Sea of Terror (38 page)

They'd discussed that possibility in their final planning session, in that dark and filthy cave in Pakistan months ago when Operation Zarqawi had first been conceived. During the al-Qaeda attack on New York and Washington, passengers on board the hijacked aircraft had learned what was happening from people on the ground. In particular, the passengers on Flight 93 had learned of the World Trade Center attacks long before the hijackers could reach Washington, D. C., and the passengers' interference had forced the airliner to crash far short of its goal.

That would not happen this time.

"If all of you remain calm and do what you are told," he continued, "no harm will come to you. When Great Britain and America accede to our demands, as they must, we shall depart this ship and all of you will be free to go home.

"However, to guarantee your good behavior and to keep you out of our way, some one hundred passengers and crew members have been taken to a separate pa'rt of the ship and are being held there under guard. They are unharmed, and are being well cared for. I've given orders that they be untied and given mattresses, that they be taken to the toilet facilities in small groups, that they be given food from the galley. If at any time, however, any one of you decides to 'play the hero,' as the Americans like to say, if any of you attempts to interfere with our operation in any way, we shall begin shooting them one at a time in a public place to enforce compliance.

"The rest of you may move around as you wish. I recommerfd that you stay in your staterooms most of the time, but you may go to the restaurants and other public areas on board as you usually do. Exceptions are the mall area on the First Deck, the theater on the First and Second Decks forward, the Promenade Deck outside, and the outside pool areas on the Ninth and Tenth Decks. Anyone who enters those areas will be shot.

"Crew members will continue to carry out their normal duties. You may go anywhere you need to go in the performance of those duties. Exceptions are the bridge, radio room, and security areas on Decks Ten, Eleven, and Twelve, the ship's holds, the theater, and the Promenade and pool deck areas outside. Any crew member who needs to go into any of those areas in pursuance of his duties must approach one of our fighters and ask permission first. Any crew member who enters any forbidden area without permission and an escort will be shot.

"Any attempt to harm or disarm one of our fighters or to communicate with the outside world will result in the deaths of the hostages we have sequestered for safekeeping. So stay out of our way, do not attempt to interfere, and all of you will get out of this alive." He paused, looking across the bridge at the electronic chart table. Over the past hours, enemy ships and aircraft had steadily been drawing their noose tighter.

"One thing more. At some point within the next day or two, we expect the military forces of Great Britain and the United States to make some sort of demonstration, a hostage rescue attempt. Such an attempt would be quite foolish and doomed to fail, but your governments will feel the need to flex their muscles and try to prove to us how powerful they are.

"We are ready for them. If such an attempt is made, I strongly advise all of you to remain in your staterooms and out of danger. We cannot be held responsible if any of you are caught in the lines of fire between our fighters and hostile forces attempting to board this ship. Any attempt to interfere with our defense of these vessels, or to help an enemy boarding party in any way, or to communicate with them will result in your death and in the death of all of the hostages.

"We shall continue to address you with updates on the situation as necessary. In the meantime, stay out of our way!"

And now, Khalid thought, for the next inevitable step.. .

Rubens' office NSA Headquarters Fort Meade, Maryland Tuesday, 0915 hours EST

"Yes, Dr. Bing," Rubens said into the telephone receiver. "We've seen it."

A wooden panel on his office wall had been opened, revealing a line of six TV monitors. All were on, now, showing the ongoing news from two CNN feeds, plus FOX, CNBC, and the major networks. One monitor now was showing a replay of the shaky footage from the Atlantis Queen, broadcast at just past eight that morning, Eastern Time. The others all showed talking heads. "It's been playing on every news channel since the transmission came through this morning," Bing said at the other end of the line. "God. CNBC already has a fancy computer-graphic logo for their special news bulletin up and running."

" Terror at Sea,'" Rubens said. "Yes. A bit on the tacky side."

"The terrorists are demanding two billion dollars plus the release of several hundred prisoners. The President has announced that we will not negotiate."

"I saw his press conference a few minutes ago," Rubens told her.

"He wants to know if your Black Cat team is still ready to go."

"It is." Rubens did not add that most of Black Cat Bravo was already on board the carrier Eisenhower; now steaming less than two hundred miles to the south of the hijacked ships. Charlie Dean was en route on board a COD C-2A-- the acronym stood for Carrier Onboard Delivery--flying from England to a rendezvous with the carrier in another few hours. In addition, the USS Ohio, a special forces-capable submarine transport, was on her way from Norfolk with Navy SEALs on board and an ASDS strapped to her afterdeck.

"The President still insists that the British go in first," Bing told him. "We still fully expect the SAS to be able to capture both ships. However, should they run into trouble, the President is authorizing a limited military response."

"A limited response? What the hell does that mean?"

"That we be prepared to assist British forces, but that they handle the brunt of the operation."

"Fair enough."

"The President is adamant, however, that we not risk a public relations debacle. With over three thousand hostages on board those ships, collateral damage is inevitable. We can't afford to be ... to be associated with that."

Rubens managed to bite back an acid reply. It wouldn't do to antagonize ANSA, who, together with the Director of National Intelligence, was one of the NSA's two conduits to the Oval Office.

But the chronic Washingtonian ass-covering infuriated Rubens. Bing was right, of course. With a military assault on those hijacked ships, there would be "collateral damage," as she so delicately put it, almost certainly. Counterterrorist scenarios typically assumed a minimum of 10 percent casualties among any hostages present, and for the Adantis Queen, that meant an appalling figure of over three hundred civilians killed or wounded in the assault, many of them, probably, victims of friendly fire. If the attack stalled on the way in, leaving terrorists guarding the hostages time to begin killing their prisoners, the figure would be much, much higher.

But the alternative was either paying the ransom or watching all of the hostages die if the terrorists had explosives on board those ships--and that was a near certainty. Carrousel's interrupted report had mentioned trucks in the cargo hold. That might mean as much as several tons of high explosives on board the Atlantis Queen, enough to easily sink the ship.

Enough to easily create a titanic dirty bomb with the radioactive material from the Pacific Sandpiper.

Paying the ransom, Rubens knew, would not be an option. Some of those talking heads on the TV monitors had been urging just that: give them what they want; too many lives are at stake to play macho games.

But the lesson learned from the turbulent seventies and eighties, when international terrorism had first exploded across the national consciousness, had been that giving in to terrorist demands guaranteed more terrorist demands, more hostages taken, more lives lost. If al-Qaeda thought they could bully America into paying money and freeing prisoners, they would continue to bully America in a never-ending vicious circle.

Besides, no one in either Whitehall or Washington was going to let Khalid and his people blissfully sail off with a cargo of two and a half tons of plutonium. Rogue states such as Iran and North Korea had the industrial capability to turn MOX into weapons-grade plutonium; no one wanted to see them or al-Qaeda acquire sixty atomic bombs or use the stuff with conventional explosives to spread radioactive dust clouds over Western cities. There would be a military reckoning. There was no other viable choice.

"You can tell the President that we will be most discreet," Rubens said at last, barely disguising the sarcasm. "This isn't about who gets the credit, you know. Or about who gets the blame."

"Sometimes, Bill," Bing told him, "I don't think you grasp the realities of modern global politics."

"Sometimes I'm delighted that that's the case. I would be risking my sanity otherwise."

She ignored the riposte. "Tell me about this message your people picked up yesterday."

"Your office has a copy. As does NCTC and CIA."

"Yes, but what do you make of it?"

"Our listening station at Menwith Hill picked it up about sixteen hours ago. Shortwave broadcast. It purported to be from one of the Atlantis Queen's doctors. It pretty much verifies what we already know of the situation . . . but adds that he saw a number of crates on an upper deck with TIM-92' stenciled on them. He thought it important enough to make a special note of it. As with Carrousel, the transmission was cut off in mid-broadcast. We haven't heard from him since."

"I was told you informed General Saunders directly."

Her voice was cold, colder than usual. God, he thought. She's going to make it into a turf war. Within the intelligence community, information was power. ANSA would see his decision to bypass the NSC, the NCTC, and the President himself as undercutting her authority.

"Actually, Dr. Bing, I told Menwith Hill to pass the information on to Saunders. It is military intelligence critical to his operation, first, and second, I thought it would help mend fences if I made sure he heard it from a British intelligence source, rather than from us. I gather Saunders is sensitive about the... relationship we have with GCHQ."

He didn't add that he doubted that Saunders would have accepted any information from an American source in the first place, or that Rubens had also transmitted the information to Lia and Akulinin in Southampton, just to be certain.

He could almost hear the wheels turning in Bing's head on the other end of the line. "That was good thinking, Bill," she said at last. "And appropriate. Just remember that the President is very concerned about the diplomatic angles of this situation. You'd be best advised to keep the NSC in the loop with all of your decisions to disseminate information. We have protocols for controlling that sort of thing."

"Of course, Dr. Bing."

"We'll talk again after Harrow Storm."

She hung up, and Rubens turned again to watch the talking heads on his wall. On NBC, a noted psychologist was discussing the sense of helpless anger within the Palestinian community that led to their feeling of betrayal and abandonment by the West.

On Rubens' computer screen, a map showed the North Atlantic, with several points marked by red and blue dots, and by thread-thin lines showing the courses of a dozen ships over the course of the past several days. The red symbol pinpointing the Atlantis Queen and the Pacific Sandpiper had been maintaining a steady heading of almost due west, toward America's eastern seaboard. They were now less than eighteen hundred nautical miles from New York City.

Blue symbols were closing in on the red from three directions--the Ark Royal and her consorts from the east, the Eisenhower battle group from the south, the Ohio from the west. Aircraft were shown as well, forming a ring around the hijacked vessels a hundred miles out. Two British frigates, the Campbeltown and the Sheffield, had closed to within about fifty miles of the two hijacked vessels. The rest were farther out, strung out from one hundred to two hundred miles away.

"So what's your real mission, Khalid?" Rubens asked aloud. "You have to know we're "not going to let you get anywhere near the U. S. coast with that plutonium, hostages or no hostages."

If it was straight extortion--money for ships and hostages--they could have managed it with the Atlantis Queen alone and a few trucks full of high explosives. Why the added risk and complication of hijacking the Pacific Sandpiper as well?

Nor was it about hijacking the plutonium alone. The NSA had known almost immediately three days ago, on Saturday evening, when Khalid's people had begun transferring several hundred pounds of MOX from the Sandpiper to the Queen. Each large storage flask had a GPS tracking unit mounted on its casing, and each internal container had one as well; they could be tracked by satellite with superb accuracy, to within half a meter. If they tried to load even a single one of those containers onto another boat, the Agency would know and be able to track it anywhere in the world.

So this wasn't about trying to acquire plutonium for some rogue state's nuclear weapons program, either.

The Queen had radar. Khalid must know those ships and aircraft were out there.

What are you up to?

The records people at Langley had already pulled a fat dossier on Yusef Khalid, or, rather, on Rahid Sayed as-Saadi, which appeared to be his real name. As Yusef Khalid, he'd been hired by Royal Sky Line three months earlier. He'd claimed to be Egyptian, born and raised in Alexandria, and had come with sterling references, of course, including a letter from the Egyptian Ministry of Culture. His excellent English--he also spoke fair German and Turkish besides both the Egyptian and Syrian dialects of Arabic--had recommended him to the cruise ship company first as a translator. His training and his first shipboard assignment, however, had been with ship's security. That was an odd anomaly that would need to be investigated.

So much for the man's legend--the intelligence community's word for his fictitious background and identity. Royal Sky Line and MI5, it seemed, simply hadn't dug deep enough.

The man whose bearded face had appeared on all of the news channels this morning had been positively matched by the CIA's Office of Image Analysis with another identity entirely--Rahid Sayed as-Saadi. Like Osama bin Laden, he was Saudi, a native of Riyadh. He might have known bin Laden at the King Abdulaziz University. He'd fought with bin Laden and other mujahideen against the Soviets in Afghanistan and probably been in on the formation of al-Qaeda in the early 1990s. He was still wanted for questioning in regards to the first World Trade Center bombing back in 1993; he'd been photographed by the FBI in several meetings with Ramzi Yousef, who'd masterminded that attack. After 9/11, Rahid had gone first to Afghanistan, where he'd been captured by American forces at Tora Bora and questioned by the CIA... before being mysteriously released by Afghan Northern Alliance troops.