wouldn't want to be the Queen of England stopping by a pub tonight for a glass of wine. They'd run me out of town, albeit politely, for being too callous to even speak out!" He recognized that the terrorists had come across to millions of viewers as the "good guys". The television crew once more stood outside the train, this time with a much relieved and smiling Jacques and teenage companion. A very festive mood prevailed. At this point the hijack leader reached out and handed a second letter to Jacques, who visibly stiffened and paled. Jim felt his own emotions stirred by the scene. It was powerful. Jacques' hands were shaking as he once more began to read: The peoples of the world have surely witnessed that the passengers are being treated with dignity and kindness while we await the release of our fellow patriots. It is not our intention or desire to harm anyone. The tyrants who rule this world do not care about the people, but we do! The Queen, through her failure to reach out to greatness and compassion has put these kind travelers into a grave situation. As fellow soldiers of peace it becomes our unfortunate duty to establish a special people's freedom court. We are forced to try these good people for the crimes which have been committed by their government officials against freedom-loving people everywhere. We can foresee only suffering and hardship for these passengers as they must accept the same harsh and unfair treatment which our brethren have suffered through the years. We will extend the deadline for freeing our compatriots because the good peoples of this world need more time to overcome the sluggishness of their tyrant leaders. But we must notify the world: at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, war crime trials will begin. If any passenger is found guilty on behalf of his government officials, he or she will be executed by firing squad. Those found innocent, and we certainly hope that most will be found completely blameless, will be free to leave the train to return to France. A trial of five persons will be conducted every two hours until we have received word that the Queen has pardoned our beloved friends and that we may all peacefully conclude this difficult mission. You may bring your cameras back to our monitor check point at seven forty-five in the morning and the newsmen will be free to televise the court proceedings. We have nothing to hide from the world. We do not work in secrecy like the oppressive governments who mock democracy! May we remind the governments of the United Kingdom and the Republic of France that any uninvited movements into the area of the train will result in the automatic detonation of explosives and the immediate and cruel deaths of all in the Chunnel. Chapter Twelve Canyon, Texas, Friday, 2:05 P.M. Sandy Mitchell had been awake for only a short while. He woke to the television set which was still droning from the previous night. The live telecast from a hijacked train in the Chunnel was his welcome to the new day. He did not fully understand the situation, but began to piece things together from the vivid scenes and the commentators that repeated endlessly, over and over, all that had been done and said. "I bet you this is why I'm on the hook!" he reasoned through the pain of his hangover headache. "Hot damn!" He toasted with a cold can of Lone Star beer, "I'd sure like to go to France!" London, Friday, 8:25 P.M. Nelson offered Jim a cup of something which tasted much like instant coffee and they talked quietly about the "show" they had just witnessed on television. Each voiced his concern that perhaps many people around the world were considering the Queen to be the villain. The hijackers had been truly effective in deflecting criticism of their criminal act, and in staying in complete control of the situation. The two men now moved toward the staff room currently being used for intelligence analysis. The analysts all recognized Jim as a team member. "What's up, Int?" Nelson asked as they entered the large but jam-packed room and looked toward the tired Captain going over reports that overflowed his desk. "Evenin', Colonel Nelson." the Captain replied using the familiar, but respectful habit of matching rank with a senior officer's first name. "Quite a show on the telly, wasn't it? We were picking up the same thing on our systems, of course, and even dropped our cameras down a bit during the confusion as we didn't think the hijackers had time to be watching for us. We can now see fairly clearly into the cars. I'm glad and rather surprised that the hijackers haven't pulled the window shades." Jim spoke up. "What is your assessment of the hostages' condition? Do we have any indication of violence?" "No, sir. We have had audio since about two hours into the hijacking and have picked up no violence to the passengers. The hijackers have been very good about tending to their hostages. They make sure their weapons are respected but they have not been overly threatening. It's funny, but I get the feeling that they want to be seen as the heroes when this thing is resolved." "Well, they have bought themselves another twelve hours with this last performance. Salim knows that we won't go in unless the situation turns nasty. However, once he starts his trials, and if he begins executing passengers on live television, then our chaps will have the 'go' within minutes." Nelson appeared frustrated. "Hey, Nelson, this is going better than you thought. We may get more time to sort out if this hijacking is only the diversion. At least the passengers are safe for the time being. Is there any possibility of negotiation?" Jim paused. Nelson rubbed his eyes as he answered, "The leader still refuses to negotiate. He will not even receive a telephone call. He only makes statements through the letters that are read over the telly, and his activities while shutting down the broadcasts. The police would be talking to him if they could, although I doubt that the PM would be willing to back down a whit. The Queen, if she is smart, will stay in seclusion until this thing is settled!" The Captain spoke up, "I surely wouldn't want to be the Queen tonight! I found myself starting to think she should have gotten involved before I realized what a psychological coup was being achieved during the telecast! This Salim should be in advertising: we would all be buying whatever he was selling." London, Friday, 8:45 P.M. At the London American embassy the CIA Deputy Chief of Station was at her computer querying for additional details on four items that had caught her eye over the past two hours. "This is one quiet night in Europe," she mused for the tenth time. She had gone about the search for clues with great enthusiasm: Colonel Jim Grissom had sounded very worried, and she was missing a dinner party by covering for the duty officer tonight. She was able to lose herself in the work, and it was very important that she help Colonel Grissom, if she could. The Marine guard had once interrupted her work, calling on the intercom to say that the Chunnel hijackers were live on television. She had briefly delayed her work to watch. "What a circus!" she thought. Satisfied that she and her trusty computer had done their best, she picked up the STU III and dialed the number for the Directorate of Special Forces. The telephone was answered by a man who simply repeated the telephone number. "Hello. May we go secure?" "Yes, of course. You initiate please." the man replied. She pushed the secure button and as soon as the green light appeared she asked, "Secure, here. May I please speak with Colonel Grissom?" "Secure, here. Just a moment please. I'll fetch him." After a few moments she heard, "Colonel Grissom here." "Colonel Grissom, I'm calling from the embassy. We spoke earlier and I have the information you requested. Can you please come by my vault for a briefing?" "I'll be right over! Thanks a million! Bye-bye." Jim cradled the receiver and again puzzled over the familiar voice. "Good news?" Nelson asked stepping into his office and noting Jim's smile and faraway look. "Don't know. We need to go by the US embassy. Can we get a car or should we hail a taxi?" "I'll have a lad drive us. Let's go." Nelson was halfway out the door. Chapter Thirteen Under the English Channel, 9:00 P.M. Sheenah was writing a note to Andar even as she spoke, "The passengers have been fed, Commander. We are now out of food. The next meal must be sent down to us from Calais, along with fresh water." The note said, "I believe that your TV plan worked. The passengers themselves convinced the world that we are right! Do you agree?" Andar smiled, nodded and said, "Very well, Number Two. I will call and tell the police what we want for our guests." His written reply was more cryptic: "TV did go well. But ... Don't know how long it takes for people to make their leaders act: free our men!!!!!" Sheenah jotted down, "Your plan calls for their giving in tomorrow night after two groups are killed. Still good?" The brief reply, "Yes." Andar smiled and glanced at the television where the newsman stood near the British entrance to the Chunnel and talked about the impact of the hijacking on vacation plans for the elderly. In the background crowd Andar spotted a man whom he recognized, wearing a yellow rain slicker. Andar smiled and nodded to Sheenah. He thought, "Yes! Tomorrow!" London, Friday, 9:15 P.M. It required only a few moments for Jim to identify himself and Nelson to the Marine guard and gain entry to the embassy annex. Once inside they were met by the CIA Deputy Chief of Station. "Colonel Grissom, Meg Johnson. It is a pleasure to be working with you again, Sir." Jim stood absolutely still. He seemed to be stunned by the tall, attractive blonde wearing a tailored business suit. She sent a questioning glance at Nelson. Jim recovered his composure enough to speak. "Please call me 'Jim'. This handsome fellow is with me, Meg. He is my Brit orderly." It was a feeble joke, but it was the best he could manage as memories of long ago competed for recognition with the here and now. "Actually, I'm his warden, Miss Johnson. I think you can tell by how you have dazzled him that he must be closely supervised when he is let out of the loony bin for a few hours." He paused, sensing that Jim was a million miles away. "Please call me 'Nelson'." "Now, have we got you thoroughly confused, Meg?" Jim's voice was soft and almost tender. "We are a team, Meg. Colonel Bartlett is Chief of Staff at DSF. I can vouch for him. It is his hunch that you are following up on tonight." "Jim, we received your security clearances via telex earlier today, so I was hoping that we could perhaps help you while you were in town. It is very unusual to vouch for someone else's clearances in this manner, but I assume that whatever I share with you, you will share with Colonel Bartlett later, anyway. Please come into my vault and we'll talk. "If you have an SIS liaison, Colonel Bartlett, I would appreciate your filling him in so that they won't think we are going directly to the SAS!" "Glad to. He is working the same quest as you, but he has not checked back yet." Meg lead them through two sets of cipher lock doors into a comfortable, windowless office that Jim assumed was inside a vault. Through considerable struggle he had shut the door to his memories and now saw Meg once more only as a professional. She handed them several sheets of computer paper. As they took their seats she expanded on the details. "The hottest item that I could find was the TIR truck that crossed the border into France near Torino, Italy, early Thursday morning. "Normally, the border is wide open to transport since the European trading block was established. And normally a TIR truck would not be stopped anyway, since it is bonded. But routine random checks are made and the French customs authorities attempted to inspect the load on one particular truck with Italian registration. The driver and gunmen in two accompanying cars fired on the customs agents and border guards. Six were killed and two badly wounded. Four tourists were also wounded by the gunfire. The rate of fire and amount of damage clearly indicate automatic weapons. "The truck was found six hours later--abandoned and completely empty. In fact, there was no indication, such as packing materials, that anything had been in the truck. It was swept clean of evidence." Jim spoke up, "Sounds like Mafia or Camorra to me, except that they would normally be operating in the south of Italy rather than the northwest." Nelson nodded agreement with Jim's reasoning. "I keyed on this item since it is quite strange for anyone to shoot their way through any border in Europe since the Cold War ended. It may be a police matter, as you suggest, but the firepower used is reminiscent of terrorist actions." "Good point. What else have you got?" Jim leaned forward. Meg continued, "Greek terrorists have set off several bombs in Athens this past week. They demand the release of political prisoners and have stated that a major bombing will be executed each week until their demands are met. I do not really see a tie-in, but this is the only other direct terrorist activity I could detect in Europe this week." Meg paused briefly, then went on, "Italian Intelligence Service indicates very unusual activity at Crotone Air Base in southern Italy. We have an F-16 fighter-bomber wing there. The American Air Force commander has restricted all United States personnel to the base. Italian intelligence reports that several American servicemen and Italian workers from the base were found dead near the base. "This would not have caught my eye except that I queried the US European Command and US Air Force Intelligence Command for more information on this and they had absolutely nothing. My contacts have been quite helpful in the past and both assured me that they were carrying the situation normal at Crotone. Now that is weird!" "I'll go through Delta channels on that one. We'll quickly get the straight poop. Somebody must be overly protective of a military matter." Jim was not happy about that. Meg sat down at the small table where the two men were sitting, thoughtfully sipping coffee from a black carafe while reading details. She felt a strong urge to reach out and touch Jim's hand, to reassure him, but knew that everything must be kept on a professional level. She was impressed by the way the two military officers had listened very carefully and were now considering the possibilities. Nelson and Jim looked at each other after a few moments and Jim nodded. Finally, Nelson spoke, "Meg, here is what we have: the French believe the hijack leader to be a Palestinian, Andar Salim. He was a confidant of Libya's Colonel Khadafy but has been out of view for the past year. One of the terrorists, possibly the 2-I-C, is an American female, but the hijackers have not let her be publicly identified as American." Meg looked puzzled: "'Two I see'?" "2-I-C: Second-in-command." Nelson replied, then continued, "The hostages have been treated well, better than would be expected. Instead of pushing the government to act, Salim has given us additional time by delaying his 'trials' until tomorrow. Terrorist logic tells us he should be holding his trials now while the emotional strength of the passengers and the viewers is at a low point." He paused a moment. "Meg, I have a big problem accepting the 'why' of this situation. Why is a higher-up like Salim doing this? He must know that he cannot survive an act like this; we will find him and arrest or kill him. Why is he involved? "This has not set well since the very first briefing. How does your new information shed a light on this 'Why?' of mine? Do you have any ideas that could help tie this together? Make more sense of it?" Meg sat back for a moment. "Wow. I wish that I had known more about the hijackers before I began this task. Ah ... all that I knew was that they were probably Libyan. I need to put some of this down on paper and think it over. I'll see what I have on Andar Salim, and an American female. Maybe I can get the great computer to smile on me." "Time is really short, Meg. We need good analytical thinking in a hurry." Jim paused, then added, "Nelson's bad feeling about this one has become contagious. Is there another plot that we are missing? "What is happening in Italy? Is there a link? I agree the Greek bombings don't seem to fit in, but is there something else we are missing? We've got to pull the pieces together ... in time." Chapter Fourteen London, Friday, 9:45 P.M. Jim broke the silence that had enveloped the room for the past ten minutes while each of them reviewed their notes and quietly considered alternatives. "Meg, may I use your STU III to call Fort Bragg?" Jim grinned. "Certainly, Jim. Would you like a private office or will you accept my cluttered desk?" "Your desk is fine. How do I get the US?" "Dial 9-9, then 0-1, plus your area code and number." Jim quickly punched in the numbers. As soon as he got an answer he said, "Going green." When the green light came on steadily he continued, "Green and TS here .... Good. Bobby, Jim Grissom here. I need some data fast. First, what did you guys make of the voice tape? Second, what is going on at Crotone Air Base in southern Italy? I need this quick, my man. Can you check and call me back ASAP at the American Embassy in London; the number is 4-4, 1, 7-2-6, 4-4- 0-0, extension ...." "Extension 2-4-4-4," Meg offered. "Extension 2-4-4-4. Please make it quick, Bobby .... Thanks! Out here." Meg's telephone immediately buzzed and she answered, "Ms. Johnson ... Yes, he's here. Just a moment." She handed the telephone to Nelson. "Hello. Oh, yes, thank you. I'll ring her. Thanks, Sergeant Major." Nelson pushed down the disconnect button and looked to Meg. "Mind if I call my wife? She left a message at my office." "Please help yourself, Colonel Bartlett." "Nelson." "Please help yourself, Nelson. Just dial '9-9', then your number." Nelson smiled his thanks and punched in the numbers for his home telephone. Sarah quickly answered. "Nelson?" "Yes, love!" "The Sergeant Major was quite efficient in reaching you. I've made up some sandwiches so you won't have to order out for that horrid Chinese food on the Square. Can I bring them by for a late dinner?" "Hold on, dear." Nelson turned to Meg and Jim. "Would you like to have a bit of late supper, courtesy of my lovely bride?" Jim grinned. Meg smiled and nodded her agreement. "We have a break area down the hall where we can eat." Nelson passed along their enthusiasm for supper. "Love, why don't you catch a taxi over to the US Embassy Annex. The Marine guard will be happy to call us and we'll be down to meet you in a jiffy." "Lovely, dear! See you in 15 minutes." True to her word, Sarah was there shortly and the group assembled in the break area to dine on soup and sandwiches. The steel-jacketed thermos was filled with piping hot coffee. "What do you think of London night life, James? Did Nelson show you all the good places?" Sarah was smiling and enjoying the company. "Well he took me jogging past a few bars that looked to be a bit risqu,: topless matrons." "I beg your pardon! I ran you through the upper crust locale. The only bars you saw were those protecting the Bank of England." "Trust me, Sarah, it was a pretty sleazy run. There's a dark side to Nelson that you should know about! Also, it's easy dodging those tall red buses, but those little black taxicabs always driving on the wrong side of the street seem to be bent on running me down." Meg could sense that these three were old and dear friends. Sarah countered, "James, you must learn to look to your right first before running out into the street. It does no good to look left to watch the cars going away from you." "You know, Nelson, I think that all of you Brits drive on the wrong side of the street or something. It is very confusing to an Oregon country boy like me!" "Well, I'm glad that you two men are having such a good time in our town." Sarah became a bit more serious. "Perhaps you can stay over for next weekend in the country with us, James. Everyone needs time off. Even the Prime Minister is taking a sea voyage to relax." "Oh, that's right, Sarah." Nelson sipped his coffee. "The Group of Eight gathering is this weekend. Somehow I doubt that the PM will get much relaxing on that trip. Those are probably pretty nasty meetings that he'll be attending on that ship: everyone is out to force us to become more agreeable about having our economy deteriorate." "Come on, Nelson. You know those guys will be sitting out on the deck enjoying the brisk November breeze and mixed fog, snow and rain your Channel is so famous for," Jim interjected. "It will be a real vacation for them. Why else do you think our President jumped at the chance to be here. He loves that sort of thing if there is a warm fireplace and lots of McDonald's French fries!" "At least the world leaders take time to come together and talk even if it is on a ship in November. You men should take a lesson." "Now that ship would make one high-value target." Everyone looked at Meg. You could hear the wheels whirring inside their heads. Nelson spoke first, "Time to get back to work!" Chapter Fifteen London, Friday, 10:30 P.M. As soon as Sarah was escorted back through the Marine guard post, Jim and Nelson returned to the vault to quietly discuss the possibility and vulnerability of the Louis Catorce as a target. Meg signed back onto her computer and started querying for the information on Andar Salim and his female American assistant that she had requested earlier. Meg was just a little bit upset that an American woman was on the bad guys' side. It was just as well that the fact wasn't being advertised! "Jim, I've an idea. Why don't we call Gian Alberto in Rome? He was always extremely helpful when we were assigned to Naples. Perhaps he can offer some thoughts on the Italian side of this situation." "Good thinking, Nelson. I have his number in my briefcase." Jim dug through a thick black book and finally produced the number in Rome. Nelson quickly dialed the number and waited for the telephone to ring several times before a voice answered in Italian, "Pronto!" "Hello! Parle Inglese?" "Si! Yes, I speak English. May I help you?" "I hope so. May I speak to Gian Alberto? It is very urgent." "He is not here, but I can reach him. May I have your number and name, please?" "Yes. I am an old friend, Nelson Bartlett, calling from London. The number is 4-4, 1, ... " "Seven two six, forty-four hundred." "7-2-6, 4-4-0-0, extension ... " "Extension 2-4-4-4," Meg chimed in. "Extension 2-4-4-4. And please tell Gian Alberto that this is terribly important and urgent. If he could call me from a 'STU III' at the American Embassy I would be terribly grateful. Molte grazie! Buona notte!" "Buona notte!" "I'll call the American Embassy in Rome and tell them to expect Gian Alberto, and to get him to a STU III ASAP." Meg picked up another telephone and started dialing the number which she had retrieved from her Rolodex. The STU III rang and Jim answered, "Extension 2-4-4-4 ... Right. You push." He sat back in the chair while the amber light flickered and was finally followed by the green light on steadily. "Green and TS here. OK, Bobby, what've you got?" Nelson was anxiously awaiting the reply and looked down at the note pad where Jim drew a big zero. "OK, Bob. You sure that you leaned on the Air Force hard enough? ... And still nothing? ... Take this to General Jack and ask him to elevate it. Something is going on and we need to know what. It may tie in to our Chunnel hijacking. You are a gentleman and a scholar, Bobby. My best to the crew back there. Goodnight! Out, here." "The famous Delta J2 came up short? Can't believe it! I thought they had more clout than the CIA!" Nelson smiled at Meg. "Let me tell you, this is pretty disconcerting. I could see the Air Force saying that they were just running an exercise or had a family dispute with several deaths, but to say that it is 'Ops Normal' at Crotone sure smacks of a cover-up!" Anger was creeping into Jim's voice. "Oh, and nothing matched on the voice tapes!" "Patience my friend. Let's hope that Gian Alberto can shed some intelligence light on the situation in Italy." It was 11:15 P.M. when the telephone rang again. Jim answered, "Extension 2-4-4-4." "Hello. This is Gian Alberto calling from Rome." "Hey, come va, Gian Alberto? Jim Grissom here. Good to talk to you again. Let me put Nelson Bartlett on and he'll explain everything." "Jim, how very good to hear from you again. It has been too long since we enjoyed spaghetti vongole and chianti. Are you working with Nelson again?" "Yes, Gian Alberto, I'm happy to say that the Brits and Americans are once more working together as a team. Push the 'secure' button while I collect Nelson." Nelson waited for the green light and then said, "Green and Top Secret, here. Hello, Gian Alberto! It is wonderful to talk to you again. I certainly appreciate your coming down to call us this late at night." "You fellows are certainly working late tonight!" "Yes, I know it is after midnight in Rome, but you were probably on the way out to dinner!" He enjoyed Gian Alberto's appreciative laugh. He had always told Gian Alberto that Italians had supper too late at night. "Let me fill you in. You are aware of our Chunnel hijacking?" "It has made very big news here since we are all concerned about the breakdown in commerce. Italian companies are losing millions and millions of Lire and they are making loud noises to the government. The papers are screaming for ferry service to be restored. You must also have a very difficult tactical situation on your hands. It will be difficult to deal with those bad boys." "Yes, it is a unique situation, but there is more to this. The leader is a Palestinian with high connections in Libya. His assistant is an American female. They do not have a prayer of getting away with this so we are really confused as to why they are involved. "Jim and I have begun to look around for other linkages, other things that might be in the works right now. The message traffic here indicates that your intelligence service is reporting very unusual activity at Crotone Air Base. The US Air Force denies that anything is going on there. "You also reported a very serious incident at the French border crossing near Torino. Could it be terrorist related? Or is it the Camorra? "This is all very important, amico mio, and time is short. I need help on this and we do not have time to go through channels. I am sitting in the CIA office in the American embassy here in London, and I assume that you are in a similar CIA vault in the American embassy in Rome. So here we are: a Brit and an Italiano using American communications and intelligence facilities to try to solve what I think is a very important mystery. Can you help?" In the CIA vault in Rome, Gian Alberto fondly remembered the NATO days, and how Nelson and Jim had been completely open with him on everything. He relaxed and spoke. "Nelson, I will give you all of the information that I have. The Crotone base is sealed. No traffic on or off, no communications that do not go through the commander. Message traffic has doubled in the last 48 hours. I would have assessed that they were having a 'TacEval' of their flying force, but they are not flying. We briefed the President on the situation just before he left for Brest. I personally do not like this sort of action by the Americans at all." "Gian Alberto, I understand that position. Believe me, Jim Grissom almost exploded a short while ago because his fellow Americans won't tell him what is going on. With your confirmation maybe we can break into the system and find out if this has any bearing on the Chunnel incident. It seems far-fetched, but something has got to be happening. Also, what about the border incident near Torino?" Again, Gian Alberto spoke openly, "I would have said that the Basque terrorists were trying to get something into France. But I believe they would have crossed from Spain to be sure they shot the right Frenchmen. In my opinion this was not a criminal act: these were terrorists, and from the descriptions that we obtained, they are probably Arab and could possibly be Libyan. I am speculating, but I know you want my best guess, too. Let me think .... It seems that the border incident happened about the time that the Crotone base was being sealed. I'll have to check my files, but that timing could link them. That is all that I can offer right now, amico mio. I will go to the office and call you back if I can offer more." Nelson gave Gian Alberto his office STU III number and closed, "Grazie mille, my dear friend. Ciao!" Nelson looked tired and worried when he replaced the receiver and looked at Meg and Jim. "Something is rotten in Crotone! Your military officials are not admitting to anything, yet SISMI has briefed the Italian President that the base has been sealed. Gian Alberto is personally upset with the American actions. There is no sharing of information with the Italians. "And the border incident: Gian Alberto thinks that it could have involved Libyans. Perhaps one or the other, or both, tie in with the Chunnel hijacking." Jim looked at Nelson for a long, quiet time. He seemed to be slowly making a very difficult decision. "Nelson, I think that we need to call upon an old friend." Jim flipped through his black book once more, then picked up the receiver and dialed a number. It was answered almost at once. "Lieutenant Colonel Grissom calling from London for the Chairman." The sophisticated voice on the other end was used to fending off callers, referring them to the proper office. "Is this an important matter? Have you tried the Command Center? I can give you that number." "Yes, Ma'am. No, Ma'am. I must speak to the Chairman personally. It is extremely urgent." Jim hesitated for effect. "I would not have this private number if I didn't have the clearance to talk to Admiral Morton whenever the situation required." The Chairman's secretary had been serving in the Pentagon for many years. Her "sixth sense" told her that this was a very urgent call. "Very well. I will have to transfer you. Please stay on the line." "Yes, Ma'am, I'll hold." Nelson and Meg were completely taken aback by this bold move. Jim was calling the Chairman of the United States Joint Chiefs of Staff! That was jumping the military chain of command in a very big and professionally dangerous way! Chapter Sixteen Washington, District of Columbia, Friday, 6:45 P.M. Admiral Morton was just leaving Senator Anderson's reception when he noticed his aide, Colonel Ross, moving toward him. "Admiral," the Colonel said quietly in his ear, "Terri is on the line. You have an urgent call at your office from Lieutenant Colonel Grissom in London." "Grissom?" The Admiral thought for a moment. "Oh, yes, my special forces officer at AFSOUTH!" A brief smile flickered across his face as he thought about the tour in Naples and the pros, like Colonel Grissom, who made it his best command billet. Then his brows furrowed as he thought, "Why is Grissom calling me directly? If it's 'urgent,' it must be business. That isn't the way it goes in the military system, even in special forces! Grissom always had immediate access to me in Italy, but that was due to the sensitive matters that he had handled for me personally." The Admiral made his decision. "Colonel Ross, tell Terri to put the call through to my Cellular." The aide moved away to the telephone while the Admiral bid his final farewells and shook hands with the host once more. Colonel Ross rejoined him as he moved quickly toward the waiting staff car. He entered the right rear door, buckled in, and lifted the telephone receiver, "Admiral Morton here." After the long quiet time on the line, the familiar voice was reassuring to Jim, but he could also sense the air of formality. The Admiral was not pleased that Jim was skipping around the military chain of command. "Admiral, this is Lieutenant Colonel Jim Grissom. I am calling from London on a critically important matter. We must speak secure." As the driver deftly maneuvered the staff car back toward the Pentagon through the evening traffic, Admiral Morton reached over and pushed a switch. He then picked up a second receiver. After inserting and turning a key, he asked, "Are you still with me, Jim?" "Yes, Admiral." "You initiate." Jim pushed the secure button and waited for the green light. "Green and TS, here, Admiral." "Green here, Jim." The Admiral noted with lips pursed that the call was coming from "CIA-DCOS, London". "What do you have for me?" "Sir, I am now assigned to Delta thanks to your outstanding performance ratings of my work in Italy. I am here in London as liaison to the SAS on the Chunnel hijacking. Lieutenant Colonel Bartlett, my British counterpart in Italy, is my point of contact with the UK Directorate of Special Forces. Colonel Bartlett is with me now." Admiral Morton nodded to himself. In his mind's eye he could picture Grissom and Bartlett. They always worked well as a team. "Admiral, we are becoming more and more convinced that the Chunnel hijacking may not be the main act. Something bigger is brewing and we are having one heck of a time piecing things together." "Go on, Jim." "CIA has come up with a couple of happenings in Europe that could tie in. "First, Italian Intelligence is reporting that Crotone Air Base has been shut down tight as a drum by the US Air Force commander. We confirmed with an old friend in SISMI that the Italians are very suspicious and have briefed the President of Italy. On the other hand, EUCOM, Air Force Intelligence and joint sources though Delta all report 'Ops Normal' at Crotone. "Admiral, we don't know if this is important to our situation or not. But time is getting short and we are getting sandbagged by our own people. I felt that I had to jump to the top and count on your understanding. Can you find out what is going on at Crotone? If it is a strictly US matter I can at least reassure Nelson and we can concentrate elsewhere. Time is our biggest enemy on this one." There was a long silence. Finally, the Admiral responded with a sigh, "Jim, sometimes your methods are very ... rash. I know you feel strongly about your work: you always have. You are a very patriotic and dedicated officer. It sounds like you have gotten frustrated and decided to short-circuit the system." "I had a good teacher in Naples, Admiral, who once taught me when dealing with the tactical employment of the Navy SEALS that you have to short-circuit if the layers in between are not helping with the solution. And, if a favorable solution is absolutely required in a timely manner." Admiral Morton had to smile. With his blessing the two officers had cut through the system. Grissom and Bartlett were the two professionals who had solved that one. The synergism of the two working together was something to behold. "All right." Admiral Morton had to chuckle to himself as he acknowledged that he was hooked. "I will ask General Brown, Air Force Chief of Staff, what is going on. Give me your number and I'll call you back." "Thank you, sir! It is 4-4, 1, 7-2-6, 4-4-0-0, extension 2-4-4-4." "I have it." There was a pause. "Jim, for your sake this had better be important. When I start making small waves at the top it will undoubted get mighty choppy at your level." The Admiral hung up the STU III and picked up the Cellular. He quickly dialed his office. "The Chairman's Office." "Terri, this is Admiral Morton. I'm surprised that your are still there, but I'm glad. Can you please locate General Brown and ask him to come to my office as soon as possible? I'll be there in 10 minutes but don't wait for me. Enjoy your weekend!" At the other end of the long distance telephone connection, Jim returned the receiver to the STU III cradle. Meg had stopped her work at the computer and was looking at him with awe. Nelson was working on a small smile. "Well, how is the Admiral? Still as fit and feisty as ever?" Jim answered quietly, "He wasn't too happy that I called, but he will check with the Air Force and get back to me. He let me know that this request would probably come down on my head." "That is taking quite a risk for me." "Not just for you, Nelson. But for your professional and highly skilled 'suspicions.' And because my own military is sandbagging the operation!" "What if I am way off base? What happens if nothing is happening?" "It's worth the gamble, Nelson. I didn't see any alternative." "Look at the bright side, James: they might use a new rope to hang you." Meg interjected, "You two gentlemen make quite a team! You are willing to put yourselves in harm's way to solve this puzzle, aren't you?" Meg sat back in her computer chair with her arms crossed. "Meg, the solution will save a life. Probably even in the plural. The Chunnel is quite a target so if it is only a decoy the real target must be very important." "I just hope that I am not leading you into a dead-end with what I found. Oh, and while you have been on the telephone I received some replies to my queries about Salim and have a little bit of information on him." Jim brightened a bit. Meg continued, "The Turkish intelligence office in Ankara reported that he crossed into Bulgaria after arriving at the Istanbul airport about fourteen months ago. I have queried Sofia, but I'm not sure they will answer. This net with the former Eastern block doesn't always produce information. I guess we are the same way about sharing things with them." "Let me call my office on the STU III and see what SIS have come up with. I hope that they can confirm some details. I'll also check the current intel from the Chunnel." Nelson picked up the telephone and was soon speaking with the SIS liaison. He jotted notes on a number of items. Meanwhile, Jim watched over Meg's shoulder as she asked the computer for updates on the Torino border shooting, the Greek bombings, progress of the Louis Catorce, and the situation at Crotone Air Base. They found no new information entered into the system. Jim noticed Meg's scent and perfume and old memories started forcing their way to the surface. With conscious effort and a great deal of difficulty, Jim focused his mind on the job at hand. "A bit of news from the SIS chap!" Nelson smiled as he hung up the telephone and briefed them from his notes. "It seems that Salim has been in England at least once this past summer. He flew in from Sofia, Bulgaria, in June. There were four American women on the flight. No return flight information was available. German records show that Salim entered at Munich on a flight from Sofia in August. Two Americans were on the flight." "A match?" "Yep! Sheenah Alicia Roberts! Meg can probably get more information on her." Meg nodded. "Passport number is F018824." "Got it!" "Our man cannot give us any more details on the Italian situation, but he is checking on other vessels that might be in the areas where the Louis Catorce will be sailing. There are a lot of ships out there, but if we come up with a Libyan vessel, perhaps we will have a tie-in." The STU III interrupted the briefing. "Hello, Extension 2-4-4-4 .... Yes, Sir, just a moment for Colonel Grissom." Meg looked impressed. "Jim, it is Admiral Morton for you." Jim took the receiver, ducked down in his chair, and said, "Hello, Jim Grissom here, Admiral." "Jim, you are making me miss dinner at the Chinese embassy and I may have just severed my friendship with General Tommy Brown." Jim had the feeling of sinking even deeper into the chair. "Let me push, Admiral." As soon as he had the green light he continued, "Green and TS, Admiral." "Green and TS, here .... Jim, I spoke privately with General Brown in my office and he reassured me that absolutely nothing is going on at Crotone Air Base. When I told him that SISMI was reporting unusual security, he became quite angry, saying that I had questioned his integrity. He stomped out of my office in a pretty bad state." Jim chose his words very carefully. "From the General's actions I expect that the situation is really very bad at Crotone. Whatever has happened has gotten the Air Force standing shoulder to shoulder to protect their own. Admiral Morton, I'm not after the Air Force; they are on our team. But I believe that whatever is going on could be a key link in the terrorist moves over here." He paused and let the silence speak for him. Time slipped by. Finally Admiral Morton spoke, "You think that I should force a showdown on this, don't you, Jim?" "Sir, you pointed out that I am putting my future military service on the line. I believe that not everything is being reported properly. And I am willing to bet my life that you would never be a party to anything like that." "Your future service may be spent right here as my junior assistant aide emptying bed pans! I will call you back." The Admiral's voice was strained, but not void of humor. The line went dead; Jim replaced the receiver and counted the ceiling tiles for a few moments. "Not good?" "No, Nelson." Jim replied softly. "He was sandbagged, too. I think he is going to push it, but if the Air Force won't level with the Chairman of the JCS, I don't know what else we can do." Jim reached for the STU III and dialed a number. The line was answered almost immediately by a man who repeated the number Jim had dialed. "Going secure." Once he had the green light Jim continued, "This is Lieutenant Colonel Grissom calling. May I please speak to General Jack." After only a few moment's pause Jim heard, "This is General Jack. Jim, how is it going in England? Have the Brits got the takedown set so we can get you back home?" "Not yet, General, but things are moving along. There is something that I need to tell you." Jim leaned back in the chair in Meg's office and closed his eyes. He could visualize the General in his Fort Bragg office. He was not a special forces man, but he was a tough Ranger and had clout in Washington. General Jack commanded Delta with an iron hand, and Jim knew he was in trouble. "General, I spoke with Admiral Morton a short while ago to ask him to clarify the security situation at Crotone Air Base. I know that I asked the J2 to elevate it through you, but I felt that time was so short that I had to ...." "What the hell do you mean you went directly to the Chairman! The Chairman! Good Lord! What the hell kind of a soldier are you, Grissom?" "General Jack, I am very sorry that I felt that I had to go directly to Admiral Morton. I believe that time is too short for you to fight the problem on up. I served with the Admiral in NATO and he knows me and Lieutenant Colonel Bartlett, my SAS contact. We traded on our credibility to get the Admiral to act. I do not know whether or not he succeeded, but the Admiral is finally convinced that a problem exists." "Grissom, what was the damned problem that couldn't wait?" "General, Colonel Bartlett finally convinced me that the Chunnel hijacking may not be the main event of terrorist action. Too many things just don't fit. We had CIA and SIS scan all the action in Europe to try to find clues for the real target. "A very messy border crossing incident and extremely tight security at Crotone Air Base caught our eye. US agencies were telling us and Delta that nothing was going on at Crotone, yet an Italian intelligence officer confirmed that activity was so unusual that they had briefed the Italian president. General, that got our attention. That is why I asked the J2 to take it to you to elevate. I'm sorry that I did not give you time to get results, but I felt the tremendous pressure of time. It isn't all logical, General, but my gut feeling is that we had better solve this tonight." "Grissom, I'm so pissed right now that I am not sure you will have tonight to worry about it. I'd like you standing in front of my desk right now so I could look you in the eye and fire you!" "Sir, I understand that I'm fired. Please give me twenty-four hours to finish up this assignment and I'll be standing in your office Monday and you can fire me again in person." "James Grissom ... you are ... absolutely exasperating! You know that I can't get another liaison there for at least twelve hours. "OK! OK! You be a good little liaison and finish up this job with the Brits. Then you get your ass home fast. Call me as soon as you get into Fayetteville because I can't wait! Got it?" "Yes, Sir. I completely understand your feelings and your orders." Jim hung up the telephone and continued to stare at it for a few moments. He noticed that it was extremely quiet in the room. He looked to Nelson and saw that he understood exactly where Jim stood. His Army career was over after finishing this job. From the look on Meg's face he realized that she understood, too. Then Jim bucked up. "No long faces, you two. The business we are in is often fatal. If we can sort this current mess I will gladly sit on my porch in Astoria, Oregon, and fondly remember all the good times. No long faces!" Meg was the first to break the silence. "I have some information on your Sheenah Roberts. She is from Niceville, Florida. Yes, Nice-ville. She is currently working for the UN in Sofia, Bulgaria. I have asked the Duty Officer there to get everything that he can on her and marked the request 'Most Urgent'. According to her passport application she is Black, and listed an uncle as next of kin. We cannot find any military or criminal records for her." Nelson took up the challenge. "Looks like we might have names for the top two. Let's go back over to SAS headquarters and pass on what we have to Int to make sure it is all in play. By the way, on the last check it was all quiet in the Chunnel." As the two officers left it was also still very quiet in the CIA vault. Under the English Channel, Saturday, 12:15 A.M. Andar knew that the finest day of his life had begun. All of the pains and indignities that he and his people had suffered would be avenged. Colonel Khadafy and he would make a statement that the world would never forget. He wanted a short nap now so that he could savor the day ahead, but sleep was elusive. He looked over at Sheenah who was sleeping soundly. He was certain he had chosen well. Her very presence among the hijackers would embarrass the United States and hamper future imperial activities. Sheenah was a very strong- willed woman who would push the button if anything happened ... to prevent him from taking action. He realized that he had played this whole episode perfectly thus far and felt wonderful knowing that he and the Colonel had outsmarted the entire world! Chapter Seventeen Washington, District of Columbia, Friday, 7:15 P.M. "Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Vice President." Admiral Morton shook the Vice President's proffered hand as he followed the Secretary of Defense into the room. "Please sit down, gentlemen. Tell me what I can do for you." The Vice President did not seem to mind that he had been called away from a formal dinner to meet with the two men in an ante room at the Chilean embassy. The man now seated in the overstuffed chair facing him was not known to be a very strong or colorful man, therefore, Admiral Morton was quite unsure if this meeting were going to prove worthwhile. "Mr. Vice President, I brought this matter to the Secretary of Defense and he felt that we should come directly to you since the President is out of the capital at sea." The Vice President smiled as if he knew that it had to be some relatively petty intrigue for them to bother with him rather than await the President's return. His words, however, were warm and sincere, "You know that I am fully at your service. Please continue." "Mr. Vice President. Our counter-terrorist liaison to the British force handling the Chunnel hijacking called me about thirty minutes ago and requested my help. Colonel Grissom judged the situation and time so critical as to need my personal intervention. I might add that it is extremely unusual for a Delta staff officer to speak directly to the Chairman." He looked to the Secretary of Defense who nodded in agreement. "Are the British considering giving in to the terrorist demands that they free the PanAm 103 bombers?" asked the Vice President, now obviously very interested in the conversation. "No, Mr. Vice President," the Secretary of Defense spoke up. "Our Government will, of course, be consulted through the Secretary of State if any negotiations are to be conducted with the terrorists. No, I am afraid that Colonel Grissom has raised a strictly US matter." The Secretary looked back to Admiral Morton who continued explaining the problem at hand, "At the request of Colonel Grissom I called in General Brown, Air Force Chief of Staff, and asked him why Crotone Air Base, Italy, has been shutdown unilaterally by the American commander without consultation with his Italian counterpart. General Brown told me that I was in error and that nothing was going on at Crotone. When I pushed the question he became extremely angry. He accused me of questioning his integrity and stormed out of my office." The Vice President looked puzzled. "What does this have to do with the hijacking?" "Colonel Grissom and his British special forces counterpart, Colonel Bartlett, believe the Chunnel hijacking is only a decoy of sorts. I must tell you, Mr. Vice President, that these two officers worked for me in my NATO command in Italy. They handled the most sensitive special taskings for me personally. Both are outstanding officers, and together they led all of NATO in properly employing allied special forces. I trust their instincts." He waited for the Vice President to accept the credibility of what he next had to say. "Go on, Admiral Morton." The Admiral had the Vice President's full attention. The Admiral picked his words very carefully since he was aware that others were undoubtedly listening to the conversation being held in a foreign embassy. "Colonel Grissom and Colonel Bartlett believe that something more important is about to go down, probably in Europe, while the experts are busy with the Chunnel hijacking. These officers canvassed the intelligence background in Europe and came up with a couple of unusual occurrences. Italian intelligence sources tell them that Crotone Air Base is on an extremely high security state and that seems very out of the ordinary. General Brown's adamant denial makes it even more of an uncommon event. "Grissom and Bartlett think there is a tie-in with the Chunnel hijack, but nothing is clear cut. The Secretary and I are truly concerned that General Brown is most probably not telling us the full story." Admiral Morton paused with his understatement of General Brown's lack of truthfulness. "I can see that you have a very touchy, and a very 'iffy' problem on your hands, gentlemen. Why have you come to me?" The Vice President gave them his most innocent smile. Admiral Morton sighed and almost wished aloud that the President were in town. The Secretary spoke. "Mr. Vice President, the Admiral and I have legal authority over General Brown but he can delay compliance with our directives, wasting what we believe to be extremely precious time. Our most powerful option would be to relieve the General of his duties and initiate an investigation. We can send DIS investigators with full JCS powers to Italy. We can direct the European Command to investigate. All of these options will take a minimum of twenty-four hours. "Mr. Vice President, it is a matter of timeliness. With a telephone call to the President you can be delegated Commander-in-Chief authority in this matter. You can call in General Brown and require complete details on Crotone. He cannot refuse you." The Vice President nodded thoughtfully, stood up and walked to the window overlooking Reservoir Road. Admiral Morton had expected this dalliance. It was known to be very difficult for the Vice President to take a position. The Admiral looked to the Secretary of Defense who glanced toward the ceiling and shrugged his shoulders. "It seems to me, gentlemen," the Vice President had turned to them with his famous smile, "that the best thing to do about this is to sleep on it. This appears to be a rather messy personnel problem rather than a matter of State. Too, I'd hate to wake up the President on his 'holiday' voyage just to get his help on such a simple matter." "Mr. Vice President," now the Admiral was standing, "do you think that we would be here, in an unsecure room, talking to you tonight, if we thought there was time to 'sleep on it'?" He walked over to speak eyeball to eyeball. The Admiral knew that he was straining the absolute limits of his authority and professional credibility by pushing the Vice President. The man had clout within the administration. "This is a terribly difficult job we are asking you to handle. I know that, and I cannot logically explain to you why I think it must be done now. I am simply giving the best military advice I can. I believe you must act now." Admiral Morton had given it his best shot. The Vice President broke off eye contact and turned back toward the windows. He seemed to be fascinated by the heavy traffic flowing past the embassy. The Secretary realized that several minutes had passed while the Vice President was pondering the request. He had little hope for a positive reply. "All right, Admiral." The Vice President sighed as he turned back to face Admiral Morton. "You two be in my office in thirty minutes and have General Brown attend. I will speak to the President." He looked pained, almost trapped. He strode to the door and told the waiting aide to make his apologies to the Ambassador. The Secret Service agent guarding the door spoke quickly into his radio and alerted the team for this most unusual immediate move by "Popeye", his radio security code name. Canyon, Texas, Friday, 6:30 P.M. Sandy Mitchell continued to watch the television news reports coming via satellite from the Chunnel. Now that his hangover was 'gone' he switched back his drink to Jack Daniel's whiskey. Linda had called that she was staying with a sick aunt in Lubbock so would not be back until Monday. Sandy started to protest, but thought better of it. He could do the protesting later in person when he could reach out and teach her a lesson she wouldn't likely forget. In the meanwhile, the whiskey was getting him through just fine. It had helped him for months, maybe even years. Chapter Eighteen Washington, District of Columbia, Friday, 7:50 P.M. The old Senate office building was virtually empty this Friday evening. The cold, clear weather had beckoned nearly all of the occupants home or to their favorite watering hole. The Chairman and the Secretary reached the Vice President's office a few moments early and were ushered directly in. The Vice President was speaking with his office counsel, known to be an old and trusted friend. A stenographer sat at the teak conference table to record the evening's proceedings. The Vice President came forward to shake hands and warmly welcome them. He was once more wearing his famous smile. "Come in gentlemen; please be comfortable," he said, leading them to a beige sofa. A soft voice on the intercom announced that the Air Force Chief of Staff, General Brown, had arrived. The Vice President asked that he be shown in immediately. The Vice President met him at the door, shook hands and escorted him to a seat on the facing blue sofa next to himself. Two senior Air Force officers had accompanied General Brown and had also entered the Vice President's office. They now stood near the door. "General Brown, I would like to discuss a few items with you that the Secretary and Admiral Morton have brought to my attention. Perhaps you would prefer to release your colleagues?" The Vice President smiled affably and nodded toward the two airmen. "Thank you Mr. Vice President but I have asked my aides to accompany me in case you require any operational details on our forces." General Brown returned the smile. The Vice President looked directly into the General's eyes: "General Brown, I intend that we have a close-hold discussion concerning some rather sensitive matters. I feel it important that we carefully limit those privy to this session. Please release your subordinates to wait in the outer office. They will be quite comfortable there, and immediately available should you need them." The Vice President was still smiling. General Brown's smile weakened. He looked carefully at the Vice President as if trying to assess him. The General set his jaw, looked toward his fellow Air Force officers, and nodded. The two colonels left quietly. Admiral Morton was also closely studying the Vice President as if he saw something new in him. "Now, General Brown, I want you to know that I have only respect and admiration for you. Betty and I count you and Jenny as dear friends." The Vice President paused for a moment. "A problem has arisen which I believe Admiral Morton attempted to resolve at the military level. He spoke to you earlier this evening?" "Yes, Mr. Vice President, he did. "I thought that I had satisfactorily answered his questions." The General shot a cold glance at Admiral Morton and then smiled again. "I'm surprised that the matter has been resurrected and brought to your attention." "Admiral Morton has indicated to me that your reply was not satisfactory, General Brown; therefore, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary of Defense have brought the matter to me for immediate resolution. With your help and understanding it will be resolved tonight. I trust that all parties understand?" He paused to look around the room. The men nodded agreement, although their faces indicated that perhaps they were not sure. "I want to share with you three items of information, General, and then I will ask you a very important question. I believe it is critical that we do this in a very precise, step-by-step manner." The Vice President stood, moved to the front of his desk and turned back towards the sitting area. He looked very much like the college law professor that he had once been more than twenty years ago. "Firstly, I want you to know that I have just spoken to the President aboard the Louis Catorce and have received full authority to act on his behalf as Commander-in-Chief in this specific matter. The telephone conversation was recorded and witnessed. My authority is total, legal and valid. Do you understand my authority in this matter?" "Yes, Mr. Vice President, I understand." The General was impassive. "Good. The second item is that I have spoken with the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. He confirmed with the Director General of the Italian Intelligence Service, SISMI, that highly unusual activities, specifically, extreme security precautions, are presently continuing at Crotone Air Base, Italy. He also confirmed that the Italian Intelligence Service has briefed the President of Italy on these highly unusual happenings, which were not previously coordinated with our Italian ally." The Vice President's smile was gone. He looked from the Secretary, to Admiral Morton and finally straight into General Brown's eyes. "The third item is that I called the White House Situation Room and asked for an 'eyes only' update on Crotone Air Base. They are carrying it as 'Ops Normal' with no compartmented information available. In short, General, the President and the Vice President of the United States know less than the President of Italy about what is happening on a US base!" There was now just a hint of anger in the Vice President's voice. The Vice President walked to the window. He stood there for quite a long time, seemingly admiring the profile view of the White House. The room was absolutely silent as they waited for his next move. When he finally turned to face the other men in the room he again looked directly at the General. "General Brown, please tell me ... now ... exactly what is occurring at Crotone Air Base." The words were spoken quietly and gently, but with an authority that jolted even Admiral Morton. London, Saturday, 1:15 A.M. Nelson and Jim had just finished talking with the SIS liaison and the Intelligence officer bringing them up-to- date on all that they had learned while at the CIA station. The two experts left to add these pieces to the current intelligence picture. Intelligence sources reported the train remained eerily quite, although television monitors showed that at least one black-garbed terrorist was awake and alert in each rail car. The two officers now sat alone in Nelson's office. "I can't believe that we've been on this hijack matter for less than twenty-four hours. It seems to have run on forever." Jim nodded his agreement with Nelson's statement. Nelson went on, "Davness and his lads are all set to go in. We will move the teams out of Hereford about 4:00 A.M. they will move into position and be ready to go in for the takedown from 8:00 A.M. onwards. That has all been neatly organized. "The television special from the train last evening gave us the opportunity to set up an exact replica at Hereford for the men to practice on. We know exactly where all the passengers will be, if the 'trial' doesn't change things around too much. "Salim won't negotiate so there are no loose ends with the police. Jim, we are as ready as we can be for today's action, yet I feel we are missing out completely. What are the bastards really up to?" Nelson was rubbing his temples as if trying to massage his brain into coming up with the solution. "Nelson, if the missing link is with the US, then we could not have a better man trying to break it all open than Admiral Morton. Let's go stare at the Channel maps and see if we can induce a vision of what's up in Salim's jumbled mind!" Jim rose and pumped unfelt vigor into his step to try to inspire his brain. Washington, District of Columbia, Friday, 8:15 P.M. At first, General Brown held the Vice President's gaze, as if hoping that he could force the words back into his mouth. Admiral Morton watched as the General's impassive face begin to redden, then soften, and finally, sag. The General dropped his eyes and stared hard at the carpet for a few moments. He at last spoke, "There has been a breach of security at Crotone Air Base. Two US Air Force security policemen, two Italian men who worked for the base supply warehouse, and three local female 'dancers' were found shot to death in some woods just beyond the base perimeter. We are conducting the investigation now." A lot of questions were forming their ugly shapes in Admiral Morton's mind as he waited for General Brown to continue. "It isn't an easy investigation. It all takes time to sort out." "Cut the crap, Tommy! I order you to tell me what you are covering up out there at Crotone!" Every person in the room stared in utter disbelief at the very stern and angry face of the Vice President of the United States. General Brown crumbled. "Two B-61 thermonuclear warheads were discovered missing Wednesday afternoon." The Vice President backed up several paces and eased himself into an arm chair next to the window. That was the only movement. The stenographer sat in stunned silence, her mouth open. Admiral Morton was the first to speak, ever so softly at first, but with his voice quickly reaching a crescendo, "You sonovabitch. You sonovabitch! You are covering up the loss of nukes? You sonovabitch!" The Admiral rose to his feet and moved toward the General. The Secretary of Defense was momentarily afraid for the General's physical safety. "How could you do this? We could have had every Carabinieri patrol in Italy trying to find those nukes! We could have had every Italian policeman helping. We could have ...." He could no longer find words or the enthusiasm to use them. "You sorry sonovabitch!" "General Brown," the Vice President was again standing and had moved back to his desk, his color partly returned. "You are relieved of your duties. You will brief Admiral Morton on this matter in detail and then you will confine yourself to quarters pending a full investigation. Is that clear?" "Yes, Mr. Vice President. Sir, ... we thought we could do this ... quietly. We thought it should remain in-house, you know, an Air Force matter, until we knew more." "You made a very poor decision, General Brown, that has already caused this country grave embarrassment, and perhaps given the guilty parties time enough to make their getaway. You are dismissed." After General Brown had closed the door the Vice President turned and spoke to the Secretary of Defense, "I would like for you to ask the members of the Security Council to convene while I contact the President." He looked toward the Chairman, "Admiral Morton, appoint an acting Air Force Chief of Staff that you can trust. Do not pick anyone who could have known about this cover-up and failed to step forward. They won't be working here for very long! Let me know if you need any further support dealing with the Air Force. "I would like for you to take charge of the investigation at Crotone Air Base as a joint service matter. Send your best man. Anyone who impedes your investigation is to be summarily relieved of duty and placed under arrest. He looked at each person briefly. "I want to meet in the White House Situation Room in forty-five minutes. Questions? "Thank you, gentlemen." The Vice President had spoken. His people now went quickly and purposefully to their tasks. Chapter Nineteen Arlington, Virginia, Friday, 8:35 P.M. Neither Admiral Morton nor the Secretary spoke as they shared the Chairman's car back to the Pentagon. As they entered the River Entrance, the Secretary finally broke the silence, "This is scary, Jim. Two loose nukes out there! We have worked so hard for so many years to keep nukes out of terrorist hands. Look at what we did to Saddam Hussein! We kicked his butt twice and finally got him gassed just to keep his hands off the nuke button. Now, when we have our first theft, our own Air Force has to sandbag us until the damn things have had time to move all over the world! Damn!" "Mr. Secretary, I agree that we have a bad situation on our hands, but the folks in Europe have it tougher. It looks like the target may be over there. If the Chunnel hijacking is a decoy, then the attack is imminent. "Let me get a few things organized in my office and I'll meet you here in twenty-five minutes for the ride back to the White House." The Secretary nodded and waved as the Admiral moved on toward his suite. An Air Force Master Sergeant was manning his secretary's desk as he walked in the door. The Admiral almost stopped in shock at the sight of the blue uniform, then caught himself and chuckled, "Good evening, Sergeant. I was surprised to see you there." The sergeant stood. "Yes, Admiral. The administrative pool thought that you might need admin support since you were headed back to the office." "I do need some help tonight. Please call Colonel Ross and have him assemble the J-staff in my office at 9:30 P.M. I would like for you to call DIS, DIA and our CIA liaison and get them here as soon as possible. Thank you, Sergeant." The sergeant nodded his understanding and turned toward his telephone. As soon as the Admiral sat down behind his desk he reached for the STU III and quickly dialed a number from his Rolodex. When the Fort Bragg operator answered he asked to speak to General Jack. Within moments he heard, "General Jack here." "General Jack, this is Admiral Morton. Can you go secure?" "No, Sir. I will go to my office and call you back." "Good. Do it quickly!" As soon as he hung up, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff moved to his private bath and splashed cold water over his face. Revived, he moved to the unobtrusive bar and poured a short whiskey. He savored the taste, but his thoughts were elsewhere. "That sonovabitch!" he muttered. The sergeant's voice came over the intercom: "Sir, General Jack on line one." "Thank you, Sergeant." He picked up the STU III and selected line one. "General Jack, Admiral Morton here. You initiate." As soon as the green light was lighted he continued, "Listen, General, you've got one hell of an officer working for you in London! Grissom, damn his chain-of-command-jumping butt, has uncovered one terrible problem." "Admiral, I just spoke with Colonel Grissom a short while ago. He told me that he had gone directly to you on the Crotone matter. I can only apologize that his actions were necessitated by my failure to elevate the request more quickly through your staff." The Admiral nodded to himself. He liked the way the General had immediately put himself between Colonel Grissom and the Admiral's probable anger. He knew the had the right kind of leader running Delta. "General, Jim Grissom called me and cajoled me into confronting the Chief of Staff of the Air Force on what he was hiding at Crotone Air Base, Italy. It took the Vice President ... let me tell you the Vice President is one tough cookie ... to force General Brown to admit that the Air Force has been covering up the loss of two tactical nukes! Is that worth forgiving Grissom?" General Jack drew a deep breath. "Yes ... Yes, Admiral, that is worth forgiving him. I'll take care of it. How? ... but, that doesn't matter, does it? Two eggs are out of the nest. That does matter." "General Jack, I want you to get the special weapons team over to London right now. Put them under Grissom in case the French or Brits need help. After all, they are US nukes! Please get in touch with Colonel Grissom right away. After our Security Council meeting the Secretary of State will be making the formal announcement to our allies about what has happened. The President will tell the other heads of state that are on the ship with him what we have discovered thus far. "Grissom needs to make the Brit and the French special forces aware of the nuke problem right away. Also, he deserves to know that his gamble paid off and we may still have time to prevent a catastrophe." He paused a moment, then continued softly. "And he deserves our thanks. Can you thank him and Colonel Bartlett for me?" "Yes, Admiral. I'll alert the SWEP team immediately and call London right away. I'll speak to Colonel Grissom on your behalf, and pass along your thanks ... and mine. Don't worry, Admiral, I can eat crow very well!" Admiral Morton nodded in quiet appreciation of the General's forthrightness and obvious leadership ability. "Thanks for your help, General Jack. You are a good officer and the right man to have at Delta. "I know that I'm jumping the chain of command speaking directly to you now, but to quote Grissom, 'Time is getting short!' You'll get the tasking orders later tonight from the J-Staff." Then he added very quietly, "You'll never know how glad I am that I backed Grissom and Bartlett's hunch. Good night." "Good night, Admiral." As he returned the telephone to its cradle, General Jack leaned back in his chair and whistled to himself. "Good Lord," he prayed, "let us find those nukes in time!" He pushed the intercom button and called, "J3?" "Yes, Sir, Colonel Hollon, Deputy." "I need to see you ... now!" "Yes, Sir, General." Chapter Twenty London, Saturday, 1:50 A.M. Nelson and Jim were standing in the briefing room, looking at the Chunnel graphic, and the large maps of Europe and the world that ringed the room. "Reminds me of that auxiliary briefing room at AFSOUTH headquarters in Naples; you know, the long, narrow one." "Right you are, Jim! Seems like we always drew that one for the briefings and exercises instead of the CINC's Briefing Room." "Not enough horsepower to rate the nice one, Nelson." "We had better graphics!" "Not as good as these." Jim pointed at the large color rendering of the train in the Chunnel. The monitoring devices were marked in with large color photographs below the main graphic. The probes and taps were indicated on the chart, and numbers of passengers and likely hijacker positions were annotated. Folkestone and Calais were shown, though not to scale. Nelson pointed out to Jim where Davness and his men could enter the westbound tunneland stealthily move to their locations for the takedown. "Once Davness makes the 'go' decision all electrical power will be cut to the train. In go the flash-bangs, then the double tap. It will be over in fifteen seconds ... or else the whole lot will be dying from the explosions in the tunnel. "Things will be far smoother if the explosive disposal teams can safe the two monitoring devices. That way the only surprise bang will come from whatever booby-traps have been put on the train. I'm really surprised the Int fellows could detect no wiring or bombs in the tapes from the 'Celebration video'. They had a really good look-see with the telly tapes and their own probes." "It seems like just another 'why?', doesn't it, Nelson?" "Jim, this chap is too professional to make this many errors in planning. It is almost like he wanted to reassure us that the passengers would be all right." "As was said before, maybe he is that confident that he is going to win and doesn't want to jeopardize his winning by creating a need for the SAS to intervene. He wants a comfortable standoff until he wins." "I may volunteer to go on this one myself just to have a quick shot at him!" Nelson joked. "Just what the good guys need: two over-the-hill, pot- bellied Rangers charging in on their wobbly knees!" "I beg your pardon! You will note who was huffing and puffing on the run through the park! And who was not!" "Was I breathing hard? I wasn't paying attention. I was more concerned about where to find help when you collapsed!" Jim became a bit more serious. "Nelson, I don't feel good about this thing at all. It just scares me. I guess I have completely caught your way of looking at it." "Colonel Grissom?" Both men turned toward the door where the Sergeant Major stood. "Colonel Grissom, you have a telephone call on the STU III." "Thank you, Sergeant Major." Jim walked briskly to Nelson's office and picked up the white receiver. "Lieutenant Colonel Grissom here." "Grissom, General Jack. Pushing." While the amber light flickered, Jim went through all the possible reasons why General Jack would call him. "Perhaps he wants me to leave immediately for the States? No, I'd have to remain here until another liaison officer could arrive and be briefed into the situation. Maybe he has calmed down and will let me stay until this thing is finished? Not likely! Maybe ...." His musings were cut short by the green light and General Jack announcing, "Green and Top Secret." "Green and top secret, here, General." Jim now closed his eyes to help fend off the blow. "Colonel Grissom, you are one of the most unorthodox officers I have met in my twenty-two years in the Army! I want you to know that I have often disagreed with your methods but have tolerated a great deal of 'meandering' on your part because you have been one big help to me in making Delta the best damned outfit in the US military." "Yes, Sir. Thank you, General." Jim was now completely confused as to what the General was leading up to. "You knew when you called the Chairman of the JCS that you were running a big risk. What did you give yourself? 'One-in-a-hundred that you wouldn't be fired? I know I can't kick you out of the Army, but I can make life so unbearable that you'll retire. Right?" "Sir, I didn't really figure the odds. I just sort of hoped that it would all work out." "That means odds of a thousand-to-one. 'Hope' ain't worth a damn thing!" Jim sat in silence. He had never known the General to drag things out like this. He always put one quick bullet to the head and you were dumped out on the street. After a long pause, the General continued, "Jim, the Air Force was covering up. They have lost two nuclear weapons from Crotone Air Base." Jim sat stunned. He could feel every nerve ending in his body. He tried to speak, but had no luck forming words. Visions of mushroom-shaped clouds kept forming in his mind. They were terribly ugly mushroom-shaped clouds. Finally, he mumbled, "Oh, my God!" "I believe that those were my first words, too, Jim. The unthinkable has happened: Khadafy, or whoever he is working with, has nuclear weapons. He knows that he can't hold them long so my guess is that he is going to use them ... now. Looks like you may be right that the Chunnel hijacking is a decoy to divert us from the intended terrorist act. "I have alerted the SWEP team in Texas and they will be airborne shortly. The Air Force kindly diverted a C-5 over Colorado to drop in and pick them up. We'll fly them into Northholt, so make arrangements. Estimated time of arrival is ten-thirty Zulu. I'm putting them under your command. They will be briefed on what we know while in flight, but you will need to fine tune the tactical situation with them when they light there. "What else do you need, Jim?" Jim thought for a moment, then replied, "General, this is all hitting pretty fast now. The only thing extra that I can think of right now is that I may need is some flexible transport. Can you put all of the special ops helicopters and air refueling tanker aircraft up at RAF Mildenhall on alert and give me operational control? I may have to move the SWEP over to France, or put them onto a ship on short notice, if that is the Libyan plan of attack. I'd like three helos moved to Northholt; two to move the SWEP to Hereford or wherever and one to be available to me ... just in case." "I don't have OPCON but I'll get it from EUCOM and you'll have it within the hour. Whatever else you need ... just call our Ops Center. Everything in the US bag of tricks is yours." "Thank you, General." "No, Jim. Thank Colonel Bartlett. And thank you. Plenty of soldiers are willing to risk their lives for their country. Amazingly few are willing to risk their reputation or careers for that same country. "I do not agree with, or condone, your method as an everyday practice, but I am very thankful in this case for your act. Find those nukes! The Lord be with us!" The line went dead. Jim replaced the receiver and sat very still for a few moments. He let his mind drift to try to put everything back into perspective. After a short while he stood and walked back to the conference room where Nelson was talking with the intelligence officer. "Nelson, can I speak to you for a moment?" Nelson looked up at Jim. Seeing the expression on Jim's face, he moved quickly toward the door. Jim led him back down the hallway and into Nelson's office. Nelson closed the door and both took seats in easy chairs. "Jim, you look as if you have seen a ghost. What was the phone call about?" "Nelson," Jim stammered, "the Air Force cover-up at Crotone ... they've lost two nukes." Now it was Nelson who momentarily sat in disbelieving silence. "Good Lord!" Nelson now understood the shocked look on Jim's face and felt the blood drain from his own. "Why did they wait until now to tell us? We've lost several days of closing borders, searching, ...." His voice trailed off. Jim felt terrible for Nelson and horrified that the Americans covered up the loss. "General Jack didn't go into that. I will bet that Admiral Morton has taken General Brown's head and put it on a pike in front of the Pentagon. That's where it belongs. "Our SWEP team is on its way to London, Nelson. They are our nuke emergency response folks. They'll be fully instructed on the weapons and how to work the codes, if need be. We will need to brief them on arrival, if we know any more. They will be under my command. I can use them wherever they are needed. "I'd like to move them straight to Hereford where we can isolate them and keep them ready. I will give operational control to whoever we think needs them ... if we can just locate the damned nukes! What do you think?" Nelson forced himself to think. "We can maintain tight security at Hereford. I'll have the Sergeant Major arrange things there until we can make better plans." "Good. I think we need to get more information on ships and the exact route of the Louis Catorce. That is still the hottest target." Nelson furrowed his brow and his eyes became intense. "I'll push SIS!" "Nelson, the first thing we need to do is to brief the Brigadier. He will need to elevate this all the way up the line to the Prime Minister. I am sure the President has been told, and he will tell his colleagues on the ship. The two lines will meet there. The State Department will be tasked to break the news to our other allies. I feel it is up to us to make sure those helping us in the chain of command here and in France know what is going on." "Right you are. I'll call the Brigadier and ask him in. He can call Brigadier LaRoche in Paris. The top blokes in the French police need to know that they may be looking for two nuclear weapons." Jim nodded his head, "Can you get me a car over to the US Embassy annex? I want to brief Meg in on this and she can focus her search while you work SIS." "Of course," Nelson replied and strode off to find the duty driver. Under the English Channel, Saturday, 2:10 A.M. Andar was enjoying a quiet, dreamless sleep. Tiger was to wake him at seven in the morning so that he could set up the "court room" before the television cameras arrived. Sheenah was resting but now only napped fitfully after her earlier deep sleep. She was anxious to get on with the trials and free the brothers. She was tired of this tunnel and was more than ready for the flight to Algiers. She had the fire for terrorism, but lacked the attention span to remain enthusiastic over long confrontations. As a student she could explode over the smallest indignities, but fell out of the organized movements as she quickly lost her enthusiasm.Climbing through the Night Sky, Somewhere over Oklahoma, Saturday, 0215 Hours Zulu Sandy was sweating badly even though the upper deck passenger compartment of the C-5 Galaxy was chilly. He kept leaving the relative safety of his seat to go to the lavatory where his vomiting had turned into dry heaves. He thought to himself, "If they had only given me the required four hours notice I would not have had so much to drink!" The special weapons team members were the only passengers on the aircraft and most were chatting quietly. The team leader had already briefed that two B-61 Mark-101 weapons had been stolen from Crotone Air Base, Italy, by unknown persons. It was not known if the arming codes had been compromised or if shaped charges would be used to breach the arming device in the detonation process. Once the bombs were located it would be the team's job to accompany the takedown force and safe the weapons. British or French explosives experts would work with them to handle the conventional explosives and booby traps. Sandy looked at his hands. He was shaking badly. "Just the stress," he thought. "A nap and I'll be fine!" Deep down inside he knew that he was lying to himself. Chapter Twenty-One London, Saturday, 2:40 A.M. Meg met Jim at the Marine guard post and once more vetted him in. As they walked down the darkened corridors toward the CIA vault area, Meg kept up a constant flow of small talk. Jim was fighting fatigue and the sickening feeling that they might not find the nuclear weapons in time. Listening to her quiet voice Jim felt himself relax. He began to feel at peace. The emotions he had bottled up years ago came rushing back. His took Meg's hand and stopped her. He looked into her eyes and saw across the years to the crazy world of Saigon. The London embassy annex walls melted into the corridor of the MAC-V headquarters as Jim remembered how he had blocked Meg's path along the hallway coming from the command briefing room. "Where the hell did you come up with all that stupid crap about the Chu Hoi retreads being such great warriors?" Jim fumed at the young woman who had just succeeded against his best efforts. She had gotten the Commanding General to assign to his special forces group former Viet Cong guerrillas who had been repatriated through the Chu Hoi surrender program. They were to be used to infiltrate the Viet Cong. Jim continued, "If those bastards switched sides once, they'll do it again only this time taking our secrets and getting our asses killed! They don't belong in this business. You don't belong in this business!" "Lieutenant! I realize that you probably know how to shoot a gun but I don't believe you know a damned thing about winning the hearts and minds of these people!" Meg was not about to back down from this arrogant soldier that had made her first briefing to the Commanding General a most difficult and painful experience. "Listen, Miss DoGoodie, if you grab them by the right part of their anatomy you can get their hearts and minds to follow!" "That's right, Lieutenant. If you can't handle the job, make an obscene remark to cover your incompetence!" Meg was really getting angry and was nose to nose with the junior officer. "It's good that you two are getting to know each other better." Jim and Meg turned to see Colonel Pierson, the Director of Intelligence, pausing at his office door. "You'll be spending a great deal of time together working out the details for how to implement General 'W's decision. Come in and sit down. We'll sketch out the timeline." Jim closed his gaping mouth, scowled at the defiant Meg, and held out his hand indicating she was to lead the way into the Colonel's office. Meg eyed him defiantly and followed the Colonel. After they were seated in Colonel Pierson's office, Jim spoke first, "Colonel, I don't believe that Miss ... uh, ...." "Anderson," Meg offered. "Miss Anderson," he went on, "holds the appropriate clearances to deal with the special forces mission. Perhaps the State Department will be able to provide someone else who is properly vetted." "Lieutenant Grissom, I don't believe you understand Miss Anderson's position. She isn't with State; she is with the Central Intelligence Agency. She was sent to Saigon specifically to work the issue of using the Chu Hoi repatriates against their former Viet Cong masters. She is vetted into areas that I am not at liberty to discuss with you." Again Jim's mouth involuntarily fell open. "CIA! But you don't understand the psychology of these bastards!" "I hold a Master's degree in psychology. I have spent the last year studying the matter. I have made a strong enough case that my superiors have allowed me, a woman, to come to Saigon to make it happen. I know war is a man's game, but I think even Colonel Pierson will vouch for the fact that I understand the psychology behind our enemy here and have put together a solid plan to turn that psychology against the enemy." Colonel Pierson eyed the two for a few moments to let the dust of the battle settle. Finally he spoke, "Why don't you two take over an office in the J-2 shop and work out the joint plan. I'll call Colonel 'Z' at SF group and break you loose, Lieutenant. I know Meg is free to work her own schedule on this." Jim knew he was trapped. He looked to the Colonel and shook his head resignedly as he said, "Yes, Sir. We'll get right to work." He looked at Meg, but kept his face expressionless. A quick telephone call to Jim's commander confirmed that as the special forces liaison officer to the Commanding General he was saddled with the job. Within an hour a secure working space was arranged. Jim and Meg began to discuss and sketch an outline for the integration of Chu Hoi recruits into the intelligence gathering and unconventional missions which special forces was pursuing. It was nearly 9:00 P.M. when Jim sat back in his wooden folding chair and realized that he was very hungry. He turned from his pad and pencil to Meg who was now typing some of the details which they had assembled. "How about it, Mrs. Spook, when do you feed the prisoners?" Meg smiled for the first time that afternoon at Jim's use of the slang term for a CIA operative. "Lieutenant, that is Miss Spook, and I feed the prisoner at the same time that I eat." She glanced at her watch. "That is, if anything is still open. I can't take another meal in this compound." "The city doesn't come alive until after dark and all the American soldiers get time off to spend their hard- earned funny money." Meg returned to business. "We have made tremendous progress this afternoon, Lieutenant. I think that by tomorrow afternoon we'll have a plan to run by our respective bosses for their concurrence." Meg paused and thought for a few moments as if she were trying to decide some difficult question. "Can I buy you dinner to celebrate our success as, a ... well ... team?" Jim looked at her rather sharply, then his look softened. "Yeah, we have made a good team today." He paused as if he were now trying to decide some important issue. "Miss Anderson, you really do listen when I'm telling you 'how it is' out in that God-forsaken jungle on an operational mission. You have worked those feelings into this plan." He put his hand almost lovingly on top of the pile of papers on the desk between them. His famous grin reappeared, "I'd love to have a medium rare water buffalo steak at your expense!" The rain was just starting as Jim and Meg left the MAC- V compound and was coming down in wooden buckets by the time they arrived at her hotel. "Maybe we should have dinner here so we don't have to fight the rain again. Give me five minutes to freshen up and I'll meet you in the bar." Jim nodded agreement and left her at the elevator. He crossed the ornate lobby to the formal bar. The warm French decor was chilled by air conditioning demanded by the American journalists. He noted several senior officers sitting at a table talking with Vietnamese girls, and a couple of men in light suits, whom he took to be reporters, sitting at the bar. The trio on the bandstand was playing softly and Jim knew the drinks would be expensive in this locale. He felt a bit naked moving about Saigon without his US Army issue .45 caliber pistol which he had to leave with the MPs back in the compound. His "private" .38 caliber revolver in his ankle holster didn't have the stopping power, but he had etched each of the bullets hoping that would add to the impact and make accurate AK-47 fire impossible from a Viet Cong. You had to keep looking over your shoulder if you were to survive this land of terror. He had only taken two sips of his Amstel beer when he saw Meg, now dressed in a light blouse and skirt enter. He realized for the first time that she was a very attractive woman. "Guess I've just been seeing her as the enemy," he thought to himself. He stood from the corner table, "Over here!" As she approached he said, "Are you a beer or champagne lady?" "Middle ground. I'd like a gin and tonic." The waiter nodded and returned in a few moments with her drink. "Miss Anderson, I think that we need to start again. My name is Jim Grissom. You do seem to know your stuff, but I am not completely convinced our plan will work." "Jim, please call me, 'Meg', and I'm not convinced it will work either, and I like it very much that you call it 'our' plan. I think it has a high probability of success ... and the payoff would be tremendous, far out of proportion to what we will have to invest in it. That sounds like a typical special forces mission, doesn't it?" She grinned. Jim grinned. "Trapped me, didn't you! But what happens to the A-team if one of your retreads leads them into a trap?" "We can't go into details here, but aren't your boys savvy enough to watch one man ... and take ... appropriate action if he causes problems." "We are usually pretty busy, and the nature of the business is such that we need to be able to trust our backside to the team members. But I think we could handle it. The concept will take a lot of selling to the teams, though." "You'll do well at that job because you have been in on the project from Day One." "Meg, you really do major in psychology." Jim had to laugh at the trap that had been sprung. Jim stood. "Well, let's see what the cook can do with that water buffalo steak now that my goose has been cooked." He took Meg's hand and she felt the warmth. She glanced quickly into his eyes as they walked toward the dining room. During dinner they laughed and bragged about the beauty of their respective home states. Jim tried to convince Meg that the Oregon Pacific Coast was far more beautiful than her New Hampshire Atlantic Coast because the sun arrived there later and didn't spoil the nights. Meg took his arm as they stood to leave. Jim felt the warmth of her touch. He glanced into her sparkling eyes as they left the dining room. It was nearly midnight. "Would you like a night cap?" Jim nodded toward the bar. Meg shook her head "no". "Please walk me to my room, Jim. I am still a bit leery of what can happen in Saigon." "You are right to be alert ... all of the time." Jim knew he was comforted by his revolver. They didn't speak in the elevator, but Jim realized that he was holding Meg's hand. He liked touching her. Jim took Meg's key and checked the lock before inserting the key. He then stood to the side of the doorway as he unlocked the door and turned the door handle. He pushed the door gently but fully open. He reached inside and turned the light switch before fully exposing himself in the doorway. Meg smiled at his security precautions, but she took note that she should begin playing the same stressful game. A quick inspection revealed all in order and Jim stepped to Meg to say "good night". "I have a bottle of port. Would you like to sit on the balcony for a few minutes and tell me more lies about Oregon?" Meg grinned and Jim chuckled. "Yes, I'd like to have the chance to tell you more about heaven on the Columbia River." Jim sipped the port and it warmed him all the way down, burning away even the mist that was rising from the steamy streets below. He looked to Meg standing at the railing. Her eyes moved from the far away lights to meet his gaze. He stood and stepped to her. She turned to meet him and he kissed her gently, but for a very long time. His right hand found her left ear and he traced circles along her neck. The fingers of her left hand dug into the small of his back. "Jim." "Yes, Meg." "Take me to bed. Please." Jim unbuttoned her white blouse as Meg worked at the large buttons on his fatigue uniform. By the time they reached her bed, clothes were scattered all about and Meg wore only a bra. Jim still wore his ankle holster, socks and his "dog tags". Jim quickly tossed off his socks and placed the revolver in its holster on the night stand. The bra and "dog tags" were removed in a ceremony later that night. For the next two weeks Jim and Meg worked closely and lived together. They both seemed to know what was happening to them. It was wartime, but it was Springtime. Then, with no warning, and with only two days left before the final approval briefing to the Commanding General, Meg received a cable abruptly recalling her to Washington to review her program. As they walked down the hallway at Ton San Nhut Airport to the International Departure Lounge, Meg held tightly to Jim's hand. "I'll write as soon as I know what is going on." Jim nodded. "Big boys don't cry," he thought. But he could feel the tears in his eyes. "Meg, I love you and ... I don't know how to say what I ... ah ... feel. Maybe you understand since you are the psychologist." Meg smiled. "Jim, I don't have all the words to say to you to tell you how much I love you and how much this time has filled me. This isn't the end. It's just the end until we are together again." She looked into his eyes and squeezed his hand even harder. Jim squeezed back as the noisy airport hallway faded into the darkened embassy walls and the fear again touched him. Jim was still looking into those loving eyes. "Meg, how did we lose it?" Jim spoke ever so softly. "We didn't." Her voice matched his. "Our masters covered it over with 'important' jobs and we were caught in the current. I was undercover for several years in Eastern Europe. I couldn't even say more than the cryptic letter telling you that I had to be gone for a while but would get in touch later. I ran a check on you several years later and found that you had married Katherine. I married along the way. And divorced. No kids." Her voice turned sad at the end. "I thought you had simply changed your mind and I couldn't find you, Meg. If only I had known." "Jim, you have a good life with a good family. I have had a great life, too, with no regrets." She paused. "Now I'm starting to tell lies like I did about New Hampshire!" They both laughed. "I regret very much that I took the assignment to Eastern Europe because I learned soon enough that it was not so important as you and me. I didn't let myself feel the full impact, however, until the Iron Curtain rusted out. Until then I could tell myself that defeating Communism was worth losing the love of my life. "Jim, it is wonderful and exhilarating to be working with you again. I'll keep my hands off of you, but only because I still love you!" She squeezed his hand. They kissed gently, but for a very long time. Jim fought back those same tears and they walked on to the vault. Once inside the vault and with doors secure, Jim asked Meg to join him at the small table. "Back to business, Meg. It is terribly dirty business. I feel all knotted up inside about this. Here's what we've got. "The Air Force has been covering up the theft of two thermonuclear bombs from Crotone Air Base sometime Wednesday afternoon." He waited for the expected shocked reaction. Meg was shocked and her lovely face paled, but deep down inside she had been dreading that this was what the Air Force had been afraid to report. She spoke quietly, but with a touch of anger in her voice. "Jim, I knew that it had to be something like this. But one just doesn't want to admit our vulnerability to the theft of nukes. What about arming codes?" "Nothing on that yet, Meg. Maybe you'll now be able to find out. I don't fully understand nuclear weapons, I'm sad to admit. The Army tried to develop nuclear hand grenades for special forces, but somehow it didn't work out." Meg understood that his attempt at humor was meant to lighten the situation and get their minds functioning. "I'm not a weapons expert either, Jim, but unless the codes can be set into the arming device the weapon cannot be electrically detonated. A carefully crafted shaped charge could be used at the appropriate point in the arming cycle to breach the safeguard and then a small electrical charge is sufficient to detonate the weapon." "Meg, it seems pretty easy for someone to set off a thermonuclear weapon!" "You're right, Jim, it is reasonably easy to detonate a weapon. The hard part is building one or stealing one." "In this case, two. And the most high value target I can think of is that ship with the Group of Eight aboard. Even a near-miss would be fatal. If the terrorists have put the nukes aboard a ship of their own they have plenty of room for conventional explosives and lots of room to work. "That brings up a lot of questions. SIS is sorting out what ships are near the coast of France, in the English Channel, and on into the North Sea. How about if we concentrate on how the weapons got out of Italy." "My guess is that they were on that truck that crashed through the border near Torino early Thursday morning." "I agree with you, Meg. But that was strictly bad luck for the terrorists that their truck would be the object of a random search by customs. They undoubtedly planned that the drive north would be uneventful, all the way to ... where?" "French police work will probably be the key to answering that question." "Let's keep it in mind, though. "Now, the terrorists had no idea that the US Air Force would keep this theft quiet for so long. I'm sure that they expected the Carabinieri would be looking for them by midnight Wednesday. That might have closed the borders. So how did they expect to slip through? Do you see where I'm coming from?" "I think so. You are bothered that our set of clues is not the trail that we would have normally had to follow had luck, both good and bad, not been on the terrorists' side." "Correct, Meg. Let's assume that it is Wednesday night and we have just received word that the two weapons have been stolen. Where do we look for clues?" "First place I would look is for aircraft departures or ship sailings. That would be the quickest way to get those weapons off Italian soil and make our getting them back the most difficult." "Can you query for that kind of information? And get it quickly?" "You must have become a terrible lover, Jim. Everything has got to happen now for you!" She looked at him with a gentle smile. "Hey, it's only after I've been away a very long time ... and stayed straight ... against my better judgment ... that it goes too quickly!" He gave her his disarming grin. "Okay, Jim. I'll try to get this information ... quickly!" Meg was smiling as she turned to her computer. Jim knew that it had been the right thing to do to open up his feelings about Meg. There were tender places in his heart that still ached and he needed to let them begin to heal. London, Saturday, 3:15 A.M. "Nelson, thanks for calling me in. What do you have?" The Brigadier settled into a comfortable chair in the conference room. His Deputy, the French liaison, the SIS liaison, and the intelligence officer joined him. "Brigadier, I'm am sorry to have had to call you in but new information has come to light that required your immediate attention." Nelson turned to the map and pointed to Crotone near the boot heel of Italy. "Sometime Wednesday afternoon two thermonuclear weapons were stolen from the United States Air Force at Crotone Air Base. Several people were killed." "Good Lord, man!" The Brigadier spoke for all in the room. After a few moments of letting the words sink into his tired brain he said, "Please continue, Nelson." Nelson pointed at the French-Italian border near Torino, Italy. "Early Thursday morning a truck accompanied by at least two motor cars crashed the border. A number of guards were killed or wounded. The truck was later found in France abandoned with all clues removed. We speculate, and I emphasize 'speculate', that the truck was carrying the missing weapons. "When I say 'we', I mean Colonel Grissom and I have been concerned from the beginning that the Chunnel hijacking might not be the main target of terrorist action. Too many variances in expected terrorist actions led us to believe that Salim has been trying to keep our attention focused on him while something else is underway. We are continuing to try to sort out what that 'something else' may be." "Nelson," the Brigadier interrupted, "this is all quite fantastic! Why have the Americans waited until Saturday morning to report this loss? Why haven't the Italians and French been alerted?" "Brigadier, I do not know the American reasoning. Colonel Grissom put his tail on the line to get this information. Even their Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was not aware of the theft. I cannot say who was holding back or why. "Sir, we expect that the Americans will alert the allies, but Colonel Grissom and I felt that you should discuss this with the PM and speak with Brigadier LaRoche due to our fears that the theft is tied in to current terrorist activities. We need extraordinary police work from the French. Perhaps Brigadier LaRoche will handle that." "Sir," the SIS liaison spoke. "We have plotted out the course of the Louis Catorce as it makes its way to Rotterdam. A number of us have agreed that this is the most significant target for the terrorists." He moved to another chart on the wall that covered the coastal areas from Brest to Rotterdam. "The weather forecast is very poor in the Channel and North Sea, which is normal at this time of year. We do not believe that aircraft available to the terrorists could locate the Louis Catorce with much degree of confidence. Therefore, if an attack on the ship is planned we believe it will be a executed as a surface attack. "I have plotted the known locations of Libyan, Syrian and Algerian ships in these waters. Nothing is close at this time. However, these two ships, both Libyan," he pointed at Rotterdam and Portsmouth, "could leave port and intercept the Louis Catorce while it is en route. "Making life even more difficult, perhaps a smaller boat, something rented in a French or English port, could be used. The possibilities in that event would be almost countless." "Do you think that the nuclear weapons could have been brought to England to be put aboard the ship in Portsmouth?" Nelson asked. "Not a likely move, I would think. But we cannot possibly track down all of the small craft that could have crossed the Channel the past few days." "I have asked for Portsmouth authorities to quietly delay the ship and carefully search it. A runaway teenager who recently made the local news will be the object of the search." "Could the weapons have been moved to Rotterdam?" This time the Brigadier had spoken. "Yes, sir, but the most direct route from Crotone," the SIS liaison pointed at the map, "would have crossed through the Goddard tunnel in Switzerland and on up through Germany. Much quicker." "Perhaps they wanted to throw us off the trail with the feint through France," posed the Deputy Director. "I think that we must keep in mind that it was only by accident that we may have found the terrorists' trail into France. If that was their convoy, it was only by a stroke of very bad luck that they were challenged at the border. I'm sure they were ready to shoot their way through if the alarm had been raised and border had been closed. But I think they were hoping to quietly move into France with no notice taken. I do not believe they were trying to throw us off the track. They were not intending to be leaving tracks at the border." "So you think that a small boat from a French port is the more likely method of attack?" "Brigadier, since the Louis Catorce is destined for Rotterdam the Libyan ship there cannot be discounted. We need to ask Dutch police to check it out thoroughly. The Louis Catorce docking should give them ample cover to do just that. "I do not believe the terrorists would risk the Channel crossing to move nuclear weapons into the United Kingdom to put on a ship in Portsmouth or on any other boat. Right now that leaves us with the French small boat theory posing a huge problem due to the extensive coast line." "Very well. And what do we do about the proposed target, the Louis Catorce, gentlemen?" The Brigadier refocused the group. Everyone sat thinking for a few moments. Finally, the Deputy Director spoke. "Why don't we just request that they reverse course back into Brest? That should get the PM and the other gentlemen out of harm's way in the most expeditious manner." "That has a lot of merit, Sir, but we would still have to contend with not knowing the whereabouts of two nuclear weapons that are probably armed and committed for use. Once the terrorists realize that the target has been lost they may choose to detonate the weapons in Paris, or Brussels ... or anywhere they choose. I think we must be very careful about seeming to take away their target." "Nelson, that is a good point. We must consider it. But my primary concern right now is to talk with the PM. He may not wait for our recommendations but may want to get off that ship right now! "Gentlemen, I want you to work with the MOD liaison and Scotland Yard to develop a list of possible targets other than the Louis Catorce. I do not even want to consider it the possibility, but you will recall the devastation in London and Belfast caused by conventional bombs in 1993! One small thermonuclear device could level this town, kill millions. Good Lord!" All were silent. Finally, a quiet voice spoke. "Sir, I recommend that we re-convene at 4:00 A.M. after your telephone calls. Perhaps we will have guidance from the PM and more intelligence data." The SIS liaison's suggestion got nods all around. "Very well, gentlemen. Thank you. Nelson, come to my office whilst I call, just in case I need more details." London, Saturday, 3:40 A.M. "Meg, you've been at that computer for a solid hour. Anything?" "Jim, look at this as being a labor of love. You said you could be patient about that!" "It's just that I have read through every file in this office and haven't added anything new to the equation." "Well, I've got some answers, but I'm still not finished with the aircraft departures. There is something pretty fishy out of Brindisi." "What do you have?" "Ship sailings were easy to get from the International Maritime Register. Six ships sailed from Brindisi, Taranto or Naples since Wednesday noon bound for Libya, but none of them is going direct. All were heading to Spain or France to pick up cargo. And all are still at sea in the Mediterranean for another forty-eight hours." "Doesn't sound too positive," Jim bit his lower lip. "My intuition is that there is nothing useful in that list." "What about aircraft departures?" "Libya has two scheduled flights per day between Rome and Tripoli. That means five possible departures since the theft. They could have slipped the weapons on board pretty easily as cargo." "Wide open possibilities to that one." "Yes. But the strangest I've found is a twin-engine private aircraft that is missing and presumed down out of Brindisi. The flight plan was filed to Benghazi, Libya, but Libyan Air Traffic Control reported the aircraft overdue. The manifest listed the pilot and two passengers, plus four hundred kilograms of tractor parts." "Now that has possibilities. If we were hot on their trail Wednesday evening we would check airports and would have come up with that twin. Khadafy could easily cover his tracks by calling the aircraft overdue. We would have insisted that it had made it safely to Libya, but pooh on us because the aircraft probably had been repainted and renumbered by then." "What about satellite photos?" Meg posed. "They might have shown us something, but we would try diplomatic pressure before we barged in. That would buy them the time they needed to pull off whatever it is they intend. Khadafy could disavow any knowledge later and slip past official retribution, if any were proposed." "So do we have the trail that we were supposed to follow?" "Probably. But I bet that there are also suspicious manifests for the first flight to Tripoli on Thursday. It would take an Italian magistrate a week to find out. Again, it buys time." Jim moved to the desk. "May I?" he said, as he picked up the STU III receiver. "Of course!" Jim quickly dialed Nelson's number and then waited while the clerk brought Nelson to the telephone. While he was waiting he pushed the "secure" button. When Nelson answered, Jim said, "Green and TS, here." "Green and TS, here. Jim, what do you have?" "Meg has come up with the trail that I think we were supposed to follow starting Wednesday night. It leads from Brindisi Airport to an overdue aircraft report from Benghazi, Libya. Just fishy enough to get us to follow it up until after the terrorists had attacked elsewhere." "Are we positive that it is 'fishy'? You know, Jim, we have kept thinking that the border incident was our bad guys. But what if they really did take the nukes direct to Libya and the Camorra are to blame for the Torino incident?" "You're just trying to confuse me aren't you, Nelson? Well let me tell you, you win! I'm so confused! "Now, let's get back to work. My bet is that somehow the target is the Group of Eight. How can they get to them?" "My bet is by small boat. We have asked the French to put every policeman they've got on this." "Have you spoken to the Brigadier?" "Yes, we briefed him. He called the PM and the Minister of Defence and brought them in on the situation. Your President had already briefed the PM and the Presidents of France and of Italy." "What is the reaction on the ship?" "They are to make a final decision at a six o'clock meeting this morning. I suspect they will want to put into port as soon as possible. Oh ... just a moment." While Nelson was off the line Jim quickly told Meg what was happening. He did not want any of the infamous intelligence "green doors" separating intelligence reports from the operators who need them, closing on him now. He wanted her to know all the facts so she could offer the best analysis. "Jim?" "Yes, Nelson?" "SIS just informed me the Libyan ship at Portsmouth has put to sea. The authorities had no time to search it. In addition, it seems that we also have a Libyan television crew that has hired a heavy-lift helicopter from a Great Yarmouth oil platform servicing company. They have requested flight operations to help provide coverage of the Chunnel hijacking. That's two possible attackers in the area after daybreak. "Jim, we need to think this out. We don't have enough resources to cover all the possible threats." "Nelson, I'll be there in ten minutes." Chapter Twenty-Two London, Saturday, 3:55 A.M. Jim took the stairs two at a time and quickly pushed the entry door bell. He looked up, flashed a grin into the television camera, and the door was immediately electrically opened for him. He found Nelson in he briefing room pouring over the coastal charts and sipping cold tea. "Don't you have a coffee shop in this building? Nelson, we don't build any military headquarters anywhere in the world without a coffee shop!" Nelson looked up and offered a tired smile. "James! Glad you're back. Would you care for some tea?" "No, thanks, Nelson. I'll wait for morning coffee." Taking a chair he continued, "What's up? "You had a call a few moments ago that you have helicopters arriving at RAF Northholt at four this morning. "Our staff reconvenes here in two minutes to go over the possibilities concerning the nuclear weapons and the Louis Catorce and what we should recommend to the Prime Minister and the President of France." Even as he spoke, the key players were filing into the briefing room and taking seats in anticipation of the Brigadier returning to the room. "Please keep your seats, gentlemen." The Brigadier entered the room and walked briskly to the front of the room to speak first. He looked around at the staff as he began, "I have spoken to the Prime Minister. He has confirmed that Scotland Yard are to continue in charge of all police matters, but that DSF will takeover immediately if we must secure the terrorists in the Chunnel. "Also, if the police are able to locate the US nuclear weapons, we will assume command as soon as we can move to seize them." He turned to Jim, "Colonel Grissom, we would appreciate your nuclear technical experts if we should need them to assist." Jim stood. "Brigadier, if the weapons are located and you move to take them I will transfer command to you and you may delegate it to your tactical commander. The matter will be made absolutely clear to the US team." "Thank you, Colonel Grissom." Jim took his seat. The Brigadier continued with his update. "I discussed with the Prime Minister the need to review the contingencies and options for the continued movement of the Louis Catorce in light of the possibility that the liner is the primary target for terrorist action. The Group of Eight will convene in two hours to take a decision for their course of action. I must tell you that my current recommendation is that the Louis Catorce reverse course for Brest to stay well clear of any attack craft." "Brigadier." Jim again stood. "Yes, Colonel Grissom?" Jim knew that he had few facts to back up his intuition. "I feel very strongly that the ship is the target. If I were them I would have established checkpoints to monitor progress, either visually, or by maritime radar. If I did not sight the Louis Catorce I would go to a back-up plan and fire off those nukes somewhere else. "I strongly believe that we need to keep the ship on course and on its time schedule, even if we pull the Group of Eight officials off. At least it will keep the terrorists focused on the ship while we try to locate and nail them before they can do any damage. It seems to me that any other tactic could leave us open to nuclear blackmail or blind attack." "I understand your position, Colonel, and I have tried to make the point clear to the PM." "Brigadier, could you approve Colonel Grissom and I flying out to brief the PM and the others in person? We have a helicopter that can put us right on target no matter the weather." Nelson was now standing next to Jim. "Please sit down, gentlemen, and let's discuss this." The Brigadier pulled a chair from the front row and sat facing them. He looked around the room asking, "What are the recommendations?" The SIS liaison spoke. "I think that the ship should continue on course. Perhaps the only way to insure that happens is for our officers to speak to the PM and his cohorts in person. Can the destroyer escort take the passengers off with the weather as it is?" The Deputy Director, a Royal Marine officer, spoke. "I do not believe that small boats or a bos'n chair can safely be used, given the reported sea state. It would seem the only way to get the men off would be to put in to port or at least maneuver the ships into sheltered waters. That would require a minimum of four hours delay, I would guess." "A delay of that magnitude would be detected by the terrorists, I'm sure, if they are monitoring. It would cost us their target focus." Jim had again spoken. He continued, "Maybe the only way to get them off is to use our special helicopters. I have faith that they can do the job safely. You will remember that they used to be the only long-range rescue helicopters stationed in England and made a number of spectacular rescues in the North Atlantic, including the Yarawonga." The staff nodded, remembering how the American airmen had established a reputation over the years for daring rescues far out to sea. In 1988 they had plucked 35 crewmen to safety as the merchant ship Yarawonga had foundered in thirty foot seas over 500 miles from land. "Colonel Grissom. Please confirm with your flyers that they can do this job. If the plan can be put together quickly I will call the PM and request that you and Nelson fly out to speak to the group." The Brigadier paused a moment. "Give Davness the flash to move forward into the Chunnel. We have to be ready for intervention from 8:00 A.M. onwards." All present recalled that the next broadcast from the terrorists began then. The staff stood as the Brigadier left the room. Nelson spoke briefly with members of the staff to ensure the movement order was passed and that the forward command post at Folkestone was activated. He then joined Jim and they moved back along the corridor to Nelson's office. "Nelson, do you mind if I use your STU III to set up the 'getaway adventure vacation of the year' for you and me?" Jim was grinning weakly as he anticipated that he and Nelson would have a wild time getting aboard the Louis Catorce. "Make it so!" Nelson nodded as he mimicked Captain Jean Luc Picard of the old Star Trek series; his face was grim but determined. Chapter Twenty-Three Stirling Lines, Hereford, England, Saturday, 4:20 A.M. The men boarding the helicopters appeared to be Eurotunnel maintenance employees departing for a day of routine work. There was nothing remarkable in their Eurotunnel overalls or in their bearing to give any other indication. The heavy tool boxes and kit bags, however, contained sufficient firearms, munitions, and explosives to deal with a small war. Major Davness double-checked the manifest with his Sergeant Major, then boarded last. He knew the next several hours would be the most boring for his men. First there would be the flight to Ashford, near Folkestone. From a secluded landing zone on the small post, the men would discreetly move forward to the service tunnel entrance to join the other maintenance crews heading into the Chunnel for the day work shift. His teams had taken the past three hours to sleep after working for eight hours against a mockup of the train they would most likely have to assault. They had also spent several hours firing their specially-modified Heckler and Koch MP5 assault rifles in smaller mockups within the "Killing House". The teams were in peak condition for an assault on the terrorists. RAF Northholt, Saturday, 4:25 A.M. "Yes, Colonel Grissom, I have you green and Secret. This is Lieutenant Colonel Ruckel speaking." "Colonel Ruckel, you're the 21st Special Ops Squadron commander, right?" "Yes, Sir. We are ready to support you." "How are facilities?" "Pretty good from what I've seen, Sir. The Navy met us when we landed moments ago and have given us secure rooms in their Ops Center to use for mission and flight planning. The RAF brought in extra weather and intelligence briefers to work with our crews and intel folks. "The helicopter aircrews are still coming in from the flight line. Our aircraft maintenance team and parts are coming by HC-130 aircraft which are now arriving. The HC's will also air refuel us, if we need them." There was a brief silence. "We have not been given any directions, Colonel Grissom, but we assume that we are here to support the Chunnel takedown." "Correct, uh, Mark, isn't it?" "Yes, Sir, 'Mark'." "Mark, please call me, 'Jim'. Here's what we have so far. The situation is quiet in the Chunnel and the British and French special forces have a solid plan to deal with the terrorists. However, something else has come up. We think the President, Prime Minister, and other high rollers attending the Group of Eight meeting aboard the French liner Louis Catorce might be targeted by terrorists, too. "I can't take time to go into all of the linkages and reasons for our assumptions, but Colonel Bartlett of DSF and I need to fly out to the Louis Catorce and speak to the President and his counterparts. If they agree to our plan we will need to fly all of the VIP's safely to shore. Can you see where I am leading?" "Okay, Jim. The weather forecast is typical November. Your thinking no one could find the boat in this kind of weather except for us. I agree. Give us the ship's location and we can put you down by hoist or fast rope without too much problem. "If you're talking about hoisting everyone out, that's another story. The operation will be slow and physically demanding, not to mention risky for the President. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't thinking about hoisting people off. I want you to land on the Louis Catorce so the President and his pals can climb with dignity into your helicopter. They are Very Important People, you know." "Jim, we can't land a forty-eight thousand pound helicopter on an ocean liner! There just isn't enough deck to land a Pave Low, and with pitching and rolling in these heavy seas we won't be able to hold pitch to keep the weight off the deck. Ocean liners are not stressed for our weight. They are configured to accept the small, sight-seeing or harbor pilot helicopters. Our heavy-lift birds will buckle the deck." "Can you do it safely, I mean so that it is safe for the passengers, if you don't have to worry about hurting the ship?" "We can try. I would rather have one of my guys take a look before doing it." "Excellent idea, my friend. Is that big, tall super- sergeant helicopter gunner, Larry, there at Northholt with you?" "Chief Hurt? Yes, he's here." "Well, I remember him telling me over a beer back at Hurlburt Field, Florida, that he was a US Navy-qualified helicopter landing safety officer. If that's true, put him onboard with Colonel Bartlett and me; he can investigate the landing pad while Colonel Bartlett and I are speaking with the President. Larry can marshal you in to pick up the VIP's if they decide they need to fly off. Agreed?" "That might work." "It might have to work, Mark. It might just have to work. Standby for a second." Jim turned to Nelson. "Where can the helicopter land to pick us up, and what will be the ship's coordinates, heading and speed in, say, one and a half hours?" "Jim, we can have the police close off Kensington Road in front of Royal Albert Hall for the helicopter to land. That provides the largest open area and traffic won't be a problem at this hour. I'll get the ship's coordinates." Nelson walked briskly out of the room. "Mark, pick us up in front of the Royal Albert Hall at oh-five-fifteen. That's 45 minutes from now. The police will detour traffic. I'll put down an inverted 'Y' with road flares. OK?" "That will be tight since we still have to flight plan out to the ship and brief up the crew on procedures." "Mark, I'm giving you all the time we have. I figure it'll take an hour to reach the ship. Oh, and you better alert the C-130 tankers that you will be needing gas. Give us your refueling coordinates as soon as you spin them out and I'll have them passed through the Ministry of Defence so you will get all of the airspace you want ... guaranteed." Nelson returned. "The ship should be at this location at 6:00 A.M." He passed the note to Jim. "Mark, ready to copy?" "Go ahead." "Oh-6-hundred coordinates: 49 degrees, 26 minutes north latitude, 2 degrees, 44 minutes west longitude." "Let me read back: 4-9 degrees, 2-6 minutes north, 2 degrees, 4-4 minutes west. Is that correct?" "Correct. Heading oh-7-0, speed 14 knots." "Heading 0-7-0, speed 1-4 knots. Correct?" "Read back is correct! Mark, there is one more item ... are you armed?" "Jim, we are carrying side arms, but the helicopters don't have guns installed." "Install guns. You are under my command and I may need to give you to the Brits to support takedown. I want you ready to 'reach out and touch somebody' if the need arises. Any questions?" "No, Sir. We'll come ready for a fight." "Good! See you at 5:15 A.M. on Kensington Road. Out, here." "We'll land on your inverted 'Y' at oh-5-15. Out, here." Jim replaced the receiver and looked to Nelson. "Well, my friend, think we can find some heavier clothes than these slacks and sport shirts? We've got about 40 minutes to suit up and get a helicopter landing zone set up in front of Albert's Hall." "Royal Albert Hall," Nelson corrected. "I think that we can find some dark work clothes, sweaters, caps and jackets in the next building. Sort of a depot for our lads." They left Nelson's office and stepped into the Brigadier's office. The staff quickly convened. Jim briefly outlined the plan to the Brigadier. "We have set the wheels in motion to get out to the ship. However, we can recall the helicopters at any point if we are not permitted to board the ship. May we have permission to get airborne, Brigadier." The Brigadier looked around the room and was met with nods. "I approve the plan. I'll call the PM and notify MOD of your flight and its priority. Satellite communications are our primary link to the ship. Your American aircraft will not have the right encryption codes to speak with us. How can I recall you, in the event the PM does not agree?" "Let's use a pre-arranged code word that you can have air traffic control pass along to us in the clear. We should be in radio contact with them, plus Colonel Bartlett's clerk has the telephone numbers at RAF Northholt for the helo squadron. You can recall us through them." "Excellent! Shall we use the word, 'Ambush'?" "Yes, Brigadier, 'Ambush' will mean we have been ambushed!" Jim had to grin at the Brigadier's dry humor. Ten minutes later, helicopter flight plan and HC-130 air refueling airspace details safely passed to the air operations officer at MOD, Jim and Nelson were warmly dressed in black and were walking toward the waiting Jaguar. Chapter Twenty-Four London, Saturday, 5:14 A.M. With five minutes notice the efficient London Bobbies had cleared Kensington Road of traffic for 500 meters, from Queen's Gate to Exhibition Road. Curious pedestrians were kept 200 meters from the center of the landing zone that Jim had quickly marked with a five-meter "Y" composed of four road flares provided by the ever-prepared Bobbies. Nelson looked skyward to the northwest, the expected arrival path of the helicopters. Jim knew the special operations helicopter crews didn't particularly like flying into such a well-lighted area as downtown London. They always seemed to prefer wearing the space-age night vision goggles, "NVG's" they called them, that permitted them to operate close to the ground in near pitch-black conditions. With a deafening roar of jet engines and clatter of swirling rotor blades, the single MH-53J helicopter roared out of the light mist and abruptly slowed to a hover. The helicopter gently touched down. Jim glanced at his watch from a habit born of hundreds of helicopter arrivals, usually in much less glamorous and far less safe surroundings: oh-5-15 hours! "I think I'm going to like this fellow, Mark Ruckel," Jim thought to himself over the whine of the MH-53J's two jet engines. A crew member immediately appeared down the aft ramp of the helicopter and motioned for the men to move toward him. Jim immediately recognized him as Larry, the "Jolly Green Giant". Within seconds Jim and Nelson were led up the ramp and, along with their gear, were safely tucked aboard. The noise level increased noticeably, the aircraft rose and swiftly departed. The SAS Corporal shook hands all around with the Bobbies, started his Jaguar, and left for DSF headquarters. The curious onlookers walked over to where the road flares were sputtering their last, talking among themselves that it was probably just one of the princes getting out of London early for a day of hunting in the countryside. Aboard the helicopter the crew member, Chief Master Sergeant Larry Hurt, who had assisted their boarding, helped Nelson and Jim strap in to the nylon web seats strung the length of the left-hand side of the cargo section. He handed Jim a headset for which Jim was extremely grateful due to the extreme noise level. This was a working beast, not a plush passenger aircraft, which was taking he and Nelson off on their vital mission. Jim motioned for a headset for Nelson but Chief Hurt shook his head as if to say, "You got the last one!" Jim held up his hands as if to stick his fingers in his ears and the Chief nodded and quickly handed Nelson ear plugs to help with the painful noise level. "Colonel Grissom, this is Mark Ruckel." The headset came alive. "Welcome aboard 21 Special Ops flight zero one ... to the Twilight Zone!" Jim quickly found the transmit button and replied, "Hey, Mark, my good man! It looked like you were about twelve seconds late on your tee-oh-tee. Did you dally along the approach to look for the lovers in Hyde Park?" Jim knew how touchy the special operations flyers could be about their time-over-target. "You might want to take time to correct your Army hack watch, Jim. We flyers get our time hacks directly from the satellite, not off CNN." "Touch,!" thought Jim. "As a matter of fact we have been cruising along sight- seeing, just above red-line speed on the bird." Mark continued with a hint of steel in his voice to make his point. They had been hard-pressed to plan the mission to fly out to the ship and pickup Colonel Grissom on such short notice. "Well, I wish you'd keep your satellites close to CNN. Those last twelve seconds standing about in the London fog could have been hard on my health!" Jim kept the banter going. "Fast roping down to this ship will be even harder on your health, Jim. Chief Hurt will be going down the rope with you so he will brief you on the procedures while we are en route." Jim looked over to the Chief who was strapped in between he and Nelson. He reached out shook hands and keyed the mike once more, "Larry, it is good to be working with you again! You will have your hands full getting the folks off of the ship, if that is their decision!" The Chief nodded seriously. "Jim, with the expected sea state, roping down is probably the safest procedure, but it will be no easy task. Before I put you and this aircraft at risk, I certainly would like to know more details. I'll only ask once. I know you might not be allowed to say." Mark Ruckel was a good special operator who was willing to push his airframe to the limit. Jim instinctively knew, however, that as the commander, Mark needed to know why it was so very important, and urgent. Jim quickly unstrapped and stepped over to Nelson. He spoke a few words into his ear. Then he stepped back to look at him. Nelson thought for a moment and then nodded concurrence. Jim returned to the webbed seat and strapped in. "Mark, Colonel Nelson Bartlett of DSF has agreed that I may tell you what is going on. Do your crew members hold Top Secret clearances?" "Jim, we all hold TS, plus SCI. The intercom is secure. You may speak freely since each of us has a need to know if we are going to get you on this ship, and then get the VIP's off." Jim paused to take a deep breath. "Mark, we have come to believe the Chunnel hijacking is a diversionary tactic. We believe that the true terrorist target is the Group of Eight heads of state aboard the cruise ship Louis Catorce. "Mark, here is the real kicker: the US Air Force had two B-61 thermonuclear devices stolen two days ago. Colonel Bartlett and I believe that the nukes are targeted against the ship. "If the ship is detected diverting to a safe port to discharge the President and his counterparts, then we can expect the terrorists to simply move the nukes to a large city, such as Paris or London, and detonate or blackmail us. So long as the terrorists can focus on the ship, our police and military forces have the opportunity to locate and neutralize the threat. Questions?" There was a long period of silence. Beyond the protection of his headset Jim could hear the roar of jet engines and the massive rotor blades. The whine of the hydraulic pumps that sustained the flight controls made sorrowful music. He understood that the shocked look on Larry's face probably reflected the impact on the other crew members. Mark finally spoke, "Colonel Grissom," he involuntarily returned to a formal basis, "this is really scary. If those nukes go off anywhere it will change life on earth. This is almost unthinkable. "How much time do you think we have to get the President off the ship? How much time do we have to find the nukes and disarm them?" "Tough questions, Mark." Jim noted his instincts were right: Mark had bought into the team and now used the term "we" as a full partner. "The Louis Catorce is due in Rotterdam at 8:00 A.M. on Sunday. That would be 7:00 A.M. London time. The bad guys can attempt a hit any time between now and when the VIP's are disembarking. That gives us a twenty-five hour window-- at max! "I believe that the terrorists will need daylight in order to launch an attack to make sure it is the right ship. We believe they have access to two freighters and one helicopter, plus they could easily have smaller craft. "Literally thousands of craft are in the Channel on any given day and nearly 2000 boats go through the Dover Strait daily. They could mix in with the traffic and get close to this ship. The possibilities are endless. The sooner we get the VIP's safely to shore the better." "Jim, I am going to alert the other helicopters to begin launching out to the area of the ship at 15 minute intervals. That will give us a flow pattern. With your concurrence I'll direct the HC-130's to support us with two in the air, and two on the ground ready to takeoff. Also, I need my extra crews moved forward from RAF Mildenhall to a staging base. HC's can handle that, too. We have got to compress the time line if we are going to get a large number of people off of that ship in the next few hours." "You are cleared to set up the flow you want, and launch HC-130's for gas and transport. Remember, no transmissions about the nukes, and no reference to the ship's name or it being a target. Even over secure comm. OK?" "Understood. You had better get cracking with Chief Hurt to prepare for your boarding." Somewhere in the Night Sky, over Canada, Saturday, 0555 Hours Zulu The C-5 Galaxy glided along through the dark night skies far above the clouds and the frozen land below. Sandy slept fitfully. He kept dreaming a terrible dream: he was in his disassembly bay at Pantex and found the weapon was armed. He was trying to disarm it and was having a great deal of trouble with the intricate innards. The bomb was extremely big and fat, and painted an ugly black. Sandy looked at his hands in frustration and felt a scream rise in his throat when he saw that his fingers had turned to ten fumbling thumbs. Frantically, he renewed his efforts to defuse the threat, but try as he might, he could not operate the delicate instruments to safe the bomb. Suddenly there was a blinding light and Sandy woke to the chilly aircraft cabin. Sandy fell back into his sweating sleep and the terrible cycle repeated. Under the English Channel, Saturday, 6:00 A.M. Jacques woke early and looked at his watch. He tried to quietly work the stiffness from his shoulders without waking the young teenager in his arms. It was the only comfortable sleeping position for them, and it was a comforting position as well. Looking around Jacques saw that the heavy-set Arab, "Tiger," was sitting atop the bar so that he could view the entire car. His eyes seem to glare at Jacques through his mask. Jacques unconsciously cradled the young girl more tightly as if to protect her. Most of the hostages were still sleeping, and no one was speaking. The rail car was a mess of used food containers and unattended toilet cans. The stench of human filth and perspiration filled Jacques' nostrils, but he readily fought back the revulsion as he reflected upon the fact that they were all still alive after more than twenty- four hours as prisoners. Jacques realized that he didn't comprehend the politics involved in the hijackers' demands. He did know that in the next hours the crisis would be resolved one way or another: either the demands would be met and he and his charges would be released; or a violent ending would ensue as people were executed and the police had to step in. He shuddered involuntarily as he thought about the ominous monitoring machines with their deadly payload that could rupture the Chunnel and drown them all. Chapter Twenty-Five Fifty Miles North of the Isle of Guernsey in the English Channel, Saturday, 6:22 A.M. Nelson felt the heavy shudder of the MH-53 helicopter as it was slowed from cruise airspeed and began the transition to the hover over the Louis Catorce. Chief Hurt had briefed them well on the procedures they were to follow using the ropes to board the ship. The air crew had not received the recall code word en route to the ship, and once they were close in the ship had responded by radio that they had cleared the aft deck for the arrival. The deck would be lighted so that the three need not wear night vision goggles, making the boarding much easier for them since Jim and Nelson were not used to such devices in their current staff postings. The plan was for the helicopter to approach the ship from the rear and establish a hover about fifteen feet above the deck. Only one rope would be used. Jim would go down first, hit the deck and rapidly move clear. As soon as he was away from the rope, Nelson would slide down the rope. The Chief would follow once Nelson was well clear of the rope. The trick was to time the slide down the rope such that the ship was at the top of a swell so that the deck was stable below, or moving away from the helicopter. Hitting the deck while the ship was rising would greatly increase the risk of injury. As Nelson looked out the open right-hand door of the helicopter he could see the ship's luminescent wake below as the helicopter approached in hover from the rear to take advantage of the wind created by the ship's movement. He saw Jim check his heavy gloves and grasp the rope tightly to steady himself against the buffeting of the aircraft and to prepare for his quick, but dangerous, slide down the rope. Nelson noted Jim's frequent glances at the gunner who was acting as the safety. He would give them the "go" signal to execute the boarding. Nelson felt the same tightness that he knew Jim must be experiencing: he and Jim were out of shape for this sort of thing, but it was a necessary move if they were to get on board the ship. Nelson reflected to himself how lucky he was to have a friend like Jim who was willing to risk everything for Nelson's professional judgment. Nelson saw the stern of the ship move slowly into view, now only twenty or so feet below the helicopter, and the gunner gave the "go!" Jim nodded his understanding and looked intently at the moving deck below. After only a few seconds he slipped quickly from Nelson's view, so Nelson stepped toward the rope, checked his own gloves, and grasped the rope. He began his own rapid calculations of the deck's pitching as he noted Jim rolling well clear of the rope. Nelson pushed his way clear of the aircraft and quickly slid down the rope, tightening his grip as he neared the deck. He touched down a little more heavily than he intended, but took the impact by twisting sideways and rolling across the slippery deck. The rotor downwash of air and rain mixed, and the extremely high noise level rendered the scene surreal. Momentarily, Nelson could taste the sand in his mouth from a similar helicopter insertion into Iraq just prior to the first Desert Storm war. As he looked up he felt the deck rise and saw the Chief exit the aircraft to time his hit. Suddenly Nelson felt an even greater rise in the ship and knew the Chief was in trouble as he hit the deck far harder than planned. Nelson and Jim, plus several others gathered neared the landing spot, quickly moved to his aid as the MH- 53 pulled away into the misty darkness. Jim was the first to reach the Chief and noted that he was conscious but dazed. He was obviously in pain. Jim spoke reassuringly to him and kept him from moving about. A voice spoke close to Jim's ear: "I'm a physician. Please let me examine him." Jim nodded and watched as the oddly familiar face moved closer to the Chief. Jim, smiled faintly as he remembered the name behind the face: Doctor Kefalas, the President's personal physician. He felt Nelson at his side, "How's the Chief? He really smacked the deck!" "Not too good, Nelson. He is in considerable pain. But he is in good hands. The man with him is the President's own doc." Nelson nodded. "Come, Jimmy, let's get to work. We have a lot of persuading to do." They moved quickly forward and through the first available doorway. As they stepped into the lounge that opened onto the aft deck they were met by a group of rather important looking men and women who Jim took to be staff members for the Group of Eight. Nelson recognized the Prime Minister's secretary beckoning to him, and he steered Jim toward the edge of the group to meet him. "Colonel Bartlett, good to see you again." The secretary was ever-efficient and extended his hand to welcome Nelson as he drew them toward the door to the passageway. "You must be Colonel Grissom." He firmly shook Jim's hand as they cleared the lounge and moved briskly down the corridor. "The Prime Minister and his associates have been meeting for nearly half an hour, gentlemen. It is an absolutely private meeting so I have no idea of what they have decided. The Prime Minister instructed me to lead you in as soon as you arrived. I hope your trip is worthwhile. I noticed that the third fellow appeared to be hurt." Before either could reply they reached a security desk. The uniformed guard recognized the secretary, but carefully checked his badge nevertheless. After checking their identity cards against a listing, he issued badges to Nelson and Jim, and they moved on down the passageway to the left. At the next security point, all three badges were scrutinized and confirmed via telephone with the first check point. Upon reaching a paneled double door, the three were again carefully checked by four very tough looking men. Once more badges were verified with the first security point. Upon receiving a nod from one of the security men, the Prime Minister's secretary knocked quietly on the door. As soon as he heard the click of the electronic lock, he pushed open the door. Jim and Nelson stepped into what might prove to be the most dangerous arena in which they were ever likely to face battle. The Publisher hopes you have enjoyed this sample e-edition story: Final Statement by Bobbie Clark. The complete Book-On-Disk novel available on PC/DOS 3.5" disk can be ordered by sending $4.95 + $1.00 shipping & handling to Cedar Bay Press, LLC, Box 751 Beaverton, OR 97075-0751 Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery. Comments? Questions? Email us: editor@cedarbay.com Internet users: http://www.teleport.com/~cedarbay/index.html AOL and others: http://www.teleport.com/~cedarbay/contents.html Shareware Release Date: 12/28/95