Hawke (48 page)

“The guards. Every day. Didn’t know I was listening, see? But I did. I did, Alex.”

“It doesn’t matter now, darling. It’s over.”

“No! It does matter. I heard…I heard…something.”

“What did you hear, Vicky?” Alex whispered, leaning down so that he could put his ear near her lips.

“They—they were laughing,” she said, nearly strangling on the words. “They were laughing about a bomb they had—kill Americans.”

“Bomb?” Alex said, his attention now riveted to Vicky’s trembling lips.

It had to be Guantánamo. The biological weapon Conch had told him about sitting in
Kittyhawke’
s cockpit on the
JFK
flight deck. Hadn’t they found that thing yet? Since the F-14s had attacked he assumed…no, that only meant the women and children had been evacuated from the base. The bomb could still be on the base and—Christ, how long did they have before the thing went off?

“A bomb, Alex,” Vicky whispered. “They said it was hidden where the Americans would never find—-find out. Until too late.”

Alex looked at his watch. It was 0520 in the morning. If he remembered correctly, that meant they had about forty minutes until the thing detonated.

“Where, darling, where they did put the bomb?” Alex could feel his heart trying desperately to get out of his chest.

“A bear,” Vicky said in her small, strangled voice.

“Bear?” Alex was sure he’d misunderstood.

“A teddy bear. Not a real bear. That’s why…why they were all laughing,” Vicky managed. Alex lifted her head and gave her a small sip of water.

“Thank you,” she said. “They thought it was so funny. The bomb inside the teddy bear. Gave it to…to one of the officers’ kids,” Vicky said, trying to get her eyes open. “Someone hid the bomb inside a little girl’s bear. Someone named Gopher, or Gomer, maybe. An American sailor…but a Cuban, too. He’s the one who hid the bomb inside the bear.”

“Joe Nettles,” squawked the harsh voice on the
Nighthawke’
s radio. “And this better be the most important fucking call you ever made, mister.”

“Alexander Hawke here, Admiral. No time to explain who I am. Just ask Admiral Howell or Secretary de los Reyes, but first, just listen.”

“Mister, I got a bomb going off here in ’bout half an hour. Talk.”

“I have just rescued a hostage from the Cubans. She has important information regarding that bomb.”

“Go ahead, son, spit it out for chrissakes!”

“According to Cuban guards she overheard during captivity, you have an extremely lethal biological weapon hidden inside a toy bear.”

“What?”

“An American sailor, name sounds like Gopher or Gomer, inserted the weapon inside a teddy bear and gave it to an officer’s child as a gift.”

A split second of silence was followed by an explosion from the speaker.

“Holy Mother of God!” Nettles screamed. “That stupid asshole who blew himself up! Gomez! Christ! He gave my daughter a big white teddy bear for her birthday! My own goddamn daughter!”

“Sir, I hope this is helpful. I know you—”

“Son, I appreciate the call. My wife, Ginny, and our little baby, Lucinda, and her bear are aboard the
John F. Kennedy
right now, and I hope you’ll excuse me but—”

“Certainly, sir,” Alex said, but the connection had been broken.

Aboard the
Kennedy,
the secure phone that linked CINCATFLT, the commander in chief of the Atlantic Fleet, Admiral George Blaine Howell, to the commanding officer, Guantánamo Naval Air Station, rang on the bridge one second later.

Howell, who was on the
JFK’
s bridge monitoring the takeoffs and landing of nine separate squadrons flying sorties over Cuba, picked it up, knowing who it was.

“Find it yet, Joe?” Howell said.

“Do you know somebody named Alex Hawke?”

“Hell yes, I know him. British billionaire. Ex–Royal Navy. Works for us a lot. Tracked down the boomer the Cubans bought, and definitely on the good-guy side.”

“In that case, I’ve got some bad news, George. The bio-weapon is no longer here at Gitmo. It’s aboard Big John.”

“What did you say?”

“Hawke has a rescued hostage aboard his vessel who says the bomb’s inside a teddy bear given to an officer’s child by somebody named Gomez.”

“Gomez? Sounds familiar—wasn’t he that guy in your minefield couple of days ago?”

“Yeah, same guy. Three weeks ago, the same dickhead gave my daughter Cindy a big white bear for her fourth birthday. It’s gotta be the one, George!”

“Jesus Christ, Joe!”

“Yeah. Cindy takes that goddamn bear everywhere. She’s got it with her now. That bear is somewhere aboard your flagship, partner.”

“How much time have we got, Joe?”

“According to the official Cuban deadline, you’ve got twenty-nine minutes and sixteen seconds. George, goddammit, go find my little girl.”

“God almighty. Okay, I’m on it.”

Admiral Howell hung up and turned to the
JFK’
s CO, Captain Thomas Mooney. “Sound general quarters, Captain. We’ve got a Level Five biological threat somewhere onboard this ship. Came aboard with the evacuees at Gitmo. I’ve got CDC memos stating that it’s probably a highly lethal new bacteria strain, weapons grade, with a delivery system capable of wiping out everyone at Gitmo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That bomb is somewhere on this ship. It is hidden inside a toy bear belonging to Gitmo CO Joe Nettles’s daughter. I want that goddamn thing found and neutralized. We have less than half an hour.”

Within five minutes, Captain Mooney’s most trusted aide, Lieutenant Arie L. Kopelman, was sent directly to the converted wardroom where, among others, the Gitmo commander’s wife and daughter were housed. He went to C deck, found their room, and opened the door. The sound of snoring filled the room. Everyone was still fast asleep. He looked at his watch. Twenty-two minutes.

Shouldn’t be a problem.

He entered the darkened cabin, a wardroom where some twenty-five to thirty women and children were currently berthed and, since he had no description of who he was looking for, simply rapped his fist on the bulkhead.

“Mrs. Nettles?” Kopelman said. “Mrs. Joseph Nettles? Would you and your daughter please step out into the companionway? Sorry to disturb you.”

“They’re not here,” a woman’s sleepy voice said. “They were moved yesterday. We were too crowded.”

“Where were they moved?” Kopelman asked, trying not to let the rising panic in his voice show.

“I think one deck down. Wardroom D-7?”

“Thank you,” Kopelman said, and sprinted for the closest stairwell. He took the steps three at a time and burst into the long companionway of D deck. D-7 would be to the left, toward the bow, he thought. Had to be.

It was. He swung open a door marked D-7 and rapped his knuckles hard on the bulkhead.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Joseph Nettles and her daughter,” he said loudly. “Are they in this room?”

“Oh,” he heard a woman’s voice say. “Yes, we are.”

He saw her now, a silhouette sitting up against the far bulkhead. He heard her say, “What on earth do you want?”

“Would you please step out into the companionway? Both of you? It’s very important.”

Kopelman watched the sweeping second hand on his watch. Less than nineteen minutes now, until the ka-boom or whatever it was. In just over a minute, Mrs. Nettles and her four-year-old daughter were standing in front of him, blinking and rubbing sleep from their eyes. Both were wearing nightgowns and robes. It had taken seconds of precious time to find and put on robes.

“I’m Lieutenant Kopelman. This is your daughter Cindy?”

“Yes. How can we help you, Lieutenant?” Ginny Nettles said, wrapping her robe tightly around her.

“I’m looking, actually, for Cindy’s bear,” Kopelman said, not caring how foolish he sounded. “I’ll explain later. But if you don’t mind, ma’am, could you please just step back inside, pick the bear up very carefully, and bring it out here to me?”

“Her
teddy bear?
Is this a joke?”

“No joke, Mrs. Nettles. Believe me.”

“Well, I would if I could but I can’t. Her bear’s not in there, Lieutenant,” Ginny Nettles said, giving the young officer a look both quizzical and ominous. “Sorry.”

“Not in there?”

“That’s what I said.”

“This is extremely important, Mrs. Nettles. Where, uh, exactly is the bear as we speak?”

“Excuse me, Lieutenant…Kopelman, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What time is it, Lieutenant?”

“Oh-five-forty-five, ma’am. Fifteen minutes before six
A
.
M
., ma’am.”

“You know, it’s funny. I’ve been a Navy wife for over thirty years. And I have never, ever encountered anything remotely as ridiculous as this. And that, by God, Lieutenant, is truly saying something!”

“Ma’am, I totally appreciate that. But it is desperately important that I retrieve that bear. Do you understand? I said ‘desperately.’ I can’t say any more.”

“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Mrs. Nettles said, her mood turning from annoyance to concern to fear in less than a second.

“We, I mean Admiral Howell needs that bear now,” Kopelman said, looking into her eyes. “That bear is…contaminated. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mrs. Nettles? Right
now!”

“Sweetheart, why don’t you tell the nice man where your bear went?” Mrs. Nettles said, bending down to look in her daughter’s face.

“Oh!” Cindy said, as if suddenly remembering, “Teddy went up in an air-o-plane!”

“An airplane?” Kopelman asked, his nerves now twanging from the back of his neck down along each arm, all the way to his fingers. He looked at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

Thirteen minutes.

“That’s right, Lieutenant, what my daughter says is true. We ran into Cindy’s Uncle Chuck, my husband’s younger brother, who is a wing leader of the Black Aces.”

“Are you saying that Captain Nettles has the bear, ma’am?” Kopelman asked. Perfect little beads of nervous perspiration had popped out all around his hairline.

“Yes, I think so,” Ginny Nettles said, wringing her hands together, worried about where this was going.

“He took the bear on his mission?”

“Yes, he said his squadron was going on a raid somewhere last night and that his niece’s bear might bring the Black Aces good luck.”

Mrs. Nettles was about to say something else, but the young lieutenant had already sprinted halfway down the companionway and into a stairwell.

“Sir!” Kopelman said, bursting onto the bridge deck.

“What have you got, Lieutenant?” Admiral Howell said, studying his face. “Tell me it’s good news, son. We’ve got about ten minutes till all hell breaks loose.”

“I spoke with Mrs. Nettles and her daughter. The bear is with Captain Charles Nettles, sir. He took it along on his mission.”

“He’s got the fucking bear in his cockpit?”

“I believe he does, yes, sir.”

“Are you dead certain about this, son?”

“Aye, aye, sir, as certain as I can be.”

Howell punched a button on the bridge console.

“This is Admiral Howell speaking. Where the fuck is Captain Charles Nettles?”

“Captain Nettles is on final, sir, about ten seconds from touch-down,” the airboss said.

“Christ! Wave him off, goddammit, wave him off!”

Howell walked outside onto the port bridge-wing and looked astern. He could see all the Black Aces were home, save one. Captain Nettles’s F-14 Tomcat was just off Big John’s stern, flared up, seconds from landing.

The orange jackets were out there, the FSO trying to wave off the fighter. It was too late.

“Lieutenant,” Howell said, his voice dead calm. “Would you just go on down to Captain Nettles’s cabin and just make sure he didn’t leave that goddamn bear there? Is that a good idea?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Kopelman said, and left the bridge-wing at a dead run.

“He’s got his tailhook down, goddammit!” Howell screamed into the mike on the outside console.

“It’s jammed, Admiral,” the airboss said over the speaker.

“Drop the fucking wire! Have him go to full power! Now!”

“Zulu Bravo Leader go to full power! Bolter! Bolter!” they heard the airboss shout.

There was a howl of turbine whine as the F-14’s twin turbofan engines instantly spooled up, both afterburners spouting licks of red-orange and yellow flame as she roared past the bridge, accelerating.

“Go…go…go!” the airboss said as the big fighter rolled and finally lifted off the end of the deck. It immediately dropped, dipped perilously close to the wavetops, then started a climb out.

“Somebody want to tell me what the fuckin’ tarnation is going on around here?” said Captain Nettles over the speaker.

“This is Admiral Howell, Captain. How you doin’, Chuck?”

“Ah, roger that, pardon my French, Admiral.”

“Captain, at the risk of sounding like a complete goddamn moron, let me ask you a question.”

“Shoot, sir.”

“Do you happen to have a white teddy bear in that aircraft, son?”

“Uh…well, as a matter of fact, I do, Admiral.”

“You have no idea how happy that makes me, Captain.”

“I’m sorry, Admiral, I’m afraid I don’t—”

Lieutenant Kopelman appeared at that moment, completely winded, and said, “No bear in his quarters, sir. I turned it upside down!”

“How much time we got left, Lieutenant?” the admiral asked, raising his binoculars to his eyes and tracking the jet fighter.

Kopelman looked at his watch. “A minute, thirty-two seconds, sir!”

“Good, good,” Howell said, then, into the mike, “Chuck, you’re going to need to deep-six that bear, son. Like, right now.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“The bear has a weapon in it, son, and it’s going to explode in about a minute. Maybe less. Okay? So just take her easy, level off, and reduce your airspeed immediately, you copy that?”

“Copy” was the terse one-word answer.

“Okay, you’re looking good, Zulu Bravo. I have you in visual contact. Now, I want you to jettison your canopy.”

“Roger that.”

The canopy blew off instantly, exposing the pilot and his radar intercept officer seated immediately aft of him to a hundred-knot-plus blast of air. Chuck Nettles felt a shuddering bump and the plane instantly started to yaw left and right.

“I think the canopy clipped the starboard rudder, sir!”

“Yes, it did, Chuck, I saw that. Took out a good-sized chunk. Big old piece. But you’ve got a more immediate problem. Can you reach that bear?”

“Yes, sir.”