Chapter 17 - Shadows in the Strait
Six months into her cadre rotation, the summons arrived at 0200 via an encrypted red-line dispatch to Avery's private quarters.
The operations briefing room inside Joint Special Operations Command Forward staging at Naval Station Rota, Spain, was freezing. The air smelled of burnt espresso and ozone from the humming cryptographic servers lining the walls.
Commander Daniel Hayes stood at the interactive map console, his face illuminated by the blue glow of satellite tracking layers over the Strait of Malacca. Beside him stood a civilian analyst with high-clearance Defense Intelligence Agency credentials.
“Mitchell,” Hayes greeted her, his expression grim. “Sit down. We have an operational emergency.”
The projector illuminated an aerial reconnaissance photo of a 600-foot commercial container ship, the Caspian Glory, dead in the water forty miles off the coast of Sumatra.
“Four hours ago, this vessel went dark on all international maritime transponder arrays,” Hayes explained, tapping the console. “Officially, it’s carrying heavy machinery components from Rotterdam. Unofficially, three sealed shipping containers in the hold contain experimental low-yield uranium centrifuges being transferred under joint NATO monitoring.”
Avery leaned forward, her tactical mind immediately breaking down the vessel’s layout. “Piracy? Or state actors?”
“Neither,” Hayes said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “It’s the remnants of the private tactical syndicate we compromised in the Black Swamp. They tracked the shipment through leaked transit manifests originating from General Vance’s corrupted logistics pipeline before he was relieved.”
The analyst pulled up infrared satellite captures of the ship’s main deck. “Hostiles boarded using high-speed rigid-hulled inflatable boats. They’ve executed the ship's captain, taken the twenty-two crew members hostage in the forward mess hall, and are currently attempting to bypass the pneumatic security locks on the centrifuge cargo hold. If they crack those containers and transfer the components to an extraction vessel, a dirty radiological weapon is on the black market by the end of the week.”
“What’s the intercept timeline?” Avery asked.
“Six hours before an Indonesian storm front moves in and masks their extraction,” Hayes stated. “The Atlantic Fleet can’t get a full SEAL assault troop on target in time. But we have an MH-60 Black Hawk and an eight-man maritime interdiction cadre element stationed on an offshore destroyer thirty miles out.”
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Hayes met her eyes directly. “You wrote the tactical maritime interdiction curriculum for this command, Avery. I’m giving you tactical command of the boarding team. We insert via fast-rope at zero-three-thirty. Silence and speed. If they breach that hold, nobody leaves that ship alive.”
Avery stood up, her hand dropping instinctively to the holster on her hip. “Wheels up in twenty, Commander. Let’s go take our property back.”
