Silent Vengeance Read online

  SILENT VENGEANCE

  Grant Stevens

  and

  Team Alpha Tango

  by

  Jamie Fredric

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright©- 2014, Jamie Fredric

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  Other Books by Jamie Fredric:

  Mission Critical

  Black Ops 1

  Warning Order

  Black Ops 2

  In the Mouth of the Wolf

  Black Ops 3

  Sacrifice of One

  Black Ops 4

  Last Op

  Black Ops 5

  Shanghai Mission

  Code Name Antares

  Operation Gold Eagle

  *

  Visit: jfredric.blogspot.com

  Dedication

  For All Those Who Have Served

  *

  All Gave Some, Some Gave All

  Gregg: Godspeed, my friend

  THE FREEDOM OF MANY

  IS PROTECTED BY THE FEW

  Team Alpha Tango

  Home Base - “Eagle 8”

  Grant Stevens - Captain, (Ret.); graduate U.S. Naval Academy; born in California; brown hair; brown eyes, 6’1”; fluent in Russian and Japanese; Code name“Panther”; Team call sign: “Yankee Zero-Niner”

  Joe Adler - Lieutenant, (Ret.); born in Oklahoma; brown hair, blue eyes, 5’10”; fluent in German; Code name“Mustang”;“Yankee Two-Seven”

  Frank Diaz - CPO; born in NY; black hair, brown eyes, 5’9”; EOD; fluent in Spanish, some Portuguese;“Yankee Three-Six”

  Rob Draper - Lieutenant; OCS, Newport, R.I.; born in Connecticut; brown hair; hazel eyes; 5’9”; fluent in French;“Yankee Niner-Niner”

  Matt Garrett - Captain, (Ret.); graduate of U.S. Naval Academy; born in Maryland; brown hair; brown eyes, 6’0”; fluent in French and German;“Yankee Eight-Four”

  Darius“DJ”James - Petty Officer 1st Class; born in Florida; dark brown hair; brown eyes; 5’9”; communications; speaks some Turkish, Arabic;“Yankee Six-Eight”

  Vince Milone - Petty Officer 1st Class; born in NJ; brown hair, brown eyes, 5’10”; SB (Special Warfare Boat Operator); fluent in Italian, German;“Yankee Three-Six”

  Mike Novak - Petty Officer 1st Class; born in Wisconsin; dark blond hair; hazel eyes; 6’0”; sniper; speaks Hungarian and some German;“Yankee Seven-Three”

  Ken Slade - CPOS (Senior Chief), (Ret.); born in Alaska; bald; brown eyes; 5’10”; pointman/navigator; speaks the Inuit language, some Russian;“Yankee Four-One”

  Cal“Doc”Stalley - Petty Officer 1st Class; born in Virginia; dark blond hair; blue eyes; 5’10”; corpsman; fluent in French, some Chinese; youngest of the Team;“Yankee Five-Two”

  Prologue

  Yaba, (yar bah), known as "crazy medicine" in Thai, is a powerful central nervous system stimulant. With longer lasting effects than those of cocaine, it's a combination of methamphetamine and up to 65 mg caffeine, but mostly meth.

  During World War II Hitler ordered the manufacture of a drug that would keep troops awake for days. They labeled it "Nazi speed." The Nazi method employed the drug ephedrine, a natural stimulant found in the ephedra bush. Far Eastern ephedra has a higher concentration of ephedrine than the Western plant, and is frequently used in allergy and cold medicines. The other main ingredients of yaba are found in common household cleaning products, salt, rat poison, a binding agent and food coloring. Preparation time is only a couple of hours, as compared to "speed" formulas that could take days. All that's needed are a stove or open fire, a heavy cooking container, and a pill press. But with a mixture of volatile chemicals, anything could go wrong -- explosions, massive destruction.

  At one time legal in Thailand, yaba was sold at gas stations, alongside cigarettes and soft drinks. Truckers would take it to help them stay awake for longer periods of time. In 1970 it was finally outlawed, at which time production and supply simply went underground. Hidden laboratories produced as many as 10K pills an hour. In Bangkok each pill sold for as little as $3.

  Side effects from normal doses could cause intense hallucinations; susceptibility to rapid heart rate; increased blood pressure; psychotic episodes; damage to internal organs and small blood vessels in the brain that could lead to stroke; severe depression, and suicidal urges.

  Yaba had found its way to the American aircraft carrier, the USS John Preston.

  Chapter 1

  USS John Preston

  Indian Ocean

  September 15

  Primary Flight Control - Pri-Fly, the "Perch." The control tower for flight operations on the carrier. From here the Air Boss and Mini Air Boss were in charge of takeoffs, landings, controlling an area that stretched 2,500 feet in altitude and spread over a five-mile radius.

  At 2200, the Preston went to“darken ship”conditions. All lights inside turned red. Air Boss Unger spoke into the 5MC notifying flight deck personnel that pilots would be manning their aircraft. Launches would begin at 2400. The flight deck crew was reminded to suit up in protective gear: earplugs, cranial helmets with thickly padded ear protectors, and goggles. Everyone wore "float coats" (life jackets) with water-activated strobe lights and a whistle. Anyone not assigned to the flight deck was ordered to vacate the area.

  Petty Officer 2nd Class Kent Helmon was on his way to Pri-Fly to report for mid watch (0000 - 0400). This morning he'd be acting as a forward spotter, watching planes launch from the flight deck. One of his responsibilities was charting in a log book every plane that was in the air.

  He walked unsteadily into Pri-Fly, catching the attention of Senior Chief Ted Bristol, who immediately noticed something was very wrong. Helmon was having a hard time putting one foot in front of the other. The senior chief looked at him through narrowed eyes, then stepped in front of him, pressing a hand against his shoulder, bringing him to a stop.

  Bristol found himself staring into bloodshot brown eyes, and a sweaty, pale face. "I sure as hell hope you're sober, Helmon!" No response.

  Hearing the senior chief, Commander Stetson (CAG) and Air Boss Unger turned away from the window. Unger called out, "What's goin' on over there, Senior Chief?!"

  "Petty Officer Helmon is having some kind of problem, sir!" With hands on his hips, Bristol leaned toward Helmon. "What's wrong with you?!" Again, no response. "Petty Officer! I asked you a damn question!"

  "Don't . . . know, . . . Senior . . . Chief." Helmon began swaying, as he wiped a hand over his face.

  Bristol grabbed hold of his arm, trying to steady him. "You don't have the goddamn flu, do you?" Other men in the room glanced quickly at Helmon, then immediately turned their attention to the flight deck. Night ops were about to get underway.

  "I . . . I . . ." Helmon's body went into uncontrolled spasms. His eyes rolled back. Bristol caught him before he hit the deck.

  Kneeling next to the unconscious sailor, Bristol ordered over his shoulder, "Contact sickbay! Now!"

  Crew Quarters

  Second Deck

  2305 Hours

  Petty Officer 3d Class Dan Worster, OS (Operations Specialist), sat up then slid his legs over the side of the lower rack (bunk) after another sleepless night. His pillow was so
aked with sweat again, and his heart rate seemed higher than normal, but he felt energized in a good way. In an hour he was due to report for mid watch in CIC, the tactical "nerve center" of the carrier.

  He reached under the mattress, feeling for a small plastic bag. Sealed inside was a tin holding a fresh supply of "go" pills. He removed the tin from the bag, then glanced briefly overhead, hearing Al Fiske snoring in the rack above, with an occasional grunt escaping from Shane Munroe in the top rack.

  Returning his attention to the tin, he opened it and made a quick count. He paid for twelve 6mm pills, and that's what he got. Twelve to a tin -- no more, no less -- keeping transactions swift, and at a steady pace. Somehow he'd have to make these last until the next shipment.

  He removed one, thinking it would do the trick and slow down his heart rate once he was up and moving. His job was stressful and intense while the ship was underway, but one pill should see him through until his watch was over.

  He stashed the bag under the mattress. Looking at the small "energizer" in his palm, he was tempted to just "pop" it, but crush and sniff had a more lasting, potent effect. He grabbed his "douche" kit, towel, and shower shoes from his locker, then he took off.

  After a quick, military-type wash down in the "rain locker," he waited just long enough until a few other sailors left. Standing by a sink closest to a bulkhead, trying to give himself some privacy, he removed a plastic pill crusher from the kit. Seconds later he dumped the powder on the back of his hand, looked quickly over his shoulder, then sniffed the substance with two quick breaths. He was good to go.

  Dressed and ready for duty, Worster started hurrying down the darkened passageway, twenty minutes ahead of his scheduled watch. But something wasn't right. His energy started waning rapidly, with his body beginning to feel cold, clammy. Just as he neared the ladder, he stumbled. He tried reaching for the rail, but he didn't have the strength or coordination. A second later, he collapsed, unconscious. By the time a corpsman arrived, Petty Officer Worster was dead.

  By 0700, four sailors were in sickbay, unconscious, in critical condition. Eight others were dead.

  Chapter 2

  USS Preston

  "Flag Country"

  0815 Hours

  A blue pennant with two white stars flew over the USS Preston's masthead of the aftermost mast, the flag of Rear Admiral John Torrinson. Under normal circumstances he'd be on board his flagship only to see the task force through its current mission, patrolling the Indian Ocean. But normal circumstances no longer existed.

  Sitting at a round table in the Wardroom, he swiveled back and forth in a black leather chair, ready for the meeting to begin. Joining him were:

  Captain Jim Conklin; former commander of a carrier strike group in San Diego; F-14 pilot;

  Commander Carl Justine; XO; former F-14 pilot; stationed aboard the Preston 18 months;

  Commander Mark Stetson; CAG (Commander Air Group); former Blue Angels pilot, flew Slot #3, Left Wing;

  Commander Lou Unger; Air Boss; former A6 Intruder pilot;

  NIS special agent Sid Edmunds; Agent Afloat for three months; former sergeant with the Norfolk, Virginia, police.

  Torrinson rolled his chair away from the table, got up, and slowly started pacing the room, not even trying to hide his concern from the men watching him.

  Captain Conklin directed his question to Stetson. "Mark, are all 'birds' back on deck?"

  "Yes, sir. There's a COD from Cubi (Coo-by) due tomorrow. Should I have it delayed?" (NAS Cubi Point was built at the edge of Subic Bay Naval Base.)

  Conklin glanced at Torrinson. "What do you think, Admiral?"

  "In my opinion, I'd say no. That plane's probably delivering mail. Let's continue 'life as usual' as much as we can for the time being. Morale is going to be an issue, wouldn't you all agree?"

  "Yes, sir," the officers answered, or simply nodded in agreement.

  Torrinson glanced at his watch before asking, "Jim, have any similar incidents been reported from the task force?"

  Conklin shook his head. "Negative. All captains have instructions to contact us immediately if anything remotely similar happens."

  Torrinson then turned to Sid Edmunds. "Sid."

  "Yes, Admiral?"

  "Have you come to any conclusions?"

  Edmonds ran a hand over the top of his thick brown hair, his expression obviously showing frustration. "As I indicated earlier, Admiral, I'm positive every incident is drug-related. The men in sickbay haven't been able to offer any information. They've been unconscious since being brought in. But what I can tell you -- and Doc Palmer will confirm this -- is these just weren't cases of overdoses."

  "Are you saying they were . . . what? Poisoned?!" Torrinson was more concerned then ever.

  "I don't know if I'd choose the word 'poisoned' just yet. If it's any type of stimulant, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if the stuff's been used ever since we arrived in this part of the world. But something changed to make all these incidents suddenly happen, and to so many. Either the dosage was more than normal, or something extra may have been added. I'm waiting for final analysis from the small stash I found under Petty Officer Worster's mattress, hidden in a tin."

  "Jesus! How the hell is it possible?! Why and who would want to?!" Torrinson's voice reverberated in the room, but no one could answer his questions.

  Conklin finally broke the silence and shifted his eyes to Edmonds. "Any idea where or how they got the drugs?"

  Edmonds shook his head. "I've run some inquiries but my best guesstimate is they came in on the last COD flight, because if those drugs were carried on board when we arrived in Subic, this disaster probably would've happened a helluva lot sooner."

  "So, we've got a dealer or dealers on board," Torrinson commented, disgustedly.

  Conklin folded his hands together, tapping them quietly on top of the table. "Just to be on the safe side, Admiral, I'll notify Cubi and have the next COD thoroughly searched before it lifts off."

  XO Carl Justine commented, "So, until we know what the drug is, we won't know where it's being 'cooked.'"

  "That's right," Edmunds replied. "As soon as we're through here, I'll contact NIS and the DEA and see if they can give us any leads. Maybe they've run into similar incidents."

  "I hope," Torrinson began, "that the lockdown for the entire fleet will help until we can get a handle on this."

  "It probably will, Admiral, but there's no way in hell scuttlebutt hasn't already filtered throughout the ship."

  "I'm sure it has," Torrinson responded.

  "I guess we also have to consider the possibility users could be dumping any evidence," Air Boss Unger suggested.

  "Maybe that won't be such a bad thing, Lou," Torrinson commented.

  Conklin made a suggestion. "Maybe we need to specifically describe the drug. It might bring somebody forward, somebody who may have seen it, or heard about it in passing. And maybe we'd better inform all chiefs and officers on what symptoms to look for, or doesn't it matter, Sid?"

  Edmunds ran a hand over his chin. "From what's happened to those men, Captain, once the drug is taken, I don't think anything could prevent the damage."

  "You still need to pass the information to the fleet, Jim," Torrinson said. "And one other suggestion. Contact the CO at Subic. Maybe he can start an investigation before NIS sends assistance. There's gotta be somebody on that base who's involved -- military or civilian."

  "I'll take care of it, sir."

  Torrinson turned his attention to Edmunds. "Sid, what happens to users if their supply is cut off?"

  "I'm guessing they'd experience reactions just like any other drug user going through withdrawal. But from what we've seen so far, this batch has got to be different from what's been used before. These were intended to be destructive, Admiral."

  A quiet fell over the room, until Conklin spoke. "I have a suggestion, Admiral." Torrinson nodded. "We might consider offering therapy sessions. If any of these kids are 'hooked' on this drug,
they might be heading for more serious trouble. And us too."

  "You mean like 'AA' meetings?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I agree with Captain Conklin's suggestion, Admiral," Air Boss Unger said. "We have to consider ourselves extremely lucky that there weren't any accidents during last night's flight ops."

  "We're all in agreement with that," Torrinson answered. "Do what you must to get things rolling."

  Torrinson walked closer to Edmunds. "Listen, Sid, I know you're just one person trying to cover an entire 'city' by yourself, but we've got to find out what the hell's going on, and before any more men die. Tear this ship apart if you have to."

  "Any suggestions where he should begin?" Conklin asked.

  Torrinson sat down, then leaned back, linking his fingers behind his head. "I'll leave it up to him, but it looks as though he'll be needing assistance."

  "Sure could use the help, Admiral, especially if it means an investigation on land, and I have a feeling we're headed in that direction."

  "Let me see what I can do. The NSA and CIA should have 'eyes and ears' on this part of the world. Maybe they can zero in and take a closer look and listen."

  "Except for Sid, you're probably the only one on board who has any knowledge of how those groups operate, Admiral," XO Carl Justine remarked with a slight smile.