Los Alamos National Laboratory was the facility to which enriched elements were shipped from the Oak Ridge enrichment facility in Tennessee. The gas centrifuge plant is the single largest structure on the planet where all enrichment is performed for atomic or nuclear weapons in the hands of the United States or its nuclear-weapon-equipped allies. That much I knew from my past work with Los Alamos. I also knew that Sandia Laboratory, located at Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, was the place where the shaped and enriched elements were sent for assembly and shipment. The place where the weapons were stored was called Manzano Mountain, a hollowed-out mountain in full view of anyone in the vicinity of Albuquerque or even distant from it.

I sat considering the astounding information Kohler was giving me, wondering why he was, and about how much of the mission was better known to others involved with it. The Navy had its own special take, my control officer and the Agency decision-makers, their own understanding, and then what I knew, had been informed of or guessed on my own. I definitely knew that there was no way to fire a LAW inside the superstructure of a helicopter, as the back blast would blow most of the receiving bulkhead or even the surrounding area around an open door to bits, which meant that either the device would be used on the ground or not at all. But the next conclusion, taken from either of those eventualities, led me to Marcinko. Had my assigning him to one of the CH-53s played right into someone else’s hands that I knew nothing about?

“This isn’t a recovery mission at all, is it?” I asked Kohler.

“I think the expression that best describes it is ‘blow it in place,’ he replied, smoking another cigarette.

I had an urge to tell him that the smoking would kill him, but thought better of it. I’d never seen anyone in my life who had ‘gray outs,’ as he was terming his periods of being conscious but not mentally there, so whatever was claiming his life was very near to succeeding in ending it.

Nash stepped into the cabin, not shutting the door behind him. He held out one of the Icom radios and nodded at me.

I was expecting to hear Marcinko’s voice, with possibly some more revelations, as this late into the beginning of the mission, I still had no hard and fast idea of exactly what was to be done when we were on the island.

It was Tony, however, his voice reverberating quietly but clearly inside the enclosed space of the cabin.

“Once you cross the line of departure, you’re going to need some instructions,” he intoned, his voice coming out of the little speaker flat and analytical

I waited, as I knew he wasn’t calling me only to let me know he’d be calling again once we were on the island.

“You have a few questions, although most will be answered when you are actually there,” he said, before stopping to wait for himself.

“I give,” I finally said, breaking my rule about not speaking unless there was a question to be answered or extreme need welling up from anywhere.

“Go ahead,” he replied, even though no reply was actually called for.

“Where are you?” I asked. “The range of these radios, good as they are less than twenty miles, which is sure as hell not twelve hundred.” My tone was one of growing exasperation, trying to accommodate one great surprise after another. D.C. was a long way from where we were, which meant time had to be a factor in all of what we were doing because the last phone call to the CIA, and Tony had been only a few hours earlier. And now he was nearby.

When Marcinko had been foisted upon me, I’d thought that he might be the key to actually revealing the actions that would have to be performed once our boat hit the sand, but it was, fortunately, not to be. Marcinko likely had no more horsepower than I to access those above Tony, making the real decisions on matters that had gone nuclear in more ways than one.

“I wanted to be nearby since there’s no telephone contact until you get back to Key West,” Tony said, as if that explained anything.

“I’m close enough but not too close,” he continued, before I stopped him.

“How far?” I asked, pointedly.

“A couple of miles,” Tony replied, his voice developing some strain as he said the words.

“Ten kilotons or less,” I mused aloud, going through the radius distances for the effects of nuclear explosions on humans and structures. Ten kilotons would be significantly less than what had been delivered to both Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Each of those had been significantly larger than ten kilotons, but still.

“Probably a bit less, given its non-hydrogen nature,” Tony replied.

“I guess you won’t be experiencing any ground zero effects should things go wrong here?” I asked, but Tony made no response.

“Okay,” I said into the radio microphone, “what’s the plan with the stuff we have onboard, as I presume that has to be displaced to the tube, or downspout, or whatever the hell is going down under the very center of the island?”

“Indeed,” Tony replied, his voice returning to normal.

The change, first into a tight vocal cord rasp and then back to normal conversational tone flow, caused me to feel resentment. Tony, along with everyone else who had any idea about what was going on, was remaining outside the blast and burn radius of the device’s likely yield potential, while we, still officially uninformed, were exposed to the possibility of very instant death if things went wrong.

“I looked at the chain of fire,” I began, going into the details of the explosive ordnance disposal part of the mission. The detonation cords are attached to radio frequency receivers, and since we don’t seem to have anything to activate them, I’m presuming that will be done externally when we’re clear.”

“Affirmative. Marcinko holds those and will wait for my signal, which I will only give him when you tell me you’re clear.”

I instantly wondered why I would not be allowed to go to where the transmitter was and set the charges off myself, but I said nothing. I was not in a tenable situation, and I knew it. It was the first time my trust crumbled a little with respect to the Agency, and I didn’t like the feeling one bit.

“It’s not what you think,” Tony said, his voice soft and assuring. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s wrong. This is to satisfy the U.S. Navy, and please don’t get the wrong idea, they think you and everyone with you is a hero to be doing what you’re doing.”

I was mute with surprise. I didn’t know what to say for almost half a minute. Finally, I got my breath back.

“What do you think?” I asked, not really expecting much of an answer.

“I don’t think you’re being heroic here,” Tony replied, after a few seconds. “You’re just doing what you are cut out to do.”

“And what’s that?” I followed up, not truly understanding what he was talking about.

“You take unsurvivable situations and make them survivable.”

I stared at the radio in wonder. The man seemed to think more of me than I thought of myself. I was taken back to the valley. I had tried to do exactly what Tony was talking about, but I’d lost all of them in the end anyway.

“Thank you,” I breathed into the speaker that was also the receiver.

“You are a hero,” Tony went on, “you just don’t always act heroically, and when you don’t, you suffer more than any recipient of your unheroic actions.”

“You fought in two wars yourself,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “You have as many, or even more, medals than I do for valor, so you are a hero too.”

“Medals do not denote valor to anyone other than those who do not receive the decorations,” Tony replied, surprising me again with the depth of meaning and tone he was putting into his words. “I’m not sure of what I am in this regard, but I’m not like you. I don’t think anybody I’ve ever met is. Men like Commander Marcinko want to be a man like you, which is why he loves your wife and you, but he’s constrained from showing it.”

I paused for a few seconds and looked around me before responding again.

“Is anyone else able to listen to this exchange?”

“Yes,” Tony said, “this isn’t classified or encrypted; anyone on this frequency can listen in within twenty miles in range, or so.”

“It might be embarrassing if anyone else were to hear this,” I said, truth rolling right off my tongue.

“We’re on a continuous circuit here, almost more like a telephone than a radio, amazing what they’ve done with technology. We could simply ask to see if anybody else is listening in, like a party line in the old days.”

“How would we know?” I asked, truly curious.

Suddenly, the speaker filled up with clicks, like corn popping in a heated pan. The sound became a buzz and then died away.

“Looks like we’re right popular,” Tony said, dryly. “By the way, the NRO has determined, using classified hardware and software, that the island up, down, and inside, using the latest GPR, has no living creatures on or in it.”

Ground penetrating radar had been around for a while, I knew, but I’d only thought of it about doing things like penetrating the ice at the South Pole to see what the land was like underneath the monstrous pack.

“Is that like ‘there’s no life on this planet’ spoken to Captain Kirk by Spock in an episode of Star Trek?” I asked, using a smarmy analytical tone.

“I don’t watch that show,” Tony answered, his own tone too serious for me. “The whole set is built on a plywood set atop ridiculous supports that give way all the time.”

Tony was sending me a message. I knew he was a fan of the show, and I knew that I knew that. I sat silently before going up on deck. The mission was on unstable footing, and things could cave into chaos at any second was the message. My heart warmed to this conclusion. The man did care about me, even if I didn’t want him to think of me as a hero.

“Signing off, and thanks for letting me know where we stand and giving me the clearance to land. I presume when we are on the sand, and I have the cases open that were stashed inside the cabin, I’ll figure out the process to arrive at the intended solution that nobody seems to want to discuss.” I punched the transmit button, which oxymoronically killed the link of our communication.

I worked to regain control of myself and get back on track with the mission. I noticed the sea conditions changing the hull’s reactions to the waves.

It was time to get topside and conduct the landing and then the occupation of the island, which was supposedly uninhabited. I took the radio back up and placed it on the transom next to where Kingsley was bringing in the boat.

“A bit rough,” he said, his tone, as usual, totally without emotion.

“That pier’s a tattered mess,” I nodded toward the starboard side of the hull as I made my assessment.

“Sand is fine and pure here,” Kingsley replied, and it’s looking deep and coarse, which is perfect for this hull. I’m going to run right up onto the shore, but not at such speed that we won’t be able to pull ourselves back off when we’re ready. “Hold tight,” he said, then pushed both throttle levers forward to half power, or so.

The boat shot forward while Kingsley pulled back on the throttles and slid the big, heavy hull onto the sand.

I was surprised by the gentleness of the landing as the boat’s bow sections settled into the soft sand.

“I’ll idle the engines in neutral and keep them ready to go,” Kingsley said, “so I can make it as part of the shore party.”

“No LAW, or any of that?” Nash asked.

“GPR, I replied, not bothering to go into explaining what the acronym stood for.

“Nash, you stay with Quincy on the boat, manning the helm with Quincy looking after Kohler, not that he needs much looking after. I’ll take us into the Quonset hut and examine the supposed tube leading down under the island.

I brought out my .45 and strapped the holster to my waist as I watched Kingsley and Nguyen do the same. We’d standardized our weapons in case of the unlikely necessity of ammunition exchange.

Nothing was said because nothing needed to be said as I eased myself down into the sand, wondering if bare feet would not be better than the combat boots I was wearing, but it was too late to be making changes, and there was no telling what the floor of the hut would be like when we breached it.

Nothing moved as the three of us eased apart, putting about ten meters between each of us. There seemed to be no need for any fire and maneuver positioning, as the place appeared as it had been indicated to be, nothing living anywhere.

The hut door wasn’t locked, so I stepped inside, not even drawing my Colt. The place was empty but with a rather ornate-looking round cover of wood in its very center, which I knew had to be the entrance to the tube.

We spread out and examined the inside of the hut in detail. It became very evident that there were no drugs, money, or really much of anything inside except for mouse and rat droppings, an old desk, and two broken-down wooden chairs. Kingsley and Nguyen manhandled the thick wooden cover off the hole as I knelt to examine what I could see. I realized it really was a plastic tube, just as Tony had described.

“You have the Icom,” I said, my voice soft and quiet as I thought about what was becoming obvious as our mission on site. The explosives were on board the boat, as well as the lines to lower them. Nash was manning the .50 Caliber but with no targets. Kohler was either zoned out or chain-smoking cigarettes, one after another. Meanwhile, it appeared that Kingsley, Nguyen, and I were nothing more or less than beasts of burden landed to haul the stuff to the hole, sink it, and then depart and wait for detonation.

“Tony,” I said into the radio handset, holding the transmit button down.

“Roger,” came right back.

“It’s all as you described, and we’ll begin lowering the functional parts down in a few minutes. I estimate our time on site to be about half an hour, so the CH-53’s should have plenty of fuel to orbit around the island, not to mention the Cobras.”

“Roger, proceed. We’ll hold the electronic transmission until you’re all clear.”

I gave the radio back to Kingsley and got up.

“I don’t like one thing here,” Kingsley said, his voice very low and his tone not at all analytical.

“Tell me,” I replied, my brows knitted and my thoughts of surprise.

“I read a science fiction novel once where two agents were sent to place a nuclear weapon in London. The two guys succeeded in placing the device, and then the team leader went to set the timer on the side of it to give them two hours to clear London before the detonation. The junior partner took out his sidearm and aimed it at his team leader, which shocked the other man.

“What the hell are you doing?” the senior officer asked, stopping what he was doing.

“Why?” the junior officer replied, his voice as shaky as his hold on his automatic.

“Why what?” the other man asked, not understanding at all.

“Why would they not have the device explode when you push the arming timer button? They leave no witnesses for one of the greatest crimes in all of humanity’s history.”

I smiled at Kingsley, noting that neither he nor Nguyen was smiling back.

“We’re not playing with that kind of team. I don’t truly know about the upper echelon of the Navy or the CIA, but I have no doubts at all that Tony would never permit such an action.”

Both men seemed relieved by my unabashed confidence in Tony, which was valid, as I believed every word I spoke.

“Let’s get to work,” I ordered, although I said the words much gentler than I otherwise might have. The canisters were heavy, and getting each one off the boat was more difficult than getting them ready to go down the hole.

After the half hour had passed, I was nearing exhaustion, and I knew everyone else, except maybe Nash and Quincy, both of whom were staying with the boat in preparation for an emergency departure if necessary, were in the same shape. The waves had increased in size and intensity since the landing, although the sky was clear and blue, so there was no explanation for it except that something was likely happening in a place too far off to observe but not far enough to not send vibrations all the way to Murder Island.

The explosives, even though contained inside aluminum tubes I now knew were designed to fit perfectly into the tube with plenty of air around them to allow for rapid descent, were heavy. I presumed that if they were loaded with Composition B, C-4, or even Semtex, the explosion would be impressive, even coming from a hundred and twenty feet down.

“Blow in place,” Kohler had mentioned. We’d come ashore without him because of his lack of any experience, his weak bodily functions, and the fact that, without Nguyen’s constant ministrations, he was one of what a television horror show would call the walking dead.

Kohler remained in the slightly bobbing cabin of the boat, pulled up on the sand a bit, but the majority of its hull was still floating in the water and being encountered by the lively sea.

The ropes had a hefty weight of their own, as the eight cannisters of explosives were each to be lowered with individual measures of strong climbing cord so no release mechanism or retrieval of the rope would be necessary. Nine hundred feet of climbing rope came in at about a hundred pounds, entwined inside canvas sacks. But the weight was only part of the ‘supply’ issue. The sand was coarse, rough, and deep, which made crossing over or through it not much of a problem unencumbered, but carrying fifty-pound cannisters was a different story altogether, particularly bringing the last ones inside the Quonset hut.

Each canister felt like a giant cartridge as I tipped them, one by one, to be slipped down into the tube, likely one atop the other, although there was no way of telling, as there was no light to see the bottom with nor any indication from the ropes because we just let the ends go when the canisters were at their ends. Nothing could be heard, although the ropes did snap from our fingers when released, telling us that the explosives had not reached the bottom before we let them go.

“Why are the ropes not measured full length to extend to the very bottom of this well?” Kingsley asked.

I had no answer as we finished and stood together.

I couldn’t help wondering about the story Kingsley told, though, even if there was no way such a thing could happen to us.

“Let’s not delay in getting the hell off this island and as far away as we can before a decision needs to be made,” I said, turning and walking purposely toward the entrance. We were committed. There were no safety devices on the canisters and no way to reach them or get them back. Our only course of action and survival was to run as quickly as we could.

We made it to the boat moving at double-time across the surface of the sand, our speed allowing us to remain atop it without sinking like we’d done when carrying the canisters. Once aboard, Kingsley took over the helm and backed us into the waves, causing considerable amounts of seawater to cascade into the back of the boat. None of us cared. Once clear, Kingsley pushed the levers all the way forward on both throttles, and we took off, the boat going almost immediately up on plane and building up to top speed very quickly.

Kingsley pushed the radio at me, which told me that it was buzzing in a way I could not hear with all the noise around me. I hit the transmit button.

“You’re almost well clear,” Marcinko said, the sound of his choppers’ whirling blades in the background.

“Affirmative,” I said back.

“Trust, it’s all about trust,” Marcinko went on. “You thought about it, I know you did, as who would not have? You were right, and we all out here thank you for that.”

The radio died, and I pushed it back on the transom, wondering exactly what Marcinko really knew, not that I ever would.