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Shortly after sunset, the SEALs rallied at Dominguez’s base camp to share intelligence and finalize the attack plan. The weather had deteriorated throughout the day, ending in rain showers that passed over and around the island. The rain made for a miserable existence in the already hot and humid jungle environment. Operationally, it was a significant boon as the Salinas men were disinclined to spend time out in the rain. Dozens of individual decisions opting to limit discomfort had a significant overall cumulative effect of gutting security. D’Agostino wished he had access to whatever the Honduran equivalent of the Weather Channel was called so that he could plan his marches to occur in the middle of a rain shower. As it was, they were frequent enough for his men to return in about half the time expected.
After consulting with his men, D’Agostino checked in with his command via satellite communications. The operation was still on. Not only that, but the patrol boat CO had seen the potential in the weather forecast to leverage the rain showers and was adjusting accordingly. Although they’d never met, D’Agostino was beginning to like this guy. If they could execute the takedown and exit when most of the dopers were hunkering down in the rain, that would be a massive reduction in mission risk. He hoped that boat jockey wouldn’t wait for the perfect rainstorm and launch too late.
The other thing on D’Agostino’s mind was the four speedboats the Salinas gang had tied up at the dock. If they got those babies spun up during the retreat, it could be dreadful news. There was some question about whether low-trained thugs could hit moving vessels with RPGs fired from the promontory five hundred yards away. But they couldn’t miss from a speedboat a few dozen yards away.
D’Agostino looked across at Parker. “P, we need those boats disabled. How many dopers were on guard at the marina?”
“Just one, Boss. And that was before the rain. There may be nobody there now.”
“OK. Take your squad down there and cut the fuel lines. Tap anyone you see and hide the bodies. And by cut, I don’t mean just slice it and leave an easy splice; take a big section out of it. When you’re done, head for the IP; we’ll meet you there.”
“Aye, aye, Senior Chief!” Parker replied as he stood and motioned his men to follow.
*******************
D’Agostino’s forces had completed the infiltration and sabotage, raising no alarm, and were now positioned at opposite ends of the quay, ready to converge on the Carlos Rojas. The rain showers in the area had provided a mixed blessing: almost perfect cover for movement when a storm was overhead, but playing hell with their NVGs otherwise. His force was equally split. Parker, his three men, and Dominguez were with D’Agostino, while Banks and his three men were poised on the other side. It had been forty-five minutes since the last storm’s passing, and the Salinas men were at their posts. One was about fifty yards ahead of the ship on the quay, another about fifty yards behind, with one walking around on the ship’s large well deck. Those three men were about to die. D’Agostino took no pleasure in it. Neither did he have any qualms after looking at the corpses and soon-to-be corpses strung up on the crosses before the hacienda. It was just another mission.
Another rain shower was arriving, and D’Agostino decided this was the one. “Cadillac Two Three, this is Greenman One, over.”
“Greenman One from Cadillac Two Three, go ahead.” replied the Rivet Joint, or “RJ” aircraft, an air force electronic warfare version of the venerable Boeing 707 passenger jet orbiting twenty-five thousand feet overhead.
“Cadillac Two Three, Greenman One, is Orchid on station? We are about to step off, over.”
“Greenman One, Cadillac Two Three, affirmative. Orchid is holding at the IP now.”
“Cadillac Two Three, Greenman One, roger, we are going dark, starting assault in two minutes. Over.”
“Greenman One, Cadillac Two Three, roger, out.”
D’Agostino switched his radio over to the team net. “All Greenmen, launch in two mikes. I expect the watch to duck under cover in the same spots as before. Take them first. Drop anyone else you see moving.”
“Roger One,” Banks acknowledged on the radio, while Parker just patted his shoulder twice.
As the rain’s intensity increased, the guard on the quay stepped under an overhang of a building. D’Agostino keyed his radio. “Greenmen, GO!” Two pops sounded behind him as Parker’s marksman fired his noise-suppressed SR-25 rifle, dropping both the man by the building and the man on the ship within three seconds. The five men stood as one and trotted on the boat, linking up with Banks’s group by the boarding port and stepping aboard. Parker’s group split in two, each of two men moving along the outside of the ship to take out any other guards. D’Agostino led Banks’s group inside the main entry. This group also split in two, with D’Agostino leading two men along the main deck in the ship’s interior and Parker with two men and Dominguez headed for the engineering spaces.
The first pass resulted in five Salinas dead, all taken by surprise, either sitting or lying down. D’Agostino’s men then began a thorough sweep of all compartments. The senior SEAL himself burst into the room holding the two hostages, who immediately went to their knees with their hands raised. D’Agostino bound both men and left one of his men as a sentry. He met up with Parker in the passageway.
“Main Space secured, boss. Dominguez is working on the engines, now,” Parker said.
“Right,” D’Agostino replied. He switched his radio back to the tactical frequency. “Cadillac Two Three, Greenman One, objective secured, no casualties.”
“Greenman One, Cadillac Two Three, roger that. Well done, guys. Orchid is through the gate, ETA three mikes, over.”
“Roger, out.” He looked at Parker. “Let’s go up and welcome the cavalry.”
Kauai had gone to General Quarters Condition One when they reached the final departure point around ten nautical miles east of “the Gate” at Barbello at one a.m. The patrol boat was buttoned up and at darken ship—doors were closed and dogged down to prevent the spread of flooding and fire in case of damage. Before reporting to the Bridge, Ben had made an inspection tour to ensure no light sources were exposed. The crew had been briefed and took the warnings to heart, but sometimes fasteners or covers worked themselves loose, and even a sliver of light could alert and draw fire from their opponents.
The fact was that despite these precautions and the selective armor enhancements on the Bridge and engineering spaces, Kauai was extraordinarily vulnerable to any weapons larger than small arms simply because, unlike larger warships, she didn’t have the space to absorb punishment. Sam was quite correct in his warning to Pennington about RPGs—she would be lucky to survive one hit along or below the waterline, and two would do her in for sure.
Everyone on the Bridge and working on the weather decks, as the ship’s exterior was known, was in full battle gear: body armor, anti-flash garments, and Enhanced Combat Helmets. The Bridge was crowded, with the FC3 console fully manned by Williams, Zuccaro, and Bunting. Pickins was on the helm, Hopkins OOD, and, of course, Sam was there in his role as commanding officer. During the initial approach through the Gate, Ben would also be on the Bridge as a supernumerary, ready to take over if Hopkins or Sam were hit and disabled. Once they cleared the Gate and were maneuvering within the harbor, Ben would join his team below to be ready for the assault.
The plan remained as briefed in Key West. Hopkins would conn Kauai into contact with Carlos Rojas. Ben and his team of Bondurant, Lopez, and Machinery Technician Third Class Dave Brown would jump on board, along with Simmons and Gerard. Ben, Bondurant, and Lopez would carry suppressed pistols besides carbines in case they encountered any Salinas soldiers missed by the SEALs on the way to Carlos Rojas’s bow, while Brown carried the messenger line. The messenger line was an ordinary rope attached to the heavy hawser Kauai would use to tow the other ship. The hawser weighed ten pounds per linear foot, and it would take all four of Ben’s team to pull it up the thirty feet from Kauai’s afterdeck to Carlos Rojas’s bow and manhandle it into position for the tow. On Kauai, Lee would supervise the deck party of the junior boatswain’s mate Jenkins and the three medical technicians to handle the hawser on her end.
As predicted, the weather was stormy, and Sam hoped one of the transient rain showers would give him a ticket in, unseen by whoever might be watching on the promontory. Kauai’s refit had included installing a new multi-mode radar capable of both surface search for navigation and tracking targets and weather mapping for tracking precipitation. It was in the latter mode now, and Sam stood behind Zuccaro, watching the blobs representing rain showers come and go. There had been two promising candidates in the last hour that fizzled, but a strong one was forming now that offered some promise. Regardless of how this one turned out, Sam was determined to head in—they simply couldn’t wait any longer.
Under standard navigation rules, you waited for storms or anything else restricting visibility to pass before entering harbor. The Global Positioning System-enabled navigation management system was accurate to within fifteen feet and agnostic to environmental conditions. Still, it was prudent to use visual and radar fallbacks to improve the margin of safety. However, on this occasion, the benefits of being obscured on the journey outweighed the risks. Sam nodded in satisfaction at the screen as their storm firmed up and moved toward the island. He turned to Hopkins. “This looks like the one, Chief. Start your approach.”
“Very good, sir. Helm, come left, steer two-six-five,” Hopkins ordered as she moved the engine thrust setting up to ten knots. At this rate, they would enter the rear of the storm about half a mile outside the Gate and penetrate about halfway through by the time they reached the quay.
“Chief, my heading is two-six-five.”
“Very, well. Zuccaro, shift to surface search range four on the radar and bring up navigation mode on screen three.”
“Aye, Chief, switching to surface four on radar and nav mode on screen three,” the petty officer repeated.
Hopkins pressed the transmit button on the intercom. “Main Control, conn, shift to battery and shut down diesels. Prepare for emergency restart.”
“Conn, Main Control, shift to battery complete, placing all engines in Bravo-Zero.”
“Conn, aye,” Hopkins said, then stood back as the low growl of the diesel engines went silent.
Sam put on his headset and switched to the common tactical frequency on the encrypted radio. “Cadillac Two-Three, this is Orchid, over.”
“Go ahead, Orchid from Cadillac Two Three.”
“Cadillac Two Three, we are starting our approach into the harbor, ETA eighteen minutes. Request update on OpFor, please.”
“Orchid, Cadillac Two Three. Roger, no radar emitters are currently operating. Reading a normal pattern of life on all communications. Greenman is beginning assault now, will report when the objective is achieved. Buzzer is coming on, over.”
“Cadillac Two Three, Orchid, roger, out.” Sam took off his headset and switched to the speaker on the tactical radio. He was relieved to hear that the Salinas mob was not operating any radars, although it would be nearly impossible for them to pick up Kauai through the rain with her stealth coatings. Greenman was the SEALs, now beginning their effort to seize control of the ship and its immediate vicinity along the quay. Buzzer referred to the radio jammer the RJ would employ to disable the gang’s communications. The RJ had mapped out every transmitter on the island during the previous nights’ flights and would render them all useless with the flip of a switch. The trick was to do this early enough to disrupt any counterattack, but not so early as to warn the opposition an attack was imminent. Since the attack was underway, now was the time.
They were catching up to the storm now. The patter of the large raindrops quickly sped up to a low roar. Sam keyed his tactical radio again, “Overwatch, Actual, might as well come in out of the rain. You won’t be able to see anything out there, anyway. You too, Mount 51.”
“Roger, sir, coming down,” Guerrero’s voice replied. Half a minute later, there was a thud from aft, then Guerrero came in the bridge door with his sniper rifle slung on his shoulder and Hebert right on his heels. “Thanks, Captain. Whew! It’s really coming down out there.”
“Captain, I’m losing both EO and infrared on the Gate,” Williams announced.
“Very well. Shift forward and report when you have the quay,” Sam said.
The loss was expected, since the rain would work both ways. Sam stepped aside to allow Hopkins to reposition behind the console, using the navigation screen to conn the patrol boat since she no longer had visual references. Sam’s stomach tightened as he watched the electronic map representation of Barbello’s entrance channel close in from both sides of the pipper in the center that stood for Kauai. He jumped when a sudden flash of light illuminated the Bridge, followed almost at once by a clap of thunder. Shit! I never thought I would ever say, Thank God, it’s only lightning. He was glad he had issued orders for hands to stay inside during the approach, as the lightning moved the concern from simple discomfort to the safety of life. He glanced over at Hopkins and noted the intense expression on her face in the glow of the screens as she issued helm commands to keep Kauai in the center of the channel.
As they cleared the Gate and the area of good water broadened around them, Ben stepped up to Sam and said, “By your leave to lay below, Captain?”
Sam turned and gazed into his eyes, then shook his hand firmly and said quietly, “Very well. Godspeed, Ben.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Hopkins, the tension of the passage through the channel over, turned and gave him a hug, whispering, “Take care, sir.”
“I’ll be back directly, Chief,” Ben said as he returned the hug.
Williams turned from his screen and bumped fists with Ben. “Give ’em hell, XO.”
“Thanks, Joe. Keep them off my back, will ya?”
“Same as always, sir.”
Ben nodded to everyone, then turned and went below.
The messdeck was far more crowded than the Bridge between the three-man army medical team, plus Bryant, Lee, and Jenkins, Ben and his three teammates, and, finally, Simmons and Gerard. Standard white lighting was turned off in favor of the red illumination that preserved night vision. The conversation was very subdued as everyone contemplated the upcoming mission, with only the near-silent electric motors and drumming of the rain on the decks providing background noise.
Ben slung his carbine and touched the three spare magazines in his vest by force of habit. He then clipped the night vision goggles onto his helmet, plugged in the battery, and checked them for focus and operation, flipping them up to the off position when he finished. Finally, Ben picked up the suppressed nine-millimeter pistol, checked the magazine and chamber, and slipped it into his holster. His checklist complete, he turned to his teammates, already rigged for action. “Any last-minute issues or questions, guys?”
“No, sir,” Bondurant said. “Let’s get it done.”
“Roger that.” He pressed the transmit button on his radio. “Orchid, Alpha-One, Alpha Team ready.”
“Alpha-One, Orchid,” Bunting’s voice said. “Roger, that. Break, break. All teams, Orchid. Man positions, ETA five minutes, over.”
“Alpha-One, roger, out,” Ben said.
“Towmaster, roger, out,” Lee said.
“Alright, let’s do it, everybody!” Ben announced. “Dr. Simmons, you and your man stick with me until we get on board.”
“Yes, sir,” Simmons said, picking up and slinging his Uzi. He turned to Gerard and said, “Ready, Billy?”
Gerard nodded and stood. “Let’s do it.”
Ben turned to Lee and put out his hand. “Be careful, Shelley.”
She shook his hand, looked up at him, and nodded grimly. “You too, sir.”
After Simmons and Gerard joined him, Ben led the way out of the messdeck and into the rain, flipping down his NVGs to turn them on. He immediately realized they were useless in the rain and flipped them back up. Ben was sodden within a few steps and could barely see the details of the afterdeck as he led his group to the rail and crouched. Nothing was visible off the patrol boat’s side, just the large fenders hanging alongside and a curtain of rain.
Ben continued to sweep his view from side to side as Kauai’s silent approach continued. The knowledge that they were moving at five knots in zero visibility near land and other vessels was unnerving to a trained mariner like Ben.
“Alpha-One, Orchid, fifty yards. Cleared to board at discretion.”
“Orchid, Alpha-One, roger, out,” Ben said.
Finally, Ben could make out details off the port side. First, the quay and its buildings and then, the Carlos Rojas herself, looming forward of the beam. He could hear the soft starting and stopping of the electric motors as Hopkins “walked” Kauai sideways into the other vessel. Two figures appeared on the Carlos Rojas’s afterdeck, and Ben was reaching for his pistol when one gave the “safe” hand signal. Kauai finally made contact, and the fenders compressed with a loud squeak that made Ben’s hair stand up.
“Alright, let’s go!” Ben whispered and jumped over to the other vessel, followed by Simmons, Gerard, and the rest of his team. He stopped briefly to talk to the two men whose appearance left no doubt they were SEALs. “Lieutenant J.G. Wyporek, Cutter Kauai.”
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. Senior Chief D’Agostino, Petty Officer Parker,” D’Agostino said. “Please put these clips on your left shoulder. They’re keyed to our NVGs. We’re still doing a sweep and don’t want to tap you guys by mistake.” He handed each team member one clip, which they attached to their vests. “There’s a DEA guy in plain clothes down below trying to get the engines working. Please don’t shoot him.”
“Thanks, Senior Chief. This is Simmons of DIA. He and his man here will deal with the device.”
“Roger that, gents, follow me,” D’Agostino said, then turned and walked off, followed by Simmons, Gerard, and Parker.
“OK, let’s go,” Ben said, drawing his pistol and moving forward. The four men stepped carefully forward—the decks were running with water in the rain, and a slip and fall was a particular hazard for men carrying loaded weapons. They quickly reached and climbed the ladder leading to the foredeck. Brown then continued to the bow, carrying the messenger line. After threading it through the bullnose in the bow, the four men started pulling on the line, taking in the slack. After they had boarded, Kauai crept forward to put her afterdeck directly alongside Carlos Rojas’s bow to shorten their distance to lift the hawser. Finally, the messenger line was paid out, and Alpha Team started pulling up the hawser. More and more of the heavy line came off Kauai’s deck, and the grunts and panting among the four men reached a peak just as the hawser’s eye went through the bullnose. As the other men continued to pull in the hawser, Ben took the end and dragged it to the capstan. “Lope!” he whispered.
Lopez broke off from the group and helped Ben wrap the heavy line around the capstan with three loops, then tied off the end to a mooring bitt.
“OK, guys, we’re done,” Ben panted. “Boats, you stay here. Lope and Brown follow me.” They went first to the mooring line leading from the bow, removed it from its bitt, and dropped it overboard. They moved aft, repeating the process with every line and cable connection they encountered. When he was satisfied they had cleared everything, Ben turned and said, “Brown, get down to the engine room and see if you can help that DEA guy. Remember, do not start any engines, or do anything else noisy without an order from me. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the engineer replied.
“Lope, we’re heading to the Bridge.”
“Right behind you, sir.”
As they made their way to the Bridge, Ben caught a last glimpse of Kauai as she disappeared into the rain, and Carlos Rojas drifted off the dock. Ben stopped and kneeled as he saw a shadow move in the bridge door window, and Lopez crouched behind him. SEAL or Salinas? Ben thought as he sighted his pistol on the figure. Finally, the figure turned, and Ben could see he was not in military gear and was carrying an AK-47. “Pop-pop” went his pistol with a tinkle of glass from the broken window, and the figure dropped to the deck. Ben and Lopez quietly opened the door and crept inside, sweeping the interior through their pistol sights. Nothing. Lopez leaned over and checked for a pulse. “He’s dead, XO.”
“Right. Help me figure out the helm,” Ben said as he pulled out the NVG flashlight. He could see the rudder indicator, and it was rudder amidships; thank God. Ben had feared the crew had left the rudder hard over to port or starboard, a condition which would have made the Carlos Rojas impossible to tow without being corrected. He keyed his radio. “Orchid, Alpha-One, hawser secured, all moorings cast off, ship ready for towing.”
“Alpha-One, Orchid, roger. We’ve lost sight of you in the rain. Advise us when heading is right of zero-seven-five.”
“Orchid, Alpha-One, WILCO, out.”
Within seconds, they felt more movement as the towline alternated between tightening and loosening. Somewhere out of sight in the rain, Kauai was applying small bursts of thrust to pull Carlos Rojas off the quay and get her lined up and moving. They had to start slowly, pivoting the ship to alignment with the towline before applying full thrust or risk parting the hawser or destroying the tow points on the bow. It was essential, but it took time, and Ben knew that the time available for hiding under this squall was running out. He checked the compass—it read zero-two-zero, basically north-northeast, and was inching slowly to the right. The bow had to swing past zero-seven-five, roughly east-northeast, before the side loading on the towline was low enough for Kauai to pull in earnest.
After two minutes, which seemed to stretch to two hours, the compass finally swung past zero-seven-five. “Orchid, Alpha-One, passing zero-seven-five, still swinging right.”
“Alpha-One, Orchid Actual, roger, hang on back there,” Sam’s voice said. “We are coming out of the squall now, out.”
Ben grimly accepted that last bit of news. The storm that allowed them to slip in unseen and begin the tow had been a godsend, and it was too much to hope that it would also cover them on the way out. Now things could get interesting. He keyed his transmit button again. “Alpha-Two, Alpha-One, Orchid’s taking a strain on the tow now. Leave it and report to the SEAL commander, over.”
“Alpha-One, Alpha-Two, WILCO, out,” Bondurant said.
There was no sense having Bondurant stay on the bow, as the tow line’s tension would prevent any slippage from the windlass or bitt. He needed to be back where he could help or be helped as required if shooting were to start. Ben looked forward through the bridge windows and saw the formerly solid curtain of rain was wavering. They were coming out of the storm. And safety.
As Ben and the rest of Alpha Team made their way toward the foredeck, D’Agostino and Parker led Simmons and Gerard below to the living quarters. The ship’s interior was dark—Dominguez had shut down the generator to prepare for their silent departure. D’Agostino used his red-lensed flashlight to lead the way, and Simmons took out his for immediate use.
“You guys both DIA?” D’Agostino asked.
“Yup,” Simmons said.
“Right,” D’Agostino said with a scowl, turned, and continued down the passageway. As they rounded a corner, Simmons could see three bodies dressed in civilian clothes spread along the corridor floor and a SEAL standing casually beside a door. “OK, we’ve got it. Head back to the well deck,” D’Agostino said.
“Roger, Boss,” the man said and moved past them toward the vessel’s rear.
D’Agostino opened the door and shined in the light, and the two occupants startled and sat up.
“They say anything to you, Senior Chief?” Simmons asked.
“Negative, not a peep.”
“OK, we’ll take it from here, thanks.”
D’Agostino gave them another sour look. “You sure?”
“Yes, thank you. It’s all on me.”
“Suit yourself. P, let’s get going.” The two men turned and moved briskly back down the corridor as Simmons turned on his flashlight, led Gerard into the room, and shut the door.
Simmons shined the flashlight back and forth between the two men and asked, “Which one of you is Gronkowsky?”
The man on the right looked at the other man, who stood. “I am Gronkowsky.”
Simmons stepped forward, cocked his Uzi with purposeful menace, and turned slightly toward Gerard, keeping his eyes on the two men. “Take a good look, Billy. Behold a genuine mad scientist.” He turned to face the two men. “There are only two possible outcomes from this encounter, gentlemen. One is that you comply with our orders instantly and completely and live to take your chances in an American court. The other is that I kill you without hesitation or remorse. What is it going to be?”
“I want to live, of course,” Gronkowsky replied.
“I agree,” Dorshak answered sullenly.
“Good choice. Now for some ground rules. Know that the assault force has killed everyone on board this ship except you two. Calling for help will only get you a broken jaw, and running will get you shot in the back. Let’s move out to the lab.”
Dorshak nodded and stood. Simmons led the way out the door, with Gorshak and Gronkowsky following, and Gerard bringing up the rear. As their procession wound down the ladder and into the production lab, Simmons noted the vessel was moving. Ben and his team had gotten it underway and clear of the quay.
The lab was dark, and the lack of any sound other than the distant creaks of the slowly moving vessel lent an ominous gloom to the compartment. Simmons gestured to two chairs at one of the tables. “Pull those chairs into that corner and sit down,” Simmons said to the two prisoners. Simmons continued to Gerard as they complied. “OK, Billy, get to work.”
Gerard nodded and started exploring. The computer set was relatively compact and concentrated on the desks on one side of the room. He started tracing network cables to ensure every external storage device was identified for destruction. Simmons noted two large tanks, positioned on either side of the room, with control devices mounted at the top and piping leading to large, complicated apparatuses sitting atop two of the tables.
“This is it? All the equipment?” Simmons asked Gerard.
“If the info we got from Holtz is legit, yes,” Gerard replied.
“OK, rig the computers with thermite first, then the gizmos on the tables and the tanks.” As Simmons continued to guard the prisoners, Gerard went to work. He had just finished laying out the thermite charges on the second table-mounted apparatus when a loud whirring sound erupted from behind them, followed by the familiar grumble of a diesel engine start. It worked up to speed within a few seconds, and the lights came on.
“Thank God! We’re through!” Gerard said with relief.
Simmons shook his head. “No. It’s too soon. We’re in trouble.” His words were followed by more whirring and an abbreviated grumble, indicating a second diesel engine had failed to start. A few seconds elapsed, then a second failed start try, and Simmons could now hear gunfire from topside. “Right, rig the tanks!” he said.
