CHAPTER 15
Johnson turned the key in the lock and put his hand on the doorknob. He froze before he turned it. Something was wrong. This feeling had saved his life once before when he first started working for the agency. Without removing the key, he slowly pushed the door open and stepped into the apartment.
Leaving the door open, he peered into the dark room. He pressed a switch, and the apartment was bathed in light. Nothing. He reached for the door, and then bolted through it, pulling it shut behind him. Hoping it would give him more time, he turned the key and left it in the lock, and hurried toward the stairs. The elevator was out of the question. They’d be able to see where he got off. His door rattled as whoever was in his apartment tried to open it, He was glad it required a key from the inside.
He reached the stairs and ran down. No time to get to his car. Someone must be watching it anyway. He ran down the street and turned the first corner.
“Which way did he go?” shouted one.
“I don’t know,” shouted another. “Didn’t you see him?”
He ran into a crowd and slowed his pace to match. He stepped into a restaurant, found a phone, and dialed. It rang a long time. He was about to hang up when the person answered.
“Hello.”
“Get out, Frank. Now. They’re coming after us.”
“Where?”
“The usual place.”
“I’ll be there. One hour.”
He dialed Mike Oldegard’s number. It too, rang a long time. No one answered. He left the restaurant and walked to Mike’s apartment. He considered walking past without giving a warning, but he couldn’t. They needed one another if they were to survive this. They all knew the score, had been in on it from the beginning.
The apartment complex was well lit. He sneaked up the back stairs to the fourth floor. The hallway was empty. He cautiously approached Mike’s apartment. Glancing left and right to make sure no one was coming, he took out a pair of gloves and put them on. He tried the doorknob. Unlocked. He took out his gun, stood to the side, and pushed open the door. The apartment was dark when he entered. Jumping to the side of the doorway to prevent his silhouette from exposing him, he turned on the light and dropped to a crouch.
Nothing happened. He waited, his breathing ragged and shallow, his heart pounding. Finally he stood and slowly made his way through the apartment room by room, gun in his hand. The place was a shambles. When he got to the bedroom, he put his gun away.
“Sorry, Mike.” A clean shot had penetrated the skull over the right eye. Death must have come quickly. There was very little blood. It didn’t even look like he had put up a fight. Whoever had done it must have been here when Mike came in and ransacked the place after killing him. Johnson left the way he had come.
A half-hour later, he was waiting in the shadows at the usual meeting place, when Frank Wadding arrived. Again, his instincts stopped him when he was about to step out into the light. Joggers, two of them, trotted toward them from the opposite direction.
The first jogger ran past Wadding, suddenly spun around and shot him three times in the back with a silenced pistol. The second jogger stopped, checked for a pulse, and nodded to the first. He riffled through Frank’s pockets, found a wallet, took the money from it, and then threw it to the ground beside Frank’s dead body. Then he and the first jogger fled the scene.
Had Johnson come a little earlier, he would have been lying beside his comrade. He remained in the bushes for a long time. The morning newspapers would tell one story about a man killed in his apartment, robbery being the apparent motive, and another story about one more mugging in the park; but Johnson knew the truth.
Admiral Williams was cleaning house.
SEPTEMBER 11TH –DAY 162; BRIGHT MOON DAY 51; 8 DAYS FUEL LEFT
“Do we have to call him again?” asked Jeff. “Every time we transmit a message, that submarine gets on to us. I’m not particularly fond of facing him once more.” Several agreed with Jeff.
“He’s going to find us, no matter what we do,” answered Matthew. “If we keep the transmission short we should be able to avoid him.”
“I don’t know,” replied Will. “It seems stupid to invite the sub right into our back yard when we don’t have to.”
“What else are we going to do?” asked Ron. “We can’t even make the coast on the fuel we have left. Tong is the only one who can help us now. We have to stay in touch with him. We can avoid the sub by not calling anyone, but we’ve only got about a week’s fuel left. Then we’re dead in the water. What then?”
No one had an answer. Matthew nodded to Doris and John.
“Set it up.”
“He’s transmitting again, Captain,” reported communications. “Bearing one-one-six; still can’t get a distance, sir. The whole transmission didn’t last more than thirty seconds.”
“Come to course one-one-six,” ordered Roland. “We’re gonna get him one of these times.”
SEPTEMBER 12TH –DAY 163; BRIGHT MOON DAY 52; 7 DAYS FUEL LEFT
“Contact, bearing two-six-zero,” said John. “Range fifteen thousand yards; course three-two-zero; speed fifteen knots; depth four hundred fifty feet.”
“General Quarters,” commanded Matthew. “Navigation! Plot an intercept course.”
“General Quarters! Man stations! General Quarters! Man stations!” blared the PA system.
“Recommend course two-seven-five,” answered Helen.
“Come to two-seven-five,” Matthew ordered. “Flank speed.”
Ron was the only man who wasn’t in his place on the bridge. He hit the bridge in thirty seconds. Steve vacated his place and ran to the control room.
“Keep an eye on him. I want an update every thirty seconds, immediately, if he decreases depth,” Matthew told John.
“Acknowledged, Captain.”
“Got him, Captain!” shouted Bailey. “Bearing zero-eight-zero; course two-six-zero; speed fifty knots; range thirteen thousand five hundred yards. Coming right at us, sir.”
“Caught us on the way up. We haven’t time to get to the surface and prepare for firing before he’s on us.”
“Why didn’t he just take off in the other direction?” said Chapel. “He was far enough away –Unless he’s going to attack.”
“Hold depth at three hundred feet and maintain present course. What’s his ETA?”
“Seven minutes, sir,” replied Bailey.
“Let’s see what he’s got up his sleeve this time.”
“He’s leveled off at three hundred feet, Captain,” reported John.
“What’s our ETA?” asked Matthew.
“Two minutes.”
“Maintain course. Okay, Doris, do your stuff.”
“Right. This is USS Washington, Captain Matthew Carlsen, United States Navy, commanding; serial number B-129557 to Captain Thomas Roland of submarine USS Sarasota. Please respond.”
“Sir, she’s hailing us,” reported communications. “This time they’re asking for you personally, sir.”
Roland looked at Chapel. “What? Put him on audio.”
“Aye, sir.” The radioman flipped a switch. “On audio, sir.”
The speaker blared. “This is USS Washington, Captain Matthew Carlsen, United States Navy, commanding; serial number B-129557 to Captain Thomas Roland of submarine USS Sarasota. Please respond.”
“How did he find out who we are?” asked Roland. “He has to have access to command for that.”
“He’s been doing his homework.”
Once again, the voice bellowed through the speakers. “This is USS Washington. Captain Matthew Carlsen, United States Navy, commanding; serial number B-129557 to Commander Robert Chapel of submarine USS Sarasota. Please respond.”
Chapel gaped at Roland.
Roland laughed and shook his head. “He’s probably got the names of the whole crew.”
“Should we answer him?”
“Negative. Where is he, Bailey?”
“Right over top of us sir. He’s matching ou
r course and speed.”
The speakers spoke one more time asking again for Roland.
“Shut him off,” commanded Roland.
“Aye, sir.” The speaker went dead.
“Come to course two-five-five.”
“Coming to course two-five-five,” repeated the helm.
“Sub is changing course to two-five-five,” reported John. “Depth still three hundred feet.”
“Follow him,” commanded Matthew. “Navigation, call out intercept course. Sonar, update plot every thirty seconds –immediately if he changes course. Helm, follow navigation.”
“Come to course two-five-five,” said Helen, plotting the sub’s position on the chart. “Maintain speed.”
“Comin’ to course two-five-five,” repeated Will.
“He’s still overhead, sir,” said Bailey.
Roland shook his head. “He can follow us all over the ocean this way.”
“And if he does have any weaponry, he’s got us the minute we come up,” stated Chapel. “If we’re gonna get him, we have to get him off our tail first.”
“Take us down to fifteen hundred feet.”
“Sub is diving, Captain,” reported John.
“He’s probably trying to take her below the thermal layer where we’ll lose her,” said Ron.
“Stay with her,” Matthew commanded, “and keep hailing, Doris.”
“Fifteen hundred feet, Captain,” reported helm.
“Come to course one-six-five,” ordered Roland. “Maintain present speed.”
“Coming to course one-six-five, sir.”
“Lost her, Captain,” John told Matthew. “Last known depth was twelve hundred feet.”
“Stop hailing, Doris,” Matthew told her. “Come to course three-two-five; speed, thirty knots.”
“Comin’ to course three-two-five,” repeated Will.
Roland and Chapel sat in the cabin’s quarters. “You know, Bob, the more we got to do with this guy, the more I’m convinced there’s something going on that we don’t know about. What if this guy’s telling the truth and they are survivors from the Evening Star?”
“Where’d they get the ship?”
“Good question. But he’s got her. If we assume, for arguments sake, that the ship is the USS Washington, how do you think he did it?”
“He couldn’t. That’s why we know he’s slingin’ a line of bull.”
“Yeah, maybe so. But what if he did? You said the ship sank about three and a half months ago. Didn’t the Evening Star sink at the same time?”
“Two, three weeks before. There were no survivors.”
“None that we know of. Come on, Bob. Humor me. Let’s assume the best case. Somehow, these people survived and came across this ship that should have sunk on the other side of the ocean. What’s it doing’ around the African continent?”
Chapel thought for a moment. “Somebody sent her there.”
“Right. Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“No, but you do know what level the orders must have come from.”
“Sure. It had to be pretty high. Come on, Tom. Do you know what that would mean?”
Roland nodded. “Yeah, I do. Listen for a minute, Bob. You said yourself that the crew of the USS Washington was replaced for one mission. Not just a few men –the whole crew. Captain, XO –everyone. You said even her captain couldn’t understand it. I’ve never even heard of it. Have you?”
“No, never.”
“You said the USS Washington was an experimental design. She was supposed to be able to outrun and outmaneuver anything on the water.”
“Yeah, that’s what her captain told me.”
“Well, what’re we chasing’ around? Do you think any other country has a ship like this? Especially a terrorist country?” Roland shook a finger at Chapel. “And another thing. Why do we have orders to sink her on sight? We don’t have permission to communicate with her. Those people couldn’t surrender even if they want to. When’s the last time you heard of something like that.”
“I haven’t, but those are our orders, Tom.”
“You know we have to set a limit when it comes to morality. We don’t massacre a whole village just because our superiors tell us to. That’s what the Geneva Convention was all about. It’s our responsibility to question orders that go beyond what’s moral. And there’s at least one woman on that ship. There may be others. What if they are survivors?”
“How can we confirm it? If we disobey our orders and break communications silence, we risk letting him lure us to the surface where he might put us away.”
“I know, but we can call Mama and ask.”
“That’s kind of stupid, isn’t it? If we’re talking about corruption, how are we going to know that the answer we get is the truth?”
“We’ll just have to ask the right questions, won’t we?”
“Message from the USS Sarasota, sir,” reported the ensign to Captain Werner. “She says the people of the Bright Moon still claim to be survivors of the Evening Star. Captain Roland wants permission to communicate with her to confirm the claim.”
“Our orders came direct from Admiral Williams, Ensign,” Captain Werner told him. “I’ll have to take this to him.” He took the message from the ensign.
“There is something else, sir,” interrupted the ensign. “He would like anything we have on a Captain Matthew Carlsen. He’s got his serial number. And he wants a passenger and crew list from the Evening Star and any information we can give on them.”
Captain Werner stopped and read the message. “That’s no problem. The data about Matthew Carlsen should be in the records. You should be able to dig up the other data from public records. We don’t have to involve Admiral Williams for that.”
“Yes, sir.” The ensign saluted and left.
SEPTEMBER 13TH –DAY 164; BRIGHT MOON DAY 53; 6 DAYS FUEL LEFT
“Hey, Tim!” shouted Randy. “Come out here for a minute, will you?” Brandt stepped out of his office. Randy managed the Washington Post kitchen cafeteria. An old reporter who’d refused to retire, he wanted to keep close to the paper’s lifeline, and so he’d taken over the kitchen.
“Some kook on the kitchen phone wants to talk to you. I tried to tell him that he had to call you here, but he insists that your office is bugged and he won’t let me transfer the call. I hung up on him twice already, but he keeps callin’ back. I figured you oughta know about it.”
“Did he give you a name?” Brandt thought about Tong.
“Yeah, Johnson somethin’ or other.” Brandt bolted out the door.
“Brandt here,” he said into the phone when he reached the kitchen.
“This is Randolph Johnson, Mr. Brandt. I’ll get to the point. You probably know that your office is bugged, and so is your telephone line.”
“We found the bug in the office, but we haven’t found any on the telephone.”
“It’s at the central board. They’re pretty hard to find. Look, do you want to know the real truth about the Bright Moon and the USS Washington?”
“How do I know you have the truth? And what’s in it for you?”
“The admiral is beginning to clean house. You know what happened when he did that during the Contra affair. You lost your key witness and your story.”
“I remember. How do I know you’re not trying to get me outside so you can clean your own house?”
“It’s too late for that. Too many others know too much. There’s a third person involved in this and the admiral knows about him. He just doesn’t know who it is.”
“And you do?” Brandt prompted.
“I got an idea. He’s always stayed out of US affairs before, but the admiral seems to have annoyed him somehow.”
You ain’t heard the half of it. “Look, I still don’t know I can believe you.”
“Check the obituaries. Two men died yesterday. One of them surprised a burglar in his apartment. The other was mugged in the park. The one was Mike Oldegard and the other
was Frank Wadding. Both of them have worked with me for several years, Mr. Brandt. Check it out. I’ll call you in three hours.”
The line went dead. Brandt dialed.
“Chief. I know where that other bug is.”
Roland read the message. “Bright Moon is a terrorist ship, posing as survivors from Evening Star. Sink on sight. I don’t like it, Bob. We still have to maintain communications silence with them. Orders direct from Admiral Williams. –Take no prisoners. Kill all women and children.”
“Tom, they got the facts. We don’t,” said Chapel.
“Do they now? You read the other answer, didn’t you?”
“Um… Captain Matthew Carlsen died on the Evening Star May first. That doesn’t prove that the guy on the Bright Moon is the same Matthew Carlsen.”
“No, it doesn’t, but look at the statistics. Medal of Honor on the USS Forrestal in Vietnam. Almost thirty years in the United States Navy. A number of commendations. Current status –that is, before the Evening Star sank, Captain, United States Navy, special duty. You know what special duty means?”
“No.”
“It means that the Navy used him for side work, probably under cover stuff. They don’t call it that, but, essentially, that’s what it is. Once he’s dead, it becomes a part of his records. It says here that his wife died two and half years ago, and he hasn’t done anything since then.”
“So what. It doesn’t prove it’s him.”
“No, but it proves that the man is a survivor. And this other guy, Chief Ronald Jefferson, served with Carlsen on the USS Forrestal in Vietnam. He also won a medal. He had a lot to do with the design of a lot of the machinery on the USS Washington. The captain of the Evening Star, James Klein served on the Forrestal too. They all knew one another. This is an awful lot of information in case we got to talk to these people.” He added with emphasis, “But we ain’t allowed to.” He sat back in his chair. “What do you know about Admiral Williams?”
“Nothing, other than the fact that he’s on the Joint Chiefs.”
“I read an article in the Washington Post about the Contra affair. He was on the Joint Chiefs then. The article pointed out that for the Contra affair to have been successful, people in high places must have known something about it, directed it even. After that article, nothing. Not a word more.” He paused while Chapel digested what he said.
“I believe it, Bob. No one could pull a switch with a ship like the USS Washington unless they had a lot of juice. If this Captain Carlsen got a hold of the ship, he knows what it’s all about, and someone doesn’t want him to reveal it.”
“You believe this?”
“Is the Bright Moon a freighter?”
“No, definitely not.”
“Then, what is she? And why don’t they want us to communicate with her?”
“Hey, Tim,” yelled Randy, “that guy’s on the line again.”
“Tell him we found the bug and transfer him up here!”
“Right.”
Timothy Brandt’s phone rang. He nodded to Leila, flipped the switch and turned on the speaker. “Brandt.”
“Well, Mr. Brandt. What did you find.”
“You were right, Mr. Johnson. It does seem odd that two of your friends met their end so mysteriously at the same time.”
“I told you. The admiral’s cleaning house.”
“What can you do for me, Mr. Johnson?”
“I can give you the story that can bring Williams down. But the admiral’s people are looking for me, and you gotta find a way to protect me. I’m all you got, Brandt. I die, he goes free, and if I’m going down, I don’t intend to go down alone.”
Brandt looked at his wife. “I’m not sure I can get you protection. Why can’t you go to the police.”
Johnson hissed at him over the phone. “Are you some kind of a jerk? They didn’t protect your other witness did they?”
Brandt looked at Leila again. Their star witness in the Contra affair had died in prison. Heart attack. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
“You got one important contact, Brandt. If he gives his word to give me protection, I talk. If not, the deal’s off.”
“Wait a minute. How do I know that you have anything?”
Johnson was silent for a minute. “What if I tell you that the USS Maryland was the ship that sank in the collision with the Seaview, and that I was on the real USS Washington, five thousand yards away? We controlled the collision of the two ships. I parked the Bright Moon, as you know her, in a cavern on an island six hundred miles off the coast of Africa, about a hundred fifty miles from where the Evening Star went down. Aswadán sent some people to pick up the Bright Moon. They met the ship on its way out of the cavern. They saw the people who took the ship, Brandt. And they weren’t natives.”
Wow! Brandt mouthed to his wife.
“All right. I’ll get in touch with our friend. Is there any way I can get in touch with you?”
“Just tell him to meet me at the following address in two hours.” Brandt wrote it down.
“I’ve got it.”
“Tell him he’s to come personally. Otherwise, forget it.”
The phone went dead.
“I guess we’d better call him.”
“Roebuck.”
“Jacob,” said Chin Lee Tong. “Randolph Johnson has contacted Mr. Brandt. He wishes to tell us about the Bright Moon in exchange for protection. Would you like to accompany us?”
“Sir. You’re aware that I have been taken off the investigation of both the Bright Moon and the USS Washington and Seaview cases. I can’t guarantee his safety.”
“I am aware of that, Jacob. I will guarantee his safety, but no one can tell you what to do with your free time.”
“I’d be pleased to join you, sir.”
SEPTEMBER 14TH –DAY 165; BRIGHT MOON DAY 54; 5 DAYS FUEL LEFT
“She’s in front of us sir, about twenty thousand yards, heading in the same direction. Speed twelve knots.”
“You sure it’s her, Bailey?” asked Roland.
“We’ve been chasing her for a while, sir. I know what to listen for now. It’s her.”
“Okay. Plot a course around her. Keep us well out of her sonar range. I want to end up right here.” Roland pointed to a spot on the chart in front of the Bright Moon. “About twenty-five thousand yards in front of her.”
“Aye, sir. What if she changes course, sir?”
“Pray she doesn’t. Communications. Notify Mama that we’ve made contact again.”
“Aye, sir,” acknowledged communications. Roland looked at Bailey.
“I want to be able to sit in my easy chair and wait for her to come to me.”
“Aye, aye, sir. It’s gonna take a while, sir.”
“You have a heavy date?”
Bailey chuckled. “No, sir.”
Chin Lee Tong, Admiral Roebuck, and Leila Brandt sat on the sofa together, while Randolph Johnson and Tim Brandt sat in the two easy chairs. They all stared at the tape recorder in the middle of the table. Two guards stood watch at the door. Ming Lau Tsien looked out of the window.
“And Admiral Williams was in on the whole thing?” Tim Brandt asked Johnson.
“It was his idea,” replied Johnson. “He wanted to bribe Aswadán, so the US would have the country in their pockets, and he made this deal to give them a top notch military ship with weaponry to match.”
“And that was the USS Washington?”
“Right. We parked her on the island and left her there. Aswadán only had to drop in and take possession. We didn’t expect there to be survivors on the island.”
“How did you manage the substitute?”
“Admiral Williams set up a military exercise and authorized the sinking of one of the older ships that were in mothballs.” He nodded to Roebuck. “Admiral Roebuck signed the actual authorization to take the USS Maryland. Your people towed her out of port and put her out in the middle of the ocean. Once there, we just towed a rust hulk out and switche
d them.”
“Where’d you get the rust hulk?”
“An old civilian freighter. Once out at sea, the closest any naval vessel got to her was twenty miles, and then they only saw her on radar. They never knew the difference.”
“How did you make the USS Maryland seaworthy?” asked Leila.
“She already was seaworthy. What little she needed, we scavenged from ships of the same type. The USS Maryland just needed new paint, a new name, very little new equipment and that was it. The new USS Washington: We changed the name, sailed her under orders from Admiral Williams to Newport, Rhode Island, and rebuilt her there.”
“How did you get the real USS Washington out of port so you could pull the switch?” Tim asked.
Johnson spoke with pride. “That was easy. The original crew anchored her in the Potomac River and left. We took over from there. We removed the forward and rear turrets and repainted the outside of the ship. Voila! The Bright Moon.”
“But anyone could have seen you.”
“A lot of people did. We told them we were working on a scientific project, preparing the ship for a cruise to the Antarctic Sea. No one even got suspicious. They were curious for a few days. After that they left us alone.”
“How did you keep the crew from figuring out that they weren’t on the USS Washington?” asked Leila.
“We brought in a whole new crew that had never even seen the ship before. Most of them had been on cruisers and carriers, you know, bigger ships, so they didn’t even know what the ship was supposed to look like. We called it Project Substitute.” He laughed. “What a name. It was an ‘experiment’ to see how fast a new crew could get used to an unfamiliar ship.”
He snickered. “None of them had any idea of what the ship was for. They were assigned three days before the ship left port and didn’t even have time to get familiar with her.”
“You had to do something with the original crew,” said Roebuck.
“We sent them to school. They were supposed to take over the ship after the project was completed. They went through some heavy training to make sure they were up to date on the equipment. The captain and the XO were each given a two-week leave. It wasn’t even reflected on their records.”
“Where does the Seaview fit in this?” asked Leila.
“We couldn’t just sink the USS Washington without having a plausible story. The Seaview was scheduled for normal maintenance at the time, so we sabotaged her control system. The running lights were knocked out when they put out to sea so the deck watches couldn’t see her.”
“How did you control her?” asked Tim.
“We installed an override that gave us remote control of the helm, the control room, and radar, then sat about five thousand yards away in the Bright Moon and pushed the buttons. We re-programmed the radar on the USS Washington so didn’t see the Seaview until it was too late. Then we controlled the helm and engines of the Seaview so that she collided with the USS Washington, and they sank.”
“Were the explosions staged?” asked Roebuck.
“Of course. We couldn’t take any chances that the ships would remain intact. After we got the crews got off the ships, we blew both ships to pieces”
“You could have killed those people, Mr. Johnson,” Tong said. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“I know some things about your activities,” Johnson retorted snidely. “Are you going to tell me you’ve never killed anyone in any of your little projects?”
“I’m not in the habit of killing innocent people, Mr. Johnson.”
“And who determines whether they’re innocent or not? You?”
“I do not have to defend myself to you. I do not play with people’s lives as though they were mere puppets.”
“I wonder, Bob,” said Roland. “Can we disable the ship without sinking her?”
“Not unless we mess with the torpedoes, and I wouldn’t advise that.”
Roland sighed. “Then there’s no way.”
“Well, maybe there is. But first we gotta beat her, and we haven’t been doing so good in that department.”
“The USS Sarasota reports contact with the Bright Moon, sir,” the aide informed Admiral Williams. “They’ve got her this time. Engaging in approximately two hours.”
“Very well. Keep me informed.”
“Yes, sir.” The aide left. Admiral Williams leaned back in his chair, briefly distracted by the annoying creak. He felt as old as his chair sounded.
Was this the end of it? When the Bright Moon went down, Brandt went down. It would be a pleasure to beat that nosy reporter again. Brandt was pretty slick, probably the only reporter ever to give him a run for his money. Someone besides his wife had worked with him this time.
He wondered for a moment who it was, then thrust the thought away. It didn’t matter. It would be over soon. He felt a glow flowing through his body, almost joy. He had won again. He always won. In time, when things cooled off, he might be able to set up another deal with Aswadán.
He’d almost panicked this time, though. That’s what made people make mistakes. Look what it cost Johnson. Maybe it was good that he’d had to sweat a little. Besides, anything worth getting was worth a risk.
Playing the game was almost as good as winning. He’d learned a lot from this episode and would be more careful the next time. He was in a good mood. He might even invite Johnson back into the fold, if he could find him.
“You trust this man?” the President asked after Tong had told Johnson’s story.
“No, Mr. President, I do not. But he no longer has a choice. Either he tells us the truth, or Admiral Williams will find him, and he already knows the results of that encounter.”
“Then I think it is time to take action against Admiral Williams.”
“What legal authority do you have, Mr. President?” The President pulled out his copy. He’d been waiting for this moment. He turned to the pages he had marked off.
“According to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, I have the authority to prescribe rules within the bounds of the Code. Section 809, Article 9, subheading IMPOSITION OF RESTRAINT part (c) states as follows: ‘A commissioned officer, a warrant officer, or a civilian subject to this chapter or to trial hereunder may be ordered into arrest or confinement only by a commanding officer to whose authority he is subject, by an order, oral or written, delivered in person or by another commissioned officer. The authority to order such persons into arrest or confinement may not be delegated.’
“In short, Mr. Tong. Admiral Williams’ arrest and confinement is legal, only on my orders. The admiral will be removed from his position and placed incognito, pending investigation. His replacement will order the USS Sarasota to break off attack on Bright Moon until her real identity can be confirmed.”
Chin Lee Tong took a deep breath. If they acted quickly, they might save the ship. “Mr. President, I would like to be there with Admiral Roebuck.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tong. I know your daughter and son-in-law are on that ship, but I can’t allow you in his office in such a situation.”
“I understand, Mr. President. I only wish to be in the reception office when he comes out. I wish him to know I was involved in this. I do not want him to forget it.”
The President sighed. This had to be the only time Tong had ever asked the United States government for anything, and he’d contributed a lot over the years. He deserved the right to be there.
“All right, Mr. Tong. I’ll see to it that you have the necessary authority. The whole thing will be done without publicity anyway, but you must give me your word that you will not enter his office.”
“You have it, Mr. President. Thank you.”
“Torpedoes one, two, and four ready for firing sir,” reported weapons control.
Roland looked through the periscope. This time he was going to watch. A part of him hoped that the captain of the Bright Moon would be able to avoid this attack too. He’d come to respect this Captain Matthew Carlsen, or whoever the he
ll he was.
“Target status.”
“Contact at two thousand yards; bearing three-one-five,” reported Bailey.
“Fire one,” ordered Roland almost reluctantly.
“Torpedo!” shouted Jeff. “Fifteen hundred yards; bearing one-three-five.”
“General Quarters!” shouted Matthew. “Hard to port, course three-one-five; all ahead flank.” He looked at Ron.
“He must have been sitting there waiting for us,” said Ron. He began to acknowledge the reports.
“We’re not gonna avoid this one,” said Jeff.
“Start hailing him, Doris,” ordered Matthew.
“Status!” ordered Roland.
“Torpedo twelve hundred yards from target,” reported Bailey. “Contact in thirty-five seconds.”
“Fire two,” ordered Roland.
“She’s hailing us again, sir,” shouted communications. “Same as before, and asking for you personally, sir.”
“He’s fired another torpedo!” shouted Jeff. “Range, fifteen hundred yards; bearing one-three-five.”
“Move the man on the bow to the stern,” ordered Matthew. “One man can’t load fast enough to shoot at both of them.”
“Range, nine hundred yards and closing,” said Bailey. “Torpedo one has acquired. Torpedo two is fourteen hundred yards from target.”
“Fire four,” ordered Roland.
“Number four tube is fired.”
Jeff’s voice took on a defeated note “He’s fired a third torpedo. Range fifteen hundred yards. First torpedo, range five hundred yards. Second torpedo eleven hundred yards.”
“Tell each man to pick one. Shoot to the right and report when they’ve fired,” ordered Matthew. “Tell them to reload immediately.”
Ron relayed the order.
“First torpedo; range four hundred yards–”
“First torpedo four hundred yards,” reported Bailey. “Second torpedo, range nine hundred yards and acquiring. Third torpedo, range twelve hundred yards. We got ‘em this time, Captain.”
“Don’t bet your life on it,” Roland told him. “He’s beat it before.”
“Not three torpedoes, sir. No way,” countered Bailey. Roland was sweating. He looked at Chapel. Was he right?
“First torpedo, range three hundred yards,” reported Jeff. “Second torpedo, range nine hundred yards. It has acquired.”
“First torpedo, two hundred yards.”
“He’s firing,” said Ron.
“Hard to starboard,” ordered Matthew.
“First torpedo; one hundred yards,” reported Jeff. “It’s lost acquisition.” They dared to hope it would go by.
“Detonate!” shouted Roland.
“Detonating,” acknowledged weapons control.
The torpedo exploded as it went by the Bright Moon, and rocked the ship, throwing several people against the bulkhead.
“Damage report,” shouted Matthew.
Jeff threw himself back at the sonar station. “Torpedo, range six hundred yards and closing. Third torpedo eleven hundred yards.”
“All systems okay,” reported Ron. “We just got shook up a bit.”
“Torpedo, range two hundred yards,” reported Jeff. “Third torpedo nine hundred yards. It has acquired.”
“He’s firing again,” said Ron.
“Hard to starboard,” ordered Matthew.
“First torpedo; one hundred yards,” reported Jeff. “It’s still on us.”
“Fire again!” shouted Matthew.
Ron relayed his command and reported back. “He’s firing.”
“First torpedo; seventy-five yards,” reported Jeff. “I can’t tell if it’s on us or not.”
“Detonate!” ordered Roland.
“Port engine shut down,” reported Ron. “We’re losing speed.”
“Get down to the machine room!” Matthew ordered.
“There’s not enough time! We gotta go with what we got.”
“Torpedo, range eight hundred yards.”
“Shoot at the damned thing! Doris! Tell them we’ve sustained damage and can’t avoid the third torpedo.”
“Torpedo, range six hundred yards,” reported Bailey.
“She’s floundering,” said Roland, who watched through the periscope. “We must have done some damage.”
“She’s hailing, sir,” reported communications. “She has sustained damage and can’t avoid the last torpedo.”
“Torpedo, range five hundred yards,” reported Bailey.
“Rocket missed, Captain,” said Ron. “He’s reloading. He’ll never make it.”
Jeff continued the count down. “Five hundred yards –Four hundred –Three hundred–”
Doris stopped hailing. She only looked at her husband, tears in her eyes. He mouthed the words. “I love you.” She smiled.
Matthew’s attention was fixed on his wife. God, he loved her eyes., but more than that, he loved her. For a brief moment their gazes locked. It was so unfair. They hadn’t had time.
A trace of a smile on Su Li’s lips told him she understood.
“Two hundred yards–” reported Jeff. He reached out and took Marie’s hand. Shirley looked at Carl, wide-eyed. “One hundred.”
Admiral Roebuck and Commander Gerard Phillips from the Judge Advocate General’s office walked up to the reception desk outside of Admiral Williams’ office. Tong took a seat on the sofa in reception.
“We’d like to see Admiral Williams, please,” stated Roebuck to the admiral’s aide.
“I’m sorry, Admiral,” replied the aide. “Admiral Williams said he was not to be disturbed. He is very busy. The USS Sarasota will engage the Bright Moon very soon, sir.”
“That’s exactly why we’re here, Lieutenant. Please inform him.”
“Sir. The admiral expressly said–”
Roebuck cut him off. “That is an order, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant knocked on the door to Admiral Williams’ office and stepped inside. He came out a minute later, red-faced.
“The admiral will see you, sir.” Roebuck and Phillips entered the admiral’s office. Admiral Williams turned in his chair as they entered.
“Do you often overrule your superior officers, Admiral Roebuck?”
“Only on matters of national interests, sir.”
“And what, pray tell is this matter of national interest?” Sarcasm dripped from Admiral Williams’ voice. Roebuck nodded to Philips.
“I have a letter, written by the President of the United States of America, authorizing me to relieve you of your command, pending investigation by the Judge Advocate General. It concerns your involvement in the Bright Moon and USS Washington incident.”
“What incident is that?” The admiral’s voice reflected innocence.
Roebuck clenched his fists by his sides. The arrogant bastard thought he was untouchable.
“It has been brought to our attention, Admiral,” continued Philips, “that the Bright Moon is, in reality, the USS Washington, and that you are guilty of giving this ship, without authorization, to a foreign power.”
“What proof do you have of these allegations, Commander?”
“We have the testimony of one witness, Admiral. It is not conclusive, but it is enough to relieve you of your command until the identity of the Bright Moon and her crew can be established. Admiral Roebuck will assume your duties as acting Chief of Staff.”
The admiral leered. “Admiral Roebuck. You’ve wanted this post for a long time; now you have it. Congratulations. How long do you think you can hold on to it?”
“Call off the attack on the Bright Moon, sir,” Roebuck said, “or do you wish to have the lives of innocent people on your conscience? This will give you the chance to at least show your willingness to co-operate.”
“That ship is a terrorist ship, Admiral,” stressed Admiral Williams in a menacing tone. “She deserves to be sunk, and that is what the USS Sarasota is going to do.”
“Then we will call off th
e attack, Admiral.”
“It’s too late. The USS Sarasota should be engaging right about now, and she will sink that terrorist ship before she has the chance to do any more damage, and I may be persuaded afterward to forget your over-eager actions.”
Roebuck nodded at Phillips. “We have to put a stop to this –Now!”
“Please come with us, sir,” insisted Phillips. Admiral Williams straightened and stood. Carefully tucking his hat under his arm, he strutted toward his office door. Admiral Roebuck and the arresting officer followed.
Tong stood as they entered the reception office. Admiral Williams looked at him in shock. “You! It’s been you all along.” Chin Lee Tong’s face was inscrutable. “But you never get involved in US affairs.” The admiral was practically shouting. For the first time, Roebuck saw anxiety in his eyes.
“You made it personal, Admiral. My daughter and son-in-law are on the Bright Moon.”
Admiral Williams stared at Tong. With an effort, he pulled himself together. There was an engagement taking place on the high seas, he remembered and he smiled at Tong. “You are mistaken. The Bright Moon is a terrorist ship.” Turning with contempt, he walked toward the door. His aide came running in before he could reach it.
“Sir! They got her! The USS Sarasota has engaged the Bright Moon and they got her this time! And she…”
Admiral Williams raised his hand and cut him off with a smile. He’d won. He always won. “Tell it to Admiral Roebuck and Mr. Tong. I’m sure they’ll be interested.”
The lieutenant was confused. “Yes, sir.” He walked to Roebuck while Admiral Williams looked on, amused. Tong and Roebuck, eyes like ice, looked back at him.
The lieutenant saluted. “Message from the USS Sarasota, Sir.” He waited.
“Well, Lieutenant?” said Roebuck. “Are you going to tell us what it is?” The lieutenant looked at Tong. “Speak up, Lieutenant,” Roebuck ordered.
“Ah –Yes, sir.” The lieutenant looked back at Admiral Williams.
The admiral smiled back. “Yes, Lieutenant. Speak up.”
The Lieutenant complied and faced Roebuck. “The USS Sarasota has made contact with the Bright Moon again, sir. She fired three torpedoes at her and disabled her. They detonated the third before it hit, and then boarded her. They really are survivors, sir, and they report that the ship may be the USS Washington –not the Bright Moon.”
Roebuck let out his breath. “Thank God.”
The muscles on Admiral Williams’ jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. He turned slowly and walked out the door, followed by Phillips.
“They’ll need a ship to tow her into port,” continued the lieutenant. “The USS Sarasota is standing by for further orders.”
Roebuck nodded. The lieutenant stood staring, a puzzled look on his face. “Something else, Lieutenant?” Roebuck asked.
“No, sir. But I –I thought the USS Washington sank six months ago.”
“She did, son. She did.”