Immediately afterward the main gate to the jail was opened and four more guards emerged, obviously relieving the midnight watch. “Okay, Buster, the outside patrol is definitely four men. They changed at one minute before oh-four hundred…the main gate opened inwards, and I thus conclude it’s the only gate into the prison from the outside, otherwise they would have used a smaller one. Check in daylight. Action star, Buster.”
The SEALs too changed their watch at 0400. Rusty and Buster were tired to the point of exhaustion, and they wrapped themselves in their waterproof ponchos and crashed out on the ground sheets.
Chief McCarthy and Lieutenant Merloni stepped up for duty, moving to the front of the ridge, Paul with the glasses, the chief with the computer. They took time to read the boss’s notes written on the laptop screen, nearly word-perfect. And they too settled down to record every last movement of the prison that held President Clarke’s son, Linus.
One hour later, at a few minutes after 0500, Paul watched the lights of the patrol boat return. There was a light southwesterly breeze off the water now, and the lieutenant had picked up the beat of engines a mile out. He also could not see where the boat docked.
At 0600 the sun rose out of the ocean directly facing Paul. At this angle it was like a red searchlight in his eyes, right above the cell block, and it was impossible to see anything for a half hour until the sun climbed higher into the morning sky.
At 0700 Paul had a clear view of the complex, and he clarified the position of the buildings on the laptop plan. He also observed that although the outside patrol did appear to be walking around the entire jail, the main gate was constantly manned. Twice he had seen ground crew for the helicopters exit the jail, and both times the gates had been opened and shut behind them, the doors moving simultaneously. He thus concluded that there were two more guards in the courtyard at all times, on duty at the big wooden gates.
He could also now see that there were only two small windows in the main cell block, almost certainly providing only indirect light to the prisoners. From up here, staring down on a somewhat tranquil scene, it was almost impossible to image that the entire crew of a major American nuclear submarine was actually incarcerated in this place.
They changed watch again at 0800. Rusty came on duty, chewing another of the protein bars, while Dan Conway held the small computer. “We’ll hang around up here for another hour, then we’ll get in closer and get some accurate measurements.…We’ll have one team get down near the shore, check out that patrol boat and select a landing sight for the assault force to come in on Sunday night.…Guess I better do that, so they got someone to blame if it goes wrong!
“You all understand the main group wants to be a lot nearer than we were when they hit the beach. There’s gonna be sixty-four guys, and the quicker they deploy and get into position the better. I don’t want the boats more than a half mile away when they land — but we have to watch that fucking Chinese patrol boat, see what time it goes out and comes back all day today.
“Also, we have to select a pickup point…remember, these guys in the jail may be very weak…and there’s over a hundred of them, if no one’s been killed. It’s a huge task to get ’em down to the shore and on board the inflatables. I know the colonel and Rick want it done as secretly as possible, but I just have a feeling we’ll need to kill a goddamned lot of Chinamen to pull this one off. Anyway, we need to choose two Sites, one for the assault and one for the getaway, with detailed notes…”
At 0830 the main gates opened again, and through them walked three uniformed Chinese servicemen. Two of them wore caps and carried documents; the third of them wore just uniform shorts and an open-necked white shirt with epaulets. He was taller than the other two, with sandy-colored hair, almost unheard of among Chinese nationals. It was easy to see that he looked different, but from where Rusty stood it was impossible to identify Linus Clarke.
Since he had cringed in terror from the towel, he had been isolated from the rest of his crewmates, and flown up to Canton each day to assist the Chinese technicians in their efforts to copy Seawolf. So far as Linus could see, it was that or death, and every man, he reasoned, had a right to save his own life, by whatever means.
And now he took off again on this bright Saturday morning, flying overland, back to the billion-dollar submarine he had singlehandedly been responsible for losing, failing to accept the advice of either the Officer of the Deck, Lt. Andy Warren, nor indeed that of the vastly experienced Master Chief Brad Stockton. In his mind, Linus could still hear Brad’s voice that night: “You want me to let the Co know we’re groping around the ass of a 6,000-ton Chinese destroyer…I think he should know…Sir, we don’t know how long that towed array is…that towed array is…that towed array…”
The words echoed in his mind. They were the last words he heard before he slept, the first he heard upon waking. Sometimes he heard them in his sleep. They were words with which he must live for the rest of his life, however long that might be.
And he stared down at the hillside below, as the Helix Type-A clattered over the island, right above the “Hide” that contained the Navy SEALs who were attempting to rescue him.
A half hour later a new helicopter came in, making its approach from the northeast. Rusty watched it flying dead toward him and then at the last minute saw it swerve right over the jail and drop down over the cleared area from where the Helix had just departed. He watched four men disembark, two of them walking straight to the jail doors, which were immediately opened, the other two heading for the little house with the radio aerials. Both men carried metal toolboxes. Rusty guessed, both correctly and happily, that there was some kind of problem in the comm room.
“That little house is the biggest problem we have,” he pondered. “If we are seconds late taking it out, they will have a signal away that the jail is under attack, and that will be it. We’ll come under attack from the air and sea, and we may not get out alive.” And he emphasized his words into the computer.
“WE MUST HIT THE COMM HOUSE BEFORE WE DO ANYTHING — THAT’S OUR NUMBER ONE TARGET. WE MUST STOP THEM TRANSMITTING A MESSAGE NO MATTER WHAT.”
He checked the words out, and Lieutenant Conway, leaning on the rocks next to him, staring through the binoculars, added something else. “I’ll tell you some thing, sir. We have two other targets just as important. Maybe three.”
“We have?”
“The helicopters have radios.…I know they will not have anyone aboard…but if one of these Chinese officers is smart, and still alive when we blow the comm house, he’ll rush to one of those choppers and fire up the radio. Likewise the patrol boat…that’ll have satellite comms on board, as you know. There’s bound to be someone on it, and we can’t take the chance some smartass isn’t going to get on the horn to the Canton base.”
“You gottit, Dan,” said Rusty thoughtfully. “Sometimes things that are staring you in the face need saying, to clarify a task…and you, baby, just said ’em. And I’m going to note them down right now.”
“Remember one other thing, sir.”
“What’s that, kid?”
“If you hadn’t pointed up the main issue, that we have to kill the comms, I’d never have either thought of it, or said it.”
“That’s generous of you, Dan,” said Rusty, plainly admiring a young man who didn’t need personal credit for things, only the satisfaction of getting them right.