No matter what the cause, the master knew Alyssa Langford was in serious trouble. He began broadcasting a Mayday signal, which included their GPS position. The ship was taking on water at an alarming rate and was beginning to list.
When the first tongue of flames began appearing in the gaping hole in the bow, the captain knew it was time to act. They could not afford to wait until Alyssa Langford was actually going under to abandon the vessel. The master gave the order and the crew scrambled to their assigned lifeboat stations.
"All ahead slow," Commander Art Schweitzer ordered while he peered through the search periscope.
"Aye, aye, all ahead slow," the Officer of the Deck repeated.
Schweitzer watched quietly as che crew members of the containership Alyssa Langford abandoned the craft in an orderly fashion and connected their boats together.
Schweitzer then swept the horizon in a slow, deliberate 360-degree circle, noting a ships bridge coming into view many miles away. Feeling confident the crew he torpedoed would be rescued quickly, he folded the handles. "Down scope." Schweitzer stepped away from the retreating periscope. "All ahead one third, level at four hundred feet."
"Aye, aye, Captain, all ahead one third, level at four hundred feet." The Officer of the Deck watched the sailors as they responded to the skipper s commands.
Schweitzer had orders to loiter eighty nautical miles southwest of Bermuda and wait for further instructions. Another Shayhidi-owned cargo ship was preparing to sail from the port of Miami bound for Amsterdam. Under constant surveillance, Stephanie Eaton would be tracked to her rendezvous with USS Montpelier.
Other U. S. attack submarines were being positioned to intercept cargo vessels owned by Shayhidi. The Los Angeles-class boats were spreading out in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans, and in the Mediterranean Sea. They had orders to positively identify their target in daylight before attacking.
As the president ordered, Shayhidi oil tankers were off limits to the attack submarines. They would be dealt with in port by another elite branch of the U. S. Navy.
When President Macklins E-4B touched down at Barksdale AFB near Shreveport, Louisiana, another gleaming Night Watch aircraft was standing by with two engines running. Four USAF F-15 Eagles were taxiing for takeoff. They would rendezvous with the NAOC shortly after the president was airborne.
Macklin and his entourage changed planes and settled into their quarters while the fresh flying command post prepared for takeoff. Once airborne and climbing, the E-4B picked up an escort consisting of one KC-135 refueling tanker and four fighters from Mountain Home AFB, Idaho.
The F-15S were responsible for shepherding the Boeing southeast over Florida and the Atlantic. Three hours later, a quartet of marine corps F/A-18C Hornets from the Crusaders of VMFA-122 would rendezvous with the flying command post.
With two of their own KC-130 tankers in position along the route, the marines would provide protection for the journey to a holding pattern near the Grand Banks southeast of Newfoundland. Later, with a navy escort of F/A-18s, the Boeing would head toward the Seattle area before landing at Dyess AFB near Abilene, Texas.
Everyone was in the conference room when Hartwell Prost walked in. He wasn't smiling, but his demeanor reflected a sense of satisfaction. "Gendemen, Saeed Shayhidi is missing another asset. The Alyssa Langford is en route to the bottom of the Adantic," he announced. "All hands were safely picked up by another ship."
"Great news," the president said, and looked at Pete Adair. "How are we doing on the refineries and power plants?"
"We re about sixty percent covered, but I expect full coverage in the next six to eight hours."
"What about the NOTAM?" Macklin asked.
Prost glanced at his wristwatch. "It was issued forty-five minutes ago. The word is also being passed from approach, departure, and en-route controllers, saturating the airborne pipeline."
The president removed his glasses and looked at General Chalmers. "Les, any of Shayhidis tankers in our sights?"
"Not at the moment. We re making good progress, but safety has to be our first priority," Chalmers said, in a tired voice. "We have to be deliberate, and we have to be extremely cautious."
After listening to the conversation, Pete Adair was growing more and more uncomfortable with the plan to sink Shayhidis ships. "If we re exposed, using our attack submarines to sink civilian ships, even if they are owned by a terrorist who is funding attacks on us, there's going to be a political firestorm the likes of which we've never seen."
Unusual for Prost, he instinctively made a decision to remain silent. Secretary Adair; sometimes you have to do whatever it takes to survive and win. We can put out the fires later.
"Pete," Macklin began, "let me worry about the political fallout. I'll take the heat if there is any. This country and the safety of its citizens mean more to me than hanging on to the White House for another term."
Surprised by the president's statement, Adair nodded his head. "Sir, if I don't speak my mind, I'm no good to you."
"Your candor is always appreciated." Macklin turned his attention to Prost, whose face was placid. "How are we coming on the State Department replacements?"
"Jim has completed the vetting process, and the list has gone to the majority leader in the Senate."
"We're in the middle of a war," the president said angrily. "I need someone now to help me with the international responsibilities and foreign relations."
"Well, sir," Prost said diplomatically, "as you know, Congress is in special recess because of the attacks. No word yet on when they'll be back in session."
"They're always in session when you don't need them," Macklin grumbled, "and never there when you do."
Prost looked at the vetting list. "Word on the Hill is they're going to stall your nomination when they return, payback for not keeping them in the loop."
Sensing the president's foul mood, no one ventured a response.
"Hartwell," Macklin said bitterly, "get Brad Austin on the phone."
"Yes, sir."
"Let s see if hell consider an emergency recess appointment as acting secretary of state."
Prost smiled broadly. "I'm sure he would be honored, sir."
It had almost taken an act of Congress, and it did require a special insurance endorsement and a $15,000 refundable damage deposit, but Scott was checked out in the Cessna Caravan amphibian.
After two hours of intense instruction, including numerous water landings on a nearby reservoir, Scott was cleared to fly as pilot in command. Dalton purchased twenty hours of block flying time, not to exceed ten days. With a phone call to the manager of the FBO, the flying hours and number of days could be extended.
One of the largest single-engine aircraft on floats, the roomy, reliable turboprop was often called the ultimate amphibian. Considered by many pilots to be one of the toughest airplanes in its class, the rugged eight-to fourteen-passenger Caravan could operate safely from most water or land destinations anywhere in the world. From its introduction in 1985, the airplane had been a consistent hands-down favorite of operators from Federal Express to bush pilots in Third World countries.
"How'd it go, or should I ask?" Scott said, when Jackie casually walked up to the big plane.
Although she tried to conceal her irritation, the animus was close to the surface. "Just have to make an appointment for a oneway gab fest with an FAA chief yakker."
Scott gave her a thin smile. "Yeah, you probably need a little pep talk about being more careful around terrorists."