“How’d he do that? He hasn’t had access to the system for more than a week,” said Dan.
George grinned. “Dan, you must have realized by now that Turbee can hack his way into anything, and he did refine most of the programming for this,” he said, motioning to the room around him. “He could probably start a nuclear war by himself if he wanted to.”
“If he hacked his way into the ORION’s, he needs to be called to task on it,” Dan said, defensively.
“For God’s sake, Dan, please focus on the issue,” Rhodes snapped. He was close to the end of his rope with the so-called director of TTIC. “Take a close look at the pictures behind you. Think, man!”
Dan did. “So?” he said. “A couple of boats hooked together. So what? We saw these two weeks ago. And it came to nothing.”
Now George started to lose his patience as well. “The labels, idiot. Look at the labels.”
“It’s not just a couple of boats hooked together, Dan,” said Rahlson. “One of those boats is clearly the Haramosh Star. The other is the Mankial Star. These are the same images we saw before, but Turbee’s sharpened them up considerably. Kingston found some additional images from the same time frame, shot by one of the KH-12’s. Turbee’s used them to get clearer pictures. Look at the center frame. It seems to me that a bundle of something is being transferred from the small ship to the large one. It’s obvious what’s going on here, Dan. Turbee’s found a way to make the evidence that much more clear. He had figured it out long before the rest of us could see it.”
“Again,” said George.
“Well that is just dandy for him,” said Dan in his usual aloof manner. “But the SEALs went through the ship from top to bottom. They went through every single container. Every deck level. The engine room. The bridge. Not only that, but they did it with some of the most sensitive plastic explosive detection equipment that exists today. And THEY DIDN’T FIND ANYTHING.”
“Danno,” snapped Rahlson, who was close to shouting at this point. “You’ve got to accept the fact that the SEALs COULD have missed it. Yes, they’re highly trained. Yes they’re the best of the best. But there is a chance that they missed it. Either that or the Haramosh Star ditched the load before the SEALs got on board.”
As the angry dialogue continued, Turbee quietly entered the room and sat down at his old workstation, between George and Rahlson. “Welcome back, kid,” said Rahlson, pausing long enough to notice the youth sitting quietly next to him. Turbee’s face was still swollen, and one of his eyes was blackened. He moved with obvious discomfort, but sat at his computer and began his work with absolute confidence. Dan lost the argument with Rahlson, George, and Rhodes, and stalked out the door. The other members of the team spotted Turbee, and the sound of desk slapping and applause began to fill the room. Almost everyone rose and gathered around Turbee’s desk to welcome him back to the family.
With that, Turbee had officially returned to TTIC. Word spread rapidly through the Intelligence Community about the coup. Turbee was back, and he’d established that the Semtex had been transferred to the Haramosh Star. The SEALs had missed it.
It was midnight, Pacific Standard Time, when Vince led Jimmy Stalmach to the lowest deck on the Haramosh Star, and directed him to the hidden compartment. It was accessible only through a tiny trap door beneath one of the two gigantic MAN B&W engines. The inspection by the SEALs almost three weeks earlier had not, and could not have, found it. They would have had to take extremely precise measurements of both the outer and inner hulls of the ship to realize that the hull contained extra space. Even then, finding the way into the additional hold would have been close to impossible. The slender space between the two hulls at the aft of the ship, and its hidden entrance, was the pinnacle of KDEC’s engineering achievements. Because of it, the Semtex had remained safely hidden throughout the aggressive and intrusive search.
Vince pressed a hidden lever in the wall, then another under the engines, and the well-oiled trap door slid open. Directly below the trap door was the open cockpit of the submersible, a PWS-12, manufactured by Kumar’s facility in Long Beach. Normally the submersible was used for heroin runs; it had seen many stealthy trips through the coastal waters of western North America, navigating toward a predetermined nocturnal rendezvous. Due to the growing sophistication of coast guards, sonar, aerial, and even satellite surveillance, these moves were growing increasingly difficult. With the help of his engineers and the PWS-12 series, Yousseff had nimbly managed to stay one step ahead of both the law and his competition. The theme here was the same as it had been in the Indus River days, but more highly engineered.
This trip, however, was different. The load was much heavier than usual, and the trip much longer. There was also the small matter of the international manhunt that was under way to find the cargo that the submersible would be carrying. Both Vince and Jimmy were being paid spectacularly well for their efforts, but the money failed to lighten the mood of their mission. They both realized that the gates of hell would open at the final destination of the Semtex. Neither knew where that end would be. Neither knew if this would be the last time they saw each other; after years of working together, this particular mission seemed to be the end of the line for their partnership. Both men had known Yousseff for many years, and neither liked the darker turn that Yousseff’s smuggling operation had taken. Both had strong reservations.
“How long will this trip take, Jimmy?” asked Vince, as the other was carefully lowering himself into the submersible’s cockpit.
“Even at the speeds this thing can do, it will be a good five to six hours. Most will be underwater, and guided by GPS,” responded Jimmy. “I’ll be happy as a clam when this one’s behind me.”
Vince continued to peer down at the submersible, the years with Yousseff weighing heavily upon him. After he rescued him from the scene with Bartholomew’s drunken and mutinous crew, Vince had taken the young Yousseff under his wing. He had been astounded at Yousseff’s intelligence, and the rapidity with which he learned the ways of the sea. He had watched the young man grow and stretch, trying new and different schemes, technologies, and industries throughout the years. Thanks to that association, Vince was now far richer than Bartholomew would ever have made him, and had spoken to Yousseff many times of retirement. Each time, Yousseff had talked him out of it. Now, with a paycheck of more than $1 million, laundered and legitimate, he could retire and afford everything he’d ever wanted. Maybe this would be his last mission. He found himself hoping that it was.
“Everything in order down there?” Vince asked.
“It all checks, Vince. Time to close the cockpit and open the outer hull. I’ll see you when I see you,” Jimmy said, with his customary devil-may-care smile. Vince shook his head. He couldn’t understand how the man could sit in that cockpit for so long, and with the addition of so much explosive packed in around him. He waved as the submersible’s cockpit noiselessly slid forward and locked into place with a soft click.
Vince then activated a further series of hidden levers. The trap door in the floor of the Haramosh Star slid shut. As it did, four large sections of the outer hull of the ship began to slide open, creating an opening some 30 feet long and 15 wide, just ahead of the rudder of the ship. The compartment had been designed to take in water without affecting the ship’s flotation or route, enabling the sub to start its journey in its natural medium. Slowly the submersible slid out of the large ship and dropped down below the hull. It rotated 180 degrees, hovering just below the Haramosh Star for a few seconds. Then it headed off in a north-by-northeast direction, making a good 15 knots.