SSI OFFICES
“Victor Pope to see you, Colonel.”
Frank Leopole did not bother to respond to the receptionist’s intercom message. He strode to the front of the building and greeted the former SEAL.
They exchanged strong-man grips—an agreed-upon tie, Navy one, Marines one.
“Good to see you, Vic.”
Pope feigned astonishment. “Go on, Colonel. When was a jarhead ever glad to see a squid?”
Leopole was ready for that one. “When the liberty boat’s headed for shore, of course.”
“Speaking of boats, what’s this I hear about Jeff Malten? Building boat teams from the waterline up?”
“We don’t have any time to spare, Vic. The admiral arranged for a crash course in boat handling and deep-water survival down at Little Creek. The team we’ve assembled so far will be there a couple more days.”
Pope nodded in approval. “Who’re they working with?”
“A Master Chief Bitow. You know him?”
“Know of him,” Pope replied with an informed smile. “I think he’ll take good care of them.”
“Okay, let’s get you briefed.” Lieutenant Colonel Frank Leopole and Lieutenant Commander Victor Pope adjourned to Lieutenant Colonel Sandra Carmichael’s office. Without preliminaries, she laid out the situation.
“Vic, as you probably have guessed, this is a priority job. Here’s the short version: we have a training team in Chad under Steve Lee and Dan Foyte. They were doing all right until word got out about a plan to smuggle yellow cake out of the country via Libya. Destination probably Iran.”
Pope’s face, ordinarily frozen in a mask of self-control, registered the implications. His blue eyes reflected as much light as his bald head.
“So,” Carmichael continued, “State tasked our counterinsurgency training team with seizing the yellow cake. But they got there a little late and there was some shooting. One of the helos was shot down and our pilot was badly injured. Half of the yellow cake got away, driven to the Libyan border.”
Pope leaned against the desk, hands clasped before him. “So now we’re going to chase down the ship before it reaches an Iranian port.”
“Right,” Leopole interjected. “But this is pretty much a hail Mary play, Vic. We have to deploy both teams without knowing the ship’s identity or its route. We’re planning on sending your team to the Med and Jeff’s to cover the Suez route. If we get hard intel that the shipment goes one way or the other, we may be able to commit both teams but right now we can’t count on it. We’re also getting a Brit named Pascoe: Special Boat Service.”
Pope shifted his gaze between the former Marine and the former Army officer. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Glad to have you aboard,” Leopole said. Carmichael merely smiled.
“I wouldn’t miss it, Frank. Not for anything.” He looked at both officers, then strode toward the door. “I’ll get started on requirements right away.”
As Pope left, Carmichael looked at her counterpart. “Did you notice anything unusual?”
Leopole shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he never even asked about the money. Pretty unusual for somebody in our business.”
“Pope’s not about money, Sandy. He’s about doing the Lord’s work. He believes in setting things right.”
Carmichael allowed the drawl back in her voice. “You know, I was raised a Baptist. Southern Baptist, actually. When I heard folks talk about doing the Lord’s work, I learned to start looking for the collection plate to pass by.” The corners of her mouth curled slightly. “I guess it’s different with some Catholics.”
Leopole’s mouth did not curl. “Sandy, when they declare Vic Pope KIA, they’ll find a pistol with the slide locked back in one hand and a rosary in the other.”
He paused for a moment, then added, “You know, it takes all kinds to float a boat like ours. Most of our guys are operators like Bosco and Breezy: ‘hey-dude’ types who like the guns and gear and enjoy the down time. Farther up the ladder are the dedicated pros like Gunny Foyte and Steve Lee. Then there’s a few like Vic Pope: true believers. Frankly, some of those make me a little nervous.”
“How’s that?”
“To them, this is more than a profession. It’s more like … a calling. That’s how Vic Pope sees the war on terror. Christianity and Western civilization against Islamo-fascism. I’m not saying he’s a fanatic or anything, but he might bear watching at times.”
Her forehead furrowed. “My gosh, Frank. If we can’t trust him, how can we justify putting him in command?”
“Oh, I trust him. Absolutely. I’m just a little worried that when we finish this job, he may not know when to stop.”
* * *
“How do you take down a ship?”
Victor Pope stood before a three-view drawing of a typical merchant vessel, with interior layout depicted in dotted lines.
“With a submarine?” Breezy looked around, appreciating the laughter to his flippant response.
Pope decided to ignore the former paratrooper. The SEAL veteran had read each man’s SSI file, and clearly Mark Brezyinski was a qualified operator. But the California surfer persona that Breezy projected did not sit well with an intense, focused leader like Victor Matthew Pope.
“There’re two approaches to a ship at sea,” Pope explained. “By small craft and by helicopter. The advantages and disadvantages are obvious. Helos are fast but they’re noisy, they can’t surprise anybody who’s half awake. On the other hand, boats like a Zodiac can approach pretty quietly, especially with a muffled engine, and avoid visual detection depending on the approach angle. It’s best done at night, which of course is when the ship’s crew expects an attack.”
Pope used a red marker on the white board displaying the schematic. “I like to think of a ship as a moving bridge.” He gave the audience his teacher’s look again. “How do you take a bridge?”
“BOTH ENDS AT ONCE,” the class chanted. Everybody present had attended the same schools.
“Correct. But most ships have an elevated platform.” He tapped the marker against the bridge and pilothouse. “From here, the duty watch can see forward past the bow. As soon as anybody pops up over the railing, they’re going to be spotted. So, what we do is…”
He marked an X on each side, just behind the bridge. “… come aboard from port and starboard at the same time. If there’s enough operators, we come over the stern as well.”
Bosco raised a hand. “But what about the lookouts? I mean, don’t they have guys walking guard around the deck?”
“Sure they do. Or at least we have to assume so.” He looked to his naval special warfare colleague. “Mr. Malten?”
Malten stood up in the front row and turned to face the others. “We used to run this scenario until we could do it in our sleep. Same thing applied whether the ship was in port or under way. In fact, it also applied to offshore oil platforms and the like. Depending what you see when you first scan over the deck edge, either you neutralize anybody there or let him go, if he’s a rover. Then you get at least three men on deck immediately. They face forward and aft, covering the others while they get aboard. The third man looks up: there’s always structure above you. If there’s no opposition, you have a foothold and then you can start maneuvering. If it comes to a fight, at least you have some support right away.”
Pope nodded his bald head in approval. “A-plus, right out of the manual.” He turned to the audience again. “Any questions so far?”
Pace, who was decidedly unenthusiastic about recreational boating, raised a hand. “When you say you neutralize a guard, what’s the preference?”
“We’ll have suppressed SMGs and pistols. We might take a couple of rifles, but essentially a ship is a building several stories high. That applies inside as well as outside. You’ll be fighting your way upward or downward as much as fore and aft, so it’s usually close quarters. Now, in this particular case, we have to assume the guards will be armed and they’ll shoot on sight. At least that’s what I’m told, based on what happened in Chad. But even a head shot might prompt a reflex action that fires a warning shot. So if we can take out somebody without shooting, that’s preferred. We’ll have Tasers, flex cuffs, and gags. However, if you jump somebody and he’s putting up a real fight, just pitch him overboard. He can yell all he wants but he won’t be heard from a moving ship.
“Details: we don’t want to get aboard and then have somebody notice wet footprints on deck. Because we’ll board from the CRRCs, your feet should be dry but in case they’re not, take them off and go in your socks. Tie your shoes together and take them with you.”
He stood with hands on his hips, consciously exuding an air of confidence. He would seldom admit it, but he learned the trait in parochial school, long before reporting to Coronado Amphibious Base.
Green raised a hand. “Commander, what happens once we have the ship? I don’t know about the other guys, but I can’t run a rowboat.”
“We only need a small crew: enough qualified people to run the ship while the real crew is being held. Admiral Derringer is arranging that. And we’ll have a nuclear expert, Mr. Langevin, to handle the yellow cake. He’s with the team in the Middle East right now.” He scanned the room from front to back. “Anything else?”
When there was no response, Pope started walking to the door. “Let’s get going, gentlemen. Time’s our enemy right now.”