                                   Final Statement
          
                                          By
          
                                     Bobby Clark
          
          
          
          Chapter One
          
          
          Under the English Channel, Friday, 12:15 A.M.
          
               Jacques DuMont shook his head in disbelief as he gazed
          through the windscreen.  He spoke quietly into the handset,
          "Tell me again what this man wanted.  You say he has a gun?"
               The train captain repeated the demand in the same flat
          voice as if he were reading:  "The man with the gun says,
          'Stop the train immediately!'"   The line abruptly went
          dead.
          
          
               Jacques stared for a few moments at the seemingly
          endless concrete walls that formed out of the darkness ahead
          to speed past him.
               "What a crazy idea!", Jacques slowly reasoned.  "Why
          would anyone want to interfere with this train?  The rail
          line runs a mere fifty kilometers!  This shuttle can only
          travel from one end to the other:  there are no stops!"
               In his mind's eye, Jacques pictured all of the
          passengers and vehicles leaving the train at the ends of the
          line.  If they wanted to go farther they had to transfer to
          a regular train or drive themselves.
               The train captain sounded so strange over the intercom
          that a very puzzled Jacques, despite his misgivings and
          company rules, and fully expecting to be met with a
          practical joke, engaged the automatic controls and stood.
          He turned and carefully unlocked the protective steel door
          to investigate for himself.
               Without warning the door opened with a hard shove from
          the outside, throwing Jacques violently backwards against
          the locomotive control panel.  He felt a sharp pain in his
          side, caught himself on a sway handhold and tried to
          rebound.  Suddenly, the gun was no longer an imagined joke:
          it now pointed at him.
               Jacques glanced at the train captain whose head was
          bleeding.  "Mon Dieu, this is real!"  He looked into the
          black eyes that seemed to burn through him from behind the
          mask.  He immediately sensed that the man holding the gun
          was deadly serious that the train stop.  Jacques' life
          depended on it.          Jacques slowly reached for the
          speed control and pulled it gently toward the "All Stop"
          position, carefully applying the brakes.  His eyes remained
          fixed on the black automatic weapon.
               As Jacques gently massaged his badly bruised side, the
          man holding the gun spoke, "Unless you do exactly what you
          are told my helpers throughout the train will kill the
          passengers and your crew.  We have the guns and the
          explosives to do it!  Now, backup the train to this exact
          position!"  A gloved hand pointed to a detailed map.
               Jacques grudgingly, but efficiently, backed the train
          to the precise point the gunman specified.
               In response to the repeated calls from Folkestone
          Station on the telephone-viewer questioning his unscheduled,
          highly irregular, and very hazardous stopping, Jacques read
          from a very brief note which the gunman handed him:
          Have been hijacked.
          Do not interfere or we will all be killed.
          More information at six o'clock in the morning.
          He read the statement twice, and then the telephone-viewer
          link was abruptly closed.
          
          
          London, Friday, 1:45 A.M.
          
               "Those damned chimes!"  Nelson Bartlett muttered
          sleepily to himself as he slipped out of his warm bed.  He
          moved quickly and quietly into the sitting area of his flat
          to answer the insistent telephone.  "Why did I ever let
          Sarah talk me into such a hideous noise maker?  It isn't
          proper to be awakened at this unholy hour by chimes!"
               In his heart, however, Nelson knew that he was seldom
          home long enough to hear the chime telephone and that his
          wife, Sarah, had forgone far too many amenities in their
          postings throughout Europe and the Middle East.  He was
          almost smiling at the American specialty export when the
          telephone defiantly chimed one last time before he could
          snatch the gray receiver.
               "Hello.  Bartlett here."  Nelson was awake by this
          point but was not prepared for the Brigadier's suave,
          measured voice.
               "Nelson, I do believe we need your assistance in the
          office to tidy a few items before tomorrow's briefing.  Be a
          good chap and join me there in half an hour.  Do put the
          coffee on."
               "Happy to, Sir.  We all want it to go smoothly."
          Nelson reflected that whatever was happening in the world
          must be extremely important for his superior, the Brigadier,
          to have been alerted before Nelson.  Probably the Prime
          Minister had rung him up.
               "Good lad, and my best to Sarah.  Good-bye."  The
          Brigadier always remembered the wives.  He knew Sarah would
          have been awakened, too, and that she would worry that
          Nelson was being called out at two o'clock in the morning.
               Nelson admitted to himself that all too often over the
          past twenty years his calls to the "office" had meant days
          or weeks away from home, living and working in shadowy
          situations during the terrorist confrontations that had
          become the "Third World War".
               "Good-bye, Sir."
               Nelson cradled the receiver and then paused a moment to
          take stock.  He had achieved reasonable status and stability
          as a Lieutenant Colonel in the British Army.  He could
          almost feel the trust for his abilities reflected in the
          Brigadier's brief conversation.
               Nelson had worn the sand-colored beret of the elite
          22nd Special Air Service Regiment most of his career.
          Defeating guerrillas and terrorists was the SAS specialty.
          His combat skills were first honed in the gravel deserts of
          Oman more than twenty-five years ago.  He and Sarah had
          shared the more comfortable postings in Germany, Italy and
          the Middle East.  He alone had attended to the frequent six
          month assignments to Northern Ireland:  oh, how he grew to
          hate the Irish Republican Army!
               Life had become much quieter now that he was assigned
          as Chief of Staff to the Director of Special Forces.  He
          knew that Sarah was quite pleased with the Ministry of
          Defence posting as it meant spending weekday evenings
          together in their comfortable London flat.  They could
          almost always count on getting away to their country home
          for refreshing weekends.  Sarah seemed to fancy being a full-
          time wife again after all the years laced with separations.
               Nelson chuckled as he padded back into the bedroom that
          he fancied being a full-time husband, too.  He truly loved
          this woman who was now sleepily watching him as he moved
          toward the bath to quickly freshen and dress.
               "Not a problem, love.  Just some work that needs to be
          attended to before the 'old man' briefs in the morning.  You
          know how he can be.  I'll take compensatory time in the
          afternoon and we'll catch that matin,e performance at the
          Aldwych Theatre."
               "Nelson, that would be lovely!" Sarah replied softly.
          "I'll call 'round for tickets.  Do you have time for a cup
          of tea or a roll?"
               Nelson knew that Sarah was being her wonderful self,
          but he sensed her concern.  He had not been called out like
          this since the bomb scare at the last May Day celebration.
          He knew it.  She knew it.
               He was sure that Sarah had caught the surprise in his
          reply on the telephone that could have only indicated that
          the caller was not the watch officer at the Ministry of
          Defence.  Her question was meant to reassure him, yet
          measure the urgency of his call.
               "No thanks, love.  You get back to sleep.  I'll get
          something later."  He looked her way and caught her eye for
          a moment in the dim light from the bath.
               "Too bad I have to hurry," he thought, as the warmth of
          her inviting arms crossed his mind.  Reluctantly he pulled
          the bath door shut.
               Ten minutes later Nelson stepped from the shelter of
          the lobby of his apartment house and walked briskly through
          the light rain toward the entrance to the Underground.
          
          
          Fayetteville, North Carolina, Thursday, 8:10 P.M.
          
               The beeping seemed to be coming from somewhere on the
          control panel of the helicopter carrying Lieutenant Colonel
          Jim Grissom.  He strained to look past the pilots to scan
          the gauges, but the vibrating dials remained a blur.  The
          sound was becoming too distracting.  Lush Vietnamese jungle
          vegetation was racing perilously close below.  Jim's
          mounting concern for his team's night mission to search for
          a downed airman deep in enemy territory was cut short by his
          wife, Katherine, applying a well-placed kick to his shin.
          The pain brought Jim abruptly forward in time to the stuffy
          banquet room of the Fort Bragg Officers Club.
               Jim's pocket beeper was sounding its annoying alarm.
          Fortunately, only his immediate table seemed to notice that
          he was allowing it to compete with the balding Major
          General, who was explaining to the audience in excruciating
          detail how the Army budget system worked ... or did not
          work.
               Katherine offered Jim a stern look in return for his
          grinned apology as he excused himself to find a telephone.
          Jim recognized the number on his beeper screen:  the J3 at
          Delta.  Good news and bad news.  The good news was that the
          Operations Officer would probably tell him to skip the rest
          of the boring banquet.  The bad news was that he would have
          to leave Katherine to catch a ride home with one of the
          neighbors.  He quickly confirmed his suspicions with the
          Duty Officer and returned to break the news to Katherine.
               Jim whispered, "Have to run by the office for a little
          while, Sweet-K.  I'll ask Gordon and Candy to see you home.
          I'll call if I'm going to be really late."  He pecked her
          ear and looked quickly into her eyes.  Her stern look was
          gone, replaced with her biggest, "I love you, Jimmy
          Grissom!" smile.  No matter where Jim was called to go, or
          what Katherine was left to face alone, she always gave him
          the same reassuring smile.
               "What a lady!" Jim thought as he stepped into the cool
          drizzle of the North Carolina November night.
               Jim remembered how pleased Katherine had been with this
          latest assignment back to Fort Bragg.  Two of their kids had
          been born here.  This sprawling Army post had been his first
          assignment after Vietnam.  He had resumed courting
          Katherine, his high school flame, from 3000 miles away and
          had finally won her hand.  He spent his first paycheck as a
          Captain on the airfare to claim her and fly her triumphantly
          from Astoria, Oregon, to their home together in
          Fayetteville.  It seemed that his second, third and fourth
          paychecks were spent as the kids began arriving!
               From the time he earned the coveted Green Beret as a
          Second Lieutenant, his career had focused on Army special
          forces with short tours at "charm schools," boring
          professional Army schools, to make him respectable to the
          rest of the Army.  Even the relaxed tour in Italy was a
          special forces billet.  Now that he was finally the
          Executive Officer to the Commander of Delta Team he felt
          that he had reached the top of his field.
               He grimaced as he acknowledged silently to himself that
          his dogged avoidance over the years of a Pentagon duty tour
          would undoubtedly prevent his promotion to Colonel.  Still,
          his current demanding job appealed to him since he could
          pass on his experience and knowledge without the family
          separations required by those who had to leave to execute
          the operational missions.  His current duties involved
          keeping the paperwork flowing while other men, the
          operators, dealt with the terrorists and missed family
          birthdays, recitals and soccer games.  Jim had paid his dues
          in this difficult business over the years.  He could easily
          handle these infrequent late night recalls that kept him
          away from his Sweet-K for a few hours.
               He reflected that his skills would undoubtedly be
          needed to get the Delta Commander off and running in the
          right direction, then Jim would return home to rest so that
          he could fill the "day shift" slot on the Crisis Action
          Team.
               Jim wondered about the nature of the situation that was
          the cause for his happily skipping the boring lecture as he
          slipped into the driver's seat of his red Ford Mustang
          convertible.  He quickly and expertly navigated the short
          drive to the Delta compound with his car cruising about 10
          miles per hour above the posted speed limit.
          
          
          
          Chapter Two
          
          
          Under the English Channel,  Friday, 2:20 A.M.
          
               Jacques was now beyond shock.  He was scared.  He was
          afraid that he might not see his wife, Melissande, again.
          And, he was afraid for his crew and passengers:  they were
          his responsibility and he had never let anyone down.
               Jacques had been moved roughly from the engine and
          handcuffed to a teenage German girl in the center passenger
          car which was outfitted with a small serving counter.  He
          had no way of knowing it then, but over the next two days
          Jacques and the German girl would become famous as videos
          from the train would show them as a human shield in front of
          the terrorist leader.
               The remaining passengers and crew were being handcuffed
          in pairs to windows, seats or door handles in the passenger
          cars.  Jacques thought he saw two well-armed, masked
          hijackers in each of these cars, plus the leader in his car.
          Six of the hijackers, including the leader, appeared to be
          men of Middle Eastern extraction.  "Algerian?" he wondered
          to himself.  The remaining terrorist, strangely enough, was
          a young woman, judging from her voice, who seemed to be the
          second-in-command.  From her accented English Jacques
          guessed she was American.
               The female terrorist, Sheenah Roberts, glanced at
          Jacques at that moment as if reading his thoughts, and
          Jacques felt a cold chill as her eyes burned at him from
          inside her mask.  Her attention quickly returned to the Uzi
          automatic pistol in her hand.  She laughed to herself at how
          easy it had been to smuggle the weapons through the X-ray
          and visual checks.  All had been hidden in band instruments
          and their steel cases for this special "jazz ensemble."
               Sheenah had been born in the United States but was now
          in her true element.  She could not explain her need, yet
          she knew she loved confrontations and punishing people for
          their poor treatment of her "brothers," those people she
          chose to affiliate with and represent at the time.  The
          hijacking scheme which Andar Salim had suggested provided
          the perfect opportunity to lash out from her deeply felt
          anger.  They could make demands on the world that would
          humiliate world leaders and ensure notoriety for her latest
          cause.
               She had found a true soul-mate in Andar.  Or rather he
          had found her, soon after his arrival in Sofia.  It was
          almost as if he had come looking for her.
               She welcomed Andar's advances and was aroused by his
          frequent anger with white Europeans who had systematically
          raped and looted Africa.  They became lovers and had lived
          together for nearly a year.  They shared anger and the
          desire for revenge on the world.
               He seemed to always have sufficient money from his
          family in Libya to travel and they had made several trips to
          England preparing for this train seizure.  He had flown
          home, he had explained to her, to visit his family, just
          prior to this trip.  Andar seemed to have the right
          connections necessary to find trusted helpers when he needed
          them for an assignment.
               Andar made her his deputy on this hijacking, stressing
          that she must destroy the train and hostages in the event he
          was killed.  She almost relished the thought, although she
          fully intended that she and Andar would survive this
          hijacking to return to Bulgaria where they had real
          identities working together for the United Nations.
               They had talked for months about making a number of
          statements through terrorist actions, returning to obscurity
          each time as a continuing act of defiance against the world.
               Their Bulgarian friends had easily believed the excuse
          when she said that they were leaving for a vacation in the
          United States.  She and Andar made a good couple.  Their
          future was full of promise.
               Sheenah's reveries abruptly ended as one of their
          accomplices entered the car to report.  "Commander, all of
          the peoples have been chained," the stocky hijacker stated
          in heavily accented English.
               "Very good, Tiger.  It is time to move the crates.
          Please assemble the work team.  Bring these two with you,"
          Andar said, indicating Jacques and the girl.  He smiled.  "I
          want the engineer to see all that we do so he can tell the
          world that this train and all the good people are in grave
          danger ... unless our demands are met."
               The hijacker called 'Tiger' chuckled with glee and
          grabbed the girl, thereby dragging Jacques along with them.
          Tiger was thinking to himself that this blonde girl must
          surely be one of the hostages that they would take with them
          when the time came to leave.
               Andar, Tiger and two other hijackers, along with
          Jacques and the girl, moved briskly to one of the train cars
          carrying vehicles.  Sheenah and two others were left in
          charge of the passengers.
               Jacques was obliged to unlock the car providing access
          to the vehicles.  The hijackers quickly moved to a small
          lorry bearing Belgian license plates and opened the rear
          doors.  They carefully lifted out six heavy crates marked
          "Oil Well Test Equipment".  Using two-wheel baggage
          trolleys, two of the crates were moved from the train about
          one thousand meters in either direction, back toward Calais,
          and forward toward Folkestone.  Black cables were retrieved
          from two of the crates and run the thousand meters back to
          the center passenger car.
               Andar supervised the unpacking of each crate to reveal
          what appeared to be video cameras, microphones, and
          antennae.  All were quickly attached to large, heavy
          containers from the other crate.
               Andar carefully explained to Jacques that the sensors
          would detect the slightest movement, sound, or magnetic
          change near them in the tunnel.  He said the large
          containers were sophisticated computers, and the entire
          package was filled with plastique explosives that could be
          remotely detonated from the train, or could be set to
          explode if any intruder approached the detector system.  Of
          course, he added, an explosion in the tunnel would lead to
          catastrophic failure of the concrete ring walls, rupturing
          the seabed and allowing the English Channel waters to crush
          and drown everyone.
               Once the cameras and sensors were positioned, Andar
          opened the control panel on each of the large containers and
          set several dials and typed in a series of numbers and
          letters.  After the second container had been set, he led
          them all back to the stranded train's center passenger car.
               "See, my friend, how I can control the sensors from
          this central detonator?"
               Andar smiled as he inserted the cables into the master
          control panel and flipped the switch to the 'test' position.
          All lights blinked green.  He turned the switch to the
          'system operational' position and nodded to Sheenah.
               "We are ready, Number Two.  Intruders will
          automatically trigger the system.  The 'fire' button can
          override and detonate at our command.  In case we need it."
          His finger hovered dangerously close to the "fire" button
          and a thrill of exhilaration filled him.  He fixed his eyes
          on Sheenah's and seemed to burn right through her as he
          sought to confirm her readiness to push that button when the
          time came.
               "We are ready, Commander," Sheenah whispered hoarsely
          as a rush of sensual excitement swept over her.
          
          
          
          Chapter Three
          
          
          London, Friday, 3:30 A.M.
          
               Nelson sipped coffee and listened attentively as the
          MOD watch officer, especially summoned from the Ministry of
          Defence,  briefed the small group now assembled in the SAS
          headquarters on the scant details available:  the midnight
          shuttle train from France had been stopped about one third
          of the way into the Eurotunnel, the tunnel under the English
          Channel now affectionately called the "Chunnel".  The train
          had been disabled by an unknown number of individuals.
          Approximately 100 passengers were on the train, plus the
          train crew of eight.
               Telephone-viewer contact with Folkestone Station had
          informed the authorities that the train had been hijacked
          and that no actions were to be taken to approach the train
          or else the passengers would be summarily executed.  Further
          demands would be stated at about six o'clock in the morning,
          less than three hours from now.
               The next briefer, the Intelligence Officer, speculated
          that the timing had been chosen to give the terrorists time
          enough to secure and booby trap the train, yet make a
          statement that would get maximum media coverage with the
          captive rush-hour audience.
               Upon notification of the incident, both ends of the
          Chunnel had been immediately secured by Eurotunnel security
          forces, who were now augmented and under the direction of
          the police authorities.  The waiting game had begun.
               The MOD staff psychologist reviewed typical terrorist
          actions.  The British and French governments could expect a
          call for media coverage of the terrorists' demands,
          reinforced by the possibility of some violence to the
          hostages to convince the world that the hijackers meant
          business.  A stand-off for 24 to 48 hours was probable until
          the terrorists realized that they were trapped.  They always
          were.  The terrorists would then start dealing...or else the
          real violence would begin and the special forces teams would
          go in and take them down in a hurry.
               "That damned Chunnel!"  Nelson thought to himself,
          reflecting a large and vocal slice of popular opinion.  "We
          didn't want the bloody thing in the first place!  We're
          losing our independence as an island!"
               However Nelson grudgingly admitted to himself that the
          Chunnel was the engineering marvel of the 20th Century.
          Eurotunnel, a partnership of British and French engineering
          and construction interests, had built the three-tunnel
          system in just over three years.  The north-bound and south-
          bound tunnels had required specially designed drilling
          machines some eight and one-half meters in diameter.  The
          smaller-sized service tunnel, running between the two rail
          tunnels, handled the rubber-tired vehicles necessary for
          constant maintenance to keep the Chunnel in near perfect
          repair and operating condition.  Small access tunnels and
          air pressure equalization passages linked the three tunnels.
          At its peak the project had employed about 14,000 workers,
          and the budget had supposedly remained under 8 billion
          pounds Sterling.
               Nelson's attention was re-focused to the briefing room.
          As soon as the MOD duty officer had departed, the Brigadier
          closed the briefing with his initial requirements.  "I have
          asked Brigadier LaRoche, Director of Groupement
          D'Intervention De La Gendarmerie Nationale,to stay close to
          the interrogation of witnesses on the French side.  As you
          will remember, GIGN is our counterpart.
               "The police have begun media calls for family members
          and friends of passengers to come forward immediately so
          that they can assemble a detailed manifest and obtain
          photographs.  Our Int boys will sit in with the police on
          our side to provide screening for intelligence details that
          we especially require for intervention.  As usual, this
          remains a police matter until we are asked to send in our
          chaps to tidy up the dirty work.
               "Major Davness and his J Squadron at Hereford have
          started studying Chunnel plans and preparing for the
          takedown.  The French GIGN are doing likewise.  We will
          settle the responsibility split later.  I have requested
          that a French liaison be posted to this office as soon as
          possible, and I have sent our NATO staff officer as our
          liaison to Brigadier LaRoche.
               "We must work as a tight-knit team on this one.  Two
          French Int collection teams have started in from their end
          to set up on the train.  Our Int teams are en route from
          Hereford now.  We'll get combined live intelligence here and
          in Paris.
               "Colonel Bartlett will be my focal here.  The Americans
          were flashed initial details and I would like for you to
          call them, Nelson, and give them an update.  It is up to you
          if, and when, you think we should have their liaison.
               "Pick your night teams, gentlemen, and set up a 24-hour
          CP.  I will brief the PM as soon as he is available.
          Questions, please."  He paused only for a moment.  "None?
          Very well.
               "Discretion, gentlemen, discretion.  This will be a
          difficult diplomatic situation.  Shall we say, the Chunnel
          is not the most popular topic and this situation could
          become very emotional."  All nodded.  "We must be discrete.
          And we must work as a team with the French and other
          European allies."
               The Brigadier left no doubt as to his seriousness as he
          looked hard into each person's eyes as he concluded the
          briefing and moved confidently toward his office.
               After ensuring that the Brigadier's orderly provided a
          carafe of coffee and several croissant for the Brigadier,
          Nelson slipped behind his own desk and opened his Rolodex, a
          useful souvenir from his last orientation visit to the
          United States.  The US Air Force special operations staff at
          Hurlburt Field, Florida, had thoughtfully noticed his
          fascination with the useful telephoning aid.  His hosts
          provided him with his own gadget at a sumptuous farewell
          dinner party at a place they called, "The Dirty Bird."
               Selecting the telephone number for the Delta J3, he
          lifted the receiver on his American Secure Telephone Unit,
          known as the "STU III," and quickly dialed the overseas
          number.  While he waited for the connection, Nelson removed
          a black plastic key from his top desk drawer and inserted it
          into the telephone.  He turned it one quarter turn.
               Almost immediately a distinctly Southern drawl answered
          with the telephone number that he had just dialed.
               "May we go secure?" Nelson asked crisply.
               "Yes, Suh.  You initiate, Suh."
               "Pushing."  Nelson sat back from the STU III and
          watched the amber light flicker.  Finally, the green light
          glowed steadily and he stated, "Green and Top Secret."
               "Green and TS here, Suh.  Who would you like to speak
          to?" The drawl was still clearly discernible even in secure
          mode.
               "Lieutenant Colonel Bartlett calling on behalf of the
          Director of Special Forces in London.  May I please speak to
          the J3?"  Nelson knew that the ID window on the Delta STU
          III was confirming to the Southern drawl that he was,
          indeed, calling from DSF-London.
               "Just a moment, Suh.  The Chief of Operations is in the
          next office.  I'll get him."
               Nelson rubbed his temples and reviewed the scanty
          details of the hijacking.  Somehow it just seemed too crazy
          to believe.  It had been several years since any terrorist
          group had pulled anything of this magnitude.  Although he
          reviewed the intelligence message traffic daily and knew
          that terrorist cells were active around the globe he had let
          himself believe that the world had reached a plateau free
          from major terrorist undertakings.  People were now able to
          reach the negotiating table, making terrorist actions
          unnecessary and far less effective.  Even the IRA has lost
          popular appeal and resumed a long-term truce following the
          series of terribly destructive bombings.
               "Nelson!  Hey, come va old buddy?  Colonel Johnson is
          tied up for a few minutes so I thought I would jump on here
          and make you feel welcome!"
               Nelson recognized the voice immediately and the Italian
          phrase for 'How's it going?' was part of the banter they
          used to share in Naples as they practiced their newly-
          acquired Italian language skills on one another.  He and Jim
          Grissom had shared responsibilities for planning and
          exercising all unorthodox and psychological warfare
          activities for the Southern Region of NATO.  Their unique
          partnership had proved extremely effective in gaining
          support of allied governments and special forces units.  The
          NATO southern commander, a US admiral, was extremely pleased
          with the results the two officers had achieved over their
          two years together.
               "James P. Grissom!  I am now happy that this action
          occurred at night if it has gotten you out of bed!"
               "Well, it really got me out of a boring formal dinner
          party at the O Club.  I am missing sharing my bed with
          Katherine at the moment, though.  I'll tell her that it's
          all your fault, Nelson."  Jim smiled.  He knew it was very
          early in London and that Nelson had probably been called
          away from Sarah, too.
               "I don't know how much you have made of this one, but
          it is a bit strange ... and could be a bit of a diplomatic
          tangle for us.  I'll bet that there will be a hue and cry by
          tonight to have the Chunnel filled in with concrete!  We
          haven't a clue yet as to who is in charge and why they have
          targeted the Chunnel.  Could be rejuvenated IRA bastards or
          radical French farmers, for that matter.  I just have a
          funny gut feeling about this.  Perhaps when we start
          receiving current intelligence reports from the probes and
          taps it will make more sense."
               Jim bit his bottom lip and mulled over Nelson's
          comments for a few moments before replying.  He knew Nelson
          well enough to respect his uneasiness and speculations.  The
          initial reaction at the Delta J2 intelligence briefing a few
          moments ago was that it was probably a case of one or two
          crazies wanting to have their fanatical demands published
          before surrendering to a transit authority policeman.
          They'd get a couple of months in a psychiatric ward and then
          be off to write a book.
               "Nelson, our official line is that we understand the
          seriousness of the situation.  We always do.  But, to tell
          you the honest truth, I think most of us here have this
          figured for a couple of loonies.
               "You know, like the fellow that slipped into Buckingham
          a few years back to have a bedside chat with the Queen.  If
          that story is not playing well at the Aldwych, then I
          guarantee you that Delta will be squarely behind you.  We'll
          provide whatever resources and encouragement you need."  Jim
          paused to see what his old friend thought.
               "The French have a liaison officer coming, of course.
          And we originally thought all we would need would be an open
          line to the 'Colonies' ... just in case.
               Nelson reflected a moment.  "Perhaps we need more.  Do
          you think you can spare a liaison?"  Nelson paused.
               "You've got it."
               "Jim, would you be willing to fill the position, and
          get here just as quickly as you can?  You have been vetted
          into our system for years and I won't have to miss a beat
          getting your security clearances activated.  The point is:
          I trust your judgment."
               Without hesitation, Jim guaranteed, "I'll make it
          happen, Nelson.  If I can't get a commercial flight I'll
          bring my own C-141."  Jim knew that for a terrorist
          situation like this he would could be sure of US Air Force
          support to get him to London as soon as possible.
               "In any event, do you need any bulk quantities of any
          particular 'American' goodies?  A bushel basket of Scotch,
          perhaps?"  He grinned as he awaited Nelson's reply, knowing
          that he could buy imported Scotch for one-half the price
          that Nelson was forced to pay even though it was distilled
          only a couple of hundred miles north of London.
               "One bottle will do nicely, James.  Give my regards to
          Colonel Johnson.  Kiss Katherine for me.  And do hurry."
               Nelson replaced the receiver and smiled.  It would be
          good to have Jim back working with him.  He knew he would
          feel at ease discussing details with his trusted friend.
          Nelson sensed the need in the hours and days ahead to work
          through this puzzling situation.
               You beat the terrorist first in your head, then in the
          alley.  Few of his compatriots could match brain power or
          street-smart psychology with this talented American.  Jim's
          folksy and vivacious enthusiasm, when blended with Nelson's
          more deliberate and careful nature, had produced highly
          accurate appraisals of enemy intentions and efficient use of
          special forces during their previous work together.
          
          
          
          Chapter Four
          
          
          Broadcast from Under the English Channel, Friday, 6:07 A.M.
          
               Millions of families in England and France interrupted
          their Friday morning rituals to pause in front of their
          television sets.  It was an awesome awakening to the day. A
          French Chunnel chef de train, identified as Jacques DuMont,
          and a frightened German teenager stood in the foreground.
          Viewers could see in the curving, surrealistic background,
          several armed hijackers in dark clothing with ski masks
          covering their faces.  Automatic weapons were clearly
          visible, and one hijacker appeared to have grenades hanging
          from a weapons belt.
               The obviously tired hostage pair read in stilted,
          deliberate English from a prepared letter.
          
               Dear Freedom and Peace-Loving Peoples:
               Dear Brothers and Sisters in the Struggle for Justice:
          
               We have stopped a train in the Eurotunnel to bring to
          the attention of all a most terrible situation that must be
          corrected, and corrected now.
          
               Three of our Arab brothers, patriots in the cause of
          freedom, were unfairly accused of attacking an American Pan
          American airliner in Scotland.  They were convicted based
          upon Jewish lies and now languish in English dungeons.
          
               The patriots must be pardoned by your Queen.  They must
          be set free immediately to join us in leaving from Heathrow
          Airport to Algiers aboard a standard airline flown by
          Lufthansa Airlines.  Three aircraft must be parked on the
          tarmac and we will choose one after arriving in a motor
          caravan with police escort.
          
               All freedom loving peoples will understand that twelve
          of the passengers from this train will accompany us on the
          flight and will be released with the air crew and aircraft
          in Algiers.
          
               We must immediately receive two television sets
          receiving all BBC channels so that me might stay informed on
          the Queen's decision.  Also, these televisions will insure
          that the untrustworthy police do not attempt any schemes
          that could endanger the passengers.
          
               We must set a deadline for your Queen's action in
          correcting the terrible injustice to our brothers.  She must
          make her pardon over the television network by six o'clock
          this evening.  Delay past that hour would be unjustified and
          will result in endangering the passengers.  Unfortunately,
          they would suffer needlessly and mercilessly for the
          offenses committed by the authorities.
          
               We urge and demand solidarity with freedom-loving
          peoples around the world.
          
               The stunning telecast would later spark heated debates
          in trains, offices, and homes across Europe.  The Chunnel,
          often praised as an engineering marvel, had cost a number of
          lives during construction.  It had cost double the original
          estimate and only massive governmental outlays had salvaged
          the final year.  If the German financial resources had not
          been discretely offered to help in the financing required
          for the high speed rail networks linking the Chunnel with
          London, it was doubtful that commerce would have made the
          switch from the ferries.  Now in light of the hijacking, the
          old arguments were resurrected and old antagonisms
          resurfaced.  Somehow the Pan American bombers and the
          current hostages were lost amid the hype.
               Jacques was allowed to answer a few questions posed by
          the television crew.  In response to their queries, he
          described how the hijackers had set up the monitoring
          systems and computers well away from each end of the train.
          The system could be vaguely seen in the background.  He
          explained that the monitors could automatically trigger
          explosives packed into the devices, destroying the Chunnel
          and drowning everyone in it.  He was explaining how the
          master control was wired and its appearance when he was cut
          short by the man in black directly behind him who abruptly
          spoke out.
               "You have convinced the world that we can destroy the
          peoples on the train unless the Queen acts today.  That is
          enough!  Stop the cameras and leave now!"  Andar had spoken.
               In fact, he had spoken too long.  His few words were
          sufficient to create a clear recording enabling the voice
          analysts to start unmasking him and his friends.
          
          
          London, Friday, 6:20 A.M.
          
               Nelson, viewing the broadcast in the Brigadier's
          office, knew that the terrorists' demand for freedom for
          their compatriots could never be met.  It had taken years
          and millions of pounds Sterling to bring the terrorists to
          trial.  It had taken the marshaling of world opinion to
          force Libya to turn over the suspects.  British and American
          reputations were on the line to make this an example that no
          further terrorist acts would be forgotten ... or forgiven.
          The bombers simply could not be freed.
               "Brigadier, the hijackers must know that the Queen has
          no authority to pardon.  That fact was headline news in all
          the newspapers during the debates curtailing her powers and
          financial support.  I remember the tabloids shouting out,
          'Queen Beheaded!' to show how powerless the monarch had
          become.  The hijackers must know the demand is impossible!"
          The SIS liaison officer had summed up what all were
          thinking, and his vivid reminder of the headlines brought
          weak smiles to the group.
               It was only after nearly every power was stripped and
          most public financial support removed, that the Queen had
          been allowed to retain the throne.
               Only the Prime Minister had the power to pardon, and
          the current occupant of Number 10, Downing Street, would not
          likely pardon the men whose prosecution and conviction he
          had championed in his rapid rise to power.
               The Brigadier nodded thoughtfully.
               Nelson looked around at the others assembled in the
          room.  Sitting on either side of the SIS liaison were the
          Deputy Director of Special Forces and the Intelligence
          Officer.  The French liaison officer and the 22 SAS Regiment
          commanding officer flanked Nelson.  A newly arrived Royal
          Marine officer representing the Special Boat Squadron and
          the Directorate Sergeant Major filled the remaining two
          seats.
               "Int, can you summarize what your chaps have assembled
          so far?"  The Brigadier looked toward the Intelligence
          Officer.
               "Yes, Sir.  Both French and British intelligence teams
          are positioned along the tunnel.  They have approached the
          train, which is stopped in the northbound tunnel, from both
          ends.  In addition, they have gone along the service tunnel
          and have crossed over to the northbound tunnel ventilating
          system ducts through accesses from the service tunnel.  We
          are getting back fairly good video and excellent audio."
               The Captain had moved to the briefing easel and was
          pointing to a cross-sectional rendering of the Chunnel as he
          spoke.
               "We have the hijacker's monitoring boxes under
          surveillance, but do not want to approach them as they might
          actually be rigged to blow automatically.  Since we can leap
          frog via the service tunnel to approach the train, they do
          not pose a problem to us at this time.
               As Major Davness and his French counterpart develop
          their takedown plans we will begin to focus on how to safe
          the explosives.  We will be running risks trying to collect
          more information on the devices.
               "Thus far we have not identified the terrorists.  From
          their language and accents we know that several are Libyan.
          It is strange that much of their communication in the center
          car, here," he indicated the car on the chart, "is in
          English, and we are striving to determine the purpose of
          that.
               "We have confirmed 43 passengers and eight crew members
          on the train, but our best guess so far is that we are
          dealing with a total of 85 on board, including the train
          crew and an estimated five terrorists.  Sound reports
          indicate that all of the people are in the three passenger
          cars.  We have no signs of life from the engines or vehicle
          transport cars."
               The French liaison officer spoke up:  "I thought the
          French video team was able to see the passengers through the
          windows?"
               "Our video coverage is excellent outside the train,"
          the Captain continued, "but the view from the ventilating
          ports does not give much coverage at all inside the cars.
          We can see that people are tied somehow to the windows, but
          cannot get much of a count.  We are working at dropping
          cameras down to eye level but that will take some time and
          must be accomplished with great discretion.  We need the
          hijackers to tire a bit and be less on their guard or they
          could spot our efforts."
               "Are there any other questions?"  The Captain paused.
               "Int, how valid is their threat to blow the tunnel?"
          Nelson asked.
               The Captain pursed his lips and replied thoughtfully,
          "Our demo experts are still working that with Chunnel
          engineers.  The hijackers have picked a point some fifteen
          kilometers from the French coast just beyond what is called
          the 'French crossover.'  The sea bottom is still thirty-five
          meters above the tunnel, but the Blue Chalk layer at this
          point has a sharp bend and thus might fracture more easily.
          The hijackers' explosives are placed in at least two,
          perhaps three locations, along a two kilometer stretch of
          the tunnel.  With timing between explosions, the shock wave
          from the first detonation could be amplified by a second or
          third.
               "Colonel Bartlett, the short answer is that in a tunnel
          even a small explosion can kill all of the passengers.  We
          must consider the threat to tunnel integrity also real,
          until we get better information."
               Nelson nodded.  As expected, the passengers and train
          crew were at very grave risk.
               "What about traffic in the southbound tunnel setting
          off the explosives by tripping the sensors?"  The Deputy
          Director had spoken up.
               "All rail traffic has been held up from when the
          hijackers first announced their takeover.  You can imagine
          the shipping problems created as we have gotten so dependent
          on the train service to and from the Continent through the
          Chunnel."
               The Captain looked for other questions and then
          continued, "We have asked authorities at both sides of the
          Chunnel to continue sending in some reduced maintenance
          crews at their normal intervals, but with no vehicles in the
          service tunnel within two kilometers of the sensors.
          Security officers are mixed in with the crews just to make
          sure that no outside assistance is provided to the
          hijackers, and to desensitize the crews to the special teams
          when they go in.  These efforts will, hopefully, provide
          cover when our teams need to move forward into position.
          Heavy equipment that could generate too much noise is being
          kept well clear of the Chunnel.
               "Police have sealed all three tunnels at the entrances
          and again at final security points approximately five
          kilometers back from the train's location.
               "You'll notice that television coverage is live from
          Chunnel Portals on both sides of the Channel.  Our movements
          will have to be coordinated with that coverage, too, or the
          hijackers could get a clue.  We can use service shafts, but
          the reporters keep checking all entrances.  The hijackers
          were smart to demand television sets as the television news
          teams unwittingly work in their favor."
               The last remark brought a scowl to the Brigadier's
          face.  "Perhaps we will get more cooperation this time than
          last May."
               Nelson knew the Brigadier was referring to the bomb
          scare last May Day when the television crews tagged along
          with sniffer dog teams and had provided excellent standoff
          timing for the bombers.  Fortunately, the IRA perpetrators
          had evidently not counted on the television reports for
          targeting assistance.  Only one team member had been injured
          due to a remote triggering, but the police had been up in
          arms over what they saw as a betrayal by the media.  Since
          the loss of one reporter back in 1993, the broadcasting
          corporations had promised to more carefully conduct their
          coverage.  This present crisis was likely to be the ultimate
          test of that promise.
               "I would like to brief the PM on our takedown plan at
          two o'clock this afternoon, gentlemen.  Shall I commit to
          that?" the Brigadier asked.
               "I will confirm with Major Davness that he can be ready
          and available at that time, Sir," Nelson stated.
               "I will brief for the French GIGN team, Brigadier," the
          French liaison officer assured.  "I will give the briefing
          which is to be presented to our President, and recommend
          that he be briefed at the same hour."
               "Thank you for your assistance in this matter.  We must
          make it a coordinated venture.  I know that Major Davness
          and his counterpart will make it tactically coordinated.  We
          must ensure that it is fully politically coordinated.
          Tricky, that."
               He surveyed the room.  "Any questions, gentlemen?  If
          not, please reconvene in the briefing room at half past one
          to prepare for the PM."
               The group eased out of the Brigadier's office.   Nelson
          lingered behind to speak to the Brigadier privately.
               "Sir, I'm pleased with our French liaison.  He is a
          sharp chap and has been spending half his time telephoning
          back to Paris to make sure we understand each other.  I am
          confident that the plans are going well.  We should have a
          good briefing for the PM.
               "I have asked the Americans to provide a liaison from
          Delta.  Lieutenant Colonel Grissom will be arriving at RAF
          Northholt about three o'clock this afternoon.  I'll meet him
          and bring him down to brief up.  I don't see any particular
          help that we will need, but Colonel Grissom is an old friend
          and has a keen mind for this sort of operation."
               "Very well, Nelson.  It will be good to have a liaison
          in place.  I have heard of Colonel Grissom and his work with
          you in NATO.  Seems that I also remember hearing that he is
          the best officer in the American Army.  I believe that came
          directly from your wife, Sarah!"  The Brigadier chuckled.
               Nelson smiled.  Sarah was a great public relations
          agent for those people of whom she thought highly.  Jim and
          Katherine Grissom were two of those special people.
          
          
          
          Chapter Five
          
          
          Canyon, Texas, Friday, 12:30 A.M.
          
               Sandy Mitchell sat in his recliner chair watching re-
          runs of television shows that were not worth watching the
          first time through.
               "Who cares where you are, Linda!" he said to himself as
          if in reply to another question.  "Not me.  Me and Jack are
          doing just fine!"
               Sandy felt so good that he toasted his wife with a
          glass now just half full of Jack Daniel's whiskey on the
          rocks.  It had become his favorite drink.  He knew that
          after this glass he would be able to sleep.  Lately, sleep
          had been elusive unless he had his friend, "Jack," with him.
               He knew, even in his "relaxed state", that he and Linda
          had been having "relationship" problems for quite some time.
          Still, he could not easily reconcile himself to her being
          out all night.  Through the alcoholic fog he kept thinking
          to himself that he still loved his wife.  Perhaps if they
          had only had children she would not be so pushy now.  "It's
          not right!  A woman should be at home with her husband and
          not ...."  He left the rest unspoken.  He couldn't quite
          face verbalizing where he visualized Linda to be at that
          moment.
               Sandy liked knowing he had the next day off from work.
          His supervisor had called several hours ago and told him to
          pack a suitcase and standby for another telephone call.  He
          had done this at least a dozen times over the past two
          years.  It meant special pay and special training with the
          military.  He liked the extra pay and the way the Army guys
          treated him.  He was a member of the team whenever he went
          for training, about every three months.  These alert things,
          though, meant having time off with pay.  He usually sat
          home, blissfully unaware of what the crisis was, because it
          usually did not even make the newspapers.
               He thought it was funny that he was sitting on his
          backside in Texas waiting to go save the world!  His
          employer, Pantex, near Amarillo had the contract.  So he was
          on the team.  Ha!  In Canyon, Texas!  Ha!  Ha!
               Sandy soon fell asleep in the chair, his glass empty on
          the floor next to his recliner.
          
          
          
          Chapter Six
          
          
          London, Friday, 11:45 A.M.
          
               Just as Nelson had anticipated, the hue and cry was
          raised across England to close the Chunnel.  As the morning
          progressed, slick, but patently ill-informed, commentators
          took to the airways and filled the television screens.  Live
          coverage continued from the Chunnel Portals, with special
          reports flowing in from around the Continent, showing trains
          and freight, mostly food stuffs, piling up, awaiting
          shipment through the Chunnel.  Old ferries, now sadly
          bulging in cocoon storage, were proclaimed to be far more
          reliable.  Ferry disasters, such as the terrible 1988
          sinking just outside the port of Zeebrugge, Belgium, were
          forgotten or minimized.  Strikes and the treacherous Channel
          weather that had often delayed and disrupted ferry transport
          were glossed over.
               As the morning wore on, reports of food and medical
          shortages were aired.  That, of course, set off a wave of
          panic buying as people began to perceive that the island was
          now isolated.  Those members of Parliament who were
          accustomed to speaking out against every subject took to the
          airwaves with vigor to criticize the government's handling
          of the present crisis.  They sounded the call for an
          immediate clearing of the Chunnel.
               "We must act now to protect our children from the
          threat of imminent starvation," intoned one lawmaker from
          Leeds who thought he saw a Cabinet position in his future.
               Stock film footage from Somalia was aired.
          Commentators speculated on how long the British population
          could survive without the Chunnel commerce.  By lunch time,
          Tee shirts featuring "I Survived the Chunnel Closure!" began
          to appear on the streets of many towns, including London,
          and Folkestone.
          
          
          London, Friday, 2:00 P.M.
          
               "Prime Minister, our briefing will be in three parts.
          My Intelligence Officer will first overview the situation.
          Next, the Officer-in-Command, 22 SAS, J Squadron, our
          counter-terrorist force, will brief the resolution plan from
          our side.  Finally, our French liaison officer will explain
          the plan of attack by the Groupement D'Intervention De La
          Gendarmerie Nationale.  The GIGN is our SAS counterpart in
          France.
               "Captain."  The Brigadier moved to his seat to the left
          of the Prime Minister.
               "Prime Minister, this is a combined assessment with the
          cooperation of the French Intelligence Service."
               The Prime Minister nodded.
               "The train has been stopped at this point in the
          northbound Chunnel," he pointed to the point along the more
          westerly tunnel in the schematic on the wall, "with the
          monitoring and explosive devices an estimated one kilometer
          forwards and aft."  He continued along with the pointer, "It
          is a Chunnel shuttle train consisting of front and rear
          engines, 12 automobile transport cars, and two bus carrier
          cars.  In the center of the train are these three cars:
          passenger car, modified passenger car with food service, and
          a final passenger car.
               "We have cooperating English and French surveillance
          teams positioned here, here, here...and here."  He indicated
          locations near the monitoring devices and along the train
          itself.  "They are obtaining excellent audio results and
          good video intelligence.  We would be willing to risk a bit
          more and get first class video if a takedown were imminent."
               The Captain continued, "We have definitely confirmed
          fifty-five  passengers, plus eight crew members.  We expect
          that there are at least ten more unidentified passengers on
          the train.  All appear to be bound in some manner and are
          located throughout these three cars."  The Captain pointed
          to the passenger cars.
               "We had reckoned there were a minimum of five
          hijackers, but we now believe there are seven.  Our lads
          viewed the "demands" video over and over and it seems that
          the engineer and the girl were signaling us.  Each time they
          spoke and could hold up their hands they held up seven
          fingers, thusly."  The Captain held up his hands in the same
          manner.
               "We think this was a sign to us since they both used
          the same unusual way of holding their hands.  Our French
          counterparts agree.
               "Voice analysis confirms two suspects in each car, plus
          we are getting a dominant female voice in the center car.
          All of the suspects appear to be Arab, except for the female
          who is, based upon voice analysis, definitely an American.
          The terrorists use English when communicating in the center
          car, probably because the American does not understand their
          language.  Her role must be reasonably important for them to
          go to this extra effort."
               The Captain paused for a moment for this proposition to
          be considered.  He then continued, "Voice location puts the
          hijack leader and, most probably, the master control panel,
          which the engineer described, in this food service area of
          the center passenger car."  He pointed to the small
          cubbyhole created by the service bar.  "This arrangement
          perhaps provides a little extra protection for the control
          device.
               "We have a possible identification of the leader.  Our
          French brethren made a voice analysis and comparison with
          suspects in their surveillance library.  They think he is
          Andar Salim, probably Palestinian or Lebanese by birth.  His
          last known location was Tripoli, where he was a confidant of
          Colonel Khadafy.
               "Khadafy brought Salim out of one of the Palestinian
          refugee camps and treated him almost as a son.  We think he
          has been involved in other terror activities, but have no
          firm evidence.  Other background information is not
          available.  Salim has been out of circulation for the past
          year.  If we could get a clear video of him without his mask
          we can confirm this identity."
               The Prime Minister smiled faintly at the thought of the
          hijack leader unmasking himself before the cameras.
               The officer continued, "We have a calm situation in the
          train.  Salim, if that is his name, seems to be playing this
          low key and not agitating the passengers.  Perhaps he is
          convinced that he will win easily, so he does not need to
          stir things.  This is speculation on my part, but I am sure
          that men at his level in the Libyan structure must be aware,
          to some degree, of our surveillance capabilities and our
          capacity to quickly and decisively intervene if things get
          too sticky."  The Captain stepped aside and stood quietly.
               "Captain, do these ... hijackers ... do they have
          enough explosives to destroy the tunnel and kill the
          passengers?"  The Prime Minister had posed the key question
          very quietly.
               "Yes, Sir.  We believe their threats are real."
               There was another heavy pause.
               After a few moments the Intelligence Officer stated, "I
          will be followed by Major Davness, OIC, J Squadron,
          Hereford."
               Major Davness stepped to the front.  The silence was
          absolute.
               "Prime Minister, this will be a coordinated and closely
          timed intervention.  I will lead my prime team against the
          subjects.  GIGN have graciously yielded this to us.  GIGN
          will isolate and safe the explosives behind the train.  An
          SAS explosives team will isolate the explosives forward of
          the train.  My 2-I-C," he paused and flashed a short smile,
          "my second-in-command, and the secondary team will man the
          entrances which my team uses and enter approximately 15
          seconds after the prime team.  They will take over clearing
          the subjects should the prime team experience problems and
          will then be available to help with clean up operations.
               "The teams will come through the ventilating shafts
          into the westbound tunnel in these locations."  The Major
          pointed to accesses just behind the cameras at the two
          monitoring points, and in the middle of the train.
               "Three men will be in each of the explosives teams:
          two demo lads with one security.  This is the minimum number
          required but provides a backup capability.  The explosives
          teams will move in just before my prime team in order to
          look over the devices.  If they encounter a problem my prime
          team will act at once.  If no problems are encountered we
          may be able to isolate the explosives before we take down
          the train.  I must emphasize that this will be a very
          closely timed operation.
               "Twelve men will go in along with me to handle the
          suspects.  Two men will enter each car from each end and put
          down the suspects.  I will enter the center car with the
          other two lads from this end nearest the bar with my object
          being to secure the master control panel before the charges
          can be detonated.
               "Up to this point we have detected no booby traps
          placed on the train or passengers but we must have
          confirmation of this prior to knocking at their door.  This
          is one of my priority taskings for Int.  If booby traps are
          indicated among the hostages or on the doors we will go to
          an alternative plan and blow entrance holes into the cars in
          these areas, which are mostly clear of passengers.  This
          would delay our entry by three to five seconds but would
          have the same impact as the flash-bang grenades:  stun and
          immobilize the subjects long enough for us to take charge.
               "My timing will be based upon my Int assessment of
          current audio and video.  We must have distance and
          distraction between the suspects and the master control.
               "Just a moment before execution and on my command all
          power will be cut to the train.  We will use tear gas and
          flash-bang grenades.  We expect the combined effect of the
          sudden darkness followed immediately by flash-bangs to
          really put the suspects off."  The Major looked steadily at
          the Prime Minister.
               "It is vital that normal television coverage continue
          while we are positioning and executing the plan.  We count
          on this to keep the suspects calm right up to the moment
          that we strike.  Perhaps the broadcast corporations need to
          be approached for their cooperation."
               The Prime Minister nodded and his Secretary noted the
          request.
               Major Davness continued, "We expect that it will take
          thirty to forty-five seconds to secure, quickly shakedown
          the train and call for restoration of electrical power.
          Choking gas will be present so the hostages will be a bit
          uncomfortable until they can be moved clear.
               "As soon as we have secured the train we will call for
          the French police to move forward and take charge of the
          situation.  The GIGN team will join my two teams and will
          move toward the English side where we will be picked up at a
          crossover to the service tunnel.  French officials will join
          us there.  Our entire force will immediately move off to
          Hereford for debrief.
               "Civilian police and medical personnel will clear the
          hostages.  The police will conduct required hidden
          explosives and crime scene searches."
               The Major paused and stepped aside from the graphic.
          He looked expectantly at the Prime Minister.  "Questions,
          sir?"
               Everyone was deep in thought.  Finally, the silence was
          broken.  "If I may, Prime Minister," the Brigadier posed the
          question, "Major Davness, how much lead time do you require
          to position for the take down?"
               "Sir, we have the teams taking down a replica train
          this afternoon.  We want to stay at Hereford practicing live
          firing just as long as we possibly can so that we are all
          fresh at it.  We can move forward to Ashford in about two
          hours' time.  From there we can be in position in three
          hours.
               "From Hereford give me four hours.  If we move forward
          to Ashford, I'll need three."
               The Prime Minister spoke next:  "Is there any hope of
          capturing these hijackers so we can find out who put them up
          to this?"  The Prime Minister wanted to hang more than the
          underlings.
               "No, Sir.  They will not survive.  Any other tactic
          could jeopardize the rescue."  The Prime Minister frowned
          but Major Davness held steady his gaze.
               Finally the major moved toward his chair and said, "I
          will be followed by the French liaison officer."
               The French officer stepped forward.
               "Monsieur Prime Minister, I have been instructed to
          confirm that the French government yield leadership of this
          mission to the SAS.  I believe this courtesy was extended at
          the request of your Brigadier and approved by our President
          moments ago."  He paused for effect.
               Nelson realized that a true courtesy had been extended.
          The officer wanted to ensure that the Prime Minister knew it
          and appreciated the magnitude of the favor.
               The Prime Minister smiled briefly and nodded his
          acknowledgment.
               The French liaison officer began, "The GIGN team and
          the SAS team will follow identical procedures.  They will
          move into the tunnel behind the monitoring devices and move
          quietly toward them.  The two demolition experts will
          disable the microphones and cameras, and enter and disarm
          the explosives.  The teams will be in 'hot' radio contact
          with microphones open so that they are learning from one
          another and working as one big team.  They are practicing
          this now at Hereford.
               "We expect that the monitoring devices and cabinets
          have been booby-trapped and so are prepared to deal with
          that.  Safeing could take up to fifteen minutes.  This means
          perhaps our timing may provide a difficulty for the prime
          team.  This is quite an unusual situation, but the
          demolition experts agree that it is a feasible option ... or
          else they wouldn't to go into the Chunnel."
               He continued, "If problems arise that could imperil the
          mission, the teams will act to isolate the monitoring
          devices with small charges to scatter the effect of the
          explosives.  This will be tricky and extremely risky, but it
          may be the only alternative available to avoid a complete
          detonation.
               "Questions, Sir?"  The French officer was obviously
          eager to start the operation.
               "If one team is, ... well, ... unsuccessful, will the
          explosion be powerful enough to destroy the tunnel?"  The
          Prime Minister had posed a difficult question.
               "I'm not sure that it would destroy the tunnel, Sir,
          but in my opinion, if the devices are packed full, a blast
          would create a shock wave and fire ball that would kill all
          of the people in the tunnel within a couple of kilometers.
          That would include all of the people on the train and all of
          the team members.  I am basing that on the size of the
          cabinets from television reports and the amount of plastique
          that we could fit into a similar sized crate.  It will
          provide quite a bang.  No one can tell for sure how the air
          pressure equalization vents will affect a blast."
               The French officer quietly took his seat.
               The Home Secretary asked, "At what point do we
          surrender civil control?"
               The Minister of Defence stood and replied, "When the
          OIC calls for "power off" the military would appreciate
          having control.  When the OIC calls "train secure" we will
          return control to the civil authorities.  Is that agreed?"
               "Agreed," nodded the Home Secretary, formalizing the
          arrangement that all had expected.  Still, it had to be
          quite clear, and it had to be in the meeting minutes.
               The Brigadier again took the floor.  "Prime Minister,
          will you approve our continuing this plan to resolve the
          hijacking crisis with proviso that you and the President of
          France must approve execution?"
               "Gentlemen, further comments?"  The Prime Minister
          looked around the room.  No one spoke.
               "I approve the plan," he said crisply.  "Thank you."
          He rose and walked briskly out of the room.
          
          
          
          Chapter Seven
          
          
          RAF Northholt, England, Friday, 3:00 P.M.
          
               Normally, Nelson would have driven himself out to the
          close-in Royal Air Force airfield to meet Jim.  However, he
          realized that he was tired and too deeply preoccupied with
          the terrorist situation to deal properly with the agressive
          London motorists.  It was, therefore, nice to have the
          civilian-attired corporal maneuver the unmarked Army Jaguar
          through the heavy afternoon traffic.
               Nelson arrived at the RAF Operations Building just in
          time to see the gray and white American C-141B Starlifter
          drop out of the leaden November overcast and settle onto the
          slick runway.  Within minutes he was hugging his old friend
          and shaking hands with the crew, thanking them for their
          help.  The United States Air Force crew members did not know
          why they had been summoned from ground alert duty to fly to
          London, but they knew that the easy-going Colonel must have
          important business with the Brits to warrant exclusive use
          of their craft.
               The United States Navy liaison officer met the crew to
          help them clear the British customs process and escort them
          to their downtown hotel.  The air crew waved good-bye and
          reminded the Colonel to ask for them whenever he needed to
          fly to London!
               Once in the car and with the friendly chit-chat out of
          the way, Nelson confided in his old friend, "Jim, I am
          really glad to see you.  Either the years have taken their
          toll or this hijacking has got a sour ring to it."
               "Nelson, I haven't had an update since we last talked.
          I couldn't get secure comm with anyone while I was airborne.
          Besides, I slept most of the way.  You know, just in case we
          decide to paint the town."
               Jim eyed the driver.  "Where do we stand?"  Nelson
          nodded that they were free to speak.
               "The hijackers have demanded that we release the three
          chaps we pinched and convicted for the Pan Am 103 bombing.
          The whole lot is then to fly off to Algiers with a dozen
          hostages on board a Lufthansa airliner.  They haven't
          specified what they will do to the train passengers if we
          don't comply, but they have set a six o'clock deadline this
          evening for the Queen to go on television and pardon the
          three.
               "The Queen doesn't have the power to pardon:  only the
          Prime Minister does, and he hasn't indicated any willingness
          to do so."
               "What do the 'good guys' plan?"  Jim looked thoughtful.
               "Davness, you'll remember him, and his boys will take
          down the train:  classical 'double tap' routine with Davness
          securing the master control.  We can gain unobserved access
          right to the train through the ventilating system."
               Jim nodded as he visualized the terrorists each
          catching two quick bullets to the head, then asked with a
          slightly puzzled look, "What is the 'master control'?"
               "Aye, that's the rub!"  Nelson replied.  "About a
          kilometer forward and aft of the train the hijackers have
          placed monitoring devices which they say are for their
          protection.  Each has what appears to be microphones and
          television cameras set up to monitor the approaches along
          the rail line.
               "The train engineer was allowed to say that the
          cabinets holding them were packed with explosives sufficient
          to rupture the tunnel and seabed.  If they are triggered the
          whole lot inside the tunnel will be drowned.  We figure that
          they do have enough force to kill everyone on the train
          through concussion even if they can't rupture the seabed.
               Jim listened intently and nodded his understanding as
          Nelson continued.
               "The Int lads believe the master control is located in
          the center passenger car, which the hijackers are using as
          their base.  The train driver was cut off before he could
          say more about it.  He and the teenage girl he is handcuffed
          to are pretty savvy, though.  They signaled to us that there
          are seven terrorists.  They've been on the telly twice more
          today to re-emphasize the demands and both hostages have
          given the same signal."
               Jim was thoughtful for a long while seeming to watch
          the parade of shops flow past his car window.  Finally he
          spoke:  "Nelson, this all sounds pretty standard.  The
          explosives being remoted is a bit bizarre.  That may make
          life interesting for your boys.  But it doesn't sound too
          out of the ordinary.  On the surface it seems to be a
          straight-forward terrorist confrontation."
               He turned to look at Nelson, "What about it is
          bothering you?"
               Nelson was thoughtful, too, for a moment and then said
          quietly, "The 'Why?' of it.
               "What I mean is, 'Why are these blokes doing this?'
          Jim, that's the question that keeps snipping at my heels.  I
          can't shake it.
               "The French did a neat bit of voice comparison and
          think that the hijack leader is Andar Salim, a Palestinian
          of some importance with connections to the top in Libya.  He
          and Khadafy were evidently close at one time, but Salim has
          been out of sight for the past year.
               "I keep asking myself, 'Why would a man of his position
          and standing be doing this?'  He isn't the type who would
          consider himself expendable enough to die or go to prison
          just to attempt to free three bombers.  Surely he knows we
          will identify him."
               John interjected, "Maybe he thinks that it will be easy
          to get you to back down and free the bombers."
               "Suppose that we do capitulate and the three bombers
          and their hijacker friends make it to Algiers," Nelson
          continued.  "Your people and ours, together, we'll track
          them down to the ends of the earth and either bring them
          back or kill them.  Your government and mine have made the
          Pan Am bombing a line in the sand."
               Jim nodded.
               "Salim must know that he cannot escape.  He cannot win.
          So, I continue to ask this most difficult 'why?'"
               "Nelson, terrorists are crazy people.  They aren't
          lovable guys like you and me.  They don't always think
          straight.  Maybe Khadafy is trying to tweak our noses on
          this one even though he knows that the three bombers and his
          good friend Salim will pay for it.  That would be thinking
          like him."
               "Perhaps you're right, Jim, but it just doesn't set
          well."
               "Have your Intel folks come up with any other reasons
          for the hijack that could shed any light?"
               "No.  But they are questioning why an American is among
          the hijackers.  Her presence is evidently forcing them to
          use English whenever she is in the conversation."
               Nelson got the rise he expected from his old friend.
               "Hey, wait a minute!  What do you mean an American
          female is working with them?"
               "Our probes and taps lads have good audio on the train
          and are picking up a distinctly American female voice that
          is dealing with the other terrorists.  She seems to always
          stay close to Salim.  Their conversations are strictly
          business."
               "Nelson, are you throwing in an American just to get me
          emotionally involved?"
               Nelson chuckled, "I'm afraid that the hijackers have
          chosen the cast.  We just try to sort them out, give them
          names, and a final resting place."
               He went on, "The hijackers are not advertising her
          presence, though I am sure they knew Int would quickly know
          she is American.  She is evidently dressed in black,
          including ski mask, in the video broadcasts from the
          hijackers.  She does no talking during the televised
          'demand' sessions, if she is one of the hooded individuals
          in the pictures.
               "Why have her there, forcing the use of a difficult
          foreign language if they do not want to make a statement
          that an American is on their side?  Again, Jim, the 'why?'
          is eating at me."
               "Perhaps we will hear from her later.  But now you
          really have my attention and maybe I can be of some help in
          trying to identify this American lady hijacker.  Do you have
          voice tapes that I can send for computer analysis?"
               "Yes, we'd appreciate your help and I'd rather go
          through you than SIS and the CIA chaps.  Could take months!"
               Now Jim chuckled.
               "I have to go pick up my shift in the HQ in a few hours
          and I'd like you to come on in at that time, Jim.  I'll
          finish filling you in on the rest of the details while we
          drive downtown to my flat.
               "We'll see if Sarah can put together an early supper,"
          said Nelson glancing at his watch.  "I spoke with her just
          before I left the office to remind her that your favorite is
          curry.  We have a spare bed unless you'd rather spend your
          per diem funds."
               "Curry?  You know I can't turn down curry, Nelson.
          That bottle of Scotch is my bread and butter gift, but I
          guess we'll have to await another day to see if the Scots
          did good work on it!"
          
          
          
          Chapter Eight
          
          
          Brest, France, Friday, 4:15 P.M.
          
               Small, but efficient, Marshal Foch Airport was totally,
          unbelievably overwhelmed.  Every television network and
          major newspaper in the world was represented on-scene to
          cover the day's events.  Security forces outnumbered the
          press by two-to-one.  Genuine travelers trying to reach
          Paris or Lyon were completely lost in the confusion.
               It was rare for the President of France to visit the
          Brittany sea port of Brest.  His political party was not
          strong in this part of France.  Today, however, he was not
          only present, but was presiding as host.  He was greeting
          the world's key leaders, members of the Group of Eight, as
          they arrived at Marshal Foch and loaded into the fleet of
          limousines for the short drive to Brest harbor.
               At anchor lay the Louis Catorce that would be the
          meeting site and home for the dignitaries and their closest
          advisors for the November gathering of the leaders of the
          world's top eight industrial powers.  Freed from the
          pressure of daily business, the leaders would, hopefully, be
          able to work out solutions to some of the thorny problems
          currently disrupting the world economy.
               The ship was scheduled to sail promptly at seven
          o'clock that evening and would not put into port again until
          reaching Rotterdam, The Netherlands, at eight o'clock Sunday
          morning.  The watchful eyes of two destroyer escorts would
          continuously, but discreetly, gaze upon the Louis Catorce.
               The President of France had personally overseen all
          details of the planning for this session in hopes that this
          would be a voyage that all would remember as a highlight in
          their public service.
               The President had been concerned that he would be
          delayed leaving Paris due to a briefing from the GIGN on the
          Chunnel crisis.  However, it was an especially good job by
          the French Brigadier and he had concurred with the
          recommendations, tentatively approving military action.  He
          and the British Prime Minister would be together for the
          next two days so they could easily confer and approve joint
          action, if armed intervention were to be required to resolve
          the crisis.
               He felt very good about the level of cooperation that
          his GIGN staff had achieved with their SAS counterparts.
          "This is the way we should workout all of our mutual
          problems," he had confided to his aides.
          
          
          
          Chapter Nine
          
          
          London, Friday, 5:10 P.M.
          
               Sarah was truly enjoying the early curried chicken
          supper.  It was good to see Nelson relaxed and able to share
          his job pressures with his dependable old friend.  What a
          pleasant surprise it was to her that this unpleasant
          "Chunnel business" had brought Jim Grissom for a long-
          overdue visit.
               "If you only could have managed to bring Katherine in
          your kit bag,"  she joked brightly, "we girls would make the
          Saturday matinee at the Aldwych while you men are off
          sorting out the terrorists."
               "I tried to convince her to ride in my duffel bag, but
          you know how touchy she can be about fresh air!"  Jim did
          truly wish that his Sweet-K was here.  They would have a
          wonderful time catching up with the Nelson and Sarah.
          However, he knew this was no vacation despite the efforts of
          the three to make supper pleasant and light.
               "I guess we will just have to make do and take loads of
          photographs for you to take home.  At the very least your
          visit has cheered Nelson.  He sounded very down when we
          talked earlier on the telephone."
               "I'm sorry, love.  This hijacking has just got me
          puzzled.  It all seems so unnecessary.  I thought we were
          into a different era, what with all the dialogues and court
          cases settling disputes.  The 'broad and sunlit uplands'
          that Churchill predicted.  This Chunnel situation is so
          useless and so ... well, unnecessary.  The terrorists can't
          gain a whit.  It just seems such a frivolous situation, yet
          can easily be fatal for all."
               "Maybe the terrorists have misjudged the importance of
          the Chunnel to our economy, Nelson.  After all the debates
          and discussions over the past several years, I must say that
          I was very nearly convinced that we had to have a dozen of
          the silly things if the nation were to survive!"  Sarah was
          smiling to reassure him.
               "Dear, you know that I can't go into details, but the
          people we believe are involved in this wouldn't make a
          miscalculation like that.  And I doubt that they would be
          seriously trying to disrupt our economy in such a foolhardy
          way."
               "Then perhaps the hijacking is only to draw your
          attention, dear.  Maybe something else really worthwhile is
          happening while all you experts are busy worrying about
          this."
               Nelson perked perceptibly at Sarah's observation.  His
          eyes narrowed as he looked to Jim who was now also obviously
          deep in thought and nodding agreement.
               "Love, you may have hit on something there.  That could
          be the most sensible aspect of this whole mess."
               Nelson shifted mental gears.  "Jim, let's go down to
          the office and see what else is going on in the world.  If
          you like, we can jog over.  The cool air will clear our
          minds.  As you know we do not wear uniforms in the
          Headquarters, and we can shower and change there.  I have a
          nice thirty minute route that will take us through the park
          and we will almost match the Tube schedule.  Much safer than
          American parks at night, I might add."  Nelson was up and
          ready for action.
               "Let me change into some fashionable running clothes
          and I'll be ready for a Friday night out in London!"  A grin
          was slowly spreading across his rugged face, as his mind
          worked through the possibility that Sarah was right.
          
          
          Under the English Channel, Friday, 5:55 P.M.
          
               The six o'clock deadline was rapidly approaching and
          the Queen had not appeared on television.  Andar was not
          surprised.  What could the Queen say?  She did not have the
          power to pardon anyone, and he was quite sure the Queen
          would not want to make any other statement at this point.
          It would not be a very popular thing to do if she went on
          the air to say that she was sorry the passengers would die
          but she had been stripped of her powers to save them.
               The Prime Minister had not gone on television to offer
          anything, but that was to be expected.  He was known as a
          hard-liner who had pushed relentlessly to apprehend the men
          who had bombed the airliner.
               Andar knew he would have to take the next step once the
          deadline passed but he knew it would have to be carefully
          played.  He would get television coverage and that would
          make it powerful.  He could not push too hard or the SAS
          teams would be forced to attack.
               He guessed they must be watching the train pretty
          closely by now.  Andar knew that their surveillance was
          about the best in the world.  He must keep things rolling
          along ... but no unnecessary violence triggering
          intervention ... or the whole scheme could fall apart.  He
          knew Colonel Khadafy had trusted him with this undertaking
          because he knew how far to push the Europeans.  And no
          further.
               They had planned this event for over a year, since the
          Colonel's first visit to Switzerland.  They had focused on
          this hijacking as soon as they were sure of their targets.
               He picked up the train telephone, which was now
          interconnected to the video phone circuit, and was
          immediately answered by a French police inspector.
               "The English Queen has foolishly placed innocent
          passengers at the point of death!  I demand a television
          crew be sent down the Chunnel ... from the British side ...
          now!"
               The line went dead as Andar slammed down the receiver,
          closing the circuit.  The French police inspector nodded to
          his British counterpart who immediately lifted the receiver
          for the direct line.  He was instantly speaking with the
          Scotland Yard Command Center to relay the demand.
          
          
          
          Chapter Ten
          
          
          London, Friday, 6:10 P.M.
          
               Nelson and Jim reached SAS headquarters in the quaint
          old compound just as the deadline passed.  The television
          commentator standing at the Folkestone Portal was announcing
          that a television crew was now heading down the westbound
          tunnel to meet with the hijackers.  Live coverage should
          begin in about forty-five minutes.
               Nelson and Jim slipped into the shower room, quickly
          freshened and dressed in extra slacks and shirts which
          Nelson kept in his locker.  Nelson then led Jim around the
          facility introducing him and assuring the staff that Jim was
          vetted in to all aspects of the hijacking and the SAS
          operation.  He wanted to ensure no one held back vital
          information from his trusted ally.
               Nelson quickly scanned the wire service reports as he
          began to gather what information he could on what else
          terrorists could be planning around Europe.  He located the
          SIS liaison officer whom he invited into his office.
               Nelson established Jim's bonafides with the liaison
          officer and outlined his own nagging concern that the
          hijacking made little sense.  He proposed that possibly the
          hijacking was a deception to cover another, more important,
          terrorist act.  He asked the liaison officer to query his
          sources as to what unusual activity was being reported from
          around the British Isles or on the Continent.  The SIS
          liaison officer did not seem to share Nelson's enthusiasm
          for the quest, but he respected Nelson's judgment and set
          about to get him answers forthwith.
               "May I?", Jim asked as he reached for the familiar
          American telephone.
               "Everything in this Headquarters is at your disposal,
          my friend."  Nelson smiled.
               Jim smiled in reply and picked up the receiver for the
          STU III.  He quickly dialed the American Embassy number
          which he retrieved from a card in his wallet.  He asked for
          the Watch Officer.  Once he was in secure mode he asked for
          the CIA representative.  The Station Chief was not in, but
          the deputy was available.
               "Colonel Jim Grissom here."  Jim knew the telephone
          indicated he was calling from the Director of Special
          Forces.  "I'm liaison from Delta working the Chunnel
          hijacking with DSF."
               "Yes, Colonel Grissom.  What can we do for you?"  The
          woman's voice sounded helpful, efficient, and slightly
          familiar.
               Jim puzzled over the voice for a moment, shook his
          head, and went on, "We are concerned that today's Chunnel
          hijacking may be only a decoy.  You know, a ruse to keep us
          looking one direction while the real thing goes down in
          another.  Can you please carefully sift through everything
          you can lay your hands on in Europe and see if you can come
          up with any clues for me?
               "We need options, and time is really short."  Jim
          stressed the word "carefully" because he knew he was asking
          the intelligence officer to find a needle in a haystack.
               "Colonel Grissom, without your request this would have
          been a long, boring Friday evening.  I'll give it full
          attention until I can come up with something.  What is your
          number there at DSF?"
               Jim passed the number from the telephone plate, and
          added, "It's a pleasure talking to you.  Thanks for your
          help."  He returned the receiver to its cradle.
               He was thoughtful for a moment.  The voice seemed so
          familiar, but he simply could not place it.  He looked over
          to Nelson who summed up their situation.
               "With any luck at all, in a couple of hours we should
          have some feel for all the nasty business abounding in
          Europe, Jim.   "Let's go catch the live telecast from the
          train and then check with Int to see what they are getting
          on their circuits."
          
          
          
          Chapter Eleven
          
          
          Under the English Channel, Friday, 7:03 P.M.
          
               Thanks to trumpeting by the television networks, the
          hijackers had a worldwide audience nearing 400 million
          viewers when the live broadcast aired via satellite Friday
          evening.  In the Americas, midday activities very nearly
          came to a standstill as all eyes were fixed on the
          television screen now filled with the haggard faces of
          Jacques and his blonde teenage companion.  Once more they
          read from a prepared statement.
          
          Dear Freedom and Peace-Loving Peoples:
          Dear Brothers and Sisters in the Struggle for Justice:
          
          Our primary concern these past difficult hours has been to
          extend kindness and loving hospitality toward the innocent
          passengers aboard this train.  Our time together is destined
          for a happy place in the history of human achievements.
          
          We have provided excellent food and beverages from the train
          stocks so that all of the passengers remain healthy and in
          good spirits.  All of their discomforts have been attended
          to, and good faith has been shown at all times by the
          "Guardians of Eternal Freedom" while we have patiently
          waited for the Queen to pardon our compatriots.
          
          We are highly disappointed that the Queen has not seen fit
          to comply with our request, or to even make a public
          statement apologising for this necessary, but most
          distressing, situation.  We had expected more compassion
          from Her Royal Highness based on her many public
          declarations of love for all peoples in the world.  She
          seemed such a champion of the people against the faceless
          tyrants running this world.  It is most unfortunate that the
          Queen has not stepped forth to greatness in this most solemn
          and special hour.
          
               That was the end of the statement!  At this point a
          surprised Jacques and the girl, still handcuffed together,
          were allowed to lead the television crew on a tour of the
          three railway cars.  The window shades were open.  As the
          crew approached the train with their glaring television spot
          lights, anxious faces could be seen peering cautiously over
          the window ledges.  The broadcast crew entered the rear car
          and moved slowly forward.  Black-garbed guards stood back
          discreetly, their automatic weapons at the ready.
               At first the passengers stared blankly at the lights,
          not comprehending what was happening:  that they were being
          televised.  As understanding and hope grew within the group,
          the first quiet words were spoken.  The wary hostages grew
          bolder and motioned to the camera and began to speak up to
          loved ones who might be watching at home.  By the time the
          crew moved into the center car, the passengers were
          shouting, smiling, waving!  Somehow they felt that this
          television crew represented a return to freedom and normalcy
          in their lives.
               The cameramen, police officers pressed into this
          special duty, had been prepared to get as much of the
          situation on tape as possible for their fellow officers to
          use, but this was beyond their wildest dreams!  They were
          trying to record every face and every word shouted at them.
          They kept sweeping past the guards to ensure that their
          actions and positions were recorded, too.  The going became
          more and more difficult as the passengers stretched out from
          their manacle lock downs to touch the crew for further
          reassurance.
               By the time the television crew had finished working
          the forward passenger car the atmosphere had evolved into a
          joyful celebration:
               "All is well!"
               "Es geht uns gut!"
               "Hello, Mom!  I'm okay!"
               "Merci, mon Dieu!"
               "Don't worry!"
               "We will soon be home!"
          Tremendous emotional power had been released that was even
          now touching hearts and evoking strong emotional responses
          around the world.
               Standing in the SAS conference room, Nelson was
          astounded by this turn of events.  He, Jim and the other
          counter-terrorist professionals in the room were awed at the
          deftness of the hijackers in orchestrating such a telecast.
               Nelson said quietly, "I wouldn't want to be the Queen
          of England stopping by a pub tonight for a glass of wine.
          They'd run me out of town, albeit politely, for being too
          callous to even speak out!"  He recognized that the
          terrorists had come across to millions of viewers as the
          "good guys".
               The television crew once more stood outside the train,
          this time with a much relieved and smiling Jacques and
          teenage companion.  A very festive mood prevailed.  At this
          point the hijack leader reached out and handed a second
          letter to Jacques, who visibly stiffened and paled.
               Jim felt his own emotions stirred by the scene.  It was
          powerful.
               Jacques' hands were shaking as he once more began to
          read:
          
          The peoples of the world have surely witnessed that the
          passengers are being treated with dignity and kindness while
          we await the release of our fellow patriots.
          
          It is not our intention or desire to harm anyone.  The
          tyrants who rule this world do not care about the people,
          but we do!
          
          The Queen, through her failure to reach out to greatness and
          compassion has put these kind travelers into a grave
          situation.  As fellow soldiers of peace it becomes our
          unfortunate duty to establish a special people's freedom
          court.  We are forced to try these good people for the
          crimes which have been committed by their government
          officials against freedom-loving people everywhere.
          
          We can foresee only suffering and hardship for these
          passengers as they must accept the same harsh and unfair
          treatment which our brethren have suffered through the
          years.  We will extend the deadline for freeing our
          compatriots because the good peoples of this world need more
          time to overcome the sluggishness of their tyrant leaders.
          
          But we must notify the world:  at eight o'clock tomorrow
          morning, war crime trials will begin.  If any passenger is
          found guilty on behalf of his government officials, he or
          she will be executed by firing squad.  Those found innocent,
          and we certainly hope that most will be found completely
          blameless, will be free to leave the train to return to
          France.
          
          A trial of five persons will be conducted every two hours
          until we have received word that the Queen has pardoned our
          beloved friends and that we may all peacefully conclude this
          difficult mission.
          
          You may bring your cameras back to our monitor check point
          at seven forty-five in the morning and the newsmen will be
          free to televise the court proceedings.  We have nothing to
          hide from the world.  We do not work in secrecy like the
          oppressive governments who mock democracy!
          
          May we remind the governments of the United Kingdom and the
          Republic of France that any uninvited movements into the
          area of the train will result in the automatic detonation of
          explosives and the immediate and cruel deaths of all in the
          Chunnel.
          
          
          
          Chapter Twelve
          
          
          Canyon, Texas, Friday, 2:05 P.M.
          
               Sandy Mitchell had been awake for only a short while.
          He woke to the television set which was still droning from
          the previous night.  The live telecast from a hijacked train
          in the Chunnel was his welcome to the new day.
               He did not fully understand the situation, but began to
          piece things together from the vivid scenes and the
          commentators that repeated endlessly, over and over, all
          that had been done and said.  "I bet you this is why I'm on
          the hook!" he reasoned through the pain of his hangover
          headache.  "Hot damn!"  He toasted with a cold can of Lone
          Star beer, "I'd sure like to go to France!"
          
          
          London, Friday, 8:25 P.M.
          
               Nelson offered Jim a cup of something which tasted much
          like instant coffee and they talked quietly about the "show"
          they had just witnessed on television.  Each voiced his
          concern that perhaps many people around the world were
          considering the Queen to be the villain.  The hijackers had
          been truly effective in deflecting criticism of their
          criminal act, and in staying in complete control of the
          situation.
               The two men now moved toward the staff room currently
          being used for intelligence analysis.  The analysts all
          recognized Jim as a team member.
               "What's up, Int?"  Nelson asked as they entered the
          large but jam-packed room and looked toward the tired
          Captain going over reports that overflowed his desk.
               "Evenin', Colonel Nelson." the Captain replied using
          the familiar, but respectful habit of matching rank with a
          senior officer's first name.  "Quite a show on the telly,
          wasn't it?  We were picking up the same thing on our
          systems, of course, and even dropped our cameras down a bit
          during the confusion as we didn't think the hijackers had
          time to be watching for us.  We can now see fairly clearly
          into the cars.  I'm glad and rather surprised that the
          hijackers haven't pulled the window shades."
               Jim spoke up.  "What is your assessment of the
          hostages' condition?  Do we have any indication of
          violence?"
               "No, sir.  We have had audio since about two hours into
          the hijacking and have picked up no violence to the
          passengers.  The hijackers have been very good about tending
          to their hostages.  They make sure their weapons are
          respected but they have not been overly threatening.  It's
          funny, but I get the feeling that they want to be seen as
          the heroes when this thing is resolved."
               "Well, they have bought themselves another twelve hours
          with this last performance.  Salim knows that we won't go in
          unless the situation turns nasty.  However, once he starts
          his trials, and if he begins executing passengers on live
          television, then our chaps will have the 'go' within
          minutes."  Nelson appeared frustrated.
               "Hey, Nelson, this is going better than you thought.
          We may get more time to sort out if this hijacking is only
          the diversion.  At least the passengers are safe for the
          time being.  Is there any possibility of negotiation?"  Jim
          paused.
               Nelson rubbed his eyes as he answered, "The leader
          still refuses to negotiate.  He will not even receive a
          telephone call.  He only makes statements through the
          letters that are read over the telly, and his activities
          while shutting down the broadcasts.  The police would be
          talking to him if they could, although I doubt that the PM
          would be willing to back down a whit.  The Queen, if she is
          smart, will stay in seclusion until this thing is settled!"
               The Captain spoke up, "I surely wouldn't want to be the
          Queen tonight!  I found myself starting to think she should
          have gotten involved before I realized what a psychological
          coup was being achieved during the telecast!  This Salim
          should be in advertising:  we would all be buying whatever
          he was selling."
          
          
          London, Friday, 8:45 P.M.
          
               At the London American embassy the CIA Deputy Chief of
          Station was at her computer querying for additional details
          on four items that had caught her eye over the past two
          hours.  "This is one quiet night in Europe," she mused for
          the tenth time.
               She had gone about the search for clues with great
          enthusiasm:  Colonel Jim Grissom had sounded very worried,
          and she was missing a dinner party by covering for the duty
          officer tonight.  She was able to lose herself in the work,
          and it was very important that she help Colonel Grissom, if
          she could.  The Marine guard had once interrupted her work,
          calling on the intercom to say that the Chunnel hijackers
          were live on television.  She had briefly delayed her work
          to watch.
               "What a circus!" she thought.
               Satisfied that she and her trusty computer had done
          their best, she picked up the STU III and dialed the number
          for the Directorate of Special Forces.  The telephone was
          answered by a man who simply repeated the telephone number.
               "Hello.  May we go secure?"
               "Yes, of course.  You initiate please." the man
          replied.
               She pushed the secure button and as soon as the green
          light appeared she asked, "Secure, here.  May I please speak
          with Colonel Grissom?"
               "Secure, here.  Just a moment please.  I'll fetch him."
               After a few moments she heard, "Colonel Grissom here."
               "Colonel Grissom, I'm calling from the embassy.  We
          spoke earlier and I have the information you requested.  Can
          you please come by my vault for a briefing?"
               "I'll be right over!  Thanks a million!  Bye-bye."  Jim
          cradled the receiver and again puzzled over the familiar
          voice.
               "Good news?" Nelson asked stepping into his office and
          noting Jim's smile and faraway look.
               "Don't know.  We need to go by the US embassy.  Can we
          get a car or should we hail a taxi?"
               "I'll have a lad drive us.  Let's go."  Nelson was
          halfway out the door.
          
          
          
          Chapter Thirteen
          
          
          Under the English Channel, 9:00 P.M.
          
               Sheenah was writing a note to Andar even as she spoke,
          "The passengers have been fed, Commander.  We are now out of
          food.  The next meal must be sent down to us from Calais,
          along with fresh water."
               The note said, "I believe that your TV plan worked.
          The passengers themselves convinced the world that we are
          right!  Do you agree?"
               Andar smiled, nodded and said, "Very well, Number Two.
          I will call and tell the police what we want for our
          guests."
               His written reply was more cryptic:  "TV did go well.
          But ... Don't know how long it takes for people to make
          their leaders act:  free our men!!!!!"
               Sheenah jotted down, "Your plan calls for their giving
          in tomorrow night after two groups are killed.  Still good?"
               The brief reply, "Yes."  Andar smiled and glanced at
          the television where the newsman stood near the British
          entrance to the Chunnel and talked about the impact of the
          hijacking on vacation plans for the elderly.  In the
          background crowd Andar spotted a man whom he recognized,
          wearing a yellow rain slicker.  Andar smiled and nodded to
          Sheenah.  He thought, "Yes!  Tomorrow!"
          
          
          London, Friday, 9:15 P.M.
          
               It required only a few moments for Jim to identify
          himself and Nelson to the Marine guard and gain entry to the
          embassy annex.  Once inside they were met by the CIA Deputy
          Chief of Station.  "Colonel Grissom, Meg Johnson.  It is a
          pleasure to be working with you again, Sir."  Jim stood
          absolutely still.  He seemed to be stunned by the tall,
          attractive blonde wearing a tailored business suit.  She
          sent a questioning glance at Nelson.
               Jim recovered his composure enough to speak.  "Please
          call me 'Jim'.  This handsome fellow is with me, Meg.  He is
          my Brit orderly."  It was a feeble joke, but it was the best
          he could manage as memories of long ago competed for
          recognition with the here and now.
               "Actually, I'm his warden, Miss Johnson.  I think you
          can tell by how you have dazzled him that he must be closely
          supervised when he is let out of the loony bin for a few
          hours."  He paused, sensing that Jim was a million miles
          away.  "Please call me 'Nelson'."
               "Now, have we got you thoroughly confused, Meg?"  Jim's
          voice was soft and almost tender.  "We are a team, Meg.
          Colonel Bartlett is Chief of Staff at DSF.  I can vouch for
          him.  It is his hunch that you are following up on tonight."
               "Jim, we received your security clearances via telex
          earlier today, so I was hoping that we could perhaps help
          you while you were in town.  It is very unusual to vouch for
          someone else's clearances in this manner, but I assume that
          whatever I share with you, you will share with Colonel
          Bartlett later, anyway.  Please come into my vault and we'll
          talk.
               "If you have an SIS liaison, Colonel Bartlett, I would
          appreciate your filling him in so that they won't think we
          are going directly to the SAS!"
               "Glad to.  He is working the same quest as you, but he
          has not checked back yet."
               Meg lead them through two sets of cipher lock doors
          into a comfortable, windowless office that Jim assumed was
          inside a vault.  Through considerable struggle he had shut
          the door to his memories and now saw Meg once more only as a
          professional.  She handed them several sheets of computer
          paper.  As they took their seats she expanded on the
          details.
               "The hottest item that I could find was the TIR truck
          that crossed the border into France near Torino, Italy,
          early Thursday morning.
               "Normally, the border is wide open to transport since
          the European trading block was established.  And normally a
          TIR truck would not be stopped anyway, since it is bonded.
          But routine random checks are made and the French customs
          authorities attempted to inspect the load on one particular
          truck with Italian registration.  The driver and gunmen in
          two accompanying cars fired on the customs agents and border
          guards.  Six were killed and two badly wounded.  Four
          tourists were also wounded by the gunfire.  The rate of fire
          and amount of damage clearly indicate automatic weapons.
               "The truck was found six hours later--abandoned and
          completely empty.  In fact, there was no indication, such as
          packing materials, that anything had been in the truck.  It
          was swept clean of evidence."
               Jim spoke up, "Sounds like Mafia or Camorra to me,
          except that they would normally be operating in the south of
          Italy rather than the northwest."  Nelson nodded agreement
          with Jim's reasoning.
               "I keyed on this item since it is quite strange for
          anyone to shoot their way through any border in Europe since
          the Cold War ended.  It may be a police matter, as you
          suggest, but the firepower used is reminiscent of terrorist
          actions."
               "Good point.  What else have you got?"  Jim leaned
          forward.
               Meg continued, "Greek terrorists have set off several
          bombs in Athens this past week.  They demand the release of
          political prisoners and have stated that a major bombing
          will be executed each week until their demands are met.  I
          do not really see a tie-in, but this is the only other
          direct terrorist activity I could detect in Europe this
          week."
               Meg paused briefly, then went on, "Italian Intelligence
          Service indicates very unusual activity at Crotone Air Base
          in southern Italy.  We have an F-16 fighter-bomber wing
          there.  The American Air Force commander has restricted all
          United States personnel to the base.  Italian intelligence
          reports that several American servicemen and Italian workers
          from the base were found dead near the base.
               "This would not have caught my eye except that I
          queried the US European Command and US Air Force
          Intelligence Command for more information on this and they
          had absolutely nothing.  My contacts have been quite helpful
          in the past and both assured me that they were carrying the
          situation normal at Crotone.  Now that is weird!"
               "I'll go through Delta channels on that one.  We'll
          quickly get the straight poop.  Somebody must be overly
          protective of a military matter."  Jim was not happy about
          that.
               Meg sat down at the small table where the two men were
          sitting, thoughtfully sipping coffee from a black carafe
          while reading details.  She felt a strong urge to reach out
          and touch Jim's hand, to reassure him, but knew that
          everything must be kept on a professional level.  She was
          impressed by the way the two military officers had listened
          very carefully and were now considering the possibilities.
               Nelson and Jim looked at each other after a few moments
          and Jim nodded.  Finally, Nelson spoke, "Meg, here is what
          we have:  the French believe the hijack leader to be a
          Palestinian, Andar Salim.  He was a confidant of Libya's
          Colonel Khadafy but has been out of view for the past year.
          One of the terrorists, possibly the 2-I-C, is an American
          female, but the hijackers have not let her be publicly
          identified as American."
               Meg looked puzzled:  "'Two I see'?"
               "2-I-C:  Second-in-command."  Nelson replied, then
          continued, "The hostages have been treated well, better than
          would be expected.  Instead of pushing the government to
          act, Salim has given us additional time by delaying his
          'trials' until tomorrow.  Terrorist logic tells us he should
          be holding his trials now while the emotional strength of
          the passengers and the viewers is at a low point."  He
          paused a moment.
               "Meg, I have a big problem accepting the 'why' of this
          situation.  Why is a higher-up like Salim doing this?  He
          must know that he cannot survive an act like this; we will
          find him and arrest or kill him.  Why is he involved?
               "This has not set well since the very first briefing.
          How does your new information shed a light on this 'Why?' of
          mine?  Do you have any ideas that could help tie this
          together?  Make more sense of it?"
               Meg sat back for a moment.  "Wow.  I wish that I had
          known more about the hijackers before I began this task.  Ah
          ... all that I knew was that they were probably Libyan.  I
          need to put some of this down on paper and think it over.
          I'll see what I have on Andar Salim, and an American female.
          Maybe I can get the great computer to smile on me."
               "Time is really short, Meg.  We need good analytical
          thinking in a hurry."  Jim paused, then added, "Nelson's bad
          feeling about this one has become contagious.  Is there
          another plot that we are missing?
               "What is happening in Italy?  Is there a link?  I agree
          the Greek bombings don't seem to fit in, but is there
          something else we are missing?  We've got to pull the pieces
          together ... in time."
          
          
          
          Chapter Fourteen
          
          
          London, Friday, 9:45 P.M.
          
               Jim broke the silence that had enveloped the room for
          the past ten minutes while each of them reviewed their notes
          and quietly considered alternatives.  "Meg, may I use your
          STU III to call Fort Bragg?"  Jim grinned.
               "Certainly, Jim.  Would you like a private office or
          will you accept my cluttered desk?"
               "Your desk is fine.  How do I get the US?"
               "Dial 9-9, then 0-1, plus your area code and number."
               Jim quickly punched in the numbers.  As soon as he got
          an answer he said, "Going green."  When the green light came
          on steadily he continued, "Green and TS here ....  Good.
          Bobby, Jim Grissom here.  I need some data fast.  First,
          what did you guys make of the voice tape?  Second, what is
          going on at Crotone Air Base in southern Italy?  I need this
          quick, my man.  Can you check and call me back ASAP at the
          American Embassy in London; the number is 4-4, 1, 7-2-6, 4-4-
          0-0, extension ...."
               "Extension 2-4-4-4," Meg offered.
               "Extension 2-4-4-4.  Please make it quick, Bobby ....
          Thanks!  Out here."
               Meg's telephone immediately buzzed and she answered,
          "Ms. Johnson ... Yes, he's here.  Just a moment."  She
          handed the telephone to Nelson.
               "Hello.  Oh, yes, thank you.  I'll ring her.  Thanks,
          Sergeant Major."
               Nelson pushed down the disconnect button and looked to
          Meg.  "Mind if I call my wife?  She left a message at my
          office."
               "Please help yourself, Colonel Bartlett."
               "Nelson."
               "Please help yourself, Nelson.  Just dial '9-9', then
          your number."
               Nelson smiled his thanks and punched in the numbers for
          his home telephone.  Sarah quickly answered.  "Nelson?"
               "Yes, love!"
               "The Sergeant Major was quite efficient in reaching
          you.  I've made up some sandwiches so you won't have to
          order out for that horrid Chinese food on the Square.  Can I
          bring them by for a late dinner?"
               "Hold on, dear."  Nelson turned to Meg and Jim.  "Would
          you like to have a bit of late supper, courtesy of my lovely
          bride?"
               Jim grinned.  Meg smiled and nodded her agreement.  "We
          have a break area down the hall where we can eat."
               Nelson passed along their enthusiasm for supper.
          "Love, why don't you catch a taxi over to the US Embassy
          Annex.  The Marine guard will be happy to call us and we'll
          be down to meet you in a jiffy."
               "Lovely, dear!  See you in 15 minutes."
               True to her word, Sarah was there shortly and the group
          assembled in the break area to dine on soup and sandwiches.
          The steel-jacketed thermos was filled with piping hot
          coffee.
               "What do you think of London night life, James?  Did
          Nelson show you all the good places?"  Sarah was smiling and
          enjoying the company.
               "Well he took me jogging past a few bars that looked to
          be a bit risqu,:  topless matrons."
               "I beg your pardon!  I ran you through the upper crust
          locale.  The only bars you saw were those protecting the
          Bank of England."
               "Trust me, Sarah, it was a pretty sleazy run.  There's
          a dark side to Nelson that you should know about!  Also,
          it's easy dodging those tall red buses, but those little
          black taxicabs always driving on the wrong side of the
          street seem to be bent on running me down."
               Meg could sense that these three were old and dear
          friends.
               Sarah countered, "James, you must learn to look to your
          right first before running out into the street.  It does no
          good to look left to watch the cars going away from you."
               "You know, Nelson, I think that all of you Brits drive
          on the wrong side of the street or something.  It is very
          confusing to an Oregon country boy like me!"
               "Well, I'm glad that you two men are having such a good
          time in our town."  Sarah became a bit more serious.
          "Perhaps you can stay over for next weekend in the country
          with us, James.  Everyone needs time off.  Even the Prime
          Minister is taking a sea voyage to relax."
               "Oh, that's right, Sarah."  Nelson sipped his coffee.
          "The Group of Eight gathering is this weekend.  Somehow I
          doubt that the PM will get much relaxing on that trip.
          Those are probably pretty nasty meetings that he'll be
          attending on that ship:  everyone is out to force us to
          become more agreeable about having our economy deteriorate."
               "Come on, Nelson.  You know those guys will be sitting
          out on the deck enjoying the brisk November breeze and mixed
          fog, snow and rain your Channel is so famous for," Jim
          interjected.  "It will be a real vacation for them.  Why
          else do you think our President jumped at the chance to be
          here.  He loves that sort of thing if there is a warm
          fireplace and lots of McDonald's French fries!"
               "At least the world leaders take time to come together
          and talk even if it is on a ship in November.  You men
          should take a lesson."
               "Now that ship would make one high-value target."
          Everyone looked at Meg.  You could hear the wheels whirring
          inside their heads.
               Nelson spoke first, "Time to get back to work!"
          
          
          
          
          Chapter Fifteen
          
          
          London, Friday, 10:30 P.M.
          
               As soon as Sarah was escorted back through the Marine
          guard post, Jim and Nelson returned to the vault to quietly
          discuss the possibility and vulnerability of the Louis
          Catorce as a target.  Meg signed back onto her computer and
          started querying for the information on Andar Salim and his
          female American assistant that she had requested earlier.
               Meg was just a little bit upset that an American woman
          was on the bad guys' side.  It was just as well that the
          fact wasn't being advertised!
               "Jim, I've an idea.  Why don't we call Gian Alberto in
          Rome?  He was always extremely helpful when we were assigned
          to Naples.  Perhaps he can offer some thoughts on the
          Italian side of this situation."
               "Good thinking, Nelson.  I have his number in my
          briefcase."  Jim dug through a thick black book and finally
          produced the number in Rome.
               Nelson quickly dialed the number and waited for the
          telephone to ring several times before a voice answered in
          Italian, "Pronto!"
               "Hello!  Parle Inglese?"
               "Si!  Yes, I speak English.  May I help you?"
               "I hope so.  May I speak to Gian Alberto?  It is very
          urgent."
               "He is not here, but I can reach him.  May I have your
          number and name, please?"
               "Yes.  I am an old friend, Nelson Bartlett, calling
          from London.  The number is 4-4, 1, ... "
               "Seven two six, forty-four hundred."
               "7-2-6, 4-4-0-0, extension ... "
               "Extension 2-4-4-4," Meg chimed in.
               "Extension 2-4-4-4.  And please tell Gian Alberto that
          this is terribly important and urgent.  If he could call me
          from a 'STU III' at the American Embassy I would be terribly
          grateful.  Molte grazie!  Buona notte!"
               "Buona notte!"
               "I'll call the American Embassy in Rome and tell them
          to expect Gian Alberto, and to get him to a STU III ASAP."
          Meg picked up another telephone and started dialing the
          number which she had retrieved from her Rolodex.
               The STU III rang and Jim answered, "Extension 2-4-4-4
          ...  Right.  You push."  He sat back in the chair while the
          amber light flickered and was finally followed by the green
          light on steadily.   "Green and TS here.  OK, Bobby, what've
          you got?"
               Nelson was anxiously awaiting the reply and looked down
          at the note pad where Jim drew a big zero.
               "OK, Bob.  You sure that you leaned on the Air Force
          hard enough? ...  And still nothing? ...  Take this to
          General Jack and ask him to elevate it.  Something is going
          on and we need to know what.  It may tie in to our Chunnel
          hijacking.  You are a gentleman and a scholar, Bobby.  My
          best to the crew back there.  Goodnight!  Out, here."
               "The famous Delta J2 came up short?  Can't believe it!
          I thought they had more clout than the CIA!"  Nelson smiled
          at Meg.
               "Let me tell you, this is pretty disconcerting.  I
          could see the Air Force saying that they were just running
          an exercise or had a family dispute with several deaths, but
          to say that it is 'Ops Normal' at Crotone sure smacks of a
          cover-up!"  Anger was creeping into Jim's voice.  "Oh, and
          nothing matched on the voice tapes!"
               "Patience my friend.  Let's hope that Gian Alberto can
          shed some intelligence light on the situation in Italy."
               It was 11:15 P.M. when the telephone rang again.  Jim
          answered, "Extension 2-4-4-4."
               "Hello.  This is Gian Alberto calling from Rome."
               "Hey, come va, Gian Alberto?  Jim Grissom here.  Good
          to talk to you again.  Let me put Nelson Bartlett on and
          he'll explain everything."
               "Jim, how very good to hear from you again.  It has
          been too long since we enjoyed spaghetti vongole and
          chianti.  Are you working with Nelson again?"
               "Yes, Gian Alberto, I'm happy to say that the Brits and
          Americans are once more working together as a team.  Push
          the 'secure' button while I collect Nelson."
               Nelson waited for the green light and then said, "Green
          and Top Secret, here.  Hello, Gian Alberto!  It is wonderful
          to talk to you again.  I certainly appreciate your coming
          down to call us this late at night."
               "You fellows are certainly working late tonight!"
               "Yes, I know it is after midnight in Rome, but you were
          probably on the way out to dinner!"  He enjoyed Gian
          Alberto's appreciative laugh.  He had always told Gian
          Alberto that Italians had supper too late at night.
               "Let me fill you in.  You are aware of our Chunnel
          hijacking?"
               "It has made very big news here since we are all
          concerned about the breakdown in commerce.  Italian
          companies are losing millions and millions of Lire and they
          are making loud noises to the government.  The papers are
          screaming for ferry service to be restored.  You must also
          have a very difficult tactical situation on your hands.  It
          will be difficult to deal with those bad boys."
               "Yes, it is a unique situation, but there is more to
          this.  The leader is a Palestinian with high connections in
          Libya.  His assistant is an American female.  They do not
          have a prayer of getting away with this so we are really
          confused as to why they are involved.
               "Jim and I have begun to look around for other
          linkages, other things that might be in the works right now.
          The message traffic here indicates that your intelligence
          service is reporting very unusual activity at Crotone Air
          Base.  The US Air Force denies that anything is going on
          there.
               "You also reported a very serious incident at the
          French border crossing near Torino.  Could it be terrorist
          related?  Or is it the Camorra?
               "This is all very important, amico mio, and time is
          short.  I need help on this and we do not have time to go
          through channels.  I am sitting in the CIA office in the
          American embassy here in London, and I assume that you are
          in a similar CIA vault in the American embassy in Rome.  So
          here we are:  a Brit and an Italiano using American
          communications and intelligence facilities to try to solve
          what I think is a very important mystery.  Can you help?"
               In the CIA vault in Rome, Gian Alberto fondly
          remembered the NATO days, and how Nelson and Jim had been
          completely open with him on everything.  He relaxed and
          spoke.  "Nelson, I will give you all of the information that
          I have.  The Crotone base is sealed.  No traffic on or off,
          no communications that do not go through the commander.
          Message traffic has doubled in the last 48 hours.  I would
          have assessed that they were having a 'TacEval' of their
          flying force, but they are not flying.  We briefed the
          President on the situation just before he left for Brest.  I
          personally do not like this sort of action by the Americans
          at all."
               "Gian Alberto, I understand that position.  Believe me,
          Jim Grissom almost exploded a short while ago because his
          fellow Americans won't tell him what is going on.  With your
          confirmation maybe we can break into the system and find out
          if this has any bearing on the Chunnel incident.  It seems
          far-fetched, but something has got to be happening.  Also,
          what about the border incident near Torino?"
               Again, Gian Alberto spoke openly, "I would have said
          that the Basque terrorists were trying to get something into
          France.  But I believe they would have crossed from Spain to
          be sure they shot the right Frenchmen.  In my opinion this
          was not a criminal act:  these were terrorists, and from the
          descriptions that we obtained, they are probably Arab and
          could possibly be Libyan.  I am speculating, but I know you
          want my best guess, too.  Let me think .... It seems that
          the border incident happened about the time that the Crotone
          base was being sealed.  I'll have to check my files, but
          that timing could link them.  That is all that I can offer
          right now, amico mio.  I will go to the office and call you
          back if I can offer more."
               Nelson gave Gian Alberto his office STU III number and
          closed, "Grazie mille, my dear friend.  Ciao!"
               Nelson looked tired and worried when he replaced the
          receiver and looked at Meg and Jim.  "Something is rotten in
          Crotone!  Your military officials are not admitting to
          anything, yet SISMI has briefed the Italian President that
          the base has been sealed.  Gian Alberto is personally upset
          with the American actions.  There is no sharing of
          information with the Italians.
               "And the border incident:  Gian Alberto thinks that it
          could have involved Libyans.  Perhaps one or the other, or
          both, tie in with the Chunnel hijacking."
               Jim looked at Nelson for a long, quiet time.  He seemed
          to be slowly making a very difficult decision.  "Nelson, I
          think that we need to call upon an old friend."
               Jim flipped through his black book once more, then
          picked up the receiver and dialed a number.  It was answered
          almost at once.  "Lieutenant Colonel Grissom calling from
          London for the Chairman."
               The sophisticated voice on the other end was used to
          fending off callers, referring them to the proper office.
          "Is this an important matter?  Have you tried the Command
          Center?  I can give you that number."
               "Yes, Ma'am.  No, Ma'am.  I must speak to the Chairman
          personally.  It is extremely urgent."  Jim hesitated for
          effect.
               "I would not have this private number if I didn't have
          the clearance to talk to Admiral Morton whenever the
          situation required."
               The Chairman's secretary had been serving in the
          Pentagon for many years.  Her "sixth sense"  told her that
          this was a very urgent call.  "Very well.  I will have to
          transfer you.  Please stay on the line."
               "Yes, Ma'am, I'll hold."
               Nelson and Meg were completely taken aback by this bold
          move.  Jim was calling the Chairman of the United States
          Joint Chiefs of Staff!  That was jumping the military chain
          of command in a very big and professionally dangerous way!
          
          
          
          Chapter Sixteen
          
          
          Washington, District of Columbia, Friday, 6:45 P.M.
          
               Admiral Morton was just leaving Senator Anderson's
          reception when he noticed his aide, Colonel Ross, moving
          toward him.
               "Admiral," the Colonel said quietly in his ear, "Terri
          is on the line.  You have an urgent call at your office from
          Lieutenant Colonel Grissom in London."
                "Grissom?"  The Admiral thought for a moment.  "Oh,
          yes, my special forces officer at AFSOUTH!"  A brief smile
          flickered across his face as he thought about the tour in
          Naples and the pros, like Colonel Grissom, who made it his
          best command billet.
               Then his brows furrowed as he thought, "Why is Grissom
          calling me directly?  If it's 'urgent,' it must be business.
          That isn't the way it goes in the military system, even in
          special forces!  Grissom always had immediate access to me
          in Italy, but that was due to the sensitive matters that he
          had handled for me personally."
               The Admiral made his decision.  "Colonel Ross, tell
          Terri to put the call through to my Cellular."  The aide
          moved away to the telephone while the Admiral bid his final
          farewells and shook hands with the host once more.  Colonel
          Ross rejoined him as he moved quickly toward the waiting
          staff car.  He entered the right rear door, buckled in, and
          lifted the telephone receiver, "Admiral Morton here."
               After the long quiet time on the line, the familiar
          voice was reassuring to Jim, but he could also sense the air
          of formality.  The Admiral was not pleased that Jim was
          skipping around the military chain of command.  "Admiral,
          this is Lieutenant Colonel Jim Grissom.  I am calling from
          London on a critically important matter.  We must speak
          secure."
               As the driver deftly maneuvered the staff car back
          toward the Pentagon through the evening traffic, Admiral
          Morton reached over and pushed a switch.  He then picked up
          a second receiver.  After inserting and turning a key, he
          asked, "Are you still with me, Jim?"
               "Yes, Admiral."
               "You initiate."
               Jim pushed the secure button and waited for the green
          light.
               "Green and TS, here, Admiral."
               "Green here, Jim."  The Admiral noted with lips pursed
          that the call was coming from "CIA-DCOS, London".  "What do
          you have for me?"
               "Sir, I am now assigned to Delta thanks to your
          outstanding performance ratings of my work in Italy.  I am
          here in London as liaison to the SAS on the Chunnel
          hijacking.  Lieutenant Colonel Bartlett, my British
          counterpart in Italy, is my point of contact with the UK
          Directorate of Special Forces.  Colonel Bartlett is with me
          now."
               Admiral Morton nodded to himself.  In his mind's eye he
          could picture Grissom and Bartlett.  They always worked well
          as a team.
               "Admiral, we are becoming more and more convinced that
          the Chunnel hijacking may not be the main act.  Something
          bigger is brewing and we are having one heck of a time
          piecing things together."
               "Go on, Jim."
               "CIA has come up with a couple of happenings in Europe
          that could tie in.
               "First, Italian Intelligence is reporting that Crotone
          Air Base has been shut down tight as a drum by the US Air
          Force commander.  We confirmed with an old friend in SISMI
          that the Italians are very suspicious and have briefed the
          President of Italy.  On the other hand, EUCOM, Air Force
          Intelligence and joint sources though Delta all report 'Ops
          Normal' at Crotone.           "Admiral, we don't know if
          this is important to our situation or not.  But time is
          getting short and we are getting sandbagged by our own
          people.  I felt that I had to jump to the top and count on
          your understanding.  Can you find out what is going on at
          Crotone?  If it is a strictly US matter I can at least
          reassure Nelson and we can concentrate elsewhere.  Time is
          our biggest enemy on this one."
               There was a long silence.  Finally, the Admiral
          responded with a sigh, "Jim, sometimes your methods are very
          ... rash.  I know you feel strongly about your work:  you
          always have.  You are a very patriotic and dedicated
          officer.  It sounds like you have gotten frustrated and
          decided to short-circuit the system."
               "I had a good teacher in Naples, Admiral, who once
          taught me when dealing with the tactical employment of the
          Navy SEALS that you have to short-circuit if the layers in
          between are not helping with the solution.  And, if a
          favorable solution is absolutely required in a timely
          manner."
               Admiral Morton had to smile.  With his blessing the two
          officers had cut through the system.  Grissom and Bartlett
          were the two professionals who had solved that one.  The
          synergism of the two working together was something to
          behold.  "All right."  Admiral Morton had to chuckle to
          himself as he acknowledged that he was hooked.  "I will ask
          General Brown, Air Force Chief of Staff, what is going on.
          Give me your number and I'll call you back."
               "Thank you, sir!  It is 4-4, 1, 7-2-6, 4-4-0-0,
          extension 2-4-4-4."
               "I have it."  There was a pause.
               "Jim, for your sake this had better be important.  When
          I start making small waves at the top it will undoubted get
          mighty choppy at your level."  The Admiral hung up the STU
          III and picked up the Cellular.  He quickly dialed his
          office.
               "The Chairman's Office."
               "Terri, this is Admiral Morton.  I'm surprised that
          your are still there, but I'm glad.  Can you please locate
          General Brown and ask him to come to my office as soon as
          possible?  I'll be there in 10 minutes but don't wait for
          me.  Enjoy your weekend!"
               At the other end of the long distance telephone
          connection, Jim returned the receiver to the STU III cradle.
          Meg had stopped her work at the computer and was looking at
          him with awe.  Nelson was working on a small smile.  "Well,
          how is the Admiral?  Still as fit and feisty as ever?"
               Jim answered quietly, "He wasn't too happy that I
          called, but he will check with the Air Force and get back to
          me.  He let me know that this request would probably come
          down on my head."
               "That is taking quite a risk for me."
               "Not just for you, Nelson.  But for your professional
          and highly skilled 'suspicions.'  And because my own
          military is sandbagging the operation!"
               "What if I am way off base?  What happens if nothing is
          happening?"
               "It's worth the gamble, Nelson.  I didn't see any
          alternative."
               "Look at the bright side, James:  they might use a new
          rope to hang you."
               Meg interjected, "You two gentlemen make quite a team!
          You are willing to put yourselves in harm's way to solve
          this puzzle, aren't you?"  Meg sat back in her computer
          chair with her arms crossed.
               "Meg, the solution will save a life.  Probably even in
          the plural.  The Chunnel is quite a target so if it is only
          a decoy the real target must be very important."
               "I just hope that I am not leading you into a dead-end
          with what I found.  Oh, and while you have been on the
          telephone I received some replies to my queries about Salim
          and have a little bit of information on him."
               Jim brightened a bit.
               Meg continued, "The Turkish intelligence office in
          Ankara reported that he crossed into Bulgaria after arriving
          at the Istanbul airport about fourteen months ago.  I have
          queried Sofia, but I'm not sure they will answer.  This net
          with the former Eastern block doesn't always produce
          information.  I guess we are the same way about sharing
          things with them."
               "Let me call my office on the STU III and see what SIS
          have come up with.  I hope that they can confirm some
          details.  I'll also check the current intel from the
          Chunnel."  Nelson picked up the telephone and was soon
          speaking with the SIS liaison.  He jotted notes on a number
          of items.
               Meanwhile, Jim watched over Meg's shoulder as she asked
          the computer for updates on the Torino border shooting, the
          Greek bombings, progress of the Louis Catorce, and the
          situation at Crotone Air Base.  They found no new
          information entered into the system.
               Jim noticed Meg's scent and perfume and old memories
          started forcing their way to the surface.  With conscious
          effort and a great deal of difficulty, Jim focused his mind
          on the job at hand.
               "A bit of news from the SIS chap!"  Nelson smiled as he
          hung up the telephone and briefed them from his notes.  "It
          seems that Salim has been in England at least once this past
          summer.  He flew in from Sofia, Bulgaria, in June.  There
          were four American women on the flight.  No return flight
          information was available.  German records show that Salim
          entered at Munich on a flight from Sofia in August.  Two
          Americans were on the flight."
               "A match?"
               "Yep!  Sheenah Alicia Roberts!  Meg can probably get
          more information on her."  Meg nodded.  "Passport number is
          F018824."
               "Got it!"
               "Our man cannot give us any more details on the Italian
          situation, but he is checking on other vessels that might be
          in the areas where the Louis Catorce will be sailing.  There
          are a lot of ships out there, but if we come up with a
          Libyan vessel, perhaps we will have a tie-in."
               The STU III interrupted the briefing.  "Hello,
          Extension 2-4-4-4 ....  Yes, Sir, just a moment for Colonel
          Grissom."  Meg looked impressed.  "Jim, it is Admiral Morton
          for you."
               Jim took the receiver, ducked down in his chair, and
          said, "Hello, Jim Grissom here, Admiral."
               "Jim, you are making me miss dinner at the Chinese
          embassy and I may have just severed my friendship with
          General Tommy Brown."
               Jim had the feeling of sinking even deeper into the
          chair.  "Let me push, Admiral."  As soon as he had the green
          light he continued, "Green and TS, Admiral."
               "Green and TS, here ....  Jim, I spoke privately with
          General Brown in my office and he reassured me that
          absolutely nothing is going on at Crotone Air Base.  When I
          told him that SISMI was reporting unusual security, he
          became quite angry, saying that I had questioned his
          integrity.  He stomped out of my office in a pretty bad
          state."
               Jim chose his words very carefully.  "From the
          General's actions I expect that the situation is really very
          bad at Crotone.  Whatever has happened has gotten the Air
          Force standing shoulder to shoulder to protect their own.
          Admiral Morton, I'm not after the Air Force; they are on our
          team.  But I believe that whatever is going on could be a
          key link in the terrorist moves over here."  He paused and
          let the silence speak for him.
               Time slipped by.  Finally Admiral Morton spoke, "You
          think that I should force a showdown on this, don't you,
          Jim?"
               "Sir, you pointed out that I am putting my future
          military service on the line.  I believe that not everything
          is being reported properly.  And I am willing to bet my life
          that you would never be a party to anything like that."
               "Your future service may be spent right here as my
          junior assistant aide emptying bed pans!  I will call you
          back."  The Admiral's voice was strained, but not void of
          humor.
               The line went dead; Jim replaced the receiver and
          counted the ceiling tiles for a few moments.
               "Not good?"
               "No, Nelson."  Jim replied softly.  "He was sandbagged,
          too.  I think he is going to push it, but if the Air Force
          won't level with the Chairman of the JCS, I don't know what
          else we can do."
               Jim reached for the STU III and dialed a number.  The
          line was answered almost immediately by a man who repeated
          the number Jim had dialed.  "Going secure."
               Once he had the green light Jim continued, "This is
          Lieutenant Colonel Grissom calling.  May I please speak to
          General Jack."
               After only a few moment's pause Jim heard, "This is
          General Jack.  Jim, how is it going in England?  Have the
          Brits got the takedown set so we can get you back home?"
               "Not yet, General, but things are moving along.  There
          is something that I need to tell you."
               Jim leaned back in the chair in Meg's office and closed
          his eyes.  He could visualize the General in his Fort Bragg
          office.  He was not a special forces man, but he was a tough
          Ranger and had clout in Washington.  General Jack commanded
          Delta with an iron hand, and Jim knew he was in trouble.
               "General, I spoke with Admiral Morton a short while ago
          to ask him to clarify the security situation at Crotone Air
          Base.  I know that I asked the J2 to elevate it through you,
          but I felt that time was so short that I had to ...."
               "What the hell do you mean you went directly to the
          Chairman!  The Chairman!  Good Lord!  What the hell kind of
          a soldier are you, Grissom?"
               "General Jack, I am very sorry that I felt that I had
          to go directly to Admiral Morton.  I believe that time is
          too short for you to fight the problem on up.  I served with
          the Admiral in NATO and he knows me and Lieutenant Colonel
          Bartlett, my SAS contact.  We traded on our credibility to
          get the Admiral to act.  I do not know whether or not he
          succeeded, but the Admiral is finally convinced that a
          problem exists."
               "Grissom, what was the damned problem that couldn't
          wait?"
               "General, Colonel Bartlett finally convinced me that
          the Chunnel hijacking may not be the main event of terrorist
          action.  Too many things just don't fit.  We had CIA and SIS
          scan all the action in Europe to try to find clues for the
          real target.
               "A very messy border crossing incident and extremely
          tight security at Crotone Air Base caught our eye.  US
          agencies were telling us and Delta that nothing was going on
          at Crotone, yet an Italian intelligence officer confirmed
          that activity was so unusual that they had briefed the
          Italian president.  General, that got our attention.  That
          is why I asked the J2 to take it to you to elevate.  I'm
          sorry that I did not give you time to get results, but I
          felt the tremendous pressure of time.  It isn't all logical,
          General, but my gut feeling is that we had better solve this
          tonight."
               "Grissom, I'm so pissed right now that I am not sure
          you will have tonight to worry about it.  I'd like you
          standing in front of my desk right now so I could look you
          in the eye and fire you!"
               "Sir, I understand that I'm fired.  Please give me
          twenty-four hours to finish up this assignment and I'll be
          standing in your office Monday and you can fire me again in
          person."
               "James Grissom ... you are ... absolutely exasperating!
          You know that I can't get another liaison there for at least
          twelve hours.
               "OK!  OK!  You be a good little liaison and finish up
          this job with the Brits.  Then you get your ass home fast.
          Call me as soon as you get into Fayetteville because I can't
          wait!  Got it?"
               "Yes, Sir.  I completely understand your feelings and
          your orders."
               Jim hung up the telephone and continued to stare at it
          for a few moments.  He noticed that it was extremely quiet
          in the room.  He looked to Nelson and saw that he understood
          exactly where Jim stood.  His Army career was over after
          finishing this job.  From the look on Meg's face he realized
          that she understood, too.
               Then Jim bucked up.  "No long faces, you two.  The
          business we are in is often fatal.  If we can sort this
          current mess I will gladly sit on my porch in Astoria,
          Oregon, and fondly remember all the good times.  No long
          faces!"
               Meg was the first to break the silence.  "I have some
          information on your Sheenah Roberts.  She is from Niceville,
          Florida.  Yes, Nice-ville.  She is currently working for the
          UN in Sofia, Bulgaria.  I have asked the Duty Officer there
          to get everything that he can on her and marked the request
          'Most Urgent'.  According to her passport application she is
          Black, and listed an uncle as next of kin.  We cannot find
          any military or criminal records for her."
               Nelson took up the challenge.  "Looks like we might
          have names for the top two.  Let's go back over to SAS
          headquarters and pass on what we have to Int to make sure it
          is all in play.  By the way, on the last check it was all
          quiet in the Chunnel."
               As the two officers left it was also still very quiet
          in the CIA vault.
          
          
          Under the English Channel, Saturday, 12:15 A.M.
          
               Andar knew that the finest day of his life had begun.
          All of the pains and indignities that he and his people had
          suffered would be avenged.  Colonel Khadafy and he would
          make a statement that the world would never forget.
               He wanted a short nap now so that he could savor the
          day ahead, but sleep was elusive.
               He looked over at Sheenah who was sleeping soundly.  He
          was certain he had chosen well.  Her very presence among the
          hijackers would embarrass the United States and hamper
          future imperial activities.  Sheenah was a very strong-
          willed woman who would push the button if anything happened
          ... to prevent him from taking action.
               He realized that he had played this whole episode
          perfectly thus far and felt wonderful knowing that he and
          the Colonel had outsmarted the entire world!
          
          
          
          Chapter Seventeen
          
          
          Washington, District of Columbia, Friday, 7:15 P.M.
          
               "Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Vice President."  Admiral
          Morton shook the Vice President's proffered hand as he
          followed the Secretary of Defense into the room.
               "Please sit down, gentlemen.  Tell me what I can do for
          you."  The Vice President did not seem to mind that he had
          been called away from a formal dinner to meet with the two
          men in an ante room at the Chilean embassy.
               The man now seated in the overstuffed chair facing him
          was not known to be a very strong or colorful man,
          therefore, Admiral Morton was quite unsure if this meeting
          were going to prove worthwhile.
               "Mr. Vice President, I brought this matter to the
          Secretary of Defense and he felt that we should come
          directly to you since the President is out of the capital at
          sea."
               The Vice President smiled as if he knew that it had to
          be some relatively petty intrigue for them to bother with
          him rather than await the President's return.  His words,
          however, were warm and sincere, "You know that I am fully at
          your service.  Please continue."
               "Mr. Vice President.  Our counter-terrorist liaison to
          the British force handling the Chunnel hijacking called me
          about thirty minutes ago and requested my help.  Colonel
          Grissom judged the situation and time so critical as to need
          my personal intervention.  I might add that it is extremely
          unusual for a Delta staff officer to speak directly to the
          Chairman."  He looked to the Secretary of Defense who nodded
          in agreement.
               "Are the British considering giving in to the terrorist
          demands that they free the PanAm 103 bombers?" asked the
          Vice President, now obviously very interested in the
          conversation.
               "No, Mr. Vice President," the Secretary of Defense
          spoke up.  "Our Government will, of course, be consulted
          through the Secretary of State if any negotiations are to be
          conducted with the terrorists.  No, I am afraid that Colonel
          Grissom has raised a strictly US matter."
               The Secretary looked back to Admiral Morton who
          continued explaining the problem at hand,  "At the request
          of Colonel Grissom I called in General Brown, Air Force
          Chief of Staff, and asked him why Crotone Air Base, Italy,
          has been shutdown unilaterally by the American commander
          without consultation with his Italian counterpart.  General
          Brown told me that I was in error and that nothing was going
          on at Crotone.  When I pushed the question he became
          extremely angry.  He accused me of questioning his integrity
          and stormed out of my office."
               The Vice President looked puzzled.  "What does this
          have to do with the hijacking?"
               "Colonel Grissom and his British special forces
          counterpart, Colonel Bartlett, believe the Chunnel hijacking
          is only a decoy of sorts.  I must tell you, Mr. Vice
          President, that these two officers worked for me in my NATO
          command in Italy.  They handled the most sensitive special
          taskings for me personally.  Both are outstanding officers,
          and together they led all of NATO in properly employing
          allied special forces.  I trust their instincts."  He waited
          for the Vice President to accept the credibility of what he
          next had to say.
               "Go on, Admiral Morton."  The Admiral had the Vice
          President's full attention.
               The Admiral picked his words very carefully since he
          was aware that others were undoubtedly listening to the
          conversation being held in a foreign embassy.  "Colonel
          Grissom and Colonel Bartlett believe that something more
          important is about to go down, probably in Europe, while the
          experts are busy with the Chunnel hijacking.  These officers
          canvassed the intelligence background in Europe and came up
          with a couple of unusual occurrences.  Italian intelligence
          sources tell them that Crotone Air Base is on an extremely
          high security state and that seems very out of the ordinary.
          General Brown's adamant denial makes it even more of an
          uncommon event.
               "Grissom and Bartlett think there is a tie-in with the
          Chunnel hijack, but nothing is clear cut.  The Secretary and
          I are truly concerned that General Brown is most probably
          not telling us the full story."  Admiral Morton paused with
          his understatement of General Brown's lack of truthfulness.
               "I can see that you have a very touchy, and a very
          'iffy' problem on your hands, gentlemen.  Why have you come
          to me?"  The Vice President gave them his most innocent
          smile.
               Admiral Morton sighed and almost wished aloud that the
          President were in town.  The Secretary spoke.  "Mr. Vice
          President, the Admiral and I have legal authority over
          General Brown but he can delay compliance with our
          directives, wasting what we believe to be extremely precious
          time.  Our most powerful option would be to relieve the
          General of his duties and initiate an investigation.  We can
          send DIS investigators with full JCS powers to Italy.  We
          can direct the European Command to investigate.  All of
          these options will take a minimum of twenty-four hours.
               "Mr. Vice President, it is a matter of timeliness.
          With a telephone call to the President you can be delegated
          Commander-in-Chief authority in this matter.  You can call
          in General Brown and require complete details on Crotone.
          He cannot refuse you."
               The Vice President nodded thoughtfully, stood up and
          walked to the window overlooking Reservoir Road.  Admiral
          Morton had expected this dalliance.  It was known to be very
          difficult for the Vice President to take a position.  The
          Admiral looked to the Secretary of Defense who glanced
          toward the ceiling and shrugged his shoulders.
               "It seems to me, gentlemen," the Vice President had
          turned to them with his famous smile, "that the best thing
          to do about this is to sleep on it.  This appears to be a
          rather messy personnel problem rather than a matter of
          State.  Too, I'd hate to wake up the President on his
          'holiday' voyage just to get his help on such a simple
          matter."
               "Mr. Vice President," now the Admiral was standing, "do
          you think that we would be here, in an unsecure room,
          talking to you tonight, if we thought there was time to
          'sleep on it'?"  He walked over to speak eyeball to eyeball.
          The Admiral knew that he was straining the absolute limits
          of his authority and professional credibility by pushing the
          Vice President.  The man had clout within the
          administration.
               "This is a terribly difficult job we are asking you to
          handle.  I know that, and I cannot logically explain to you
          why I think it must be done now.  I am simply giving the
          best military advice I can.  I believe you must act now."
          Admiral Morton had given it his best shot.
               The Vice President broke off eye contact and turned
          back toward the windows.  He seemed to be fascinated by the
          heavy traffic flowing past the embassy.   The Secretary
          realized that several minutes had passed while the Vice
          President was pondering the request.  He had little hope for
          a positive reply.
               "All right, Admiral."  The Vice President sighed as he
          turned back to face Admiral Morton.  "You two be in my
          office in thirty minutes and have General Brown attend.  I
          will speak to the President."  He looked pained, almost
          trapped.  He strode to the door and told the waiting aide to
          make his apologies to the Ambassador.  The Secret Service
          agent guarding the door spoke quickly into his radio and
          alerted the team for this most unusual immediate move by
          "Popeye", his radio security code name.
          
          
          Canyon, Texas, Friday, 6:30 P.M.
          
               Sandy Mitchell continued to watch the television news
          reports coming via satellite from the Chunnel.  Now that his
          hangover was 'gone' he switched back his drink to Jack
          Daniel's whiskey.  Linda had called that she was staying
          with a sick aunt in Lubbock so would not be back until
          Monday.  Sandy started to protest, but thought better of it.
          He could do the protesting later in person when he could
          reach out and teach her a lesson she wouldn't likely forget.
          In the meanwhile, the whiskey was getting him through just
          fine.  It had helped him for months, maybe even years.
          
          
          
          Chapter Eighteen
          
          
          Washington, District of Columbia, Friday, 7:50 P.M.
          
               The old Senate office building was virtually empty this
          Friday evening.  The cold, clear weather had beckoned nearly
          all of the occupants home or to their favorite watering
          hole.  The Chairman and the Secretary reached the Vice
          President's office a few moments early and were ushered
          directly in.  The Vice President was speaking with his
          office counsel, known to be an old and trusted friend.  A
          stenographer sat at the teak conference table to record the
          evening's proceedings.
               The Vice President came forward to shake hands and
          warmly welcome them.  He was once more wearing his famous
          smile.  "Come in gentlemen; please be comfortable," he said,
          leading them to a beige sofa.
               A soft voice on the intercom announced that the Air
          Force Chief of Staff, General Brown, had arrived.  The Vice
          President asked that he be shown in immediately.  The Vice
          President met him at the door, shook hands and escorted him
          to a seat on the facing blue sofa next to himself.  Two
          senior Air Force officers had accompanied General Brown and
          had also entered the Vice President's office.  They now
          stood near the door.
               "General Brown, I would like to discuss a few items
          with you that the Secretary and Admiral Morton have brought
          to my attention.  Perhaps you would prefer to release your
          colleagues?"  The Vice President smiled affably and nodded
          toward the two airmen.
               "Thank you Mr. Vice President but I have asked my aides
          to accompany me in case you require any operational details
          on our forces."  General Brown returned the smile.
               The Vice President looked directly into the General's
          eyes:  "General Brown, I intend that we have a close-hold
          discussion concerning some rather sensitive matters.  I feel
          it important that we carefully limit those privy to this
          session.  Please release your subordinates to wait in the
          outer office.  They will be quite comfortable there, and
          immediately available should you need them."  The Vice
          President was still smiling.
               General Brown's smile weakened.  He looked carefully at
          the Vice President as if trying to assess him.  The General
          set his jaw, looked toward his fellow Air Force officers,
          and nodded.  The two colonels left quietly.
               Admiral Morton was also closely studying the Vice
          President as if he saw something new in him.
               "Now, General Brown, I want you to know that I have
          only respect and admiration for you.  Betty and I count you
          and Jenny as dear friends."  The Vice President paused for a
          moment.
               "A problem has arisen which I believe Admiral Morton
          attempted to resolve at the military level.  He spoke to you
          earlier this evening?"
               "Yes, Mr. Vice President, he did.  "I thought that I
          had satisfactorily answered his questions."  The General
          shot a cold glance at Admiral Morton and then smiled again.
          "I'm surprised that the matter has been resurrected and
          brought to your attention."
               "Admiral Morton has indicated to me that your reply was
          not satisfactory, General Brown; therefore, the Chairman of
          the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary of Defense have
          brought the matter to me for immediate resolution.  With
          your help and understanding it will be resolved tonight.  I
          trust that all parties understand?"  He paused to look
          around the room.   The men nodded agreement, although their
          faces indicated that perhaps they were not sure.
               "I want to share with you three items of information,
          General, and then I will ask you a very important question.
          I believe it is critical that we do this in a very precise,
          step-by-step manner."  The Vice President stood, moved to
          the front of his desk and turned back towards the sitting
          area.  He looked very much like the college law professor
          that he had once been more than twenty years ago.
               "Firstly, I want you to know that I have just spoken to
          the President aboard the Louis Catorce and have received
          full authority to act on his behalf as Commander-in-Chief in
          this specific matter.  The telephone conversation was
          recorded and witnessed.  My authority is total, legal and
          valid.  Do you understand my authority in this matter?"
               "Yes, Mr. Vice President, I understand."  The General
          was impassive.
               "Good.  The second item is that I have spoken with the
          Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.  He confirmed
          with the Director General of the Italian Intelligence
          Service, SISMI, that highly unusual activities,
          specifically, extreme security precautions, are presently
          continuing at Crotone Air Base, Italy.  He also confirmed
          that the Italian Intelligence Service has briefed the
          President of Italy on these highly unusual happenings, which
          were not previously coordinated with our Italian ally."  The
          Vice President's smile was gone.  He looked from the
          Secretary, to Admiral Morton and finally straight into
          General Brown's eyes.
               "The third item is that I called the White House
          Situation Room and asked for an 'eyes only' update on
          Crotone Air Base.  They are carrying it as 'Ops Normal' with
          no compartmented information available.  In short, General,
          the President and the Vice President of the United States
          know less than the President of Italy about what is
          happening on a US base!"  There was now just a hint of anger
          in the Vice President's voice.
               The Vice President walked to the window.  He stood
          there for quite a long time, seemingly admiring the profile
          view of the White House.  The room was absolutely silent as
          they waited for his next move.  When he finally turned to
          face the other men in the room he again looked directly at
          the General.   "General Brown, please tell me ... now ...
          exactly what is occurring at Crotone Air Base."  The words
          were spoken quietly and gently, but with an authority that
          jolted even Admiral Morton.
          
          
          London, Saturday, 1:15 A.M.
          
               Nelson and Jim had just finished talking with the SIS
          liaison and the Intelligence officer bringing them up-to-
          date on all that they had learned while at the CIA station.
          The two experts left to add these pieces to the current
          intelligence picture.
               Intelligence sources reported the train remained eerily
          quite, although television monitors showed that at least one
          black-garbed terrorist was awake and alert in each rail car.
               The two officers now sat alone in Nelson's office.
               "I can't believe that we've been on this hijack matter
          for less than twenty-four hours.  It seems to have run on
          forever."  Jim nodded his agreement with Nelson's statement.
               Nelson went on, "Davness and his lads are all set to go
          in.  We will move the teams out of Hereford about 4:00 A.M.
          they will move into position and be ready to go in for the
          takedown from 8:00 A.M. onwards.  That has all been neatly
          organized.
               "The television special from the train last evening
          gave us the opportunity to set up an exact replica at
          Hereford for the men to practice on.  We know exactly where
          all the passengers will be, if the 'trial' doesn't change
          things around too much.
               "Salim won't negotiate so there are no loose ends with
          the police.  Jim, we are as ready as we can be for today's
          action, yet I feel we are missing out completely.  What are
          the bastards really up to?"  Nelson was rubbing his temples
          as if trying to massage his brain into coming up with the
          solution.
               "Nelson, if the missing link is with the US, then we
          could not have a better man trying to break it all open than
          Admiral Morton.  Let's go stare at the Channel maps and see
          if we can induce a vision of what's up in Salim's jumbled
          mind!"  Jim rose and pumped unfelt vigor into his step to
          try to inspire his brain.
          
          
          Washington, District of Columbia, Friday, 8:15 P.M.
          
               At first, General Brown held the Vice President's gaze,
          as if hoping that he could force the words back into his
          mouth.  Admiral Morton watched as the General's impassive
          face begin to redden, then soften, and finally, sag.
               The General dropped his eyes and stared hard at the
          carpet for a few moments.  He at last spoke, "There has been
          a breach of security at Crotone Air Base.  Two US Air Force
          security policemen, two Italian men who worked for the base
          supply warehouse, and three local female 'dancers' were
          found shot to death in some woods just beyond the base
          perimeter.  We are conducting the investigation now."
               A lot of questions were forming their ugly shapes in
          Admiral Morton's mind as he waited for General Brown to
          continue.  "It isn't an easy investigation.  It all takes
          time to sort out."
               "Cut the crap, Tommy!  I order you to tell me what you
          are covering up out there at Crotone!"
               Every person in the room stared in utter disbelief at
          the very stern and angry face of the Vice President of the
          United States.
               General Brown crumbled.  "Two B-61 thermonuclear
          warheads were discovered missing Wednesday afternoon."
               The Vice President backed up several paces and eased
          himself into an arm chair next to the window.  That was the
          only movement.  The stenographer sat in stunned silence, her
          mouth open.
               Admiral Morton was the first to speak, ever so softly
          at first, but with his voice quickly reaching a crescendo,
          "You sonovabitch.  You sonovabitch!  You are covering up the
          loss of nukes?  You sonovabitch!"  The Admiral rose to his
          feet and moved toward the General.  The Secretary of Defense
          was momentarily afraid for the General's physical safety.
               "How could you do this?  We could have had every
          Carabinieri patrol in Italy trying to find those nukes!  We
          could have had every Italian policeman helping.  We could
          have ...."  He could no longer find words or the enthusiasm
          to use them.  "You sorry sonovabitch!"
               "General Brown," the Vice President was again standing
          and had moved back to his desk, his color partly returned.
          "You are relieved of your duties.  You will brief Admiral
          Morton on this matter in detail and then you will confine
          yourself to quarters pending a full investigation.  Is that
          clear?"
               "Yes, Mr. Vice President.  Sir, ... we thought we could
          do this ... quietly.  We thought it should remain in-house,
          you know, an Air Force matter, until we knew more."
               "You made a very poor decision, General Brown, that has
          already caused this country grave embarrassment, and perhaps
          given the guilty parties time enough to make their getaway.
          You are dismissed."
               After General Brown had closed the door the Vice
          President turned and spoke to the Secretary of Defense, "I
          would like for you to ask the members of the Security
          Council to convene while I contact the President."
               He looked toward the Chairman, "Admiral Morton, appoint
          an acting Air Force Chief of Staff that you can trust.  Do
          not pick anyone who could have known about this cover-up and
          failed to step forward.  They won't be working here for very
          long!  Let me know if you need any further support dealing
          with the Air Force.
               "I would like for you to take charge of the
          investigation at Crotone Air Base as a joint service matter.
          Send your best man.  Anyone who impedes your investigation
          is to be summarily relieved of duty and placed under arrest.
               He looked at each person briefly.  "I want to meet in
          the White House Situation Room in forty-five minutes.
          Questions?
               "Thank you, gentlemen."  The Vice President had spoken.
          His people now went quickly and purposefully to their tasks.
          
          
          
          Chapter Nineteen
          
          
          Arlington, Virginia, Friday, 8:35 P.M.
          
               Neither Admiral Morton nor the Secretary spoke as they
          shared the Chairman's car back to the Pentagon.  As they
          entered the River Entrance, the Secretary finally broke the
          silence, "This is scary, Jim.  Two loose nukes out there!
          We have worked so hard for so many years to keep nukes out
          of terrorist hands.  Look at what we did to Saddam Hussein!
          We kicked his butt twice and finally got him gassed just to
          keep his hands off the nuke button.  Now, when we have our
          first theft, our own Air Force has to sandbag us until the
          damn things have had time to move all over the world!
          Damn!"
               "Mr. Secretary, I agree that we have a bad situation on
          our hands, but the folks in Europe have it tougher.  It
          looks like the target may be over there.  If the Chunnel
          hijacking is a decoy, then the attack is imminent.
               "Let me get a few things organized in my office and
          I'll meet you here in twenty-five minutes for the ride back
          to the White House."  The Secretary nodded and waved as the
          Admiral moved on toward his suite.
               An Air Force Master Sergeant was manning his
          secretary's desk as he walked in the door.  The Admiral
          almost stopped in shock at the sight of the blue uniform,
          then caught himself and chuckled, "Good evening, Sergeant.
          I was surprised to see you there."
               The sergeant stood.  "Yes, Admiral.  The administrative
          pool thought that you might need admin support since you
          were headed back to the office."
               "I do need some help tonight.  Please call Colonel Ross
          and have him assemble the J-staff in my office at 9:30 P.M.
          I would like for you to call DIS, DIA and our CIA liaison
          and get them here as soon as possible.  Thank you,
          Sergeant."  The sergeant nodded his understanding and turned
          toward his telephone.
               As soon as the Admiral sat down behind his desk he
          reached for the STU III and quickly dialed a number from his
          Rolodex.  When the Fort Bragg operator answered he asked to
          speak to General Jack.  Within moments he heard, "General
          Jack here."
               "General Jack, this is Admiral Morton.  Can you go
          secure?"
               "No, Sir.  I will go to my office and call you back."
               "Good.  Do it quickly!"
               As soon as he hung up, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs
          of Staff moved to his private bath and splashed cold water
          over his face.  Revived, he moved to the unobtrusive bar and
          poured a short whiskey.  He savored the taste, but his
          thoughts were elsewhere.  "That sonovabitch!" he muttered.
               The sergeant's voice came over the intercom:  "Sir,
          General Jack on line one."
               "Thank you, Sergeant."  He picked up the STU III and
          selected line one.
               "General Jack, Admiral Morton here.  You initiate."  As
          soon as the green light was lighted he continued, "Listen,
          General, you've got one hell of an officer working for you
          in London!  Grissom, damn his chain-of-command-jumping butt,
          has uncovered one terrible problem."
               "Admiral, I just spoke with Colonel Grissom a short
          while ago.  He told me that he had gone directly to you on
          the Crotone matter.  I can only apologize that his actions
          were necessitated by my failure to elevate the request more
          quickly through your staff."
               The Admiral nodded to himself.  He liked the way the
          General had immediately put himself between Colonel Grissom
          and the Admiral's probable anger.  He knew the had the right
          kind of leader running Delta.
               "General, Jim Grissom called me and cajoled me into
          confronting the Chief of Staff of the Air Force on what he
          was hiding at Crotone Air Base, Italy.  It took the Vice
          President ... let me tell you the Vice President is one
          tough cookie ... to force General Brown to admit that the
          Air Force has been covering up the loss of two tactical
          nukes!  Is that worth forgiving Grissom?"
               General Jack drew a deep breath.  "Yes ... Yes,
          Admiral, that is worth forgiving him.  I'll take care of it.
          How? ... but, that doesn't matter, does it?  Two eggs are
          out of the nest.  That does matter."
               "General Jack, I want you to get the special weapons
          team over to London right now.  Put them under Grissom in
          case the French or Brits need help.  After all, they are US
          nukes!  Please get in touch with Colonel Grissom right away.
          After our Security Council meeting the Secretary of State
          will be making the formal announcement to our allies about
          what has happened.  The President will tell the other heads
          of state that are on the ship with him what we have
          discovered thus far.
               "Grissom needs to make the Brit and the French special
          forces aware of the nuke problem right away.  Also, he
          deserves to know that his gamble paid off and we may still
          have time to prevent a catastrophe."  He paused a moment,
          then continued softly.  "And he deserves our thanks.  Can
          you thank him and Colonel Bartlett for me?"
               "Yes, Admiral.  I'll alert the SWEP team immediately
          and call London right away.  I'll speak to Colonel Grissom
          on your behalf, and pass along your thanks ... and mine.
          Don't worry, Admiral, I can eat crow very well!"
               Admiral Morton nodded in quiet appreciation of the
          General's forthrightness and obvious leadership ability.
          "Thanks for your help, General Jack.  You are a good officer
          and the right man to have at Delta.
               "I know that I'm jumping the chain of command speaking
          directly to you now, but to quote Grissom, 'Time is getting
          short!' You'll get the tasking orders later tonight from the
          J-Staff."
               Then he added very quietly, "You'll never know how glad
          I am that I backed Grissom and Bartlett's hunch.  Good
          night."
               "Good night, Admiral."
               As he returned the telephone to its cradle, General
          Jack leaned back in his chair and whistled to himself.
          "Good Lord," he prayed, "let us find those nukes in time!"
               He pushed the intercom button and called, "J3?"
               "Yes, Sir, Colonel Hollon, Deputy."
               "I need to see you ... now!"
               "Yes, Sir, General."
          
          
          
          Chapter Twenty
          
          
          London, Saturday, 1:50 A.M.
          
               Nelson and Jim were standing in the briefing room,
          looking at the Chunnel graphic, and the large maps of Europe
          and the world that ringed the room.
               "Reminds me of that auxiliary briefing room at AFSOUTH
          headquarters in Naples; you know, the long, narrow one."
               "Right you are, Jim!  Seems like we always drew that
          one for the briefings and exercises instead of the CINC's
          Briefing Room."
               "Not enough horsepower to rate the nice one, Nelson."
               "We had better graphics!"
               "Not as good as these."  Jim pointed at the large color
          rendering of the train in the Chunnel.  The monitoring
          devices were marked in with large color photographs below
          the main graphic.  The probes and taps were indicated on the
          chart, and numbers of passengers and likely hijacker
          positions were annotated.  Folkestone and Calais were shown,
          though not to scale.
               Nelson pointed out to Jim where Davness and his men
          could enter the westbound tunneland stealthily move to their
          locations for the takedown.  "Once Davness makes the 'go'
          decision all electrical power will be cut to the train.  In
          go the flash-bangs, then the double tap.  It will be over in
          fifteen seconds ... or else the whole lot will be dying from
          the explosions in the tunnel.
               "Things will be far smoother if the explosive disposal
          teams can safe the two monitoring devices.  That way the
          only surprise bang will come from whatever booby-traps have
          been put on the train.  I'm really surprised the Int fellows
          could detect no wiring or bombs in the tapes from the
          'Celebration video'.  They had a really good look-see with
          the telly tapes and their own probes."
               "It seems like just another 'why?', doesn't it,
          Nelson?"
               "Jim, this chap is too professional to make this many
          errors in planning.  It is almost like he wanted to reassure
          us that the passengers would be all right."
               "As was said before, maybe he is that confident that he
          is going to win and doesn't want to jeopardize his winning
          by creating a need for the SAS to intervene.  He wants a
          comfortable standoff until he wins."
               "I may volunteer to go on this one myself just to have
          a quick shot at him!" Nelson joked.
               "Just what the good guys need:  two over-the-hill, pot-
          bellied Rangers charging in on their wobbly knees!"
               "I beg your pardon!  You will note who was huffing and
          puffing on the run through the park!  And who was not!"
               "Was I breathing hard?  I wasn't paying attention.  I
          was more concerned about where to find help when you
          collapsed!"
               Jim became a bit more serious.  "Nelson, I don't feel
          good about this thing at all.  It just scares me.  I guess I
          have completely caught your way of looking at it."
               "Colonel Grissom?"
               Both men turned toward the door where the Sergeant
          Major stood.  "Colonel Grissom, you have a telephone call on
          the STU III."
               "Thank you, Sergeant Major."  Jim walked briskly to
          Nelson's office and picked up the white receiver.
          "Lieutenant Colonel Grissom here."
               "Grissom, General Jack.  Pushing."
               While the amber light flickered, Jim went through all
          the possible reasons why General Jack would call him.
          "Perhaps he wants me to leave immediately for the States?
          No, I'd have to remain here until another liaison officer
          could arrive and be briefed into the situation.  Maybe he
          has calmed down and will let me stay until this thing is
          finished?  Not likely!  Maybe ...."
               His musings were cut short by the green light and
          General Jack announcing, "Green and Top Secret."
               "Green and top secret, here, General."  Jim now closed
          his eyes to help fend off the blow.
               "Colonel Grissom, you are one of the most unorthodox
          officers I have met in my twenty-two years in the Army!  I
          want you to know that I have often disagreed with your
          methods but have tolerated a great deal of 'meandering' on
          your part because you have been one big help to me in making
          Delta the best damned outfit in the US military."
               "Yes, Sir.  Thank you, General."  Jim was now
          completely confused as to what the General was leading up
          to.
               "You knew when you called the Chairman of the JCS that
          you were running a big risk.  What did you give yourself?
          'One-in-a-hundred that you wouldn't be fired?  I know I
          can't kick you out of the Army, but I can make life so
          unbearable that you'll retire.  Right?"
               "Sir, I didn't really figure the odds.  I just sort of
          hoped that it would all work out."
               "That means odds of a thousand-to-one.  'Hope' ain't
          worth a damn thing!"
               Jim sat in silence.  He had never known the General to
          drag things out like this.  He always put one quick bullet
          to the head and you were dumped out on the street.
               After a long pause, the General continued,  "Jim, the
          Air Force was covering up.  They have lost two nuclear
          weapons from Crotone Air Base."
               Jim sat stunned.  He could feel every nerve ending in
          his body.  He tried to speak, but had no luck forming words.
          Visions of mushroom-shaped clouds kept forming in his mind.
          They were terribly ugly mushroom-shaped clouds.  Finally, he
          mumbled, "Oh, my God!"
               "I believe that those were my first words, too, Jim.
          The unthinkable has happened:  Khadafy, or whoever he is
          working with, has nuclear weapons.  He knows that he can't
          hold them long so my guess is that he is going to use them
          ... now.  Looks like you may be right that the Chunnel
          hijacking is a decoy to divert us from the intended
          terrorist act.
               "I have alerted the SWEP team in Texas and they will be
          airborne shortly.  The Air Force kindly diverted a C-5 over
          Colorado to drop in and pick them up.  We'll fly them into
          Northholt, so make arrangements.  Estimated time of arrival
          is ten-thirty Zulu.  I'm putting them under your command.
          They will be briefed on what we know while in flight, but
          you will need to fine tune the tactical situation with them
          when they light there.
               "What else do you need, Jim?"
               Jim thought for a moment, then replied, "General, this
          is all hitting pretty fast now.  The only thing extra that I
          can think of right now is that I may need is some flexible
          transport.  Can you put all of the special ops helicopters
          and air refueling tanker aircraft up at RAF Mildenhall on
          alert and give me operational control?  I may have to move
          the SWEP over to France, or put them onto a ship on short
          notice, if that is the Libyan plan of attack.  I'd like
          three helos moved to Northholt; two to move the SWEP to
          Hereford or wherever and one to be available to me ... just
          in case."
               "I don't have OPCON but I'll get it from EUCOM and
          you'll have it within the hour.  Whatever else you need ...
          just call our Ops Center.  Everything in the US bag of
          tricks is yours."
               "Thank you, General."
               "No, Jim.  Thank Colonel Bartlett.  And thank you.
          Plenty of soldiers are willing to risk their lives for their
          country.  Amazingly few are willing to risk their reputation
          or careers for that same country.
               "I do not agree with, or condone, your method as an
          everyday practice, but I am very thankful in this case for
          your act.  Find those nukes!  The Lord be with us!"  The
          line went dead.
               Jim replaced the receiver and sat very still for a few
          moments.  He let his mind drift to try to put everything
          back into perspective.  After a short while he stood and
          walked back to the conference room where Nelson was talking
          with the intelligence officer.  "Nelson, can I speak to you
          for a moment?"
               Nelson looked up at Jim.  Seeing the expression on
          Jim's face, he moved quickly toward the door.  Jim led him
          back down the hallway and into Nelson's office.  Nelson
          closed the door and both took seats in easy chairs.
               "Jim, you look as if you have seen a ghost.  What was
          the phone call about?"
               "Nelson," Jim stammered, "the Air Force cover-up at
          Crotone ... they've lost two nukes."
               Now it was Nelson who momentarily sat in disbelieving
          silence.  "Good Lord!"  Nelson now understood the shocked
          look on Jim's face and felt the blood drain from his own.
               "Why did they wait until now to tell us?  We've lost
          several days of closing borders, searching, ...."  His voice
          trailed off.
               Jim felt terrible for Nelson and horrified that the
          Americans covered up the loss.  "General Jack didn't go into
          that.  I will bet that Admiral Morton has taken General
          Brown's head and put it on a pike in front of the Pentagon.
          That's where it belongs.
               "Our SWEP team is on its way to London, Nelson.  They
          are our nuke emergency response folks.  They'll be fully
          instructed on the weapons and how to work the codes, if need
          be.  We will need to brief them on arrival, if we know any
          more.  They will be under my command.  I can use them
          wherever they are needed.
               "I'd like to move them straight to Hereford where we
          can isolate them and keep them ready.  I will give
          operational control to whoever we think needs them ... if we
          can just locate the damned nukes!  What do you think?"
               Nelson forced himself to think.  "We can maintain tight
          security at Hereford.  I'll have the Sergeant Major arrange
          things there until we can make better plans."
               "Good.  I think we need to get more information on
          ships and the exact route of the Louis Catorce.  That is
          still the hottest target."
               Nelson furrowed his brow and his eyes became intense.
          "I'll push SIS!"
               "Nelson, the first thing we need to do is to brief the
          Brigadier.  He will need to elevate this all the way up the
          line to the Prime Minister.  I am sure the President has
          been told, and he will tell his colleagues on the ship.  The
          two lines will meet there.  The State Department will be
          tasked to break the news to our other allies.  I feel it is
          up to us to make sure those helping us in the chain of
          command here and in France know what is going on."
               "Right you are.  I'll call the Brigadier and ask him
          in.  He can call Brigadier LaRoche in Paris.  The top blokes
          in the French police need to know that they may be looking
          for two nuclear weapons."
               Jim nodded his head, "Can you get me a car over to the
          US Embassy annex?  I want to brief Meg in on this and she
          can focus her search while you work SIS."
               "Of course," Nelson replied and strode off to find the
          duty driver.
          
          
          Under the English Channel, Saturday, 2:10 A.M.
          
               Andar was enjoying a quiet, dreamless sleep.  Tiger was
          to wake him at seven in the morning so that he could set up
          the "court room" before the television cameras arrived.
          Sheenah was resting but now only napped fitfully after her
          earlier deep sleep.  She was anxious to get on with the
          trials and free the brothers.  She was tired of this tunnel
          and was more than ready for the flight to Algiers.
               She had the fire for terrorism, but lacked the
          attention span to remain enthusiastic over long
          confrontations.  As a student she could explode over the
          smallest indignities, but fell out of the organized
          movements as she quickly lost her enthusiasm.Climbing
          through the Night Sky, Somewhere over Oklahoma, Saturday,
          0215 Hours Zulu
               Sandy was sweating badly even though the upper deck
          passenger compartment of the C-5 Galaxy was chilly.  He kept
          leaving the relative safety of his seat to go to the
          lavatory where his vomiting had turned into dry heaves.  He
          thought to himself, "If they had only given me the required
          four hours notice I would not have had so much to drink!"
               The special weapons team members were the only
          passengers on the aircraft and most were chatting quietly.
          The team leader had already briefed that two B-61 Mark-101
          weapons had been stolen from Crotone Air Base, Italy, by
          unknown persons.  It was not known if the arming codes had
          been compromised or if shaped charges would be used to
          breach the arming device in the detonation process.
               Once the bombs were located it would be the team's job
          to accompany the takedown force and safe the weapons.
          British or French explosives experts would work with them to
          handle the conventional explosives and booby traps.
               Sandy looked at his hands.  He was shaking badly.
          "Just the stress," he thought.  "A nap and I'll be fine!"
          Deep down inside he knew that he was lying to himself.
          
          
          
          Chapter Twenty-One
          
          
          London, Saturday, 2:40 A.M.
          
               Meg met Jim at the Marine guard post and once more
          vetted him in.  As they walked down the darkened corridors
          toward the CIA vault area, Meg kept up a constant flow of
          small talk.  Jim was fighting fatigue and the sickening
          feeling that they might not find the nuclear weapons in
          time.
               Listening to her quiet voice Jim felt himself relax.
          He began to feel at peace.  The emotions he had bottled up
          years ago came rushing back.  His took Meg's hand and
          stopped her.  He looked into her eyes and saw across the
          years to the crazy world of Saigon.
               The London embassy annex walls melted into the corridor
          of the MAC-V headquarters as Jim remembered how he had
          blocked Meg's path along the hallway coming from the command
          briefing room.
               "Where the hell did you come up with all that stupid
          crap about the Chu Hoi retreads being such great warriors?"
          Jim fumed at the young woman who had just succeeded against
          his best efforts.  She had gotten the Commanding General to
          assign to his special forces group former Viet Cong
          guerrillas who had been repatriated through the Chu Hoi
          surrender program.  They were to be used to infiltrate the
          Viet Cong.
               Jim continued, "If those bastards switched sides once,
          they'll do it again only this time taking our secrets and
          getting our asses killed!  They don't belong in this
          business.  You don't belong in this business!"
               "Lieutenant!  I realize that you probably know how to
          shoot a gun but I don't believe you know a damned thing
          about winning the hearts and minds of these people!"  Meg
          was not about to back down from this arrogant soldier that
          had made her first briefing to the Commanding General a most
          difficult and painful experience.
               "Listen, Miss DoGoodie, if you grab them by the right
          part of their anatomy you can get their hearts and minds to
          follow!"
               "That's right, Lieutenant.  If you can't handle the
          job, make an obscene remark to cover your incompetence!"
          Meg was really getting angry and was nose to nose with the
          junior officer.
               "It's good that you two are getting to know each other
          better."
               Jim and Meg turned to see Colonel Pierson, the Director
          of Intelligence, pausing at his office door.  "You'll be
          spending a great deal of time together working out the
          details for how to implement General 'W's decision.  Come in
          and sit down.  We'll sketch out the timeline."
               Jim closed his gaping mouth, scowled at the defiant
          Meg, and held out his hand indicating she was to lead the
          way into the Colonel's office.  Meg eyed him defiantly and
          followed the Colonel.
               After they were seated in Colonel Pierson's office, Jim
          spoke first, "Colonel, I don't believe that Miss ... uh,
          ...."
               "Anderson," Meg offered.
               "Miss Anderson," he went on, "holds the appropriate
          clearances to deal with the special forces mission.  Perhaps
          the State Department will be able to provide someone else
          who is properly vetted."
               "Lieutenant Grissom, I don't believe you understand
          Miss Anderson's position.  She isn't with State; she is with
          the Central Intelligence Agency.  She was sent to Saigon
          specifically to work the issue of using the Chu Hoi
          repatriates against their former Viet Cong masters.  She is
          vetted into areas that I am not at liberty to discuss with
          you."
               Again Jim's mouth involuntarily fell open.  "CIA!  But
          you don't understand the psychology of these bastards!"
               "I hold a Master's degree in psychology.  I have spent
          the last year studying the matter.  I have made a strong
          enough case that my superiors have allowed me, a woman, to
          come to Saigon to make it happen.  I know war is a man's
          game, but I think even Colonel Pierson will vouch for the
          fact that I understand the psychology behind our enemy here
          and have put together a solid plan to turn that psychology
          against the enemy."
               Colonel Pierson eyed the two for a few moments to let
          the dust of the battle settle.  Finally he spoke, "Why don't
          you two take over an office in the J-2 shop and work out the
          joint plan.  I'll call Colonel 'Z' at SF group and break you
          loose, Lieutenant.  I know Meg is free to work her own
          schedule on this."
               Jim knew he was trapped.  He looked to the Colonel and
          shook his head resignedly as he said, "Yes, Sir.  We'll get
          right to work."  He looked at Meg, but kept his face
          expressionless.
               A quick telephone call to Jim's commander confirmed
          that as the special forces liaison officer to the Commanding
          General he was saddled with the job.
               Within an hour a secure working space was arranged.
          Jim and Meg began to discuss and sketch an outline for the
          integration of Chu Hoi recruits into the intelligence
          gathering and unconventional missions which special forces
          was pursuing.
               It was nearly 9:00 P.M. when Jim sat back in his wooden
          folding chair and realized that he was very hungry.  He
          turned from his pad and pencil to Meg who was now typing
          some of the details which they had assembled.  "How about
          it, Mrs. Spook, when do you feed the prisoners?"
               Meg smiled for the first time that afternoon at Jim's
          use of the slang term for a CIA operative.  "Lieutenant,
          that is Miss Spook, and I feed the prisoner at the same time
          that I eat."  She glanced at her watch.  "That is, if
          anything is still open.  I can't take another meal in this
          compound."
               "The city doesn't come alive until after dark and all
          the American soldiers get time off to spend their hard-
          earned funny money."
               Meg returned to business.  "We have made tremendous
          progress this afternoon, Lieutenant.  I think that by
          tomorrow afternoon we'll have a plan to run by our
          respective bosses for their concurrence."  Meg paused and
          thought for a few moments as if she were trying to decide
          some difficult question.  "Can I buy you dinner to celebrate
          our success as, a ... well ... team?"
               Jim looked at her rather sharply, then his look
          softened.  "Yeah, we have made a good team today."  He
          paused as if he were now trying to decide some important
          issue.
               "Miss Anderson, you really do listen when I'm telling
          you 'how it is' out in that God-forsaken jungle on an
          operational mission.  You have worked those feelings into
          this plan."  He put his hand almost lovingly on top of the
          pile of papers on the desk between them.
               His famous grin reappeared,  "I'd love to have a medium
          rare water buffalo steak at your expense!"
               The rain was just starting as Jim and Meg left the MAC-
          V compound and was coming down in wooden buckets by the time
          they arrived at her hotel.
               "Maybe we should have dinner here so we don't have to
          fight the rain again.  Give me five minutes to freshen up
          and I'll meet you in the bar."
               Jim nodded agreement and left her at the elevator.  He
          crossed the ornate lobby to the formal bar.  The warm French
          decor was chilled by air conditioning demanded by the
          American journalists.  He noted several senior officers
          sitting at a table talking with Vietnamese girls, and a
          couple of men in light suits, whom he took to be reporters,
          sitting at the bar.  The trio on the bandstand was playing
          softly and Jim knew the drinks would be expensive in this
          locale.
               He felt a bit naked moving about Saigon without his US
          Army issue .45 caliber pistol which he had to leave with the
          MPs back in the compound.  His "private" .38 caliber
          revolver in his ankle holster didn't have the stopping
          power, but he had etched each of the bullets hoping that
          would add to the impact and make accurate AK-47 fire
          impossible from a Viet Cong.  You had to keep looking over
          your shoulder if you were to survive this land of terror.
               He had only taken two sips of his Amstel beer when he
          saw Meg, now dressed in a light blouse and skirt enter.  He
          realized for the first time that she was a very attractive
          woman.  "Guess I've just been seeing her as the enemy," he
          thought to himself.
               He stood from the corner table, "Over here!"
               As she approached he said, "Are you a beer or champagne
          lady?"
               "Middle ground.  I'd like a gin and tonic."
               The waiter nodded and returned in a few moments with
          her drink.
               "Miss Anderson, I think that we need to start again.
          My name is Jim Grissom.  You do seem to know your stuff, but
          I am not completely convinced our plan will work."
               "Jim, please call me, 'Meg', and I'm not convinced it
          will work either, and I like it very much that you call it
          'our' plan.  I think it has a high probability of success
          ... and the payoff would be tremendous, far out of
          proportion to what we will have to invest in it.  That
          sounds like a typical special forces mission, doesn't it?"
          She grinned.
               Jim grinned.  "Trapped me, didn't you!  But what
          happens to the A-team if one of your retreads leads them
          into a trap?"
               "We can't go into details here, but aren't your boys
          savvy enough to watch one man ... and take ... appropriate
          action if he causes problems."
               "We are usually pretty busy, and the nature of the
          business is such that we need to be able to trust our
          backside to the team members.  But I think we could handle
          it.  The concept will take a lot of selling to the teams,
          though."
               "You'll do well at that job because you have been in on
          the project from Day One."
               "Meg, you really do major in psychology."  Jim had to
          laugh at the trap that had been sprung.
               Jim stood.  "Well, let's see what the cook can do with
          that water buffalo steak now that my goose has been cooked."
               He took Meg's hand and she felt the warmth.  She
          glanced quickly into his eyes as they walked toward the
          dining room.
               During dinner they laughed and bragged about the beauty
          of their respective home states.  Jim tried to convince Meg
          that the Oregon Pacific Coast was far more beautiful than
          her New Hampshire Atlantic Coast because the sun arrived
          there later and didn't spoil the nights.
               Meg took his arm as they stood to leave.  Jim felt the
          warmth of her touch.  He glanced into her sparkling eyes as
          they left the dining room.
               It was nearly midnight.  "Would you like a night cap?"
          Jim nodded toward the bar.
               Meg shook her head "no".  "Please walk me to my room,
          Jim.  I am still a bit leery of what can happen in Saigon."
               "You are right to be alert ... all of the time."  Jim
          knew he was comforted by his revolver.
               They didn't speak in the elevator, but Jim realized
          that he was holding Meg's hand.  He liked touching her.
               Jim took Meg's key and checked the lock before
          inserting the key.  He then stood to the side of the doorway
          as he unlocked the door and turned the door handle.  He
          pushed the door gently but fully open.  He reached inside
          and turned the light switch before fully exposing himself in
          the doorway.  Meg smiled at his security precautions, but
          she took note that she should begin playing the same
          stressful game.
               A quick inspection revealed all in order and Jim
          stepped to Meg to say "good night".
               "I have a bottle of port.  Would you like to sit on the
          balcony for a few minutes and tell me more lies about
          Oregon?"  Meg grinned and Jim chuckled.
               "Yes, I'd like to have the chance to tell you more
          about heaven on the Columbia River."
               Jim sipped the port and it warmed him all the way down,
          burning away even the mist that was rising from the steamy
          streets below.  He looked to Meg standing at the railing.
          Her eyes moved from the far away lights to meet his gaze.
          He stood and stepped to her.  She turned to meet him and he
          kissed her gently, but for a very long time.  His right hand
          found her left ear and he traced circles along her neck.
          The fingers of her left hand dug into the small of his back.
               "Jim."
               "Yes, Meg."
               "Take me to bed.  Please."
               Jim unbuttoned her white blouse as Meg worked at the
          large buttons on his fatigue uniform.  By the time they
          reached her bed, clothes were scattered all about and Meg
          wore only a bra.  Jim still wore his ankle holster, socks
          and his "dog tags".  Jim quickly tossed off his socks and
          placed the revolver in its holster on the night stand.  The
          bra and "dog tags" were removed in a ceremony later that
          night.
               For the next two weeks Jim and Meg worked closely and
          lived together.  They both seemed to know what was happening
          to them.  It was wartime, but it was Springtime.
               Then, with no warning, and with only two days left
          before the final approval briefing to the Commanding
          General, Meg received a cable abruptly recalling her to
          Washington to review her program.
               As they walked down the hallway at Ton San Nhut Airport
          to the International Departure Lounge, Meg held tightly to
          Jim's hand.  "I'll write as soon as I know what is going
          on."
               Jim nodded.  "Big boys don't cry," he thought.  But he
          could feel the tears in his eyes.  "Meg, I love you and ...
          I don't know how to say what I ... ah ... feel.  Maybe you
          understand since you are the psychologist."
               Meg smiled.  "Jim, I don't have all the words to say to
          you to tell you how much I love you and how much this time
          has filled me.  This isn't the end.  It's just the end until
          we are together again."
               She looked into his eyes and squeezed his hand even
          harder.
               Jim squeezed back as the noisy airport hallway faded
          into the darkened embassy walls and the fear again touched
          him.  Jim was still looking into those loving eyes.
               "Meg, how did we lose it?"  Jim spoke ever so softly.
               "We didn't."  Her voice matched his.  "Our masters
          covered it over with 'important' jobs and we were caught in
          the current.  I was undercover for several years in Eastern
          Europe.  I couldn't even say more than the cryptic letter
          telling you that I had to be gone for a while but would get
          in touch later.  I ran a check on you several years later
          and found that you had married Katherine.  I married along
          the way.  And divorced.  No kids."  Her voice turned sad at
          the end.
               "I thought you had simply changed your mind and I
          couldn't find you, Meg.  If only I had known."
               "Jim, you have a good life with a good family.  I have
          had a great life, too, with no regrets."  She paused.  "Now
          I'm starting to tell lies like I did about New Hampshire!"
          They both laughed.
               "I regret very much that I took the assignment to
          Eastern Europe because I learned soon enough that it was not
          so important as you and me.  I didn't let myself feel the
          full impact, however, until the Iron Curtain rusted out.
          Until then I could tell myself that defeating Communism was
          worth losing the love of my life.
               "Jim, it is wonderful and exhilarating to be working
          with you again.  I'll keep my hands off of you, but only
          because I still love you!"   She squeezed his hand.
               They kissed gently, but for a very long time.
               Jim fought back those same tears and they walked on to
          the vault.  Once inside the vault and with doors secure, Jim
          asked Meg to join him at the small table.
               "Back to business, Meg.  It is terribly dirty business.
          I feel all knotted up inside about this.  Here's what we've
          got.      "The Air Force has been covering up the theft of
          two thermonuclear bombs from Crotone Air Base sometime
          Wednesday afternoon."  He waited for the expected shocked
          reaction.
               Meg was shocked and her lovely face paled, but deep
          down inside she had been dreading that this was what the Air
          Force had been afraid to report.  She spoke quietly, but
          with a touch of anger in her voice.  "Jim, I knew that it
          had to be something like this.  But one just doesn't want to
          admit our vulnerability to the theft of nukes.  What about
          arming codes?"
               "Nothing on that yet, Meg.  Maybe you'll now be able to
          find out.  I don't fully understand nuclear weapons, I'm sad
          to admit.  The Army tried to develop nuclear hand grenades
          for special forces, but somehow it didn't work out."
               Meg understood that his attempt at humor was meant to
          lighten the situation and get their minds functioning.
               "I'm not a weapons expert either, Jim, but unless the
          codes can be set into the arming device the weapon cannot be
          electrically detonated.  A carefully crafted shaped charge
          could be used at the appropriate point in the arming cycle
          to breach the safeguard and then a small electrical charge
          is sufficient to detonate the weapon."
               "Meg, it seems pretty easy for someone to set off a
          thermonuclear weapon!"
               "You're right, Jim, it is reasonably easy to detonate a
          weapon.  The hard part is building one or stealing one."
               "In this case, two.  And the most high value target I
          can think of is that ship with the Group of Eight aboard.
          Even a near-miss would be fatal.  If the terrorists have put
          the nukes aboard a ship of their own they have plenty of
          room for conventional explosives and lots of room to work.
               "That brings up a lot of questions.  SIS is sorting out
          what ships are near the coast of France, in the English
          Channel, and on into the North Sea.  How about if we
          concentrate on how the weapons got out of Italy."
               "My guess is that they were on that truck that crashed
          through the border near Torino early Thursday morning."
               "I agree with you, Meg.  But that was strictly bad luck
          for the terrorists that their truck would be the object of a
          random search by customs.  They undoubtedly planned that the
          drive north would be uneventful, all the way to ... where?"
               "French police work will probably be the key to
          answering that question."
               "Let's keep it in mind, though.
               "Now, the terrorists had no idea that the US Air Force
          would keep this theft quiet for so long.  I'm sure that they
          expected the Carabinieri would be looking for them by
          midnight Wednesday.  That might have closed the borders.  So
          how did they expect to slip through?  Do you see where I'm
          coming from?"
               "I think so.  You are bothered that our set of clues is
          not the trail that we would have normally had to follow had
          luck, both good and bad, not been on the terrorists' side."
               "Correct, Meg.  Let's assume that it is Wednesday night
          and we have just received word that the two weapons have
          been stolen.  Where do we look for clues?"
               "First place I would look is for aircraft departures or
          ship sailings.  That would be the quickest way to get those
          weapons off Italian soil and make our getting them back the
          most difficult."
               "Can you query for that kind of information?  And get
          it quickly?"
               "You must have become a terrible lover, Jim.
          Everything has got to happen now for you!"  She looked at
          him with a gentle smile.
               "Hey, it's only after I've been away a very long time
          ... and stayed straight ... against my better judgment ...
          that it goes too quickly!"  He gave her his disarming grin.
               "Okay, Jim.  I'll try to get this information ...
          quickly!"  Meg was smiling as she turned to her computer.
               Jim knew that it had been the right thing to do to open
          up his feelings about Meg.  There were tender places in his
          heart that still ached and he needed to let them begin to
          heal.
          
          
          London, Saturday, 3:15 A.M.
          
               "Nelson, thanks for calling me in.  What do you have?"
          The Brigadier settled into a comfortable chair in the
          conference room.  His Deputy, the French liaison, the SIS
          liaison, and the intelligence officer joined him.
               "Brigadier, I'm am sorry to have had to call you in but
          new information has come to light that required your
          immediate attention."  Nelson turned to the map and pointed
          to Crotone near the boot heel of Italy.  "Sometime Wednesday
          afternoon two thermonuclear weapons were stolen from the
          United States Air Force at Crotone Air Base.  Several people
          were killed."
               "Good Lord, man!"  The Brigadier spoke for all in the
          room.  After a few moments of letting the words sink into
          his tired brain he said, "Please continue, Nelson."
               Nelson pointed at the French-Italian border near
          Torino, Italy.  "Early Thursday morning a truck accompanied
          by at least two motor cars crashed the border.  A number of
          guards were killed or wounded.  The truck was later found in
          France abandoned with all clues removed.  We speculate, and
          I emphasize 'speculate', that the truck was carrying the
          missing weapons.
               "When I say 'we', I mean Colonel Grissom and I have
          been concerned from the beginning that the Chunnel hijacking
          might not be the main target of terrorist action.  Too many
          variances in expected terrorist actions led us to believe
          that Salim has been trying to keep our attention focused on
          him while something else is underway.  We are continuing to
          try to sort out what that 'something else' may be."
               "Nelson," the Brigadier interrupted, "this is all quite
          fantastic!  Why have the Americans waited until Saturday
          morning to report this loss?  Why haven't the Italians and
          French been alerted?"
               "Brigadier, I do not know the American reasoning.
          Colonel Grissom put his tail on the line to get this
          information.  Even their Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of
          Staff was not aware of the theft.  I cannot say who was
          holding back or why.
               "Sir, we expect that the Americans will alert the
          allies, but Colonel Grissom and I felt that you should
          discuss this with the PM and speak with Brigadier LaRoche
          due to our fears that the theft is tied in to current
          terrorist activities.  We need extraordinary police work
          from the French.  Perhaps Brigadier LaRoche will handle
          that."
               "Sir," the SIS liaison spoke.  "We have plotted out the
          course of the Louis Catorce as it makes its way to
          Rotterdam.  A number of us have agreed that this is the most
          significant target for the terrorists."  He moved to another
          chart on the wall that covered the coastal areas from Brest
          to Rotterdam.  "The weather forecast is very poor in the
          Channel and North Sea, which is normal at this time of year.
          We do not believe that aircraft available to the terrorists
          could locate the Louis Catorce with much degree of
          confidence.  Therefore, if an attack on the ship is planned
          we believe it will be a executed as a surface attack.
               "I have plotted the known locations of Libyan, Syrian
          and Algerian ships in these waters.  Nothing is close at
          this time.  However, these two ships, both Libyan," he
          pointed at Rotterdam and Portsmouth, "could leave port and
          intercept the Louis Catorce while it is en route.
               "Making life even more difficult, perhaps a smaller
          boat, something rented in a French or English port, could be
          used.  The possibilities in that event would be almost
          countless."
               "Do you think that the nuclear weapons could have been
          brought to England to be put aboard the ship in Portsmouth?"
          Nelson asked.
               "Not a likely move, I would think.  But we cannot
          possibly track down all of the small craft that could have
          crossed the Channel the past few days."
               "I have asked for Portsmouth authorities to quietly
          delay the ship and carefully search it.  A runaway teenager
          who recently made the local news will be the object of the
          search."
               "Could the weapons have been moved to Rotterdam?"  This
          time the Brigadier had spoken.
               "Yes, sir, but the most direct route from Crotone," the
          SIS liaison pointed at the map, "would have crossed through
          the Goddard tunnel in Switzerland and on up through Germany.
          Much quicker."
               "Perhaps they wanted to throw us off the trail with the
          feint through France," posed the Deputy Director.
               "I think that we must keep in mind that it was only by
          accident that we may have found the terrorists' trail into
          France.  If that was their convoy, it was only by a stroke
          of very bad luck that they were challenged at the border.
          I'm sure they were ready to shoot their way through if the
          alarm had been raised and border had been closed.  But I
          think they were hoping to quietly move into France with no
          notice taken.  I do not believe they were trying to throw us
          off the track.  They were not intending to be leaving tracks
          at the border."
               "So you think that a small boat from a French port is
          the more likely method of attack?"
               "Brigadier, since the Louis Catorce is destined for
          Rotterdam the Libyan ship there cannot be discounted.  We
          need to ask Dutch police to check it out thoroughly.  The
          Louis Catorce docking should give them ample cover to do
          just that.
               "I do not believe the terrorists would risk the Channel
          crossing to move nuclear weapons into the United Kingdom to
          put on a ship in Portsmouth or on any other boat.  Right now
          that leaves us with the French small boat theory posing a
          huge problem due to the extensive coast line."
               "Very well.  And what do we do about the proposed
          target, the Louis Catorce, gentlemen?"  The Brigadier
          refocused the group.
               Everyone sat thinking for a few moments.  Finally, the
          Deputy Director spoke.  "Why don't we just request that they
          reverse course back into Brest?  That should get the PM and
          the other gentlemen out of harm's way in the most
          expeditious manner."
               "That has a lot of merit, Sir, but we would still have
          to contend with not knowing the whereabouts of two nuclear
          weapons that are probably armed and committed for use.  Once
          the terrorists realize that the target has been lost they
          may choose to detonate the weapons in Paris, or Brussels ...
          or anywhere they choose.  I think we must be very careful
          about seeming to take away their target."
               "Nelson, that is a good point.  We must consider it.
          But my primary concern right now is to talk with the PM.  He
          may not wait for our recommendations but may want to get off
          that ship right now!
               "Gentlemen, I want you to work with the MOD liaison and
          Scotland Yard to develop a list of possible targets other
          than the Louis Catorce.  I do not even want to consider it
          the possibility, but you will recall the devastation in
          London and Belfast caused by conventional bombs in 1993!
          One small thermonuclear device could level this town, kill
          millions.  Good Lord!"
               All were silent.
               Finally, a quiet voice spoke.  "Sir, I recommend that
          we re-convene at 4:00 A.M. after your telephone calls.
          Perhaps we will have guidance from the PM and more
          intelligence data."  The SIS liaison's suggestion got nods
          all around.
               "Very well, gentlemen.  Thank you.  Nelson, come to my
          office whilst I call, just in case I need more details."
          
          
          London, Saturday, 3:40 A.M.
          
               "Meg, you've been at that computer for a solid hour.
          Anything?"
               "Jim, look at this as being a labor of love.  You said
          you could be patient about that!"
               "It's just that I have read through every file in this
          office and haven't added anything new to the equation."
               "Well, I've got some answers, but I'm still not
          finished with the aircraft departures.  There is something
          pretty fishy out of Brindisi."
               "What do you have?"
               "Ship sailings were easy to get from the International
          Maritime Register.  Six ships sailed from Brindisi, Taranto
          or Naples since Wednesday noon bound for Libya, but none of
          them is going direct.  All were heading to Spain or France
          to pick up cargo.  And all are still at sea in the
          Mediterranean for another forty-eight hours."
               "Doesn't sound too positive," Jim bit his lower lip.
               "My intuition is that there is nothing useful in that
          list."
               "What about aircraft departures?"
               "Libya has two scheduled flights per day between Rome
          and Tripoli.  That means five possible departures since the
          theft.  They could have slipped the weapons on board pretty
          easily as cargo."
               "Wide open possibilities to that one."
               "Yes.  But the strangest I've found is a twin-engine
          private aircraft that is missing and presumed down out of
          Brindisi.  The flight plan was filed to Benghazi, Libya, but
          Libyan Air Traffic Control reported the aircraft overdue.
          The manifest listed the pilot and two passengers, plus four
          hundred kilograms of tractor parts."
               "Now that has possibilities.  If we were hot on their
          trail Wednesday evening we would check airports and would
          have come up with that twin.  Khadafy could easily cover his
          tracks by calling the aircraft overdue.  We would have
          insisted that it had made it safely to Libya, but pooh on us
          because the aircraft probably had been repainted and
          renumbered by then."
               "What about satellite photos?" Meg posed.
               "They might have shown us something, but we would try
          diplomatic pressure before we barged in.  That would buy
          them the time they needed to pull off whatever it is they
          intend.  Khadafy could disavow any knowledge later and slip
          past official retribution, if any were proposed."
               "So do we have the trail that we were supposed to
          follow?"
               "Probably.  But I bet that there are also suspicious
          manifests for the first flight to Tripoli on Thursday.  It
          would take an Italian magistrate a week to find out.  Again,
          it buys time."
               Jim moved to the desk.  "May I?" he said, as he picked
          up the STU III receiver.
               "Of course!"
               Jim quickly dialed Nelson's number and then waited
          while the clerk brought Nelson to the telephone.  While he
          was waiting he pushed the "secure" button.  When Nelson
          answered, Jim said, "Green and TS, here."
               "Green and TS, here.  Jim, what do you have?"
               "Meg has come up with the trail that I think we were
          supposed to follow starting Wednesday night.  It leads from
          Brindisi Airport to an overdue aircraft report from
          Benghazi, Libya.  Just fishy enough to get us to follow it
          up until after the terrorists had attacked elsewhere."
               "Are we positive that it is 'fishy'?  You know, Jim, we
          have kept thinking that the border incident was our bad
          guys.  But what if they really did take the nukes direct to
          Libya and the Camorra are to blame for the Torino incident?"
               "You're just trying to confuse me aren't you, Nelson?
          Well let me tell you, you win!  I'm so confused!
               "Now, let's get back to work.  My bet is that somehow
          the target is the Group of Eight.  How can they get to
          them?"
               "My bet is by small boat.  We have asked the French to
          put every policeman they've got on this."
               "Have you spoken to the Brigadier?"
               "Yes, we briefed him.  He called the PM and the
          Minister of Defence and brought them in on the situation.
          Your President had already briefed the PM and the Presidents
          of France and of Italy."
               "What is the reaction on the ship?"
               "They are to make a final decision at a six o'clock
          meeting this morning.  I suspect they will want to put into
          port as soon as possible.  Oh ... just a moment."
               While Nelson was off the line Jim quickly told Meg what
          was happening.  He did not want any of the infamous
          intelligence "green doors" separating intelligence reports
          from the operators who need them, closing on him now.  He
          wanted her to know all the facts so she could offer the best
          analysis.
               "Jim?"
               "Yes, Nelson?"
               "SIS just informed me the Libyan ship at Portsmouth has
          put to sea.  The authorities had no time to search it.  In
          addition, it seems that we also have a Libyan television
          crew that has hired a heavy-lift helicopter from a Great
          Yarmouth oil platform servicing company.  They have
          requested flight operations to help provide coverage of the
          Chunnel hijacking.  That's two possible attackers in the
          area after daybreak.
               "Jim, we need to think this out.  We don't have enough
          resources to cover all the possible threats."
               "Nelson, I'll be there in ten minutes."
          
          
          
          Chapter Twenty-Two
          
          
          London, Saturday, 3:55 A.M.
          
               Jim took the stairs two at a time and quickly pushed
          the entry door bell.  He looked up, flashed a grin into the
          television camera, and the door was immediately electrically
          opened for him.
               He found Nelson in he briefing room pouring over the
          coastal charts and sipping cold tea.
               "Don't you have a coffee shop in this building?
          Nelson, we don't build any military headquarters anywhere in
          the world without a coffee shop!"
               Nelson looked up and offered a tired smile.  "James!
          Glad you're back.  Would you care for some tea?"
               "No, thanks, Nelson.  I'll wait for morning coffee."
          Taking a chair he continued, "What's up?
               "You had a call a few moments ago that you have
          helicopters arriving at RAF Northholt at four this morning.
               "Our staff reconvenes here in two minutes to go over
          the possibilities concerning the nuclear weapons and the
          Louis Catorce and what we should recommend to the Prime
          Minister and the President of France."  Even as he spoke,
          the key players were filing into the briefing room and
          taking seats in anticipation of the Brigadier returning to
          the room.
               "Please keep your seats, gentlemen."  The Brigadier
          entered the room and walked briskly to the front of the room
          to speak first.
               He looked around at the staff as he began, "I have
          spoken to the Prime Minister.  He has confirmed that
          Scotland Yard are to continue in charge of all police
          matters, but that DSF will takeover immediately if we must
          secure the terrorists in the Chunnel.
               "Also, if the police are able to locate the US nuclear
          weapons,  we will assume command as soon as we can move to
          seize them."
               He turned to Jim, "Colonel Grissom, we would appreciate
          your nuclear technical experts if we should need them to
          assist."
               Jim stood.  "Brigadier, if the weapons are located and
          you move to take them I will transfer command to you and you
          may delegate it to your tactical commander.  The matter will
          be made absolutely clear to the US team."
               "Thank you, Colonel Grissom."
               Jim took his seat.
               The Brigadier continued with his update.  "I discussed
          with the Prime Minister the need to review the contingencies
          and options for the continued movement of the Louis Catorce
          in light of the possibility that the liner is the primary
          target for terrorist action.  The Group of Eight will
          convene in two hours to take a decision for their course of
          action.  I must tell you that my current recommendation is
          that the Louis Catorce reverse course for Brest to stay well
          clear of any attack craft."
               "Brigadier." Jim again stood.
               "Yes, Colonel Grissom?"
               Jim knew that he had few facts to back up his
          intuition.  "I feel very strongly that the ship is the
          target.  If I were them I would have established checkpoints
          to monitor progress, either visually, or by maritime radar.
          If I did not sight the Louis Catorce I would go to a back-up
          plan and fire off those nukes somewhere else.
               "I strongly believe that we need to keep the ship on
          course and on its time schedule, even if we pull the Group
          of Eight officials off.  At least it will keep the
          terrorists focused on the ship while we try to locate and
          nail them before they can do any damage.  It seems to me
          that any other tactic could leave us open to nuclear
          blackmail or blind attack."
               "I understand your position, Colonel, and I have tried
          to make the point clear to the PM."
               "Brigadier, could you approve Colonel Grissom and I
          flying out to brief the PM and the others in person?  We
          have a helicopter that can put us right on target no matter
          the weather."  Nelson was now standing next to Jim.
               "Please sit down, gentlemen, and let's discuss this."
               The Brigadier pulled a chair from the front row and sat
          facing them.  He looked around the room asking, "What are
          the recommendations?"
               The SIS liaison spoke.  "I think that the ship should
          continue on course.  Perhaps the only way to insure that
          happens is for our officers to speak to the PM and his
          cohorts in person.  Can the destroyer escort take the
          passengers off with the weather as it is?"
               The Deputy Director, a Royal Marine officer, spoke.  "I
          do not believe that small boats or a bos'n chair can safely
          be used, given the reported sea state.  It would seem the
          only way to get the men off would be to put in to port or at
          least maneuver the ships into sheltered waters.  That would
          require a minimum of four hours delay, I would guess."
               "A delay of that magnitude would be detected by the
          terrorists, I'm sure, if they are monitoring.  It would cost
          us their target focus."  Jim had again spoken.
               He continued, "Maybe the only way to get them off is to
          use our special helicopters.  I have faith that they can do
          the job safely.  You will remember that they used to be the
          only long-range rescue helicopters stationed in England and
          made a number of spectacular rescues in the North Atlantic,
          including the Yarawonga."
               The staff nodded, remembering how the American airmen
          had established a reputation over the years for daring
          rescues far out to sea.  In 1988 they had plucked 35 crewmen
          to safety as the merchant ship Yarawonga had foundered in
          thirty foot seas over 500 miles from land.
                "Colonel Grissom.  Please confirm with your flyers
          that they can do this job.  If the plan can be put together
          quickly I will call the PM and request that you and Nelson
          fly out to speak to the group."
               The Brigadier paused a moment.  "Give Davness the flash
          to move forward into the Chunnel.  We have to be ready for
          intervention from 8:00 A.M. onwards."  All present recalled
          that the next broadcast from the terrorists began then.
               The staff stood as the Brigadier left the room.  Nelson
          spoke briefly with members of the staff to ensure the
          movement order was passed and that the forward command post
          at Folkestone was activated.  He then joined Jim and they
          moved back along the corridor to Nelson's office.
               "Nelson, do you mind if I use your STU III to set up
          the 'getaway adventure vacation of the year' for you and
          me?"  Jim was grinning weakly as he anticipated that he and
          Nelson would have a wild time getting aboard the Louis
          Catorce.
               "Make it so!"  Nelson nodded as he mimicked Captain
          Jean Luc Picard of the old Star Trek series; his face was
          grim but determined.
          
          
          
          Chapter Twenty-Three
          
          
          Stirling Lines, Hereford, England, Saturday, 4:20 A.M.
          
               The men boarding the helicopters appeared to be
          Eurotunnel maintenance employees departing for a day of
          routine work.  There was nothing remarkable in their
          Eurotunnel overalls or in their bearing to give any other
          indication.  The heavy tool boxes and kit bags, however,
          contained sufficient firearms, munitions, and explosives to
          deal with a small war.
               Major Davness double-checked the manifest with his
          Sergeant Major, then boarded last.  He knew the next several
          hours would be the most boring for his men.  First there
          would be the flight to Ashford, near Folkestone.  From a
          secluded landing zone on the small post, the men would
          discreetly move forward to the service tunnel entrance to
          join the other maintenance crews heading into the Chunnel
          for the day work shift.
               His teams had taken the past three hours to sleep after
          working for eight hours against a mockup of the train they
          would most likely have to assault.  They had also spent
          several hours firing their specially-modified Heckler and
          Koch MP5 assault rifles in smaller mockups within the
          "Killing House".  The teams were in peak condition for an
          assault on the terrorists.
          
          
          RAF Northholt, Saturday, 4:25 A.M.
          
               "Yes, Colonel Grissom, I have you green and Secret.
          This is Lieutenant Colonel Ruckel speaking."
               "Colonel Ruckel, you're the 21st Special Ops Squadron
          commander, right?"
               "Yes, Sir.  We are ready to support you."
               "How are facilities?"
               "Pretty good from what I've seen, Sir.  The Navy met us
          when we landed moments ago and have given us secure rooms in
          their Ops Center to use for mission and flight planning.
          The RAF brought in extra weather and intelligence briefers
          to work with our crews and intel folks.
               "The helicopter aircrews are still coming in from the
          flight line.  Our aircraft maintenance team and parts are
          coming by HC-130 aircraft which are now arriving.  The HC's
          will also air refuel us, if we need them."  There was a
          brief silence.
               "We have not been given any directions, Colonel
          Grissom, but we assume that we are here to support the
          Chunnel takedown."
               "Correct, uh, Mark, isn't it?"
               "Yes, Sir, 'Mark'."
               "Mark, please call me, 'Jim'.  Here's what we have so
          far.  The situation is quiet in the Chunnel and the British
          and French special forces have a solid plan to deal with the
          terrorists.  However, something else has come up.  We think
          the President, Prime Minister, and other high rollers
          attending the Group of Eight meeting aboard the French liner
          Louis Catorce might be targeted by terrorists, too.
               "I can't take time to go into all of the linkages and
          reasons for our assumptions, but Colonel Bartlett of DSF and
          I need to fly out to the Louis Catorce and speak to the
          President and his counterparts.  If they agree to our plan
          we will need to fly all of the VIP's safely to shore.  Can
          you see where I am leading?"
               "Okay, Jim.  The weather forecast is typical November.
          Your thinking no one could find the boat in this kind of
          weather except for us.  I agree.  Give us the ship's
          location and we can put you down by hoist or fast rope
          without too much problem.
               "If you're talking about hoisting everyone out, that's
          another story.  The operation will be slow and physically
          demanding, not to mention risky for the President.
               "To tell you the truth, I wasn't thinking about
          hoisting people off.  I want you to land on the Louis
          Catorce so the President and his pals can climb with dignity
          into your helicopter.  They are Very Important People, you
          know."
               "Jim, we can't land a forty-eight thousand pound
          helicopter on an ocean liner!  There just isn't enough deck
          to land a Pave Low, and with pitching and rolling in these
          heavy seas we won't be able to hold pitch to keep the weight
          off the deck.  Ocean liners are not stressed for our weight.
          They are configured to accept the small, sight-seeing or
          harbor pilot helicopters.  Our heavy-lift birds will buckle
          the deck."
               "Can you do it safely, I mean so that it is safe for
          the passengers, if you don't have to worry about hurting the
          ship?"
               "We can try.  I would rather have one of my guys take a
          look before doing it."
               "Excellent idea, my friend.  Is that big, tall super-
          sergeant helicopter gunner, Larry, there at Northholt with
          you?"
               "Chief Hurt?  Yes, he's here."
               "Well, I remember him telling me over a beer back at
          Hurlburt Field, Florida, that he was a US Navy-qualified
          helicopter landing safety officer.  If that's true, put him
          onboard with Colonel Bartlett and me; he can investigate the
          landing pad while Colonel Bartlett and I are speaking with
          the President.  Larry can marshal you in to pick up the
          VIP's if they decide they need to fly off.  Agreed?"
               "That might work."
               "It might have to work, Mark.  It might just have to
          work.  Standby for a second."  Jim turned to Nelson.  "Where
          can the helicopter land to pick us up, and what will be the
          ship's coordinates, heading and speed in, say, one and a
          half hours?"
               "Jim, we can have the police close off Kensington Road
          in front of Royal Albert Hall for the helicopter to land.
          That provides the largest open area and traffic won't be a
          problem at this hour.  I'll get the ship's coordinates."
          Nelson walked briskly out of the room.
               "Mark, pick us up in front of the Royal Albert Hall at
          oh-five-fifteen.  That's 45 minutes from now.  The police
          will detour traffic.  I'll put down an inverted 'Y' with
          road flares.  OK?"
               "That will be tight since we still have to flight plan
          out to the ship and brief up the crew on procedures."
               "Mark, I'm giving you all the time we have.  I figure
          it'll take an hour to reach the ship.  Oh, and you better
          alert the C-130 tankers that you will be needing gas.  Give
          us your refueling coordinates as soon as you spin them out
          and I'll have them passed through the Ministry of Defence so
          you will get all of the airspace you want ... guaranteed."
               Nelson returned.  "The ship should be at this location
          at 6:00 A.M."  He passed the note to Jim.
               "Mark, ready to copy?"
               "Go ahead."
               "Oh-6-hundred coordinates:  49 degrees, 26 minutes
          north latitude, 2 degrees, 44 minutes west longitude."
               "Let me read back:  4-9 degrees, 2-6 minutes north, 2
          degrees, 4-4 minutes west.  Is that correct?"
               "Correct.  Heading oh-7-0, speed 14 knots."
               "Heading 0-7-0, speed 1-4 knots.  Correct?"
               "Read back is correct!  Mark, there is one more item
          ... are you armed?"
               "Jim, we are carrying side arms, but the helicopters
          don't have guns installed."
               "Install guns.  You are under my command and I may need
          to give you to the Brits to support takedown.  I want you
          ready to 'reach out and touch somebody' if the need arises.
          Any questions?"
               "No, Sir.  We'll come ready for a fight."
               "Good!  See you at 5:15 A.M. on Kensington Road.  Out,
          here."
               "We'll land on your inverted 'Y' at oh-5-15.  Out,
          here."
               Jim replaced the receiver and looked to Nelson.  "Well,
          my friend, think we can find some heavier clothes than these
          slacks and sport shirts?  We've got about 40 minutes to suit
          up and get a helicopter landing zone set up in front of
          Albert's Hall."
               "Royal Albert Hall," Nelson corrected.  "I think that
          we can find some dark work clothes, sweaters, caps and
          jackets in the next building.  Sort of a depot for our
          lads."  They left Nelson's office and stepped into the
          Brigadier's office.  The staff quickly convened.
               Jim briefly outlined the plan to the Brigadier.  "We
          have set the wheels in motion to get out to the ship.
          However, we can recall the helicopters at any point if we
          are not permitted to board the ship.  May we have permission
          to get airborne, Brigadier."
               The Brigadier looked around the room and was met with
          nods.  "I approve the plan.  I'll call the PM and notify MOD
          of your flight and its priority.  Satellite communications
          are our primary link to the ship.  Your American aircraft
          will not have the right encryption codes to speak with us.
          How can I recall you, in the event the PM does not agree?"
               "Let's use a pre-arranged code word that you can have
          air traffic control pass along to us in the clear.  We
          should be in radio contact with them, plus Colonel
          Bartlett's clerk has the telephone numbers at RAF Northholt
          for the helo squadron.  You can recall us through them."
               "Excellent!  Shall we use the word, 'Ambush'?"
               "Yes, Brigadier, 'Ambush' will mean we have been
          ambushed!"  Jim had to grin at the Brigadier's dry humor.
               Ten minutes later, helicopter flight plan and HC-130
          air refueling airspace details safely passed to the air
          operations officer at MOD, Jim and Nelson were warmly
          dressed in black and were walking toward the waiting Jaguar.
          
          
          
          Chapter Twenty-Four
          
          
          London, Saturday, 5:14 A.M.
          
               With five minutes notice the efficient London Bobbies
          had cleared Kensington Road of traffic for 500 meters, from
          Queen's Gate to Exhibition Road.  Curious pedestrians were
          kept 200 meters from the center of the landing zone that Jim
          had quickly marked with a five-meter "Y" composed of four
          road flares provided by the ever-prepared Bobbies.
               Nelson looked skyward to the northwest, the expected
          arrival path of the helicopters.  Jim knew the special
          operations helicopter crews didn't particularly like flying
          into such a well-lighted area as downtown London.  They
          always seemed to prefer wearing the space-age night vision
          goggles, "NVG's" they called them, that permitted them to
          operate close to the ground in near pitch-black conditions.
               With a deafening roar of jet engines and clatter of
          swirling rotor blades, the single MH-53J helicopter roared
          out of the light mist and abruptly slowed to a hover.  The
          helicopter gently touched down.
               Jim glanced at his watch from a habit born of hundreds
          of helicopter arrivals, usually in much less glamorous and
          far less safe surroundings:  oh-5-15 hours!  "I think I'm
          going to like this fellow, Mark Ruckel," Jim thought to
          himself over the whine of the MH-53J's two jet engines.
               A crew member immediately appeared down the aft ramp of
          the helicopter and motioned for the men to move toward him.
          Jim immediately recognized him as Larry, the "Jolly Green
          Giant".  Within seconds Jim and Nelson were led up the ramp
          and, along with their gear, were safely tucked aboard.  The
          noise level increased noticeably, the aircraft rose and
          swiftly departed.
               The SAS Corporal shook hands all around with the
          Bobbies, started his Jaguar, and left for DSF headquarters.
          The curious onlookers walked over to where the road flares
          were sputtering their last, talking among themselves that it
          was probably just one of the princes getting out of London
          early for a day of hunting in the countryside.
               Aboard the helicopter the crew member, Chief Master
          Sergeant Larry Hurt, who had assisted their boarding, helped
          Nelson and Jim strap in to the nylon web seats strung the
          length of the left-hand side of the cargo section.  He
          handed Jim a headset for which Jim was extremely grateful
          due to the extreme noise level.  This was a working beast,
          not a plush passenger aircraft, which was taking he and
          Nelson off on their vital mission.  Jim motioned for a
          headset for Nelson but Chief Hurt shook his head as if to
          say, "You got the last one!"
               Jim held up his hands as if to stick his fingers in his
          ears and the Chief nodded and quickly handed Nelson ear
          plugs to help with the painful noise level.
               "Colonel Grissom, this is Mark Ruckel."  The headset
          came alive.  "Welcome aboard 21 Special Ops flight zero one
          ... to the Twilight Zone!"
               Jim quickly found the transmit button and replied,
          "Hey, Mark, my good man!  It looked like you were about
          twelve seconds late on your tee-oh-tee.  Did you dally along
          the approach to look for the lovers in Hyde Park?"  Jim knew
          how touchy the special operations flyers could be about
          their time-over-target.
               "You might want to take time to correct your Army hack
          watch, Jim.  We flyers get our time hacks directly from the
          satellite, not off CNN."
               "Touch,!" thought Jim.
               "As a matter of fact we have been cruising along sight-
          seeing, just above red-line speed on the bird."  Mark
          continued with a hint of steel in his voice to make his
          point.  They had been hard-pressed to plan the mission to
          fly out to the ship and pickup Colonel Grissom on such short
          notice.
               "Well, I wish you'd keep your satellites close to CNN.
          Those last twelve seconds standing about in the London fog
          could have been hard on my health!"  Jim kept the banter
          going.
               "Fast roping down to this ship will be even harder on
          your health, Jim.  Chief Hurt will be going down the rope
          with you so he will brief you on the procedures while we are
          en route."
               Jim looked over to the Chief who was strapped in
          between he and Nelson.  He reached out shook hands and keyed
          the mike once more, "Larry, it is good to be working with
          you again!  You will have your hands full getting the folks
          off of the ship, if that is their decision!"
               The Chief nodded seriously.
               "Jim, with the expected sea state, roping down is
          probably the safest procedure, but it will be no easy task.
          Before I put you and this aircraft at risk, I certainly
          would like to know more details.  I'll only ask once.  I
          know you might not be allowed to say."
               Mark Ruckel was a good special operator who was willing
          to push his airframe to the limit.  Jim instinctively knew,
          however, that as the commander, Mark needed to know why it
          was so very important, and urgent.
               Jim quickly unstrapped and stepped over to Nelson.  He
          spoke a few words into his ear.  Then he stepped back to
          look at him.  Nelson thought for a moment and then nodded
          concurrence.
               Jim returned to the webbed seat and strapped in.
          "Mark, Colonel Nelson Bartlett of DSF has agreed that I may
          tell you what is going on.  Do your crew members hold Top
          Secret clearances?"
               "Jim, we all hold TS, plus SCI.  The intercom is
          secure.  You may speak freely since each of us has a need to
          know if we are going to get you on this ship, and then get
          the VIP's off."
               Jim paused to take a deep breath.  "Mark, we have come
          to believe the Chunnel hijacking is a diversionary tactic.
          We believe that the true terrorist target is the Group of
          Eight heads of state aboard the cruise ship Louis Catorce.
               "Mark, here is the real kicker:  the US Air Force had
          two B-61 thermonuclear devices stolen two days ago.  Colonel
          Bartlett and I believe that the nukes are targeted against
          the ship.
               "If the ship is detected diverting to a safe port to
          discharge the President and his counterparts, then we can
          expect the terrorists to simply move the nukes to a large
          city, such as Paris or London, and detonate or blackmail us.
          So long as the terrorists can focus on the ship, our police
          and military forces have the opportunity to locate and
          neutralize the threat.  Questions?"
               There was a long period of silence.  Beyond the
          protection of his headset Jim could hear the roar of jet
          engines and the massive rotor blades.  The whine of the
          hydraulic pumps that sustained the flight controls made
          sorrowful music.  He understood that the shocked look on
          Larry's face probably reflected the impact on the other crew
          members.
               Mark finally spoke, "Colonel Grissom," he involuntarily
          returned to a formal basis, "this is really scary.  If those
          nukes go off anywhere it will change life on earth.  This is
          almost unthinkable.
               "How much time do you think we have to get the
          President off the ship?  How much time do we have to find
          the nukes and disarm them?"
               "Tough questions, Mark."  Jim noted his instincts were
          right:  Mark had bought into the team and now used the term
          "we" as a full partner.
               "The Louis Catorce is due in Rotterdam at 8:00 A.M. on
          Sunday.  That would be 7:00 A.M. London time.  The bad guys
          can attempt a hit any time between now and when the VIP's
          are disembarking.  That gives us a twenty-five hour window--
          at max!
               "I believe that the terrorists will need daylight in
          order to launch an attack to make sure it is the right ship.
          We believe they have access to two freighters and one
          helicopter, plus they could easily have smaller craft.
               "Literally thousands of craft are in the Channel on any
          given day and nearly 2000 boats go through the Dover Strait
          daily.  They could mix in with the traffic and get close to
          this ship.  The possibilities are endless.  The sooner we
          get the VIP's safely to shore the better."
               "Jim, I am going to alert the other helicopters to
          begin launching out to the area of the ship at 15 minute
          intervals.  That will give us a flow pattern.  With your
          concurrence I'll direct the HC-130's to support us with two
          in the air, and two on the ground ready to takeoff.  Also, I
          need my extra crews moved forward from RAF Mildenhall to a
          staging base.  HC's can handle that, too.  We have got to
          compress the time line if we are going to get a large number
          of people off of that ship in the next few hours."
               "You are cleared to set up the flow you want, and
          launch HC-130's for gas and transport.  Remember, no
          transmissions about the nukes, and no reference to the
          ship's name or it being a target.  Even over secure comm.
          OK?"
               "Understood.  You had better get cracking with Chief
          Hurt to prepare for your boarding."
          
          
          Somewhere in the Night Sky, over Canada, Saturday, 0555
          Hours Zulu
          
               The C-5 Galaxy glided along through the dark night
          skies far above the clouds and the frozen land below.  Sandy
          slept fitfully.  He kept dreaming a terrible dream:  he was
          in his disassembly bay at Pantex and found the weapon was
          armed.  He was trying to disarm it and was having a great
          deal of trouble with the intricate innards.
               The bomb was extremely big and fat, and painted an ugly
          black.  Sandy looked at his hands in frustration and felt a
          scream rise in his throat when he saw that his fingers had
          turned to ten fumbling thumbs.  Frantically, he renewed his
          efforts to defuse the threat, but try as he might, he could
          not operate the delicate instruments to safe the bomb.
          Suddenly there was a blinding light and Sandy woke to the
          chilly aircraft cabin.
               Sandy fell back into his sweating sleep and the
          terrible cycle repeated.
          
          
          Under the English Channel, Saturday, 6:00 A.M.
          
               Jacques woke early and looked at his watch.  He tried
          to quietly work the stiffness from his shoulders without
          waking the young teenager in his arms.  It was the only
          comfortable sleeping position for them, and it was a
          comforting position as well.
               Looking around Jacques saw that the heavy-set Arab,
          "Tiger," was sitting atop the bar so that he could view the
          entire car.  His eyes seem to glare at Jacques through his
          mask.  Jacques unconsciously cradled the young girl more
          tightly as if to protect her.
               Most of the hostages were still sleeping, and no one
          was speaking.  The rail car was a mess of used food
          containers and unattended toilet cans.  The stench of human
          filth and perspiration filled Jacques' nostrils, but he
          readily fought back the revulsion as he reflected upon the
          fact that they were all still alive after more than twenty-
          four hours as prisoners.
               Jacques realized that he didn't comprehend the politics
          involved in the hijackers' demands.  He did know that in the
          next hours the crisis would be resolved one way or another:
          either the demands would be met and he and his charges would
          be released; or a violent ending would ensue as people were
          executed and the police had to step in.
               He shuddered involuntarily as he thought about the
          ominous monitoring machines with their deadly payload that
          could rupture the Chunnel and drown them all.
          
          
          
          Chapter Twenty-Five
          
          
          Fifty Miles North of the Isle of Guernsey in the English
          Channel, Saturday, 6:22 A.M.
          
               Nelson felt the heavy shudder of the MH-53 helicopter
          as it was slowed from cruise airspeed and began the
          transition to the hover over the Louis Catorce.   Chief Hurt
          had briefed them well on the procedures they were to follow
          using the ropes to board the ship.
               The air crew had not received the recall code word en
          route to the ship, and once they were close in the ship had
          responded by radio that they had cleared the aft deck for
          the arrival.  The deck would be lighted so that the three
          need not wear night vision goggles, making the boarding much
          easier for them since Jim and Nelson were not used to such
          devices in their current staff postings.
               The plan was for the helicopter to approach the ship
          from the rear and establish a hover about fifteen feet above
          the deck.  Only one rope would be used.  Jim would go down
          first, hit the deck and rapidly move clear.  As soon as he
          was away from the rope, Nelson would slide down the rope.
          The Chief would follow once Nelson was well clear of the
          rope.
               The trick was to time the slide down the rope such that
          the ship was at the top of a swell so that the deck was
          stable below, or moving away from the helicopter.  Hitting
          the deck while the ship was rising would greatly increase
          the risk of injury.
               As Nelson looked out the open right-hand door of the
          helicopter he could see the ship's luminescent wake below as
          the helicopter approached in hover from the rear to take
          advantage of the wind created by the ship's movement.  He
          saw Jim check his heavy gloves and grasp the rope tightly to
          steady himself against the buffeting of the aircraft and to
          prepare for his quick, but dangerous, slide down the rope.
               Nelson noted Jim's frequent glances at the gunner who
          was acting as the safety.  He would give them the "go"
          signal to execute the boarding.
               Nelson felt the same tightness that he knew Jim must be
          experiencing:  he and Jim were out of shape for this sort of
          thing, but it was a necessary move if they were to get on
          board the ship.  Nelson reflected to himself how lucky he
          was to have a friend like Jim who was willing to risk
          everything for Nelson's professional judgment.
               Nelson saw the stern of the ship move slowly into view,
          now only twenty or so feet below the helicopter, and the
          gunner gave the "go!"
          Jim nodded his understanding and looked intently at the
          moving deck below.  After only a few seconds he slipped
          quickly from Nelson's view, so Nelson stepped toward the
          rope, checked his own gloves, and grasped the rope.  He
          began his own rapid calculations of the deck's pitching as
          he noted Jim rolling well clear of the rope.  Nelson pushed
          his way clear of the aircraft and quickly slid down the
          rope, tightening his grip as he neared the deck.  He touched
          down a little more heavily than he intended, but took the
          impact by twisting sideways and rolling across the slippery
          deck.
               The rotor downwash of air and rain mixed, and the
          extremely high noise level rendered the scene surreal.
          Momentarily, Nelson could taste the sand in his mouth from a
          similar helicopter insertion into Iraq just prior to the
          first Desert Storm war.  As he looked up he felt the deck
          rise and saw the Chief exit the aircraft to time his hit.
          Suddenly Nelson felt an even greater rise in the ship and
          knew the Chief was in trouble as he hit the deck far harder
          than planned.  Nelson and Jim, plus several others gathered
          neared the landing spot, quickly moved to his aid as the MH-
          53 pulled away into the misty darkness.
               Jim was the first to reach the Chief and noted that he
          was conscious but dazed.  He was obviously in pain.  Jim
          spoke reassuringly to him and kept him from moving about.
               A voice spoke close to Jim's ear:  "I'm a physician.
          Please let me examine him."  Jim nodded and watched as the
          oddly familiar face moved closer to the Chief.  Jim, smiled
          faintly as he remembered the name behind the face:  Doctor
          Kefalas, the President's personal physician.
               He felt Nelson at his side, "How's the Chief?  He
          really smacked the deck!"
               "Not too good, Nelson.  He is in considerable pain.
          But he is in good hands.  The man with him is the
          President's own doc."
               Nelson nodded.  "Come, Jimmy, let's get to work.  We
          have a lot of persuading to do."
               They moved quickly forward and through the first
          available doorway.  As they stepped into the lounge that
          opened onto the aft deck they were met by a group of rather
          important looking men and women who Jim took to be staff
          members for the Group of Eight.  Nelson recognized the Prime
          Minister's secretary beckoning to him, and he steered Jim
          toward the edge of the group to meet him.
               "Colonel Bartlett, good to see you again."  The
          secretary was ever-efficient and extended his hand to
          welcome Nelson as he drew them toward the door to the
          passageway.  "You must be Colonel Grissom."  He firmly shook
          Jim's hand as they cleared the lounge and moved briskly down
          the corridor.
               "The Prime Minister and his associates have been
          meeting for nearly half an hour, gentlemen.  It is an
          absolutely private meeting so I have no idea of what they
          have decided.  The Prime Minister instructed me to lead you
          in as soon as you arrived.  I hope your trip is worthwhile.
          I noticed that the third fellow appeared to be hurt."
               Before either could reply they reached a security desk.
          The uniformed guard recognized the secretary, but carefully
          checked his badge nevertheless.  After checking their
          identity cards against a listing, he issued badges to Nelson
          and Jim, and they moved on down the passageway to the left.
          At the next security point, all three badges were
          scrutinized and confirmed via telephone with the first check
          point.  Upon reaching a paneled double door, the three were
          again carefully checked by four very tough looking men.
          Once more badges were verified with the first security
          point.
               Upon receiving a nod from one of the security men, the
          Prime Minister's secretary knocked quietly on the door.  As
          soon as he heard the click of the electronic lock, he pushed
          open the door.
               Jim and Nelson stepped into what might prove to be the
          most dangerous arena in which they were ever likely to face
          battle.
          
          
          
          The Publisher hopes you have enjoyed this sample e-edition
          story: Final Statement by Bobbie Clark.  
          The complete Book-On-Disk novel available on PC/DOS 3.5"
          disk can be ordered by sending $4.95 + $1.00 shipping & handling
          to Cedar Bay Press, LLC,  Box 751 Beaverton, OR 97075-0751
          Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.
          
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          Shareware Release Date: 12/28/95
          
          
