Rules of Engagement

by David Bruns

  He resumed his pacing as the phone rang.

  Rafiq’s voice was low and cool. “I’m working. This better be important.”

  “I need you back now.”

  “I told you, I’m working.”

  “We’ve been compromised. Get back here now.”

  The line was silent.

  “Hello?” Pak said letting his impatience show in his tone. “Did you hear me? We’ve been compromised.”

  “Explain.” Rafiq’s voice was softer now, less demanding.

  “I received a call from the Hong Kong embassy this morning. A low-level staffer was kidnapped and sent back with a message for you. They knew to call me to get to you and they asked for you by name. Not your Korean name. Your real name.”

  “What was the message?”

  Pak blew out a blast of frustration. “That’s not important. These people had skills. They knew who to target and how to get to you. Your cover is blown, my friend. Get back here now.”

  “The message, Pak.”

  Pak hesitated. Until the call an hour ago, he’d never given a thought to Rafiq’s family. He knew his wife was dead and he seemed to recall Rafiq had children, but they had never spoken of them.

  “Pak. The message.” Rafiq’s tone was like steel.

  “They said they’re coming for your children.”

  “Who?”

  The skin on the back of Pak’s neck prickled. “I don’t know.”

  The line was silent, waiting.

  “He said he thought they might be American,” Pak said finally. “We need to get you back now, Rafiq. The whole operation rests on you. The Supreme Leader is depending on you to fulfill the Russian contract … Where are you?”

  “Australia. For now.”

  Pak held the dead phone to his ear for another moment. Australia. What the hell was Rafiq doing in Australia?

  CHAPTER 21

  White House, Washington, DC

  Admiral Henley Reeder, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was normally a calm man. Some of his subordinates had even described his leadership style as placid. He radiated quiet confidence in everything he did.

  But today, the long face beneath his graying fringe was fiery red and far from calm. “Mr. President, with all due respect, sir, we are looking like a bunch of lily-livered wusses out there!”

  The secretary of defense tried to signal the admiral to dial back his rhetoric, but the man wasn’t finished yet.

  “We have evidence that the Chinese are behind the latest hack into the Defense Department database. They got service records, DNA profiles, even security background checks.”

  “Allegedly,” the national security adviser said. “That investigation is not complete yet, Mr. Chairman.”

  “Allegedly, my left foot!” the admiral shot back. “This is on top of their harassing a P-8 on simple freedom-of-navigation operations. But this latest act is the final straw. They disrupted recovery ops on the Ford operating in international waters and forced a dozen US Navy aircraft to divert to Taiwan. This is not—”

  “Admiral,” the president said. “You’ve made your point.”

  Reeder took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.” The chairman leaned back in his chair.

  The president pinned State and Defense with his gaze. “Options, gentlemen.”

  Defense cleared his throat. He was thin to the point of gauntness, with an Adam’s apple that bobbed as he spoke. “Sir, I agree with the chairman. We need to give our frontline commanders more tools to combat Chinese aggression.”

  “Specifics, please,” the president replied.

  “Well, sir, for close-aboard situations, I recommend we authorize shouldering procedures for our surface fleet if the situation warrants.”

  The president stroked his chin. “Actually make contact? Push the Chinese vessel off course?”

  Defense and the chairman nodded in unison.

  “What about aircraft? That seems to be where a lot of these incidents are happening.”

  “Light ’em up, sir,” the chairman said. The secretary of state started to object, but the chairman pressed on. “These Chinese aircraft have buzzed our flight path and disrupted recovery operations for an aircraft carrier of the United States Navy. In another time, that would have been enough for a declaration of war, sir. They have disrespected us long enough. If a Chinese pilot has to put on clean underwear after hearing a fire-control radar lock on his ass, then next time he won’t be so eager to play in our airspace.”

  The president nodded. “That’s it? Shouldering and targeting? Seems like we should have more than those two options in our bag of tricks.”

  Defense’s Adam’s apple was doing the herky-jerky up and down his neck. “One more, sir. We recommend you give the theater commanders the option to fire a warning shot, if warranted by the situation.”

  The room went still. The national security adviser and State tried to speak at the same time, but the president cut them off. “No,” he said. “I know what you’re going to say, and the answer is no. The Chinese have brought this on themselves. Our military needs clear guidance and responses that are in line with what we’re seeing out there. If our operational commanders on the front lines believe the best play is a shot across the bow, then I’m giving them that option. If you don’t like it, then give our diplomats in China a boot in the ass.”

  NSA and State glared at the military side of the table.

  “Mr. Chairman,” the president continued, “bring me the revised Rules of Engagement and I’ll sign them. Also, instruct the Seventh Fleet commander that I want him to double freedom-of-navigation operations in the region. Paracels, Spratlys, Senkakus—I want the Stars and Stripes in evidence for our allies and the rest of the world to see.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the chairman. “You’ll have them on your desk by this afternoon.”

  State tried again. “Sir, I have to say—”

  “Adrian, the time for talk has passed, I’m afraid. I need you to communicate our intentions to the Chinese ambassador. Make it clear to him that increased Chinese aggression in the western Pacific will not be tolerated. He must acknowledge that any further activities like the one that forced our aircraft to divert will be considered a hostile act. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir, but we haven’t addressed the hacking. I agree with the chairman. Although the investigation is not one hundred percent complete, it is pretty clear the Chinese were behind it. Do we wrap additional actions into this communiqué?”

  The president pursed his lips in thought. “No,” he said finally. “Let’s complete the investigation, make absolutely sure it was them before we go accusing the Chinese of another dirty trick. This latest fiasco with the Ford is all over the news. Let’s play this one out before we open up another can of worms.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Darwin, Australia

  Weston Merville tossed down another tequila and slammed the shot glass back on the wooden bar.

  “Hey, mate!” the bartender shouted at him over the din of the dance music. “I asked you not to do that. It puts dents in my bar.”

  The bartender was a wiry guy with shaggy blond hair. Weston could take him if he had to. “Shut up and pour me another.”

  “You gonna mess up my bar?”

  Someone bumped into him from behind before he could answer. Weston whirled around to find himself nose-to-nose with a pair of deep blue eyes attached to a luscious body. His eyes slid down her very deep cleavage, catching more than a peek of black lace. He licked his lips. “’Scuse me.”

  She gave him elevator eyes, pausing for a moment on the bulge in his trousers—or was that his imagination?—before locking eyes with him again. “No problem, sailor.” Her Australian accent made her seem even sexier.

  A man tugged on her arm. Tall, well-built, but older than the woman by at least ten years.

  “Sabrina, come on,” the man said. Sabrina winked at him before she allowed herself to be pulled away.

  Weston watched her
follow the man to a table on the far side of the dance floor. Every few minutes, she sneaked a glance his way.

  He turned back to the bar, not believing his luck. First night of liberty and he was hot on the trail of some grade-A Australian pussy. He thought about the officers in the wardroom back on the Blue Ridge and checked his phone to see if any of them had shown up on social media. If he could get a picture with her … He sneaked another glance across the dance floor. Sabrina was looking at him.

  “Still want that drink?” the bartender asked.

  “Yeah, rum and Coke.” He found that a few of his shipmates had tweeted about being at the Blue Dog Bar. He looked it up on his phone. It was only a few blocks away.

  He sipped the fresh drink. As the IT department head and systems administrator on the USS Blue Ridge, Lieutenant Commander Weston Merville was in charge of command and control systems for the entire Seventh Fleet, from Singapore to the South Pole to Hawaii and everything in between. Those assholes in the wardroom were either junior officers who worked for him or ship drivers who thought he was just a glorified computer nerd.

  They had no idea how hard his job was. The Seventh Fleet covered vast distances, including hundreds of ships, thousands of computers, and dozens of different communications networks. That shit didn’t just happen, he made it happen. Every day.

  What a bunch of ungrateful assholes.

  Even his superiors didn’t see his real worth. They wrote crap on his fitness reports about how his work was technically perfect, but he needed to “work on his leadership skills” to take the next step in his career. That line especially made him want to barf on the captain’s desk and grab his crotch with both hands. I got your leadership skills right here, Captain, you prick.

  He finished the drink and signaled for another.

  Which led him to tonight. A port call in Darwin after a solid fourteen days at sea, and he was free as a bird, because the engineers wanted to take down the power to most of his equipment. He peeked over his shoulder for another look at Sabrina. Her beautiful brow was creased with anger and she seemed to be arguing with her date. As Weston watched, she stood and threw a drink in the man’s face. Sabrina cut through the dance floor, making a beeline for Weston.

  Her face was flushed, and she stood close enough to him that he could smell the perfume wafting up from her open blouse. “Take me out of here. Please.”

  Weston threw a wad of bills on the bar and followed her onto the street.

  Sabrina clutched his arm. “You’re a lifesaver. That was the mother of all bad blind dates. I’m Sabrina, by the way.”

  “Weston,” he said. “That was a blind date?”

  “Don’t remind me.” She looked at her watch. “It’s only a little after one. Let me buy you a drink to say thank you, Weston. What’s your pleasure?”

  “Do you know where the Blue Dog Bar is?”

  Sabrina slid her arm into his. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  Weston made sure Sabrina’s hefty breast was crushed against his biceps when they walked through the door of the Blue Dog Bar. His gaze found the group of junior officers from the Blue Ridge, and he stared at them until one of them noticed him. Then he looked away.

  He and Sabrina stood together at a high-top in the bar area, his back to his crewmates.

  “I think some of the guys over there are watching us,” Sabrina said.

  “What guys?” Weston pretended to look around. He spied the table and waved. “Just some officers from the ship. Probably jealous, you know.”

  “Really?” Sabrina sidled up next to him. “Well, why don’t we give them something to be jealous about, my knight in shining armor?” She ran her knee inside his thigh as she nuzzled his neck. “Do you have someplace we can go, Weston? Someplace private?”

  The night air cooled his face as they walked back to his room at the SkyCity hotel. He was glad now that he hadn’t agreed to share a room with another officer from the wardroom. She pulled him into an alley a block away and ground her hips against him. “I want you, Weston.”

  His head swam. Her heat, her scent; it consumed him. He weaved his way through the lobby with Sabrina glued to his side, a raging hard-on straining at his trousers. At his door, she licked his ear as he fumbled for the room key. Inside, she pinned him against the wall, crushing her body against his, another rush of perfume sending his senses into overdrive. He gripped the back of her neck and drew her mouth to his.

  Sabrina broke off the kiss, her chest heaving. “I’m going to visit the little girls’ room before we get busy.” She fished a silver flask out of her purse. “Have a shot of this, big fella, and get undressed.” She watched as he drank deeply. Sweet, like crème de menthe or Irish cream. “I’ll take that.” She plucked the flask away from him and pushed him toward the bed. “Now go get yourself ready.”

  Weston staggered into the bedroom and sat down. He fumbled to untie his shoes, wishing now he’d had a little less to drink. Sex with this magnificent woman was an experience he wanted to savor. He thought about his phone. Maybe she would let him record it.

  “Almost ready?” she called.

  Weston stood, his head woozy. He struggled out of his shirt, then stepped out of his pants. Sabrina struck a pose in the bathroom door, her voluptuous body silhouetted in the light. The black lace brassiere was the perfect complement to the creamy white skin of her full breasts. She plucked the strap of a matching black lace thong on her hip. “You like it?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Weston rasped out. His vision was swimming, but his body was willing. She stepped closer, taking his hand and placing it on her chest. Her soft flesh quivered at his touch. His groin responded.

  Sabrina unsnapped the bra, letting her heavy breasts swing free, releasing another cloud of intoxicating perfume. She cupped a breast and offered it up to Weston.

  He leaned closer, but his balance was off. He focused on the deep pink flesh of her nipple, pursing his lips to kiss it, but Sabrina stepped back.

  Weston lost his balance, and the rough blue carpet of the hotel room rushed up to slam him in the face.

  * * *

  Bright lights burned Weston’s retinas.

  “Wake up, sir!”

  His head pounded; his stomach was on the edge of purging its sour contents.

  “Wake up.” Someone slapped him on the face. Hard.

  Weston struggled to sit up, suppressing the urge to blow chunks all over himself. Where was he? Fragments of memories floated in his mind, just out of reach.

  Australia … shore leave … drinking … girl … sex! His eyes sprang open. He was about to have sex with the Australian girl …

  “Sabrina,” he croaked.

  “Is that the woman’s name, sir?” the deep voice said. “Sabrina?”

  What was a man doing in his hotel room? Weston struggled upright. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?”

  The man stepped past Weston and turned on the light next to the bed. He was wearing a policeman’s uniform. “We had a call for disturbing the peace, sir.” He consulted his notebook. “Are you Lieutenant Commander Weston Merville of the USS Blue Ridge?”

  Weston rubbed his face. His mind was still so foggy. “Yes, why are you in my room?”

  The policeman pointed past Weston, forcing him to turn around. Sabrina was splayed across the far side of the king bed. Her black lace thong was caught on one ankle, her breasts flopped to one side—and there were bright blue bruises on her neck.

  Weston’s knees gave out and he was kneeling on the floor, his eyes on a level with Sabrina’s body. “I—I,” he whimpered. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “Did you get a little rough last night, Weston?”

  “No, no, I … don’t remember.” His breath was coming in great gulps, but he seemed unable to get any oxygen into his system.

  “I wager to say she doesn’t remember anything either.” The policeman had an odd accent, almost Spanish, but not quite. “How did you meet Sabrina Douglas, sir?”


  “You know her?” Weston looked up at the cop.

  “Oh, sure,” the cop said. “Well-known prostitute in these parts. Liked it rough, too. The choking was probably her idea, you know. We figured it was just a matter of time before she ended up like this.”

  “She told me she was on a blind date and I rescued her.”

  The cop laughed. “She got you good—and now this. You’re screwed, Weston. When the navy finds out about this, your security clearance is toast. And Australian prisons … well, they’ll use you like a pincushion.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Weston repeated.

  “That said,” the cop continued, “Miss Douglas was far from a model citizen and I’d hate to derail the career of a navy man. For a price, I can make this all go away, Weston.”

  Weston stared up at the cop, not believing what he was hearing. “You—you can make this disappear?” He gestured at the body.

  “Like it never happened.”

  Weston got off his knees and sat on the edge of the bed. “How much?”

  The cop sat on the edge of the bed. He gripped Weston’s chin and forced him to meet his gaze. “I don’t want your money, Weston. The men I work for, they want favors from powerful people. People with access, if you get my meaning.”

  His security clearance. They wanted him to spy for them. The whole thing was a trap. He ripped his chin away from the man’s grasp and looked back at Sabrina’s body. He gagged.

  A girl—another human being—had been killed so they could set him up. His mind raced through the evening. The bar where all of his crewmates had seen him with Sabrina, the hotel lobby with her all over him—that had to be on security cameras. His DNA was surely all over her corpse.

  He was fucked.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, not looking at the police officer.

  “Good choice, Weston. Get dressed, go back to your ship, and pretend nothing happened. My people will be in touch.”

  Weston nodded. “One last thing,” he said.

  The cop raised his eyebrows.

  “I want to touch the body.”

  The other man stood. “Knock yourself out, sailor. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”