“You tell them I’ll come down there personally and knock some heads if I have to; let’s just get this done and leave!”
After another hour of complaining he sighed, “It looks like they’re done; okay boys button her up! We need to be ready to go tonight!”
The next two hours were all about getting the big ship going. As they attended that, Slade and Killer quitted the bridge and made their way below to the cargo holds. As everything had already been checked it was relatively easy to get into the hold and then very simple to check the three containers.
Climbing on top of the first container, Slade took out his Geiger counter, holding it in various places around the container — there was no reading. He went to the access hatch and looked again; yet again there was nothing. He scowled, telling Killer, “There should at least be some residual radiation no matter how well they hid it.”
Carefully Slade opened the hatch a crack. He snaked a small hollow tube in and turned on the spectrum analyzer. It drew in the air from the inside of the container. Once again there was nothing. Frustrated, Slade threw caution to the wind and opened the door, shining his flashlight inside.
He stared at the contents in amazement.
“What is it; what’s inside?” Killer demanded.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Slade told him.
Before Slade could answer a heavy rumbling coursed through the ship. “Whoa! They’re starting the engines!” Killer said. “If we don’t want a one way ride to Jakarta we better get going!”
CHAPTER 29: Change of Plans
In the situation room the Director of the CIA was getting an urgent call from Slade via the Enterprise battle group. He moved away from the dogfight going on between General Mertzl and NSA Chairwoman Carrabolla.
“Slade, I need the status of that cargo in Bandar Abbas and I need it now!”
“I’m in the hold of the ship as we speak sir,” he said quickly. “Both the Geiger counter and the spectrum analyzer confirm the cargo is clean, there’s no radioactivity, not even medical waste.”
“What is the cargo then?” he said with surprise.
“Silicates — sand — sir, it’s just as advertised,” he replied.
He looked over to Mertz and Carrabolla. They were still arguing, but then the president’s face appeared on the situation room screen. “I’ve got to go; we’re about to find out how the president is going to play this — if he plays it at all. Slade, I still think that ship is going to do more than transport sand. We’ll play my hunch. Get the Delta Force off the ship but Slade, you stay put! Don’t get yourself killed until you figure this out!”
“Yes sir!”
The director approached the screen where National Security Advisor Carrabolla and General Mertzl squared off with the president. If President Oetari looked put out before he was nearly livid now.
“What is so important that my schedule needs to be interrupted,” he demanded. “I have very important people waiting for me in Texas. The prospect of me losing the Senate is riding on this and you want me to listen to some vague hunches of yours based on what a submarine heard in the Straits of Hormuz?”
“We know exactly what he Iranians have done; we have the bastards on a meat hook!” the general announced.
“General, Iran is a proud nation; they are our equal,” the president said stonily. “I would appreciate you referring to them with the respect due a sovereign nation much older than ours.”
“Mr. President the attack sub Key West clearly picked up the sonar signature of an Iranian midget sub rendezvousing with the vessel carrying the Iranian Uranium. She tracked the midget sub to the vessel, heard it docking, and then tracked it moving away. There can be no doubt that something took place under cover of the freighter’s distress.”
“Why didn’t the satellite see anything,” Oetari demanded. “Why am I asked to make a decision based on a submarine hearing something?”
“The satellite’s infra-red cameras were degraded significantly by flares sir,” he answered.
“What about visually. Don’t we have ships in the area with Night Vision Goggles or something?”
“They could not see into the ship’s hold,” the general told the president. “We conjecture that’s why the Iranians used this particular ship. It has the ability to open cargo doors in the bottom of the hold. It’s a large enough opening for an Iranian midget sub to enter the hold where the Uranium is being stored.”
“Sir, this is all conjecture, and a bit too much like a James Bond movie for my taste,” Carrabolla interjected. “Once daylight arrives we can easily ascertain the status of the Iranian nuclear material. Even if a transfer was made we have UN inspectors in Abu Dhabi. If the general is that concerned we can simply have the containers retested. Rest assured there’s no way for the Iranians to pull a fast one. My advice is to let the UN take the lead on this; they know what they’re doing. This is their specialty.”
“My President, we have the Iranians dead to rights!” General Mertzl argued. “A rendezvous took place; there’s no doubt about it. We need to find out what transpired.”
“How?”
“The Key West is tracking the midget sub as we speak,” he replied quickly. It is heading northeast toward Bandar Abbas where coincidently there’s a freighter waiting in the navy yard scheduled to head to Jakarta.”
“What about Jakarta?” the president asked suspiciously, not hiding his close ties to the island nation of his birth.
“Sir perhaps the Director of the CIA should speak on this matter,” General Mertzl told him.
“This better not have anything to do with your wild missing airplane theories,” the president said skeptically.
“Mr. President, as you no doubt know Al Qaeda has a firm grip on Indonesia, especially in Jakarta, and combined with the heavy Marxist presence in the islands it makes it a dangerous destination for Iranian fissile material.”
“The Indonesians have assured us they have a lid on all of the terrorist cells; their influence and effectiveness is highly exaggerated,” the president told him firmly.
“Sir, that runs contrary to every report we have and to every briefing I’ve given you,” the director replied. “I urge you not to discount the danger of this material falling into unfriendly hands.”
“How is it to get there?” the president asked. “If the midget sub heads that way — if they even have the nuclear material — can’t the Key West just sink it?”
“Will you authorize the strike Mr. President?” General Mertzl asked with renewed hope.
“Not without a great deal more information gentlemen,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid all you’ve got is conjecture and boogie men. There’s just nothing to this.” He paused, seeing that his military men were on the point of rebellion. “All right, wait until daylight. If anything still looks out of place call me and I’ll have Turkey ask the United Nations to retest the containers in Abu Dhabi — it won’t look so bad then — satisfied? Now, I’m going to Texas.”
Slade received the director’s orders with the steady sense of duty inherent to his naturally taciturn personality. On the bright side, he thought, he wouldn’t have to endure another night swim.
The Deltas departed, though not without Killer first securing Slade’s sled to the freighter’s hull with a magnetic tether.
“Good luck buddy,” he told Slade with a pat on the back. “Stay quiet and stay low. We’ll be back to get you as soon as we get the word.”