Following the ramp leading to the second level, he drove the Vette down the first aisle, then turned into the second aisle, parking in an end space. Very few vehicles were in the garage. His was the only one parked on this level.
After locking the car, he jogged to the elevator. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the open space. He snapped his security badge on his windbreaker as the elevator doors closed. Normally, getting security clearances reinstated can take about two months. But once Grant and the team accepted their new “job” offering, the President exercised his powers and had the process completed in a few days. All the men had Top Secret, White House clearances.
Scott Mullins was standing outside his office, leaning against the doorframe, looking down the hallway. He gave a slight wave as Grant came around a corner. Then he went back into his office, leaving the door open.
Grant walked into the room, removing his baseball cap. He closed the door. “Mornin’, Scott.” He reached across the desk, grabbing Mullins’ hand firmly, as he caught a glimpse of a color photo on the credenza of Scott and his brother, Tony.
Mullins asked, “Can I get you some coffee?”
Grant unzipped his windbreaker. “Sure could use some. Thanks.”
Mullins came around the desk and went to a small, three-tiered cart. A coffee pot was plugged into the wall. He poured the coffee into a mug. “Black, right?”
“Absolutely,” Grant responded. As Mullins handed him the mug, Grant asked, “Got anything to go along with this?”
“Might have a box of donuts in the lounge.”
“I was thinking of something stronger,” he winked. “Just kidding. Thanks anyway.”
Mullins motioned to a wooden chair. “Have a seat.”
Grant turned the chair around. He straddled it then sat. As he sipped on the coffee, he noticed Mullins’ rumpled white shirt and red eyes. “You look like shit. Been here long?”
Mullins nodded and yawned. “You could say that,” he answered, rubbing a hand across his chin. “I wish I could have brought you in sooner, Grant, but we needed to get all the facts straight before I did.”
“Talk to me,” Grant said as he rested his arms on top of the backrest.
Mullins flipped open a folder on his desk. He turned one paper over before he looked up, seeing intense brown eyes staring back at him. “This is gonna be a tough one, Grant. China.”
Grant blew out a breath through tight lips, as he ran his hand along the side of his head. “ChiComs.”
Mullins nodded then started relaying the story from the time the SEALs left the carrier. He occasionally glanced at pieces of paper in the folder, referring to names, places, times.
Grant’s brain was trying to process every bit of information coming out of Mullins’ mouth.
Then Mullins hesitated before saying, “The two SEALs went into the water, trying to give the others time to make it to the chopper. They managed to slow down the gunboat. Shots were fired, and… ”
“What happened to them, Scott?” He reached toward the desk, putting the coffee mug on it.
“Last report was they were taken prisoners.”
“Oh, Christ!” While Grant didn’t personally know the two SEALs, they were all brothers in arms. “What about the rest of that Team? Are they still aboard the carrier or on their way back to Coronado? Maybe you can ‘hook’ me up with that senior chief.”
“Now?” Mullins asked with surprise.
Grant shook his head. “Think you could patch the call through to me at the house in Virginia?”
Mullins picked up a pencil and made a note. “I’ll see what I can do. But as far as them still being aboard ship, the last I heard they were waiting for a COD flight to take them back.” A COD (Carrier Onboard Delivery) was a Grumman C-2 Greyhound, a twin-engine, high-wing cargo aircraft designed to carry passengers, supplies and mail to and from aircraft carriers.
“Do you have a map so I can see exactly where we’re heading?”
“Sure.” Mullins spun his chair around toward a credenza. He pulled out a wide center drawer. Thumbing through a stack of maps arranged in alphabetical order, he removed one. He turned around and laid it across his desk.
Grant stood. He picked up the mug, took another sip of coffee, then leaned over the desk, perusing the great expanse of China.
Mullins unlocked another desk drawer. He took out two photos, then slid them across the map. “Here are the latest satellite photos. The building circled is where we believe they’re being held. The other is of Shanghai.”
With a coffee mug in one hand, Grant picked up one of the black and white photos, studied it, then put it down. Lifting the second one, he focused on a particular area, then held it closer to Mullins. “Anything you can tell me about this building?”
“Before the Japanese took it over during World War II, it was an apartment. It’s called ‘Bridge House.’ We think those men are being held in the lower level where they kept the POWs.”
“A goddamn POW camp?” Mullins nodded slowly. Grant was silent while he studied the photograph, trying to imagine what the camp looked like. Then he finally asked, “Any more to go on? I mean, are they in cells? Is there any sort of fortification?”
“Not sure. CIA’s trying to find out.”
“I’m guessing the Agency’s got somebody on the ‘inside,’” Grant said, hoping for some positive feedback. Mullins didn’t respond.
Grant put the mug down, and dropped the photo. Resting his fists on the desk, he leaned closer to Mullins. “C’mon, Scott! I’ve gotta put a plan together, and that plan may include inside help. In fact, it may be the only way to get those guys out. We’ll be going into unchartered territory. I need up-to-date intel.”
“I know you do, Grant, but I can’t make that decision.”
Grant clenched his jaw while keeping his eyes fixed on Mullins. “You sure as hell can ask.”
Mullins rocked back and forth in the chair, returning Grant’s stare. “I’ll make the call when we’re through here.”
“Appreciate it. Look, I know it might be putting that guy at risk, but the Agency’s done it before on critical missions.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Now, is your Team ready?”
Grant glanced at his submariner. “I called Joe as soon as I got your message. They all should be at the house about now.”
“How about equipment? You need to replenish anything?”
“No. No. We’re good. Restocked after we got back from Nicaragua.”
“I know you and your men have a lot to discuss, Grant. Call me on the mobile or from the house and let me know if there’s anything else you’re gonna need.”
“Fuel!” Grant responded with somewhat of a grin.
“Have you already got a flight plan in mind?”
Grant looked to his left, then walked over to a world map tacked on a wall. He traced out a route with his finger. “I can tell you right now we’ll be taking the ‘Great Circle Route.’ From D.C. it’s shorter to go straight to Elmendorf, then on to Atsugi. From there it’ll probably be a 130 (C-130 Hercules) for a HAHO.” Grant rubbed the back of his neck. “None of us like those nighttime HAHOs, but there isn’t any other way.” He looked at Mullins and grinned. “Unless the President can get us a sub!”
Mullins jotted a note, as he commented, “I have a feeling if that’s what it would take, the President would get it for you! In the meantime, I’ll request the Herc, then have those bases put on alert. Top secret, of course.”
The “Great Circle Route” is the shortest distance between two points on the Earth’s surface. Grant’s plan was to fly from D.C. to Elmendorf Air Force Base near Anchorage, Alaska, then on to Atsugi Naval Air Facility, Japan.
“I’m assuming the Coral Sea’s still in those waters?” Grant asked, returning to the desk.