Sitting in the cockpit of the Air Force C27J Spartan, he listened to an analyst's evaluation of the situation over an encrypted line, checking the team's reasoning once again, while the transport bounced around inside a frontal boundary. Of the fifteen replacement crewmen bound for a Russian oceanographic research vessel, that had been docked in St Johns taking on fuel and supplies earlier today, three tripped Customs alerts when they checked through checkpoints: known SVR and GRU operatives with military backgrounds, and certainly not oceanographers. Canadians photographed the group and imagery was in Langley within minutes, and a further eleven of the fifteen were identified, all former military with established dossiers in CIAs files.
A hit team, in other words, the analyst argued.
And with zero equipment in their luggage.
The research vessel had departed St Johns 14 hours ago, and an Air Force E-8 was keeping track of it's progress, the analyst advised. The ship had traveled 120 miles, heading south along the coast, then turned to 2-4-0 degrees. And such a route would, the analyst said, carry them about a hundred miles off the coast of Nova Scotia, on a route that would take them on a passage along the US seaboard.
"And let me guess? Who's out there?"
"The Jimmy Carter has been tailing the Severodvinsk for three days, sir. She's closing on sea mounts and canyons, working her way into shallower water, the skipper thinks."
"They'll transfer to the sub out out there," Jim said, "then work their way closer to shore."
"That's my guess," the analyst said. "Skipper on the Carter wants a few million sonobuoys dropped from the shelf off Halifax all the way around through the Bay of Fundy. We can fine tune their approach once the Severodvinsk gets into shallower water, but he wants to drop back some now. Not enough room to hide, something like that."
"What's going on up on the seventh floor?" Jim asked, referring to the operations directorate on the top floor.
"No decision yet. They're still talking with the White House."
"Swell."
"I know. Looks like three days 'til they can make the transfer, and maybe two more for a real cautious approach. If I was going to do this I'd try to get in the channel between Grand Manan and the coast. It's real noisy in there...easy to hide."
"Well, they'd break the 12 mile limit, and it's full of lobster pots. Not real smart."
"They need to get within a mile or two if they're coming by inflatable. A helluva lot closer than that if the team is going to swim for it."
"They won't do that."
"I don't think so either."
"What about sleds?"
"Possible," the analyst said thoughtfully. "Hadn't thought of that. Several on the team have the relevant experience."
"Do we know what the range is on that new unit is?"
"The two man units, uh, let's see, looks like about 30 klicks, so call it 10 to 12 each way, with a little in reserve."
"That would put them off the twelve mile line, on the east side of the island."
"Deniability?"
"Exactly. Uh," he said, looking out the cockpit windshield, "looks like we're getting ready to land. I'll get back to once we're airborne again."
"K - out."
He looked up, saw runway lights ahead through rain and intermittent clouds, and the little transport flared over the numbers and rolled out on runway 34, then turned off to the northeast, and the pilot taxied to the Canadian Air Force facility on the east side of the airport. An airman opened the door and a blast of rain soaked him as he ran down the slippery metal steps - then across rain-soaked concrete to a waiting US Navy P-8A, and he climbed up those steep stairs and into the cabin. An airman close the door behind him and the Boeing's engines spooled up as he walked into the cockpit, putting his raincoat in a closet as he walked forward.
"War Eagle 3-0, clear to taxi," he heard the tower say as he strapped into the jump-seat and put on the proffered headset.
"Rolling."
"Uh, three-zero, change of runway and departure information. Wind now 2-6-0 at 18, taxi direct to two niner from your position and hold just short of the active. At 1900 left turn direct VOBEG, then hit GAGMA at 6000."
"Eagle 3-0, 12 and 6. Got an altimeter?"
"Still two eight niner five."
"Got it." The captain turned to her co-pilot: "Checklist?"
"Complete."
"Flaps?"
"Set."
"Bugs?"
"Set."
"Armed and crosschecks?"
"Set and checked."
The captain held just short of the runway, flipped on the lights as she checked in with the tower: "Eagle 3-0, holding short of the numbers."
"3-0, hold for the MD-80 on short final."
"Roger." She looked past the ensign in the right seat and scowled. "See anything?" she asked.
"Nothin'. Weather's really closing in fast...nope, there he is..."
Jim bent down, looked out through the rain splattered glass and could just see strobes bouncing off the Air Canada jet's belly, then it flared and settled onto the black asphalt, thrust reversers roaring a moment later, the air behind the MD80 full of drifting spray and settling exhaust.
"Eagle 3-0, clear for take off, and expedite, please."
"3-0," she said, advancing the throttles a little, and as the 737 lined up on the centerline she advanced the throttles, jogged the rudder pedals a little as the jet began it's run.
"80 knots," her ensign co-pilot called out 18 seconds later, then "V1...and...rotate."
She pulled back on the yoke, eyes on her instruments: "Positive rate."
"Gear up..."
And moments later they were in solid cloud, the sudden turbulence extreme.
"Clean the wing," she said, and Jim couldn't tell where they were now, even what their attitude was, until he looked at the screens on the panel. Nothing but gray ahead, then the lights turned off and he couldn't even see that, so he focused on the panel, watched her ease into a deep left turn, saw a waypoint on the screen, and when they hit that point she made another easy left, and another waypoint appeared ahead. Five minutes later the P8 climbed out of the clouds at 12,000 feet and she turned to parallel the coastline, then she turned and spoke to him.
"Better head aft now, sir. You can monitor the ship better from there, and we'll be over the Carter in about, oh, twenty three minutes."
+++++
She watched his men walk into the house next door, but one of them, Tom, slipped through the rain and knocked on the door. And, surprisingly, waited for her to come to the door.
"Where is he now?"
"He had to leave, quite unexpectedly," the man said. "Do you need anything?"
"Is it safe to go outside?"
The question seemed to startled the man. "Ma'am?"
