Pete Adair was holding his temper in check. "Mr. President, I think we should get the survivors off the ship and let the Navy sink it as quickly as possible. We dont need to risk killing the rescue swimmer. The ship is a death trap."
"I understand your position, Pete."
Adair was not going to be deterred. "We've already lost Secretary Shannon, the entire top tier of our diplomatic staff, their colleagues in the Terrorism Coalition Council, and several members of Congress."
Another period of awkwardness engulfed the room.
Macklin broke the silence. "If the swimmer is willing to go aboard, I say we give it a try."
The president turned his attention to Prost. "Hartwell, what do you think, any chance?"
"Well, the odds are stacked against him, but there's always a slim chance he could get to the controls."
Macklin nodded to Les Chalmers. "Let's see what the swimmer says."
"Yes, sir."
The president hid his emotions as he tried to fathom the mind-numbing loss. "Hartwell, I'd like you to develop a short list of State Department replacements and get Jim Ebersole to vet them as soon as possible."
"I'll get right to it."
"And make sure Brad Austins name is on the list," the president said firmly. "He's sharp."
Austin, a former state legislator and well-known marine corps fighter pilot from the Vietnam era, was currently serving as the undersecretary of state for global affairs.
Prost nodded. "My recommendation: Place Austin at the top of the list. He was Shannon's go-to guy"
"I agree," Macklin said. "Let's expedite the process, keep things moving as fast as we can."
"Yes, sir, but first I have another recommendation."
The president looked puzzled. "Lets have it."
"Sir, in my opinion, you should get the British prime minister on the phone and tell him why were about to sink the QM Two."
Macklins neck muscles ached from the tension. "Lets see if we can get the ship stopped first — and we wont have to sink it."
"As you wish."
Lieutenant Commander Bergman looked Stu Clements in the eye. "It s your decision; take a minute to think about it."
"Sir, I've made up my mind. Its my job, and we dont have a whole lotta time left."
Bergman felt a tinge of anguish. "Okay, but be extremely careful."
"Yes, sir." Clements wavered a moment. "Should we get the two survivors aboard before I try the bridge?"
"We dont have the fuel."
"Yes, sir," Clements said, slipping into a strop. The modified horse collar was used by PJs and downed military aviators.
Bergman maneuvered the helicopter over the ships sun deck while Clements eased out of the hatch and began his descent.
Unsure of what was going on, the doctor and his wife shivered while they stared at the man dangling from the helicopter. They wondered why they were being ignored.
Clements was about to reach the sun deck at the same time Lieutenant McLain was on the radio requesting another helicopter.
Although the rain-swollen clouds were low, the early morning sky was turning gray and the visibility was rapidly improving.
Considered an excellent aviator, Bergman held the Dolphin as steady as he could in the gusting wind. As he quickly learned, it was impossible to hover precisely in one spot.
Clements tried to stabilize himself a few seconds before his feet touched down on the QM2. He stumbled and then slipped out of the strop. The pilot climbed a few feet to keep the horse collar away from the ship.
Making his way to the bridge, Clements completed a radio check to Earl Nogart. When he reached the hatch leading to the bridge, Clements tried without success to open it. He pulled harder and forced it open an inch. Uh-oh, we have a problem.
Clements keyed his radio. "Earl, the hatches to the bridge have been chained shut from the inside."
"How strong, how thick are the links?"
"They're heavy-duty, big time."
"Stand by."
"Roger that."
Nogart conferred with the pilots and keyed his radio. "Okay, Stu, return to the sun deck and we'll get you out of there."
Silence.
"Stu, are you there?" Nogart fought the onset of panic. "Answer me, Stu. What's happening down there? Talk to me, buddy."
"Man," Clements said and then gagged when he reached the sun deck. "I don't feel so good. Can't breathe and I have something… something wrong with my chest, and…" He trailed off.
"Answer me, Stu!"
Nogart saw his friend stagger across the sun deck, stumble twice, and collapse to his hands and knees. He crawled a few feet, fell sideways, and then lay motionless.
"Stu, get up, you can make it!"
The flight mechanic swallowed hard. Oh, shit. He turned to the pilots, who saw what happened. "He's down. Have to go get him!"
"Negative," Bergman commanded. "Then we'd have both of you down there, no way."
"But, sir—"
"You can see how fast it hit him."
"And we're critical on fuel," McLain added, scribbling a note to the two bewildered survivors on the bow.
Bergman added power and spoke to Nogart. "Secure the hoist. Have to get out of here." God forgive me.
"Jeff," McLain said, "if you'll hover over the bow, I'll have Nogart drop a note to the folks."
"Okay, but let's make it quick."
Flying as smoothly as possible, Bergman hovered over the bow while the flight mechanic wrapped the piece of paper around a wrench. Nogart tossed it out a safe distance from the couple, but the downwash from the main rotor blades ripped the note loose. The message was blown over the side as the doctor tried to catch it.
"Shit," McLain said as he gave the couple a thumbs-up. Hang in there — don't give up.
Bergman turned the Dolphin around and headed straight for the cutter Dependable. "Lets hope we make it back."
McLain checked their fuel. "Were looking at a dual flameout, be suckin fumes in a couple of minutes."
Glancing at the fuel quantity, Bergman cringed. "Call the ship, give em our position, and have them head for us at flank speed."
Although he agonized internally, President Macklin showed no emotion when the bad news arrived that the ship could not be stopped from the bridge. "Les, check the status of the carrier."
"Yes, sir."
The president turned to Pete Adair. "How long until the other helicopter reaches the ship?"
"About thirty-five, maybe forty minutes. Its coming out of the Coast Guard Air Station on Cape Cod."
Macklin sighed and looked away. "When will the QM Two reach the waters directly off New York?"
Adair gave him a ballpark figure. "According to my calculations, one hour and ten minutes, plus or minus a few minutes."
The presidents jaw muscles began working back and forth. "This, my friends, is going to be one difficult day."
With Carrier Air Wing Three embarked, and her flotilla of surface escorts and the attack submarine USS Boise (SSN 764) positioned around her, the mammoth Nimitz-class aircraft carrier Harry S. Truman (CVN 75) was proceeding north-northeast at 27 knots in the Virginia Capes Operating Area. The offshore warning areas for air, surface, and subsurface units extends from just south of Nantucket Island, Massachusetts, to Charleston, South Carolina, and eastward for more than 200 nautical miles into the Atlantic Ocean.
Powered by two Westinghouse nuclear reactors and four steam turbines producing 280,000 shaft horsepower, the ioo,ooo-ton warship could attain speeds of more than 30 knots. Using her four steam-powered catapults, she could launch an aircraft every twenty seconds. With her entire air wing of more than eighty combat aircraft aboard, the carrier was home to approximately 6,000 crew members.