Ground Effects

GROUND EFFECTS

By TJ Waters

Copyright 2013 by TJ Waters

Smashwords Edition

Disclaimer

This material has been reviewed by the CIA. That review neither constitutes CIA authentication of the information nor implies CIA endorsement of the author’s views.

- CIA Publications Review Board

Prelude

From CNN Headline News:

"China's capture of a Japanese trawler in the East China Sea has embroiled the strained relationship between the two countries. The Japanese Foreign Ministry held a closed-door emergency session. Delegates emerging from the meeting refused to comment on the proceedings. This incident follows raucous deliberation over the nationality of a tiny group of islands Japan recently purchased from a private Japanese owner. Called Senkaku in Japan and Diaoyu in China, the islands have thrown the entire region into turmoil. American peace keeping forces in the Pacific have been placed on heightened alert. U.S. President Gavin Michaels is, quote, intensely concerned about the stability of the region, dispatching Secretary of State Martin Helms to spearhead the U.S. response.

This is Harold Smythe for CNN in Tokyo, Japan."

Chapter 1

Langley, Virginia

X Division, CIA Headquarters

Reece, Carter, Amir, Kristen, and Brian sat comfortably around the conference room table. Deputy Chief Hartley Caldwell reached down and tapped a few keys on the computer keyboard. The monitor on the wall leapt to life as an attractive Latino man in his mid-thirties filled the screen.

Meet Sergio De la Cruz… Hartley began.

He’s cute, Reece interrupted.

He’s dead, Hartley finished.

Reece deadpanned to Kristen, who merely shrugged. Easy come, easy go, she said.

Hartley continued. Sergio washed up in South Miami two days ago. He did not have a nice day at the beach. DEA is trying to run him to ground.

DEA? Reece repeated.

When the tide dropped him off at the high water mark it also left a large bale of coffee next to him, Hartley said. Drug enforcement and Miami narcotics believe he fell off a boat. But there was nothing inside the coffee bale. Looks to be a dry run.

Amir held up his hand. Far be it from me to not play ball with another agency, but why do we care about drug smugglers in Miami? he asked.

Hartley picked up a folder and passed it to Amir.

Sergio wasn’t a drug mule; he was Cuban intelligence. Miami PD and DEA are not aware of that. I would prefer they not become aware, he said.

Amir took the file and leafed through the first dozen pages. Sergio’s dossier went back over seven years. Cuban intelligence recruited him from the Army. The X Division first identified him in Europe, then Chile, and thought he was still working his last field assignment in Mexico until two Swedish tourists discovered his bloated remains on an early morning beach run in South Miami.

Cuban intel branching out into the chemical export business? Brian asked sarcastically, looking at the file over Amir’s shoulder.

Not as far as we know, Hartley replied.

Wouldn’t make a lot of sense, would it? Carter asked.

How’s that? Hartley asked. Seems to be a pretty lucrative business.

Sure, sure, Carter said. But only if you have the materials. Cuba’s not known for poppy cultivation. The refinement into final product takes a lot of raw material, several chemical intermediaries in fairly large volumes, and a huge amount of fresh water. Cuba would appear to be one of the worst places in the world to be in the drug business.

Hartley smiled. They had the right idea, even when they didn’t fully understand why.

That’s true, Hartley said. But the real question is what was Sergio doing in the U.S.? Ok, he was in the water, but he was obviously close enough that he was either on his way in or on his way back to Cuba. We need to know which it is. I don’t need to tell you the Director has taken a personal interest in this.

CIA Director Paul Watson had been a Latin America case officer during the Cold War. He’d also had the embarrassing misfortune to be running Cuban assets who’d all turned out to be double agents. Every Cuban he’d had was a ruse, feeding him false information, eating up time and money that could better be served on other things. He'd held a personal grudge against the Cubans ever since. There was a time when something like that would have been a career killer. He’d been lucky.

Hartley handed out files to each of them.

Sergio’s partner is a guy named Javier Mendez, we think he’s dead too.

You think? Carter asked. Why don’t you know one way or another?

There wasn’t enough of him to properly identify, Hartley replied, tapping the computer. The next picture on the screen featured a headless torso with one arm missing. An audible groan filled the room.

We think this is Javier – more correctly, what’s left of him, Hartley continued. The Coast Guard recovered him a few days ago. As you can see, the critters got to him first.

The body had clear bite marks on it; apparently it’d been a maritime all-you-can-eat buffet.

But what’s interesting was the other things the Coast Guard found, Hartley said.

Such as? Reece asked.

A bale of coffee just like the one found with Sergio on the beach. The body and the bale were still securely fastened in.

What kind of boat was it? Amir asked.

Well now that’s the interesting part, Hartley said. They weren’t in a boat.

Plane? Amir asked.

Nope.

Hartley enjoyed torturing them, but they were increasingly restive with his game of riddles. A Coast Guard helo saw it from the air and called in a cutter. They used a crane and pulled it up from the shallows, he said

The next picture showed a sleek, grey craft unlike anything they’d ever seen. It was small – shaped like a plane but shorter. It had a wide wingspan but was not very tall. The belly had a small propeller on a retractable lever while the roof held a very large motor and propeller. But the propeller pointed backwards at the rear of the craft, pushing it rather than pulling it.

What the hell is that? Carter asked.

The Coast Guard asked the same thing, Hartley said. It’s a flarecraft.

He went on to explain the vessel was known as a ground effects vehicle, or GEV. It skimmed along a few feet above the surface of the water at high speeds. The basic shape was like a plane for a reason; when the craft moved forward it forced a cushion of air under its wings. The air created a small amount of lift – enough to raise it a few feet above the surface. When it slowed down it settled back into the water and ran like boat using the retractable propeller on the underbelly.

Russia had experimented with ground effects vehicles for years, Hartley explained, looking for an efficient means of transporting cargo and people long distances without having to fly them in pressurized planes. Ground effects vehicles can do this, but there are limitations.

Our Navy SEALS looked at these years ago, Hartley continued. The problem is they only work well when they’re moving. Ground effects vehicles never go higher than a few feet off the water, so they’re perfect for staying under radar. And since it is not touching the water, our underwater SOSUS nets won’t hear it. A very efficient way of moving at high speed over water without being caught.

So why didn’t the SEALS like them? Reece asked.

Because they don’t turn easily, or quickly, Hartley explained. If you’re going in a straight line, they’re great. But if you’ve got to turn, like evading a pursuing boat or plane, you’ve got a problem. It can’t hover like a helicopter. It has to keep moving forward.

Amir snapped his fingers. Like a shark! he exclaimed.

Yes, like a shark, Hartley said. That’s not good for SEAL teams. SEALS turn and burn when they travel – they never go in a straight line. Ground effects vehicles didn’t survive a single day of evaluation. You can’t escape even small arms fire in these things.

Because you can’t evade someone chasing you, Carter noted.

Exactly, Hartley replied. "If it stops, it drops; a deal breaker for the SEALS."

But great for sneaking into the country, Reece observed.

That’s right, Hartley nodded. The eastern seaboard has dozens of places where there are holes in our coastal radar coverage. Something like this, cruising only a few feet above the water over calm seas; we’d never see it.

So what were Sergio and Javier doing? Carter asked.

That’s a good question, Hartley replied. The Russians could provide the Cubans all kinds of advantages with something like this. They spent decades perfecting the technology. As you can see, it’s not particularly complicated. It would be simple to use this to come and go from the U.S. mainland anytime you wanted.

You think the Cubans have gone into the drug business? Amir asked.

No, Hartley replied. But the DEA does. They see a couple of Cubans, bales of coffee to throw off the dogs, and the perfect smuggler’s delivery vehicle. It answers all their mail. But to your point earlier, Cuba is a terrible place to manufacture drugs, so what the hell is going on? Hartley demanded.

Where do we start? Reece asked.

Hartley tapped a few more keys on the computer. With Sergio’s last known asset.

Who’s that? Carter asked.

Another Latino face filled the screen.

Cesar Dumond, Hartley said.

The poker player? Amir asked.

You know him? Hartley replied.

No, not personally. But he’s on TV all the time, quite the finger flinger. What’s he doing for the Cubans?

That is what you are going to find out, Hartley said. I suggest you do so as rapidly as possible, and don’t tip our interest to DEA or the Miami police department.

Nassau, Bahamas

Atlantis Beach Resort

"We should have thrown our careers away years ago," Amir whispered. Carter could only nod silently in agreement.

They had been in the Caribbean for three days. The weather was spectacular and to establish believable cover action they had to be outside. The staff would have noticed a bunch of gringo Americans sequestered inside the hotel within hours. So they were out doing everything Cesar Dumond was doing, and Cesar knew how to have a good time.

The Atlantis Resort and Casino was one of his favorite hangouts. Cesar was a professional gambler, but tended to spend most of his time socializing, men and women, young and old, unknowns and celebrities - he was an equal opportunity parasite. To everyone who wanted a picture taken with him, he was accommodating. In lieu of traditional business cards he gave out playing cards with his face and contact information on the back.

Cesar had made the rounds of the gambling based reality-TV shows. Anyone who professionally handled a deck of cards seemed to know him and like him, even the team liked him. He was personable. He made conversation easily; rarely focused it on himself, and when he did, it was often to set-up a self-deprecating joke. He enjoyed cigars without the prissiness of insisting on Cubans. He liked wine, acknowledging that many good cabernets and syrahs came from South America. He could cook too, something Carter took note of; he wanted to check out the guy’s culinary skills sometime.

It was hard to complain about the duty, though they did feel guilty about it. Plenty of case officers were getting shot at in the Middle East while the only shots they’d taken recently were from José Cuervo.

Anything good? Carter asked, relieving Amir at the surveillance post.

Nope, same as yesterday, Amir replied, gathering up his towel and bottled water. "Going to be