Counter Strike (Command and Control Book 2), page 37
Her words spilled out. Janet felt like she was talking way too fast, but she couldn’t help herself. Lannier watched her, nodding every few seconds.
“It was a Shang-class, sir,” she said. “The same one that had been tracking us. I’m sure of it.”
“They figured out our pattern,” Lannier said. “We were driving into a trap.”
“I knew there was at least two of them,” Janet continued. “I put the Orca into a search pattern. I thought if I could get a position on them, I could…” Her voice trailed off. She shrugged. “Then it all went to shit.”
“What happened?” Lannier prompted her gently.
“I—we—heard the Idaho’s pinger,” Janet said, feeling the panic of that moment in the back of her mind. “God, it all happened so fast. The second PLA submarine launched a torpedo at you, and I knew what they were doing. As soon as you returned fire, the Shang would have your position and the Idaho was dead.”
“What did you do, Janet?” Lannier pressed.
“I locked onto the hull of the PLA sub with the docking magnet. I wanted to distract them. Then I lit us both up with active sonar from the Orca and…” Janet couldn’t go on.
“You launched a torpedo on yourself,” Lannier finished.
Janet nodded. She felt her eyes burn with unshed tears.
“It’s dumber than it sounds, sir. The Orca was only twelve hundred yards away. The torpedo had a lock as soon as it left the tube. I disengaged the Manta. I thought if I got far enough away, we could survive the explosion.”
“How long were you down there?” Lannier asked quietly.
“I’m not sure,” Janet said. “Ten, maybe twelve hours. Long enough for the atmosphere in the Manta to turn poisonous. Mark…Mark was in bad shape. It took everything I had to get him out of there.”
“How is Captain Westlund doing?” Lannier asked.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” Janet said. “I’m headed over to the hospital as soon as we’re done here. I owe him that much.”
“He’s alive because of you, Janet,” Lannier said. “Every person on board this ship is alive because of you. Remember that.”
“I should get going, sir,” Janet said. “I have to catch my flight.”
Lannier stood and held out his hand.
“I was wrong about you, Everett,” Lannier said.
Janet shook his hand. “No, I don’t think you were, Captain.”
By the time Janet left the pier, the mist had thickened to fog. Cars loomed out of the ghostly white background and disappeared again.
After the close confines of the submarine, she was glad for the anonymity of the weather. Her seabag hung heavily on her shoulder. She’d taken everything she owned off the Idaho, not knowing for certain when—or if—she’d be back.
The rumor mill on the Idaho had taken sketchy details about the incident with the Manta and turned it into a full-blown legend. She smiled, shook hands, and left the boat as soon as possible. None of them asked about Mark.
Janet crossed Halsey Boulevard on her way to the other side of the base. All the streets here were named after famous naval heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, King, Decatur. Once upon a time, she had wanted to be one of them. Now, she wasn’t sure what she wanted.
The fog collected on her skin and ran down her cheeks like tears. She walked slowly, dreading the upcoming visit, but all too soon the Yokosuka Naval Hospital took shape in the mist.
The blocky, five-story building was separated from the water’s edge by McCormick Street and surrounded by neatly trimmed shrubs and carefully tended grass. The white stucco was gray with moisture.
Janet got Mark’s room number from the information desk and rode the elevator up to the fourth floor.
Mark had a private room overlooking the harbor. His door was open, and she could see he was sleeping.
I’ll come back later, Janet thought, secretly relieved.
Mark’s eyes opened, and he saw her.
The swelling on the side of his face had gone down, leaving multicolored bruises under his skin, especially near the sutures around his temple. The whites of his eyes were blood red.
He pointed at her seabag. “You planning on staying? I know we spent a lot of time in close quarters, but I just feel like it’s too soon to talk about moving in together.”
Janet forced a smile. “People say I’m an acquired taste.”
“I can vouch for that.”
Janet entered the room and set down her seabag. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m a little banged up, but I’ll be back on my feet before you know it.” He grimaced. “Okay, that’s a cliché I’m going to have to stop using.”
Janet tried to stop herself and failed. Her eyes went to the bottom of his bed. The bedclothes were flat below his right knee.
“Does it hurt?” she blurted out. “I’m sorry. That’s a stupid question.”
“It’s weird,” Mark said. “My brain tells me I can still feel my toes, but I know they’re not there. The doctor says it’s phantom limb syndrome. He says it’ll go away, but right now it’s really freaking me out.”
Janet sat in the chair next to his bed and took his hand.
“I’m so sorry, Mark.” She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but apparently she’d left her self-control in the fog outside.
“Are you kidding me?” Mark said. “I’m alive because of you. Besides, how often do you get a chance to save a hundred and twenty people in one day? You made the right call, Janet. It was worth it.”
Not to me, Janet thought. Not to me.
“Has Don called you yet?” Mark asked.
Janet shook her head.
“He called me this morning,” Mark said. “Said I was welcome back as soon as I’m able.”
“Are you going back to Emerging Threats?” Janet asked.
Mark looked at the murky gray outside his window. “I think so. I like it there, even though Ramirez is a total pain in the ass.”
Janet laughed and wiped her eyes.
“What about you?” Mark asked.
“I’m headed back to Pearl tonight,” Janet said. “For the inquiry.” She smiled. “Navy doesn’t like it when you break their stuff.”
Mark laughed. Janet realized she just reused Lannier’s joke, and now she was laughing, too.
“You know,” Mark said, “they used to talk about you back at ETG like you were Saint Janet. Hell, I was half expecting someone to erect a shrine to you in the break room.”
“They haven’t set that up yet?” Janet said. “I told them to put it next to the vending machines since that’s where I ate most of my meals.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Mark said. “It hurts.”
“Sorry,” Janet said.
“I was jealous of you,” Mark continued in a serious voice, “but now I see it. They were right. When it came time to make the hard call, you did it. You didn’t hesitate. If I’d been in the pilot’s seat, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”
Janet gripped his hand.
I took the action, she thought, but you paid the price.
65
Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport, Minnesota
Delta flight 1244 touched down on the Minneapolis runway at 5:52 p.m.
Don peered out the window of his economy-class seat at the back of the plane as the rest of the passengers got to their feet and began to open the overhead bins. It was dark outside, and his phone told him the outside temperature was hovering in the mid-twenties Fahrenheit. A few soft flakes sifted down from the dark sky.
The two vodka tonics he’d treated himself to on the flight up from DC had done little to improve his mood and much to amplify his headache.
He waited until the aisles were clear, then retrieved his roller bag and his folded suit jacket from the overhead compartment. The dark suit was the nicest clothing he owned, and he was glad to see the jacket was unwrinkled.
Whatever gesture he was trying to make here, it was important that he look his best.
From the tall windows on the C concourse, Don could see the hangar of the Minnesota Air National Guard where he needed to go. He had time to kill, so he walked slowly up the concourse, avoiding the people-mover walkways, following the signs to taxis.
The guard at the gate for the Minnesota Air National Guard didn’t know what to make of Don’s CIA identification. Don patiently explained that he needed access to the Air Guard main hangar to meet a plane arriving at nine p.m.
“You’re kinda early, sir,” the guard said.
“I’ll wait in the hangar,” Don replied.
“The hangar’s open. It’ll be cold in there.”
“I’ll be fine,” Don said.
It turned out he didn’t have to wait that long after all. A gunmetal gray C-130 arrived less than ten minutes after Don began his vigil in the windswept hangar. He watched the plane park on the tarmac a hundred feet away. The propellers spun to a stop. The side door opened, and stairs extended.
General Nikolaides walked down the stairs.
Don got to his feet as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs strode into the hangar, followed by six beefy young men sporting precision high-and-tight haircuts. They were all dressed in civilian clothes. Each carried an overnight bag and a hanging bag used for uniforms.
General Nikolaides wore a Dress Blue wool overcoat and snow-white barracks cap used for his most formal uniform set.
Nikolaides pointed to the back of the hangar. “Find a place to set up back there, gentlemen. Be ready to go at ten minutes to nine,” he said.
“At 2050, aye, sir,” replied the first Marine.
“Riley,” Nikolaides said. He peeled off a glove and shook Don’s hand.
“Sir,” Don replied.
A full minute passed as both men looked at the floor, the ceiling, out the door, and back to the floor. Finally, Don broke the silence.
“What are you doing here, sir?” Don asked.
“I could ask you the same thing, Riley.”
True enough, Don thought.
The silence deepened.
“I think I misjudged you, Riley,” the general said. “I thought you were a computer geek.”
“I am a computer geek, sir,” Riley returned.
Nikolaides laughed, a hearty belly laugh, and Don felt the tension between them evaporate.
“That’s true. You are a helluva geek, but you’re more than that. The work you did with the Chinese situation. We were just chasing our tails, and you figured it out. That was damn fine work.”
“I appreciate that, General,” Don said.
“My friends call me Adam,” Nikolaides said.
“Adam, then,” Don said.
“I think our working relationship has a short shelf life, Don, but I enjoyed our time together.”
“I don’t understand.”
Nikolaides barked a laugh. “I serve at the pleasure of the President. I don’t think my commander in chief and I see the world through the same lens.” He sighed. “Probably for the best. To misquote some philosopher whose name I’ve forgotten, I believe war should be nasty, brutish, and short. But, when necessary, it should be fought by men and women in the service of their country. What we have now is drones fighting drones, and when we can’t use drones, we fill in with contractors.”
He paused. His tone was not bitter, Don decided, but resigned.
“We’re living in a different world, Don,” he said. “I can’t say if it’s better or worse, but I do know one thing: it’s not my world. It’s not one I understand, and that means it’s time for me to move on.” Nikolaides laughed, a real laugh this time. “Besides, after our boss finds out I was here, he’ll probably fire me on the spot.”
Don’s response was interrupted by the arrival of two cars. One was a hearse and the second a dark SUV. The rear door to the passenger vehicle opened, and Liz Soroush stepped out.
She wore a long, dark overcoat and a cream-colored silk scarf. Liz hurried across the hangar floor and wrapped Don in a tight hug.
“Don.” There was a sad break in her voice that Don recognized. He hugged her back. He felt that same sadness in himself.
She broke the embrace and held him by both hands. Liz studied his face.
“You look like shit, Riley.”
Next to him, Nikolaides laughed.
“You look great,” Don replied. “Happy.”
And she did. Liz’s face had thinned with age, and there was a shine of silver in her dark hair, but she was beautiful. She cocked an eyebrow.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“I came to see you.” Don tipped his head at the general. “I don’t know about him.”
A second woman emerged from the back of the SUV. She was taller than Liz and slim, with chestnut-brown hair drawn back into a French braid. Her brown eyes were dry, but the whites of her eyes were red from recent tears.
Don approached and held out his hand. “Mrs. Lester, my name is Don Riley.”
Up close, Don could see in her gaze the sharp pain that comes from the sudden loss of a loved one. He knew that feeling, the way the grief hovered in the background, ready to punch through the façade of control at any moment.
Maureen Lester hugged him. Her thin frame quivered with nervous energy. “I know who you are, Don,” she said. “Liz told me all about you. Thank you for coming.”
Don released Maureen Lester and turned to introduce the Chairman. Nikolaides extended his hand.
“My name is Adam Nikolaides, ma’am, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and a proud Marine. I’m here to honor your husband.”
Don felt his throat close up. The general had tears in his eyes.
“I don’t understand,” Maureen said. “I thought Michael’s death was a civilian accident.”
Nikolaides looked at Don. Don looked at Liz. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a Gulfstream 650, guided by an Air National Guard ground crew, approached the hangar. The whine of the jet engines filled the frosty air as the sleek aircraft rolled into the hangar. As the engine noise faded, the ground crew chocked the wheels, closed the hangar doors, and departed.
The rear cargo door on the Gulfstream lowered.
“Don,” Liz whispered. “Look.”
He turned to see the six Marines who had arrived with Nikolaides. The young men, now outfitted in Blue Dress “A” uniforms, stood at parade rest in two ranks of three. In their midnight blue tunics, white gloves, white barracks caps, and blue trousers, they appeared as a perfectly matched unit.
“Adam,” Don said, “what’s going on?”
“Ma’am,” Nikolaides said to Maureen. “These young men are from Marine Barracks Washington, 8th and I, Bravo Company, better known as the Body Bearers. With your permission, they will take care of your husband’s remains.”
Maureen Lester nodded, unable to speak. At a nod from the general, the Marines marched out of sight around the back of the Gulfstream.
The stairs to the Gulfstream lowered. A young officer dressed in the uniform of a Taiwanese Army captain appeared in the doorway of the plane. Using a cane, he made his way down the steps and toward the small group.
After saluting the general, he went to Maureen.
“Good evening, Mrs. Lester,” he said.
“You must be Frank Tsai,” she said.
“He spoke of me?” the Taiwanese officer asked.
“Often.” Maureen Lester held out her hand. “We never had children, but from the way Michael talked about you, I think he thought of you as a son.”
Don saw the man’s lip tremble with emotion.
“I am alive today because of your husband,” Captain Tsai said. “Gong-gong saved my life twice—”
“Gong-gong?” Maureen asked.
“It means grandfather,” Tsai said. “It was his nickname with our unit.”
Maureen smiled through her tears. “I bet he hated that.”
“He tolerated it,” Tsai said.
“Tell me how Michael died,” she said.
Tsai looked at Nikolaides, who nodded. He spoke haltingly at first, then found his words. For the first time, Don heard what really happened on Mount Chuyun. Tsai told them how Lester carried Captain Tsai to safety, then used the PLA battle network tablet to draw Chinese forces away from the retreating Taiwanese Shadow Army. He told them of the days spent on Mount Chuyun searching for Lester and finding his body. He paused, and his face twisted into a scowl.
“My government wishes to keep the existence of the Taiwanese Shadow Army a secret from the Chinese,” Tsai said. “They fear the publicity if Gong-gong’s true activities were made public.”
Maureen’s gaze cut to Nikolaides. “Is this true?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the general said. “There’s been a deal.”
“I agreed to stay silent as long as they allowed me to accompany the colonel’s body home,” Tsai added.
“But all this,” Maureen said. “The Marine honor guard.”
“That’s on me, ma’am,” Nikolaides said.
“Thank you,” Maureen said, her hands reaching for Tsai and the Chairman. “Thank you both.”
“I think we’re ready, ma’am,” Nikolaides said.
From the rear of the aircraft, Don heard a soft command. Nikolaides came to attention, as did Captain Tsai.
The flag-draped coffin of Colonel Mike Lester, borne by six Marines, came into view. The two officers in uniform saluted. Don and Liz put their hands over their hearts.
In precision slow march, the honor guard conveyed their charge to the open door of the hearse.
Don felt his own heart beat strong under his fingertips. He sensed the swirling emotions in himself and from the people around him.
Sadness…pride…heartbreak…gratitude.
They lived in a wonderful world, but a dangerous one, filled with shifting alliances and threats. A world made less dangerous by the sacrifice of brave people like Colonel Michael Lester.
The door of the hearse closed, a dull thud. The two officers dropped their salutes. Liz’s hand found his and squeezed.
Don returned the gesture. He knew she was thinking of Brendan, her husband and Don’s friend, who had made the same sacrifice for America. Although Brendan had been gone for years, the feelings felt raw and fresh in this moment.
