Black Sea Affair (49 page)

Leo, take your men below, " Lieutenant Mike Reel yelled at Lieutenant JG Leo Maloney. Maloney's men went down the hatch. Reel and his men sprinted after the man that got away.

"Stop! Halt!" Reel yelled. Reel was closing fast, but the man was not responding. From the rear, the man resembled the profile photographs of the Chechen physicist, Dudayev, that the SEALs had studied, but Reel couldn't be sure. The only thing Reel was sure of at the moment, as he scrambled across the deck, was this. The man wasn't stopping and he was heading in the direction of the bridge.

He was also sure that they were close enough to St. Petersburg that a nuclear fireball of sufficient magnitude would engulf or destroy the city. And the crew of a United States nuclear submarine was being held in that city.

"Stop!" Reel closed to within about ten feet of the man and squeezed the trigger of his Uzi. A burst of machinegun fire shot out over the sea.

The man kept running, then bounded up a ladder headed directly for a section of the bridge.

Reel's mind raced like the speed of light.

Racing, racing, the thoughts flew like electricity lighting a power grid.

Only a maniac on some sort of suicide mission would fail to stop at this point. Reel knew it in his gut. The guy was going for the bomb. He knew it.

But what if he were wrong? What if the guy was only a sailor scared out of his wits by some guy in a wetsuit who had just killed his captain?

Reel was the deadliest of warriors. He was a Navy SEAL. But SEAL or no SEAL, Americans didn't kill civilians. Not without good reason.

This was happening so fast. Reel bounded up the ladder, grabbing at the man's boot. It was just out of reach.

He heard the thunder of the boots of his fellow SEALs crossing the deck below.

The man reached the catwalk at the top of the ladder and rushed into the bridge. Reel ran in behind him.

It all turned slow motion now, almost like suspended animation in an underwater ballet.

Four men stood around the perimeter of the bridge. One had a gun. He swung it to point it at Reel.

Reel opened fire, bringing three of the men down. The fourth held his hands in the air. The man Reel was chasing raced across a bridge and lunged for an electronic box with a handle.

A detonation device!

The man's hands reached the handle.

Reel pulled the trigger, spraying bullets into the man's back. Blood oozed and splattered from numerous bulletholes in the back of his shirt.

The man slumped forward, his hands and body pushing down on the detonator.

"Dear Jesus, please help us!"

Flashing lights lit the detonator, yellow lights dancing up and down it like lights on a Christmas tree.

Reel squeezed his trigger and fired a wall of bullets into the detonator, then held his breath.

Leo Maloney and his men stormed down the ladder leading to the decks below. Their mission -- to search each and every compartment of the ship. If nukes were on board, they would find them, or die trying.

Maloney was the first to hit the deck at the bottom of the ladder. He motioned Petty Officer McCants and two men to the left. Two other SEALs turned to the right. They jogged a few feet to the intersection of another passageway to their left. Maloney spotted two armed guards standing in front of a door.

"Put down your weapons!" Maloney ordered. The guards opened fire. The SEALs fired back, mowing the guards down to the deck.

"Let's go!" Maloney ordered. His men hurdled over the bleeding sailors and shot open the door.

A device was spread out on a long, six-legged aluminum table. Five large, stainless steel cylinders, each the size of a beach ball, were lined in a row along it, all connected with wires.

In an instant, blinking red and yellow lights lit on the device and flashing gadgets danced around the cylinders.

"It's arming itself!"

Maloney's stomach dropped from his body. He squeezed the trigger on his Uzi, firing every bullet left in his magazine at the device.

"McCants, shoot the thing!"

"Aye, sir!" Petty Officer McCants, in a blasting fury, emptied his Uzi submachinegun into the metal cylinders as well.

Electrical impulses, like tiny lightning bolts, shot back and forth between the cylinders.

"Lord in heaven, please put this thing out!"

The electrical charges continued for a moment, and then . . .

"Sir, I think it's dying!" McCants announced.

"Keep praying, sailor!"

Lights on the left side of the device went dark. The lights on the right side followed.

Then, silence.

Leo Maloney allowed himself a long exhale.

A familiar voice came through his headset. "Maloney. McCants. Report."

Maloney caught McCants' eyes. The rugged SEAL's forehead was beaded with large sweat drops, but a small smile crept across his face.

Maloney pushed the communications button on his headset. "I think we found the bomb, sir. Recommend we get our nuclear guys in here, ASAP, but I think we've disabled it."

"Roger that, Maloney. Bravo, Sierra. We've found the detonator on the bridge. Suffice it to say, the detonator is also disabled."

Maloney gave a thumbs-up and a smile to the other SEAL team members, which ignited an eruption of cheers.

"Great news, sir. Awaiting your orders."

"Very well, you and McCants secure the bomb, and have the other SEALs fan out and secure the rest of the ship. We've got control of the bridge, and I'm going to notify USS
Charlotte
-- mission accomplished."

CHAPTER 32

The
Al Alamein

Gulf of Finland

Twenty-four hours later

They appeared like dragonflies buzzing the eastern sky -- two drab-green military helicopters billowing slight trails of black smoke in their wake.

They grew larger and their rotary sound increased.

A quartet of fighter planes accompanied the choppers. One jet flew out front. One flew at the three o'clock position. The third flew at nine o'clock, and the fourth flew in the rear.

The lead fighter flew directly over the ship, sporting a red star under each of its wings. Two other fighters, not part of the quartet that accompanied the helicopters, were orbiting the ship, keeping a watchful eye on the happenings on deck. These were American F/A-18s from the aircraft carrier
George W. Bush.

Just under the circling jet fighters, one of the helicopters broke off to the right, circling around on a course from whence it came.

The second chopper, also with a red star and Cyrilic writing on the side, feathered down, gently onto the deck of the ship, landing not far from the H-3 Sea King helicopter that was already sitting on the deck.

The Sea King was also olive-green, and had the word
MARINES
painted in white on the side along with the phrase
UNITED STATES OF
AMERICA.

The chopper with the red star shut down its engines. The door opened. Military officers in green moved a ladder into place. Several army and navy officers of the Russian Federation stepped down, followed by a man dressed in a blue suit whose appearance was all too familiar to Mack Williams.

The man, slim and handsome, strode swiftly across the deck and extended his hand.

"You suggested a shipboard summit, Mr. President?" President Vit-aly Evtimov spoke in crisp English but showed no signs of warmth in his face. Mack remembered that his Russian counterpart had mastered English as an intelligence officer in the old KGB-turned-FSB.

"Churchill and Roosevelt once met on a battleship for a summit in the Atlantic during World War Two, " Mack said.

"Somehow, a freighter does not have the same majesty as a battleship, " the Russian president said. "Besides, I am sure you did not call me here to discuss history." Evtimov pulled his hand away. "Especially not the history of the English-speaking people."

Mack nodded and shot the Russian a smile. "I asked you to come, sir, because I believe we have something that may belong to you."

"I thought that may be the case, " Evtimov said.

"Did you bring your nuclear team?"

"I have done as you have asked."

"Thank you, " Mack said, silently praying for a thawing in the man's heart. "If you are ready, sir, my men will lead you and your team below deck. I will remain topside to give you privacy."

"Very well, " Evtimov said. He disappeared below deck with a contingent of U.S. Navy SEALs and Russian nuclear scientists.

Thirty minutes later, the first Navy SEAL came back up from below decks. He was followed by several of the Russian scientists and military officers, followed by the president of the Russian Republic.

Evtimov walked toward Mack, his black eyes locked onto the American president. "It appears this freighter was headed to St. Petersburg, and that detonation of that device even from here would have destroyed the city."

"Yes, Mr. President, " Mack said. "We are convinced of that. They were about to detonate the hydrogen bomb stored below."

Evtimov looked away, then turned and looked toward the east, toward Russia's most storied and beautiful city. A moment later, the Russian president looked back at Mack.

Evtimov extended his hand. "The Russian Republic extends its thanks to the United States Navy for its assistance in helping to recover property that was stolen from the Russian Army."

Mack clasped Evtimov's hand. "We also have a pilot who belongs to you, Mr. President. We would like to send him home."

The Russian nodded. "And I believe we have a submarine crew that may wish to go home before the onset of the harsh Russian winter. I will have my staff work out the arrangements."

"Will you come to Washington? I'd like to take you to dinner."

Evtimov smiled. "If you will meet me in St. Petersburg. After all, I believe your Navy helped us save it."

"Do you believe in God, Mr. President?"

Evtimov paused. "I believe that the State is God."

Mack smiled. "I encourage you to rethink your position."

"Oh? How so?" Finally, a smile, although slight, from the Russian.

"It was not the state that saved millions of your people. It was not even the United States Navy or the Navy SEALs."

"No?" A curious look from the Russian. "Then I suppose God did all this?"

"Only the hand of God, Mr. President. Only the hand of God allowed our SEALs to board this vessel and shoot through the connection wires to that bomb -- even as its creator was pushing the detonator. Less than a quarter of a second, Mr. President. Our bullets riddled the connection lines to that bomb less than a quarter of a second before the terrorist that built it pushed the detonator. That bomb blown this close to St. Petersburg would've made Hiroshima look like an amusement park. This was all stopped only by the hand of God Almighty."

The Russian's smile broke into a grin, then morphed back into the cold face that had arrived on board over an hour ago. "I will keep that in mind."

"I will pray that you do."