“Cream or sugar, commander?”
“Just black.” Griff settled into one of the two chairs in the small office. “As much as I could use a shot of whiskey right now, I need to keep my mind sharp to figure out a way onto that yacht.”
“That will take skill with a heaping dose of luck, but I think you’re up for the challenge,” Livingston said. “The whiskey will come later, after you succeed in your mission. Let’s finish this coffee then get you into that diving suit.” He handed Griff the hot brew, then sat down behind the small desk with a cup of his own. “Guess you’re wondering why an American soldier is on a freighter in the middle of the Caribbean with a Canadian officer?”
“I’ve run out of possible reasons in my head, none of which make any sense.” Griff took a small sip.
Livingston cleared his throat before continuing, “I’m going to bypass the small talk and jump right to the heavy stuff and remind you just how clandestine our operation is. Even guys with your top-secret clearance aren’t normally privy to this information.” He pulled a file from the side drawer in the desk. From across the room, Griff could make out the word JUD on the front. “Joint Underwater Defense,” the captain explained when he caught Griff looking. “The name speaks for itself.”
“What kind of joint underwater defense could we possibly be doing with the Canadians? And defense against whom?”
“Be patient, Bradley. I’m not at liberty to explain everything, but I will give you enough that it makes sense.” Livingston opened the file and studied it. “With the president’s aggressive stance against the opioid epidemic in the United States, we’ve been looking at ways to fight back. None of our usual methods of combatting the flow of drugs into the States have worked.”
“More like failed miserably,” Griff added, remembering only recently that he’d seen a report citing opioid overdose as having surpassed automobile accidents as the number one cause of teenage deaths.
Livingston nodded. “Bad actors—like Russia, China, and Iran, to name a few—are still trying to find ways to arm the rebels. The powers that be decided the best way to do that was to patrol the Caribbean Sea and prevent contraband from ever reaching the islands in the first place and to keep said contraband from then being smuggled into the Gulf Coast states.”
“You’re looking for illegal guns?”
“Drugs, mostly, but occasionally, we see shipments of high-grade military-style weapons coming in, usually on Russian freighters. Even though we’re no longer enemies, Russia would love nothing better than to arm Cubans against us.”
Griff thought about this for a moment. “I get it that the information would be helpful, but short of stopping and boarding every cargo ship headed to the islands, there’s no way you can possibly know what’s in the containers.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Bradley.” Livingston smiled. “Have I mentioned ROXI?”
Griff straightened up in the chair. “You did. But unless you can explain how an AUV can see into the cargo hold of the massive barges transporting goods in and out of Cuba, I fail to see the relevance.”
“ROXI isn’t an AUV. Autonomous underwater vehicles, by their very name are unmanned--autonomous because they have no physical connection to their operator who’s either onboard a ship or on land operating a remote. They’re self-guiding and self-powered, and for decades they’ve provided the best information about deep-sea processes to oceanographers. They’re also used for counterintelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance.”
He allowed Griff to digest that information. “ROXI is the brainchild of two German inventors named Reuter and Oppenheimer, who were working with the International Underwater Marine Exploration Division out of Zurich, initially searching for a better way to scan the bottom of the ocean with the naked eye. When they introduced the first one-man submersible to the world, it was instantly hailed as the greatest tool ever seen for improving the study of the sea.”
He stopped to take another sip of coffee, then licked his lips. “It didn’t take long for our guys in the Defense Department to realize how valuable this new invention could be in the game of—well, for lack of a better word, let’s call it underwater espionage.”
“Underwater espionage? Keep going, captain. You’ve definitely got my attention.”
“I knew I would. Anyway, our government brought Reuter and Oppenheimer to the United States and whisked them off to a secret location, where they brainstormed with some of our best CIA and FBI agents, along with the most brilliant oceanographers on the U.S. payroll. It took three years before they agreed on a prototype and another two before ROXI, nicknamed for Reuter Oppenheimer eXplorer Initiative, went live.”
“Any other countries have one of these?”
Livingston shook his head. “At a cost of over a hundred million to build it, the submersible you’re about to see is the only one in existence—and the reason Reuter and Oppenheimer are now multimillionaires living out their retirement in style somewhere in the United States.”
“I have to admit it sounds like something from the twenty-fifth century, but knowing a ship is carrying contraband and executing search and seizures on international waters are two different matters altogether. There would be one helluva global outcry.”
“I agree. But we’re not using search and seizure.” Livingston checked his watch, took a gulp of his coffee, then set the cup on the desk. “It’s almost time for us to join the long line of ships waiting to get into Santiago de Cuba. If you’ll come with me, you’ll get your first look at ROXI, and I can explain how she works. Then we’ll work out the details of your rescue mission.”
Griff followed him down an empty hallway with no apparent doors or exits, anxious to see the submersible that had the Navy officer so excited. When Livingston stopped directly in front of a framed picture of what looked to be a wheat field somewhere in the Midwest, Griff halted abruptly behind him, almost crashing into him.
“If you’re curious about the smell on board, we’re carrying a load of wheat headed to the Cubans,” Livingston said, pointing to the picture.
“So that’s how you get away with being in these waters? I didn’t think the U.S. had a trade agreement with Cuba.”
“We don’t, which is why this is a joint mission with our neighbors to the north. Among other things, wheat is the number one export out of Canada to Castro’s government. Works great for us, don’t you think?” Livingston touched the upper edge of the painting, and the wall swiveled open to reveal a small room about the size of Griff’s living room.
More intrigued than ever now, Griff got his first glimpse of ROXI. About seven feet in length and four feet wide, the vehicle looked like something straight out of Star Wars. Blue in color with a huge viewing window in front, it rested on a raised floor in the middle of the room.
He did a slow walk around the submersible, noticing the incredible workmanship that had gone into the craft. But if he was impressed with the exterior, his amazement of modern-day technology only accelerated when he peered into the cockpit. Lining the entire dashboard were more computers and gauges than he’d seen in a Navy Hornet fighter jet.
Noticing Griff’s reaction, Livingston opened the door and motioned for Griff to get in. Then he walked around to the other side and did the same.
“She’s a beauty, no?” he asked. “And wait till you see what all she can do.”
Griff slid onto the leather seat, which was the exact same blue color as the exterior, and glanced at the cockpit. “This thing has arms?”
“Among other useful features. Both are below the passenger door and come in handy when we’re next to a freighter and the water is rough.”
“And how do you manage to get that close undetected?”
“The sonar-blocking system is one of a kind. I can attach to the side of a ship for stability without setting off any of their alarms. I’m in awe every time it happens.”
“But that still doesn’t explain how you’re able to identify a ship carrying contraband from the legit ones. Surely it can’t see through metal.”
Livingston shrugged. “Wish it could, but no. I think I mentioned earlier that ROXI is a two-man submersible. I’m one of only five U.S. pilots trained to maneuver it close enough to any vessel so that whoever is with me can sneak on board under the cover of darkness and get a look at the cargo. If it’s something suspicious, we report it to the Coast Guard, and before it gets into Cuban waters, they intercept it for one bogus reason or another.” He paused for a second before continuing, “I’d give anything to see the looks on the bad guys’ faces as they sit around a table trying to figure out how in the hell we can possibly know when they’re carrying drugs.”
Griff took another look at the dashboard, more in awe this time after hearing all the submersible could do. “One more question. How can someone get out of ROXI without the water pouring in?”
“Did I mention that we only go out at night for the fact-finding missions? Not only is security at a bare minimum, but we use the cover of darkness to bring ROXI above water without being detected. Then I lower the panel on the passenger side, which slides down, leaving enough clearance for my passenger to exit the vehicle and move away while I dive under the surface. Like I said, if the water is rough, I use the arms to attach to the ship.” He knocked on the wooden dashboard. “It’s been one hundred percent successful so far, and I don’t anticipate any problems this time.”
“Were you on patrol when you rescued me and Warner?”
The captain nodded. “Imagine my surprise when I got a call from your director asking for my help.”
“Dinorelli?”
“That would be correct. Used to date the same girl when we were at the Academy. Hated it when he won her heart and married her.”
So Dinorelli had at least reached out and tried to help, even though, in Griff’s mind, he hadn’t done enough to get the go-ahead to execute an all-out assault on the yacht with Petrović on it. At best he’d been negligent when the life of one of his own was in jeopardy.
Griff pushed that thought from his mind, trying to stay positive. He didn’t need Dino and the team. He’d save Mac on his own. He hoped he was up to the task, because failure came with too many horrific consequences. “Tell me. How can I get on the yacht without getting my head blown off?”
Livingston’s face turned serious. “I can’t promise what will happen to you after you get on deck, but I can position you close enough to sneak onboard. What happens after that is up to you—and that luck I mentioned earlier, if it happens to come your way.”
Griff took a moment to think that through before meeting Livingston’s eyes. “Sounds good.” He patted the dashboard. “When can I see ROXI do her thing?”
“Now is as good a time as any. It’s not completely dark yet, but the sun will already be down and offer some measure of cover. Slide out. I’ll get you that wetsuit, and we’ll be on our way.”
Griff was silent as he waited. What he wanted most was finally going to happen. By the end of the day, he’d either have Mac safely out of Petrović’s hands…or he’d be fish bait.
As the underwater craft approached the harbor, Griff’s heart raced as fast as his thoughts. He peered through the window on the passenger side. Even though the only light in the murky water came from the ships lined up and waiting for the massive appliance jam to be cleared, he could tell they were under them.
“How will you know which yacht is the one with Mac aboard?”
Livingston turned toward him. “El Letal Cubano is a permanent blip on our radar, has been for about a year. The yacht is a pleasure craft owned by a Cuban national named Huberto Diaz. He makes a living transporting heroin to the States. Several months ago, we caught him offloading the contraband in Miami. Since then, we’ve locked the ship into our tracking system and monitored its every move. Diaz is currently out on bail and nearly broke. Word is he’s looking to sell the yacht to pay his lawyers.”
“That’s probably how Petrović was able to convince him to let him use the yacht.” Griff frowned. “Money’s not a problem for him, and he’d use anybody to get what he wants.”
Livingston slowed ROXI to a near-crawl and moved in closer to one of the ships. Then he turned off the headlights as he piloted the submersible upward until they broke the surface of the water and could see the lineup of ships behind them. “This is your yacht, Bradley.” He maneuvered even closer before pushing a button on the dashboard.
Griff watched as two long arms unfolded from the pilot’s side and silently attached to the yacht. “And they can’t see or hear us?”
Livingston shook his head. “Since it will still be a few more hours until the harbor crews clear the waterway, hopefully, some of the crew members will be using the time to take their turn catching a few winks. We have no idea how many men are guarding the ship, so take the necessary precautions. Get ready to eject. Your best bet is to board the left side of the yacht where there are no ships, but even that will be difficult. Keep the transponder I gave you close by and use it if you get into trouble. I’ll be ready to intercept the minute you jump overboard.” He saluted Griff. “Godspeed.”
Griff strapped the oxygen tank to his back and put the respirator into his mouth. After returning the salute, he pushed the eject button, noting that his entry into the open sea barely caused a ripple in the water. He dove under, while Livingston retracted ROXI’s arms and disappeared.
Once on the left side, Griff inched as close to the yacht as possible and cautiously made his ascent. As soon as his head broke the top of the water, he pressed his body against the ship, in case someone was looking out over that side. Voices drifted down from the bow. He reversed directions and headed toward the stern again. He’d have to take his chances boarding from there.
A glance at the freighter directly behind El Letal Cubano revealed that no one was on deck. Like the captain had said, the crew had probably taken advantage of the downtime to catch a few Zs. At least, he hoped that was what they were doing. It would be disastrous if someone spotted him and sounded the alarm.
He found the anchor chain and shimmied up to where it met the bow. There he located a foothold and quickly kicked off his flippers before grabbing the gunwale and peeking over the side to make sure there were no guards on this end. Satisfied that it was deserted, he eased over onto the deck. There, he kept low and moved with stealth into the shadows of a large storage container located beneath an overhang that jutted out beneath the bridge.
Convinced there was only minimal light and no personnel, he allowed his breathing to normalize and settled in the far corner behind the container, a small distance from the wall. Then he shrugged off the diving equipment and stored it out of sight, hoping it wouldn’t get noticed.
Reaching into the waterproof case fastened at his waist, he pulled out the Glock and the full clip Livingston had provided. With a round in the weapon and eight in the clip, he felt a little less defenseless. An additional four magazines were secured in place with Velcro. He hoped he didn’t have to use them. He rose to get a better look. Although the view wasn’t the greatest, he was able to make out a stairwell in the center of the ship, probably leading to a galley and sleeping quarters. More than likely, that was where they were holding Mac.
The problem was, in order to get to the stairway, he’d have to come out into the open and be vulnerable for a few seconds. But that was a risk he’d have to take.
While Griff debated his move, the three distinct voices he’d heard earlier escalated in volume from an upper deck behind the bridge. It sounded like they were speaking Spanish, and by the tone, they were arguing. Hopefully, they were concentrating more on whatever they were arguing about than on the other side of the boat, and he might be able to get to the stairway unnoticed. Maybe this was just the luck he needed, the luck Livingston had mentioned. He made a dash in that direction, but one of the goons caught sight of him.
“Que demonios estàs hacienda,” the man yelled. Then all three joined in the pursuit, each one packing a gun.
Griff raised his weapon and fired off a round before racing back to the storage crate for protection. There was no way he could win in a firefight against the three armed Cubans. He looked back, expecting them to be charging toward him, but to his surprise, he saw all three of them on the ground.
“What the…” Before he had time to finish the sentence, a familiar face popped up from the side of the boat.
“Hello, Griff,” Ty said, as he raised the barrel of his gun to his mouth and pretended to blow off smoke. “Looks like you got yourself into a little trouble.” He shimmied over the side where Griff had boarded.
“Yeah. No way we’d let you have all the fun without us,” Ryan said, climbing over after Ty.
“Am I glad to see you two,” Griff said, coming out from behind the crate. “How in the hell did you get here?”
“Everyone onboard had to have heard the shots. We can do our celebrating later. Let’s go find Mac.”