CARRIER 10: ARSENAL By: Keith Douglass

“Concur.

So we know he’s alive and we know they’ve got him. Now tell me about

these weapons.”

“Here.” The next slide was just as detailed, but not as immediately

self-evident. Lab Rat traced around three rectangular structures on

the screen. “For those of you who are familiar with the short-range

Soviet land attack missile systems, you’ll recognize this launcher.

It’s designed to handle either conventional or nuclear weapons. The

satellite pictures picked it up first, and the existence of such

weapons has been confirmed by HUMINT-human intelligence.

Spies and informers, to give them their common name.” Lab Rat paused

to let them absorb the implications. “Let me remind you that all of

this information is classified ‘top secret.” Given the political

instability in Cuba, with the fighting between factions over control

and the presence of military advisors from Libya, we have warnings and

indications that Cuba may be advocating the nuclear option.”

“Nuclear?” Batman’s tone of voice left no doubt as to the depth of his

concern. “Is that a probability, or just a possibility based on

capabilities?”

“A strong probability, unfortunately. While I can’t confirm that there

are nuclear weapons inside Cuba, examination of two freighters making

port in the United States immediately after Cuba indicates small traces

of radioactivity. The Coast Guard picked them up after they became

suspicious during a routine drug search. Evidently they saw something

they didn’t like and ordered a full detention and search. After the

first click on their Geiger counter, they called in NEST the Nuclear

Emergency Services Team.

They confirmed that something radioactive has been in that container

within the last thirty days. Unfortunately, they can’t tell us exactly

what. But the levels indicate” Lab Rat spread his hands open before

him” that there’s a strong possibility it was weapons-grade

material.”

Batman turned pale. “And I thought we’d solved this forever with the

Cuban Missile Crisis,” he said wonderingly. He shook his head as

though to clear his thoughts. “So we can’t be certain, but that

evidence combined with the missile launchers gives me a really rotten

feeling in the gut.”

The room was deadly silent. Not an officer moved, and some barely

seemed to breathe. Lab Rat glanced around the room, noting the pale,

shaken faces. He understood completely-he’d felt that way himself not

an hour before when the first satellite imagery had been faxed into the

highly classified CVIC. He felt an odd, incongruous sense of relief.

It was nice not to be the only one who knew.

“I think I’d better talk to SOUTHCOM right away,” Batman said slowly.

He stood up, dismissing the rest of the staff with a gesture. “Pull up

the contingency plans. All of them, even Bird Dog’s. Be ready. This

is a surprise, but it’s not one we can’t handle. I want full reports

from all departments in thirty minutes.” He turned and walked rapidly

toward the door leading to his cabin.

“A rotten feeling in my gut,” Lab Rat echoed slowly. He walked to the

back of the room and took the floppy disk from the technician who’d

been operating the computer.

“Sir?” The young enlisted man’s voice shook slightly.

“What does it mean? Do they really have nukes?”

Lab Rat clapped the man on the shoulder and forced a smile onto his

face. “I don’t know, Benson. But whatever they’ve got, we’ve got a

cure for it. There’s not a damned thing they could possibly have that

could get through the Jefferson battle group not a damned thing.

Remember, if they start pulling any shit on us, we can turn the whole

island into glass.”

The man looked slightly less worried. “That’s right, they can’t get

past Jefferson.” He paused for a moment, then said, “But what about

that major there? The Marine?”

And that, Lab Rat thought, was the two million dollar question. What

about Thor?

1210 Local (+5 GMT) Flight Deck The angry chatter of gunfire cut

through the dull roar of wind across the flight deck. Lieutenant

Commander Brandon Sikes, officer in charge of the USS Jefferson SEAL

detachment, paused at the hatch leading out onto the hot tarmac and

surveyed the scene. The forward portion of the deck was crowded with

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