David Golemon - Ancients

After Tomlinson and the other Coalition members had left the house on Lakeshore Drive, a Coalition courier had delivered a special package to the huge walk-in freezer in the kitchen. This package was protected behind freezing temperatures and a tight seal, so that nothing the FBI had in their bag of tricks could detect it. One hundred seventy-five-pound boxes of C-4 exploded with the flick of a switch twenty miles away at O'Hare International.

Tomlinson tossed the long-range remote to the steward and looked away. He reached for his drink as the Boeing 777 started its takeoff roll. As the large plane lifted off and started its turn north over the lake, everyone on-board was looking out the right-side windows of the aircraft. In the distance, they saw the small, brightly colored cloud rising above the rooftops of the very rich neighborhood they had recently left.

Dame Lilith was the first to turn away from the scene, and she looked at Tomlinson. He calmly took a sip of his drink, stretched out on the long leather couch of the richly appointed aircraft, and then looked over at her.

"How long until our teams can be in action in Ethiopia after we receive the plate map from Dahlia?" he asked as he placed his drink on the long table in front of the couch.

"Six hours," she answered.

"Good," he said as he smiled at Dame Lilith. "All in all, even with the loss of my home, it has not been an entirely unsatisfactory day."

Inside the solemn enclosure of the USS Arizona memorial, Jack was listening closely, but that didn't stop his inner furnace from burning hotly as he stood beside the eighteen U.S. Navy divers. The meeting of the National Parks Service, the Mobile Diving and Salvage Unit--or, as Carl Everett had introduced them, the "Mudzoos"--and the eight-man U.S. Navy SEAL Team Four, which had flown out with Collins and Everett from Coronado, California, had been in progress since the sun set low in the Pacific.

They were listening to the special assistant to the secretary of the interior talk about the remains of the crew onboard the USS Arizona. The secretary finished and then a park ranger took over the briefing. So far, everyone in the group was going, with the exception of Jack, the assistant secretary, and two other park rangers. This exclusion was not sitting too well with the colonel.

"By the time you enter the water, it'll be full dark. Keep in mind, we have mapped where we believe most of the old ordnance is, but there are always surprises inside the old girl. It's as if she still thinks she's fighting the war," the park ranger giving the briefing looked at the faces around him, "and she has every right to think that way. She's earned it."

The divers and SEALs nodded in understanding. Jack could see the respect that everyone in the room had for the Arizona . It was as if she were a sick woman and everyone was there to take care of her. They also knew what was at stake, and the respect they had shown thus far belied the fact that they knew, no matter what, that plate had to come to the surface. When the president orders something done, you do it.

"Why was the captain's safe never opened before? It's my understanding that the National Parks Service has made several forays into the cabin," Everett asked as he zipped up his wet suit.

"Because of respect and privacy, it's that plain and simple. The captain was the only one with his personal safe's combination, thus the items inside are his own. We had no right to enter it. Captain Everett, you and these men have to get a clear understanding of what we have here. This warship is still on the rolls of the United States Navy, she is alive and you will respect her as a fighting combatant," ordered Richard Chavez, head ranger of the memorial. "Believe me, if it's in our country's best interest, the old girl will give up her secrets willingly. Ghastly, but that's the way it is."

Again the men nodded in understanding. They all knew that military battle sights had a way of causing deep, soul-searching experiences, and none of them came close to scoffing at the idea of the Arizona being haunted.

"Okay," one of the salvage divers said. "SEALs are outside, conducting security sweeps. When we dive, they will relieve the UDT already providing security. The eight-man Underwater Demolition Team will then board the memorial platform and await demolition orders if needed. Let us hope that is not where we're headed."

"The Mudzoos will then try to cut the safe open and remove the item in question," Everett said, taking over the secure portion of the briefing. He looked at the schematic of the Arizona laid out before them. "Now, we will execute the dive through this gangway here," he said, pointing to a starboard stairwell. "That will lead us down to the second deck closest to the bridge. I'll carry the DET cord and two quarter-pound charges of C-4; if it's not enough we can always send up for more--let's just hope we don't have to use it down there. Now, Ranger Chavez, the length of the companionway isn't that far?"

"Right," answered Chavez. "Thirty-five feet to the captain's stateroom."

Everett was satisfied and he looked at his dive team. "Ready?" he asked, looking at his watch.

Heads nodded around the large table. Everett then turned to Jack. "Hopefully, we'll be right back, boss."

Collins nodded, accepting Carl's decision that, with his limited dive experience, he could cause more harm than good. Jack knew that he was right.

Everett turned to Ranger Chavez. "Permission to board the Arizona ?" he asked officially.

"Permission granted, Captain."

The SEALs and Mudzoos came to attention and then moved to the memorial's railing. For the first time in more than sixty years, American sailors would board the Arizona .

Dahlia watched from across the harbor. The powerful night-vision binoculars she used allowed her to see clearly the eight navy SEALs, two National Park rangers, and eleven navy salvage divers slide over the side of the memorial. The SEALs were clearly identifiable by their plain black wet suits and the arms they carried. She adjusted her view and saw four men watching the divers from above, on the observation deck of the memorial.

She lowered her binoculars and brought up a small electronic-file device. She hit Saved and several pictures started flicking across the small screen. She finally came to the image she wanted and looked closely at it, then looked at the lone figure standing in the open on the memorial.

"Damn," she said, recognizing Colonel Jack Collins immediately.

It was now obvious to her that he was responsible for the navy having beaten her team here. He must be in custody of the two Ancients, she thought. Regardless, she decided that the strike element she had assembled should be sufficient and was satisfied that they could retrieve the plate map, so she raised her radio.

"Recovery One, you are go for incursion."

She lowered the radio, raised her binoculars, and watched a fifty-man team slide away from the much smaller memorial for the USS Utah, a former battleship turned target ship used in the training of the newer, faster, Pennsylvania Class Battlewagons of the 1930s. The Utah, also sunk on December 7, 1941, was lying on her side on the bottom of Pearl not far from the Arizona. She provided the perfect location for the attacking force to enter the murky waters unseen.

The fifty-man assault-and-recovery element were excellent divers. All were former naval men from various countries. Their pay for this mission would be quite enough to retire and live a life of luxury. They would earn it.