“What’s going on, Bill,” asked Hammond as he was led inside the ship. He had immediately recognized the Secret Service agent who had come aboard in Japan two years before.
“Trust me Roger, we need to get you up to the cabin and to a phone,” Bill Peters said as they rushed forward along the port passageway to the captain’s cabin.
Hammond didn’t say much along the way. He knew something bad had happened and these guys could only be sent by only one man. Going up one level they then crossed to the starboard side and entered the cabin, securing the doors and portholes before saying a word. “Let’s hang out here a minute while we get some things lined up,” Peters said. “Sorry about this, Roger, but the boss said to get some people around you right now. All I know is I need to make a phone call for you,” he said, grabbing the outside phone and dialing a number. After a minute he handed the received to Hammond.
Hammond looked at the phone and placed it to his year. “Hammond speaking,” he said.
“Roger, it’s Steve,” was the reply he heard on the other end.
“Mister President, what’s wrong,” he asked, dreading what might have happened.
“Roger, I won’t mince words. Somebody has kidnapped Patricia and the rest of the mayors at the Colombia conference,” the President said.
Hammond sat stunned. He didn’t say a word. Patricia Crowell had become his whole life and to imagine her being harmed chilled him to his core.
“It’s too early to know much but I promise I’ll get her back, Roger. Jim and I are already on top of it. We don’t know the reasons as yet, so that’s why I asked the Service to keep an eye on you for a while. I promise I’ll let you know anything that comes along. In the mean time just stay safe,” the President said to his friend.
Hammond gave off a small sigh. “Thanks Steve. The concert just finished up anyway. Maybe I’ll just go home for the night and wait to hear from you,” he said in a low tone.
“Just be careful, Roger. I’ll call the minute we know anything,” O’Bannon said.
“Thanks, Steve,” Hammond said as he hung up the phone. Hammond sat in his seat still too stunned to move.
There was a knock at the door and Brian Davis and ‘Boats’ Patnaude nearly pushed their way through the Secret Service agents to get to their friend. Only Bill Peter’s okay had kept the two from being shot.
“What’s wrong, Captain?” asked Patnaude, his short grey hair almost bristling in concern.
Hammond looked at the two men. “Patricia’s been kidnapped,” he said. Hammond looked as if he’d been struck a blow. His eyes had a vacant, hurt look and he sat is his seat without moving.
“Son of a bitch!” exclaimed Patnaude. “Any idea who?” he asked.
Hammond shook his head. “It was her and the rest of the mayors at the conference. I don’t know much more,” he said.
“I take it the President thinks Roger may be in some danger or you guys wouldn’t be here,” said Davis.
Bill Peters nodded. “Just a precaution, but you guys did a lot in the last war and somebody might not like it,” he said.
“Okay, were should he go? If he goes home, the bad guys will probably know where he lives. If you want, he can come aboard my ship, or we can take him to a hotel,” Davis said.
“Your ship would be the best,” said Peters. “By tomorrow we might know a little more. This was set up very quickly and I’d appreciate a secure place.”
Davis nodded. “Is that okay with you, Roger?”
Hammond nodded. “Yea, but for tonight only. I need to get back to San Diego tomorrow anyway,” he said as he slowly stood.
Davis gave the Secret Service agent a look and then all of them got up and left the stateroom. They walked down the interior port ladder and out the port side. Within a few minutes Hammond was firmly established in a cabin and away from the others. As they walked out the door, Davis looked at Patnaude. “All officers and chiefs in the messdecks in ten minutes,” he said. Patnaude scurried down the opposite passage and out the after door to the waiting crew.
After getting Hammond settled, Davis secured his ship and set additional guards along the deck, then he crossed back over to the Iowa. The messdecks were filled with anxious crewmen waiting for the word on their captain. Davis went up to the high end of the deck. “Gentlemen, our mayor, Patricia Crowell, has been kidnapped.”
There was a gasp throughout the crew. Some men cussed, while some just got angry. “I don’t know much, but it appears the mayors at that conference she was attending in Colombia were taken. I don’t think they know who or where yet. The President sent the Secret Service guys to give the Admiral some protection.”
“They should leave him to us,” shouted one crewmember. Several raised their voices in agreement. “Nobody’ll get to him while we’re around,” another said. The anger was growing rapidly in the space.
Davis raised his hand. “I know that, and so does the President, but he’s doing what he can,” said Davis. “You guys remember they are friends, right?” That got many nods around the room. “Right now we have him aboard my ship. We’ll take care of him, guys. By this time I figure people in Washington are going nuts trying to get to the bottom of this. When they do, something is going to happen. I don’t know if it will involve us or not, but it might be a good idea to be ready.” Davis looked around the room. He could see it in their faces. They were ready to go back to war for their captain and they wouldn’t leave until the job was done. “Are there some of you who can hang around a few days, just in case?” Nearly every hand flew up.
“You know, XO, sometimes you ask the stupidest questions,” said Patnaude from one of the tables. The men let out a hearty laugh. Davis shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
“You know I can’t give you guys any orders,” Davis said. “But I’ll see what we can get going.” He looked straight at Patnaude. “Boats, you know what to do. Make all preparations for getting underway.”
A cheer rang out throughout the ship and was heard by the families and friends on the pier. They didn’t know what was going on, but for some reason, they felt good about it.
Colonel Juan Rojas had to work late again. The military aide to Presidente Emilio Parente was a thankless job which usually only lasted one year. Rojas was well into his second. He had worked very hard to get to this position and had worked equally hard to win the good favors of Presidente Parente. It was one of the best ways he knew to rise to the exalted rank of general in the Venezuelan army. It didn’t make any difference that, to him, his leader was clearly insane. His job was to make sure everything El Presidente wanted, he got. More than likely Parente would eventually be killed or overthrown by the military. Hopefully it would be after Rojas was repaid for the work he had done.
To get his job done he had been instructed to do a number of things — many of which made absolutely no sense. Military events and parades were going on every week. But then he had been trusted with other, more bizarre tasks. At first it had been things like buying goats to help keep the palace grounds neat. Then it was joy rides on newly acquired aircraft for the military. It hadn’t mattered Presidente Parente didn’t know how to fly or that they were mostly single seat fighters. El Presidente simply wanted to drive them around the runways. The one time he did try to take off he ran the new jet off the side of the runway into a ditch.