Page 29 of Air Force One (Miranda Chase #16)

Glad of a mandate, Commander Randy Davidson leaned into the task. He was the senior skipper of the three cutters—by seven whole months. He’d also been lead ship out of the port and decided that was good enough to put him in operational command.

It was a make-or-break assignment. If he screwed up, it could well be the end of his career—which would sure as hell end his marriage. If he pulled it off, he just might be the golden boy in both worlds. Did it make him a shit for thinking that? Probably. Didn’t matter; he was in it now.

In minutes he had each ship deploy their RHIB to join the MLBs. The Zodiac rigid-hull-inflatable boats made a better diving platform. The motor life boats were designed to support rescue swimmers, not guys wearing deep-dive SCUBA gear.

“Look, Eastman, we need to show the US Navy, and more importantly the new commander-in-chief, how essential the US Coast Guard is. It’s our first demonstration to power, maybe our biggest ever.

I want bodies coming up to the surface fast. There’s a storm coming and I have no idea how we’re going to move that plane.

Second priority is to assess the condition of the hull.

A lot of secure equipment aboard, maybe we’ll have to demo it in place, so third task is do an assessment on what kind of charges would smithereen that thing.

But first and foremost, I need a hundred percent personnel recovery before this storm kicks our ass.

Go in through whatever emergency exit you can and get them moving to the surface.

Start one team at the top, so we can show action fast.”

“Remember, Skipper, at these depths, the deepest dive has to be the first in a dive series.”

“Roger that. Lead a second team yourself as deep as you can get. Get those, uh, occupants of the foremost cabins,” Randy swallowed hard, “out of there personally. We don’t know the conditions at the nose, so be damned careful.”

“But get them,” Chief Petty Officer Eastman nodded. “Request permission to—”

“Take everyone and anything you need from all three boats except for Stanik. Full gear. Full safety. If we need to send you goddamn hot meals while you decompress on the way up, we’ll find a way to do it.

By the book, Chief, because nothing you’ve ever done will be so thoroughly raked over the coals afterward—but shave that dime as close as you dare. ”

Eastman nodded and hurried off.

When Davidson finally worked his way down the list far enough to order an ROV into the water to assess the plane’s condition, that had sidetracked Miranda along with her Chinese and four-footed shadows—the Vietnamese kid followed tight on their heels.

Heading to the nerd shack, where the science team ran their gear to watch the feed, got them out of his hair.

Next, he cut an MLB loose, had it rigged with a magnetometer and a towed side-scan radar, and sent it off to go searching for that Number Four engine. That made his bridge much emptier.

“You’re making me feel pretty useless, Commander.” The quiet guy with dark hair and an easy smile who’d come off the helo with the others spoke for only the second time since boarding.

“Call me Randy. Why useless?” He eased down into his chair, watching the RHIBs converge on the tail of Air Force One with a full load of divers perched on the rubber gunwales. He hated this part of being a captain: order your people out, then sit on your ass and watch.

“Mike Munroe. Because my specialty is human operations and making sure things run smoothly for Miranda.”

“That woman is some strange piece of work.”

Rather than taking umbrage, Mike didn’t hesitate to nod. “More than you can possibly imagine. She’s also better at her job than probably anyone in the world. That’s not personal bias; that’s bankable.”

Randy knew he was good, but the best? What would that be like? Would he have to be as odd as her to achieve that?

“One suggestion, if I may?”

“Fire away.”

“Get a tanker out here that can swallow however much fuel she and Jeremy said. With long hoses and a big supply of high-pressure nitrogen. It will drive the fuel out and fill the tanks with an atmosphere that won’t flash over.”

Randy surveyed the water. No oil slick. The fuel tanks were still intact.

That was some equipment he didn’t have aboard; the USCG Bear was only so big for storing contingency items. The ability to pump tens of thousands of gallons of highly combustible fuel wasn’t among them.

Also, he didn’t have any spare tanks for thirty thousand gallons of fuel.

He carried five times that, but in diesel tanks for his ship.

His jet fuel load for servicing his lone helo was a tenth that, and it was still half full. No help there. He called out a fueler.

“What was all that about loads anyway? She and that young guy on your team got very strange on the topic.”

Mike didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “Holly was yanking your chain a bit, but it got away from her. Her competence isn’t people.”

“What is then?”

Mike’s soft smile told Randy plenty about the man’s feelings. “She’s a survivor. You wouldn’t believe what she’s been through, even if I was authorized to tell you, yet she’s walked out the far side each time.”

“So far.”

“Yeah,” his sigh was long suffering, “Yeah, so far.”

Randy laid a hand on his shoulder like he was one of the ship’s crew. “Well, this may be urgent, but it shouldn’t be all that dangerous.”

Mike didn’t look any happier before he answered softly, “Not yet. These things have a habit of going sideways.”

Randy looked out at the small boats gathering around the tail section of Air Force One. Mike made it sound as if it hadn’t merely been some stupid mistake or bird strike or something rational.

Zeb, his XO, had tracked down a replay of the President’s speech. Randy hadn’t had time to watch it yet, but Zeb had told him about Feldman’s threat. Somewhere there was going to be hell to pay. He just hoped that it wasn’t by him.

The first news helicopter hove into view thirty seconds later.

Shit!