Three satchel charges, one set at each corner of the building, exploded in an illusion of organized chaos. A brilliant white glow lit up the field, raining flames on the shriveled tobacco leaves, setting off numerous small fires. With the wooden corner support gone, the remainder of the roof crumbled inside itself.
The five Navy SEALs' mission had been completed, and, as quickly and silently as they had come, they vanished into the field, hustling to make their way back to the inland waterway.
"Comrade Vernichenko?" called Alexei after getting no response.
"Yes, yes, go on," he answered brusquely. Rubbing his forehead, Vernichenko momentarily felt the same anger he felt that fateful day.
"I kept trying to find out about him without raising suspicion, but it was like he didn't exist." Alexei shook his head. "Now I understand why."
Yes. It's like they don't exist until they want you to know, and then… it is too late. Vernichenko leaned toward the microphone, thinking that an old nemesis might once again interfere with his country's strategy. He sensed Alexei's growing apprehension. "Remember, Comrade, all your years of waiting to help Mother Russia will culminate tonight. We must be very wary. You must keep an ever-present vigil now. Proceed with caution, but continue as planned. This time we will not fail."
From the first conversation between the Russians that he'd intercepted, there was something that gnawed away at Grant Stevens' brain. It happened again when he and Adler sent the MSV to the trawler.
As he and Adler were inspecting their diving gear — masks, hoses, and breathing apparatus— Grant was thinking about sending a message to Captain Stafford. As quickly as the thought passed through his mind, another nearly brought him out of the chair. "Christ!"
Adler looked up and casually replied, "You called, sir?"
Grant laughed. "I've got a bad case of rectalencephalitis, Joe." He grabbed the headphones and adjusted the radio frequency. Within seconds, he heard, "Admiral Morelli's office."
"Gardner? This is Commander Stevens. I need to talk with the Admiral — ASAP!"
"Hold a minute, sir, he's right here."
"Grant! Something happen?" Morelli asked as he dropped his coat over the back of the chair in the outer office.
"Not yet, sir, but I need you to get me some information. Put me on scramble, sir."
"Speak… I'm listening." Morelli motioned for Gardner to hand him a pencil.
"I'll give you a few names. Can you match them up against the men stationed aboard the HADLEY and the sub during October, '62?"
"During the Cuban crisis?" Morelli asked with surprise.
Grant cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. It's just a hunch, but if I'm right, we're one big step closer to nailing his ass, sir."
"Good Christ! Give me the names." Morelli shook his head each time he wrote down a name. With the information on paper, he dropped the pencil and handed the list to Gardner, pointing with his finger toward the door. Gardner didn't waste time and ran down the hallway. "We'll get on it immediately, then will call you."
"Lieutenant Commander Simmons, Senior Chief Adler or I will be here, sir. And Admiral… thanks for getting us the extra time. We're working as fast as we can, sir."
Morelli's tone sounded like a father answering a son, "I know you are, Grant."
Adler unlocked the door after hearing the tapping. Brad Simmons' expression immediately caught the attention of the two men.
"What is it?" asked Grant as he switched off the radio.
"They're getting ready to ship the Koosman kid's body, if this fog clears. Helo's going to fly him to the big island, Honsho, drop him off at Yokota Air Force Base, and then take him to the States."
Grant walked toward the bunks with his head lowered, his hands in his back pockets. His voice sounded weary. "Do you know where he was from?"
"I think Washington State."
"Damn it! What a waste." He dropped down on the bunk, running his hand in frustration over the top of his head.
Joe Adler immediately interpreted the look on Grant's face. "You've been running your ass off since you've come aboard, sir. Don't know what else you could've done. This one wasn't yours, sir."
Grant shook his head, a fixed, fiery stare burned in his eyes. The square jaw clenched tight, until the muscles twitched as he bit down hard on his teeth. Adler's eyes narrowed, watching 'Panther'. He knew the look. Some sad-sack mother was gonna bite the bullet sooner or later. He walked in front of Grant, stood at attention and said quietly under his breath, "It's time to dance, Commander. I'm here if you need me."
Grant looked up with acknowledgment and something that resembled a grin. "I know you will be, 'Big A'. I never questioned that."
A boson’s pipe was heard over the loudspeaker, sounding for everyone's attention. "All hands, listen up. This is the Captain. Replenishing at sea will commence at 1300 hours with the Suribachi. Deck force, make preparations and have on my desk by 1100 hours for officers' call."
Grant paced in front of the desk with his hands thrust into his pockets. The loudspeaker seemed just a muffled noise somewhere in his mind. The Captain continued: "We're still proceeding to Sado. Our expected arrival time is approximately 1700 hours. I wish I could give you more on the present situation, but that's all I have at this time."
Grant sat on the edge of the desk, ignoring the broadcast, thinking out loud: "We're gonna have to take a chance." He took his pen from his shirt pocket, wrote his own form of encrypted note on the desk pad, then looked at Brad. "Can you set up infrared cameras in both Damage Control lockers, aiming them at the doors?" Once the special camera was activated, it would take a picture when the lens picked up any white or red light.
"Sure, no problem. Now?"
"Now." Brad started for the door when Grant added, "Watch yourself."
The door clanged shut and Adler skeptically asked, "You really think he'll use those lockers again after what happened?"
"We've gotta cover all bases." He rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles as tight as a mooring line. "And we have to consider he might have a backup, Joe."
"Oh, Christ! You don't think that's possible, do you?"
Grant shrugged his shoulders. "Who the hell knows?"
Simmons rolled the chair toward the desk, then picked up the headphones. "Yes, Admiral, he's right here." He tossed the headphones to Grant.
"Grant here, Admiral. Any luck?"
"I've got two with last names that match what you gave me… an ensign on the Hadley, and a first class machinist mate on the sub. There was a first and last name match belonging to a weapons’ officer on the Hadley." Morelli held his breath as he waited for Grant's response.
"That's gotta be him, sir!"
"Oh, Christ! I didn't want to believe it. You're sure it's Donovan? Mike Donovan?"
"We should have positive confirmation soon, Admiral. I don't remember if I met him on the Hadley. The Team stayed pretty much to itself after the ship picked us up."
Morelli chewed the tip of the Havana right off, spitting it across the desk. "Look, you get back to me with that confirmation. I'll wait here all night if I have to."
Grant grabbed his cap. "Brad, stay here in case the Admiral or Mullins call. Come on, Joe."
"Where to?" Adler asked as he reached on top of the shelf for his hat.
"I'm going to the bridge."
Adler stopped dead in his tracks. "You're going where?"
"I've got to force him to make a move. He has to know who I am by now… I want him to know. You stay out of sight then come and call me. I'll need an excuse to leave."
Ten minutes later, Grant walked onto the bridge. Captain Donovan was sitting in his swivel chair, facing sideways toward the port window. The fog had all but dissipated, leaving water droplets on the glass. He rested his head against his palm as he read the message traffic board lying in his lap.