Chapter Three
Leaving Nothing to Chance
His meeting finished, Admiral Nelson breathed a sigh of relief that his, Selby and Wilson's plan for Operation: Counterforce had been adopted, but it hadn't been without a fight, despite what happened to John and the other four members of his crew.
Of course the Air Force would think that moving nearly a billion people in such a narrow time frame was feasible; as forward-looking as the United States' youngest service was, some of its senior staff were still mired in early Cold War thinking.
The question remained who was he going to get to command Seaview? Morton was competent, but still unseasoned for such a dangerous mission. And with family on the coast, Nelson didn't want to put the Lieutenant Commander in that position, at least not without some more grooming—and that kind of time he didn't have. There were only eleven days left to avert the impending disaster to the Northern Hemisphere.
As if reading his thoughts, the committee chairman approached him to offer his condolences. "Well, Admiral, a darn shame about Phillips; wasn't it? He was a good man."
"The best," he replied quietly in remembrance of his friend. "I don't know what I'm going to do for a replacement."
"I do," the chairman replied without hesitation. "I've requisitioned the Navy's best submarine officer for you. Do you know anything about a Commander named Crane?"
"Lee Crane? Of course." This was the first bit of good news the Admiral had received all day. Crane had been his first choice as a replacement for Seaview's former XO, but the boat's personnel decisions fell under Phillips' purview. It had worked out just as well: Morton had made for an excellent Exec, and Crane had received his first command duty, as Captain of the Montana. "A fine officer. Served with me on the Nautilus."
At this announcement, Dr. Fred Wilson, who had been maintaining a respectful distance, took a decided interest in the two men's conversation. "I've had some dealings with him." His voice was unimpressed by the Admiral's enthusiasm at the choice for Captain. "My impression is that he's an unimaginative, by-the-book officer. I'm not sure that he's your man." He did nothing to hide his scepticism over the decision.
"I'll take my chances with Crane." Nelson wondered how much or how little the man knew of his soon-to-be temporary Captain. Under his command aboard the Nautilus, the young Lieutenant, JG had proved himself more than capable.
"Well, you've got him. Oh, and Admiral a word of caution: they killed Phillips, but they were really gunning for you—and they still are. You be careful my friend. Be careful."
The chairman didn't have to repeat his words of caution; Nelson was fully aware that the enemy was on the move to stop the success of this mission. That was why they weren't taking any chances on the return trip from Vandenberg: both he and Wilson would be flying back to NIMR via a fully armed USAF jet, which would accompany the cargo plane carrying the Arctic nuclear device, and landing directly on base. This time they were on the offensive and weren't going to be caught up short again.
He'd radio Chip with his and Wilson's ETA, as soon as he could.
*.*.*.*.*
Lee was barely into the Learjet when the door was shut and sealed behind him.
"Better take a seat, Commander. We'll be airborne in a couple of minutes."
He nodded to his contact, who didn't waste time with introductions, merely pointing to a conference table with swivel seats surrounding it.
Crane took a seat and fastened his seatbelt; all the while sizing up his situation and the man who would be briefing him on his latest assignment.
The man looked to be in his late twenties/early thirties, with dark blond hair and grey eyes. His face wore an impassive expression, giving the outward appearance of indifference to this mission. But looks were deceiving. The Commander noted the steely determination behind the man's eyes, and that his body language was deceptive, as well: while giving the appearance of an unhurried bureaucrat, he was poised like a cobra ready to strike.
Taking a seat across the conference table from him, the man picked up the telephone handset, giving instructions for the pilot to depart immediately.
Crane was certain that his contact relished his position of power within the organisation, as he obviously didn't intend to apprise him of the mission—or even dispense with formalities—until they were safely airborne. He had the distinct impression that despite where his opposite ranked within the intelligence community, this was not someone to get on the wrong side of. He had a feeling the man had a long memory, and could—and probably had—made life difficult for operatives before.
*.*.*.*.*
Once they reached a cruising altitude of what Lee guessed was about twenty-five thousand feet, his controller finally spoke.
"Care for a cup of coffee?" It was said in a relaxed, easy-going manner, which belied what was hidden behind the actual words.
"Actually, I'd prefer to get down to business first, sir," replied Lee.
The man nodded with satisfaction. "Good. I'm glad to see that the reports on you were accurate. Business before any other agenda.
"You've no doubt heard of the SSRN Seaview?" he asked.
Lee nodded, but added nothing to the conversation.
"Her Captain was killed this afternoon." His tone was smooth and matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the day's weather forecast. "The DoD and ONI want you taking temporary command of her."
Things had taken a decided turn, and not in a good way, thought Lee. Whatever his assignment, it must be serious enough that both organisations didn't trust temporarily turning over the sub's command to her XO, his longtime friend Chip Morton. "What's my mission?" he asked.
"Admiral Nelson has your orders; you'll receive them once you're aboard."
"I understand."
His controller shook his head. "No, I'm afraid you don't. Captain Phillips and four of Seaview's crew were assassinated this afternoon. Nelson was lucky to have survived the attack. We know there was a breach in security—whether on our end, or at the Nelson Institute of Marine Research—we're not certain. What we do know from CHP and FBI reports was that there was a tracking device placed on the car they were driving to Vandenberg."
"Then, I'm to assume the leak's at NIMR?"
"It's possible; their security's not as tight as our own or the Pentagon's. But the enemy had enough warning to plan an ambush, and Seaview was on radio silence once Nelson had his last communiqué with the Pentagon."
"So, you want me to look for the leak aboard the sub and at the Institute?"
"If we had the luxury of time, we would. From our end, your orders are to assume that there is a leak, and you're to take all necessary precautions to ensure the mission's complete success."
Lee nodded, knowing exactly what was meant by all necessary precautions.
"We've kitted you with everything you'll need." He pointed to a duffel and carry bag on the floor along the wall of the plane. "Didn't want anyone thinking you left the Montana as anything other than a sailor out for a good time."
As there was a leak, it made sense, thought Lee. And despite his friendship with Chip, he was going to need to get a feel for how well the boat was secured.
Grabbing the duffel to see what they'd packed for him, he asked his control, "Do you have the layout for NIMR?" A plan for his arrival aboard Seaview was already beginning to form, and he wanted to know exactly what obstacles he might need to overcome.
*.*.*.*.*
From the items they packed for him, Lee decided on a black sweater, trousers and jacket, instead of arriving in his uniform. Until he received his final orders concerning the mission, security at NIMR remained his primary concern, and he intended to test his new command on that matter as soon as he arrived on base.
When the Learjet touched down at the Santa Barbara Municipal Airport, the plane went directly to a hanger, avoiding the terminal itself.
"Your orders to take temporary command of Seaview." His contact slid the paperwork across the conference table towards him. Lee briefly reviewed them, then placed those, along with his military ID, inside his jacket's inner pocket.
"There's a car standing by to take you directly to NIMR. Do you have any final questions?"
He shook his head. They laid out the urgency of his mission, without defining exactly what it entailed, beside his taking command of the research sub. And he had already formed his own plan of action regarding entering the base and meeting with his crew. He wasn't crazy about the idea of possibly putting Chip in the hot seat—this was the first time since their Academy days that they'd be serving together—but he brushed those thoughts aside: friendship had to take a back seat to the success of any mission.