Torching the Crimson Flag

by Conrad Brasso

  The tall Russian nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Lead the way,” responded Hirsch.

  Chapter Twelve

  Michiko Imada had to work quickly. She ran back to her motorbike and grabbed her backpack. Then she headed to the furthest hostile first – the long-shooter that had shot Fox, slipping on a pair of blue powder-free nitrile gloves. She swabbed his blood, took pictures of his fingers and face, grabbed his weapon, and searched his body for any identification or a phone. Finding neither, she jogged over to the second shooter and did the same thing. The third hostile had a phone. She collected a blood sample and the pictures and then raced over to the car. The police sirens were getting louder, and she didn’t have much time. She found a rental car receipt and another phone. Sticking everything in her backpack, she front-strapped it to her chest as she sprinted to her bike and fired it up. Awkwardly forcing the hostile’s weapons between her body and her backpack, she raced out of the cemetery at full throttle with the cops about a block away, coming from the opposite direction.

  Tom Landow left the meeting with Seiko Chiu, absolutely livid. His driver was taking him back to the small airport where he’d catch the seventy-minute flight from the island of Jeju to Incheon. From there, he’d fly back to Honolulu.

  “Get it together, Landow,” he growled at himself. He was furious with Chiu, of course. But he was even angrier that she had secured compromising photos of himself with young children. “What kind of a world do we live in where it’s okay to blackmail the mayor of one of America’s great cities?” he thought angrily. He’d have to meet with Keahi Kahananui-Jones, the Honolulu Harbor Master. He was a tough nut to crack, a no-nonsense kind of a guy that people called “K.K.” How he was going to get this guy to let in a ship of containers and keep it off the books, was beyond him. The mayor was surprised to hear about KK’s money-stresses. It certainly wasn’t unusual for a father of three daughters in college. Still, he wondered whether the promise of financial deliverance would make an unusually “by the book” kind of person look the other way.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text message from an unknown number that attached an image. He used his thumb and forefinger to zoom in, and his face paled a little bit. It was bank information for an account in the Cayman Islands. Seiko wasn’t wasting any time.

  He was just about to put his phone back in his pocket when it vibrated again. The message read:

  Have deal done two days from when you land.

  Ship arrives Saturday. More details to follow.

  He needed to call KK now and set up the appointment.

  Nathan Harris was flabbergasted. He could not for the life of him figure out what was going on. This woman didn’t seem fazed in the slightest that she’d been hooded and hauled off to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere.

  She looked the translator over. “So, you’re the great Dr. Nathan Harris.”

  He didn’t feel like answering. They weren’t alone. The third Chinese guy, who had yet to say a word, was standing a few feet away, watching them.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” the lady asked.

  Harris shook his head.

  “It must be driving you nuts. Not knowing. I bet you’re rehashing all the translation work you’ve done for Russia and China. Trying to figure out what meeting you served that would cause you to be kidnapped.”

  She was reading his mind.

  “Have you been mistreated?”

  Nathan thought about the question. He’d been traumatized, that’s for sure. Seeing his security detail get taken down had left him deeply shaken. But he hadn’t been particularly mistreated. “No.”

  “That’s good. What happened to your wrist?”

  “They cut out my transponder.”

  She chuckled. “Of course.” Her strategy was working. He was talking.

  “Were you kidnapped?”

  The lady was a little surprised. She wasn’t expecting him to ask her questions.

  “No.”

  “You wanted to come with those guys?”

  “I’m getting paid to be here.”

  Dr. Harris looked at her hands and the lines around her eyes and lips. He guessed she was in her late forties. “I figured that out when Chen said that you all ‘have your orders.’ What kind of work do you do?”

  “All in good time, Nathan.”

  “Can I know your name?”

  “Everyone calls me Sasha.”

  She did have a pointy chin, flat cheeks, and slightly narrower eyes from other Caucasians. Harris knew that those traditionally Russian facial features weren’t a guarantee in today’s globalized world. He also realized the verbiage she used. She was not giving him her birth name.

  “You have Russian features.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s in my ancestry.”

  “But your accent is from the United States. The Pacific Northwest.”

  “You are a very good linguist, Dr. Harris. I’d heard that you have exceptional skills and a great memory.”

  Nathan knew exactly where she’d come from by a handful of words that she’d learned as a child to pre-teen. Over time, as she traveled, her vocabulary took on the nuances of other places she’d lived. But by paying careful attention to her voice, pronunciation, distinction of vowels and consonants, intonation, rhythm, and other suprasegmentals, he was able to isolate the core of her vocabulary. She was from Portland, Oregon. And he broke it down even further. She’d grown up in the wealthy subdivision of Bethany. At some point in her teens, she’d moved to Seattle and most likely gone to university in the Emerald City, as the tourism mags liked to refer to it. But after that, she’d hit the road. He heard some of London, Sydney, Singapore, Moscow, Boston, Paris, and even a hint of Dallas. Those were what he called the “linguistic anchors” in her prosody.

  “Can you guess where in the Pacific Northwest?” Sasha asked.

  “No. I’m afraid I’m not that good. But maybe somewhere like Spokane?”

  She smiled. “Almost. Vancouver, Canada, actually.”

  Somehow the translator had a feeling they both knew they’d just lied to each other.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The mood in the medical clinic at LaunchPad was tense. Ashley was completely focused and trying not to think about Fox’s deteriorating condition. And Saara was a great doctor, but she was wearing a lot of hats in the room, taxing her multidisciplinary training. As soon as they’d arrived, Saara intubated Fox with a breathing tube and turned on the mechanical ventilator while Ashley worked on temporarily stopping the bleeding from his leg. The tall Finn cut off his outer clothes and carefully examined his body, making sure that there were no other wounds while Ashley checked his heart rate and blood pressure. Like any gunshot wound, the entry hole was small, but after the bullet shattered his femur, it left a gaping wound out the back of his leg. He’d lost a lot of blood.

  “I’m soooorry, Ash … ley,” Fox repeatedly moaned loudly.

  On the one hand, the surgeon wanted to tell him to stop talking. On the other, making sure that he was cognitive was important at this stage. He was a little too unstable to tolerate general anesthesia, so the two doctors had agreed to give him a femoral nerve block to numb the leg pain. As he became more and more agitated and uncomfortable, Ashley had decided to lightly sedate him, making him feel drowsy and relaxed.

  After prepping a urine drainage bag and installing a catheter tube, Saara took on the role of anesthesiologist, responsible for keeping Fox alive during surgery. She monitored his vitals and carefully tracked the meds, fluids, blood level, electrolytes, body temperature, urine output, and cardiac rhythms. She knew that changes could occur rapidly within seconds, and be fatal.

  Ashley spread his wound wide open and then packed the non-affected area with plastic wrapping to help reduce infection. In the back of her mind, Ashley was concerned about ventilator-associated pneumonia, the breakdown of surgical repairs, and a myriad of other potential complications that could mean a long hard road t
o recovery, but that wasn’t her focus right now. Anytime someone is shot by a high velocity, high caliber weapon, it creates massive destruction. The bullet wasn’t the only direct cause of the damage, as they shattered, the bone fragments had shredded the surrounding soft tissue, including the femoral artery. They were lodged all over the wound now. But, collecting them and repairing the bone wasn’t the top priority. The artery was. She would need the next five or six hours to focus on vascular repair, ever so delicately suturing together the tattered walls of the great artery. Any misstep on her part could later result in an aneurysm that would put pressure on the femoral nerve and require more surgery or even endanger Fox’s use of his leg. But despite all risks, the artery had to be repaired first. When she finished with that, she could shift gears and work on the bone damage.

  What still hovered around the edges of her concentration was the grim knowledge that she could lose him at any time during this operation. She wasn’t the kind of person to talk to God much, especially after all she’d been through. From her perspective, he had a lot of questions she wanted answered first. Yet, she found herself pleading with him one more time as she worked, begging him to help Fox stay alive.

  Leonard was unsure of how to proceed. On the one hand, he didn't want to disturb Bora and Justin because they had already experienced having their first honeymoon cut short by a crisis. On the other hand, situations were getting to the point where he really needed what they brought to the table. Justin's ability to put together kits for operatives in the field was unlike anyone’s with whom he had ever worked. And during their last operation, he saw the kind of logistics skills that Bora had. Her innate ability to research on the fly and connect multiple points in the tactical logistics plan was, like Justin’s, at one of the highest levels he had ever observed. And then there was Boyd. She had needed a break. When she was in the field, she expended energy so intensely that afterward, she needed serious recovery time. It was good for her to be on her home island in Hawaii, but he was starting to wonder whether or not to call her back. In the end, he decided it wasn't his decision. He would let the team know what was happening and allow them each to make decisions for themselves, even if it meant cutting a second honeymoon short. He decided to call everyone instead of using LaunchPad’s secure app to text them. He wanted to hear the response in their voices to know whether or not they were ready to return.

  Boyd had just woken up and was making herself a cup of Kona coffee when she heard the intermittent beeping that she knew was a secure call from the team's headquarters. She picked up her phone, wondering who it was.

  “Boyd, this is Leonard.”

  Immediately, she had the sense she might not be on the island much longer. “Hello Dr. Stone, how are things on your end?”

  “I have some things I need to tell you, but why don't you tell me how you are doing, first?”

  “I'm doing well, thanks. I've been fishing, diving, and hunting. My family has fed me. I’m getting to know my younger cousin better. It’s been a really good time. Don't worry though, I’ve made sure to carve out a few hours every day to keep my skills up. What's going on?”

  “Do you know who Iris is?”

  Boyd thought for a minute. “I don’t think so.”

  “He serves POTUS with translation and has for the last several administrations.”

  “Wow. I think I have seen that guy, now that you mention it. I didn’t know that was his handle.”

  Leo paused. “Boyd, he’s been taken, and we don’t know where he is.”

  Agent Carter felt that tingle. She loved it. The feeling of anticipation that her skills were going to be needed again. It’s why she worked out so hard every day. “You need me to find him?”

  “Not yet. Some of our team are tracking him down. But I need you to know something else. Fox and Ashley were golfing down in Norfolk. On their way home, Fox picked up that they were being tailed.”

  “Really?”

  “They were followed to a place Fox felt they could engage. It was close to here, and that was probably the smartest decision they made because things didn't quite go as planned. Fox was pinned down and took a high caliber round in the leg. Michiko came in as backup just in the nick of time and was able to take out the hostiles. Fox is still in surgery now, here at LaunchPad.

  “Oh my God, Leonard. Ashley is doing the surgery?”

  Dr. Stone was suddenly hit with a wave of emotion. It was hard to explain when the tide of pain would come. He’d lost his only grandson, a friend in New York whom he’d solicited to help them, and now one of his operatives was in critical condition with a broken-hearted, barely emotionally-healed surgeon that he considered to be a grand-daughter of sorts. He choked back the emotion and cleared his throat.

  Boyd understood the silence. “Hey, do you need me to come up there?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Are you alone, other than what’s happening in the medical clinic?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “You’re telling me all this, so I stay in Hawaii and keep living the good life? You know that’s impossible now. I can’t let you be there by yourself, Leonard.”

  “It’s not that. I don’t know where all of this is going to lead. We have the Chinese and the Russians involved,” he answered. “I don’t know if flying you back here is the right move. You might have to hop on a plane and fly right back over the islands to Asia. I think you need to stay in place until we can get the next break in the case.”

  Carter could understand the reasoning. “But if you need me, sir, don’t hesitate, okay?”

  “Okay. I have a feeling we’ll be calling for you soon. Stay geared up and on standby.”

  “Copy that.” This time it was Boyd’s turn to catch herself getting emotional. “And you tell Fox to …” she couldn’t finish her sentence. She suddenly thought of how much they had done together. Whether it was intercepting a celebrity trafficker or surviving exploding grenades, she had finally gained rapport with someone in the field. Although she’d never told anyone, one of the main reasons she liked to operate solo was because she had never known someone who could be her equal in talent and not disrespect her for it. This LaunchPad crew was a family of operatives. She had no other way to describe them. They were her home, too. “I’m sorry, Dr. Stone.”

  “It’s okay, kid. I’ve certainly been dealing with the sentiments at this end, too.”

  “Where’s Trey?”

  “They’re on their way back from vacation. Should be here in a few hours.”

  Boyd was relieved. It solidified her decision. With emotional support and tactical talent coming his way, he’d be alright. She’d do what he asked and stay in Hawaii until further notice.

  Dr. Stone hung up the phone and stared at it for a few minutes. This next call wasn’t going to be easy either.

  Tala Cruz and her son had been warned about making any noise as they exited her barn. They took nothing with them other than the clothes on their backs and her phone. She didn’t dare make a move for a clever little storage compartment that she’d made in the floorboards under the mat they slept on. Inside, it was all the money she’d saved up – about $7000, some personal effects, and their passports.

  The mafia contingent had arrived in a black Mercedes twelve-seater van. Two men climbed into the back, Tala and Matteo were ordered into the middle, and the others sat towards the front. Mako was riding shotgun next to the driver.

  As they were leaving the property, Tala saw that the door to her second cousin's house was ajar. Immediately, she had a sinking feeling. She knew that the woman who had shown her so much kindness and offered to let them stay in the apartment over her barn was dead. Tala stared straight ahead and pulled Matteo closer to her body. He was traumatized.

  “I love you, my beautiful son. Everything will be okay,” she whispered.

  The trip from Batangas to Angeles City was about three hours. Every once in awhile, Tala would catch herself dozing off. And then she would fin
d herself having a horrible dream. She would awake with a start and realize that although the dream hadn't been real, she was living a nightmare. She thought about how she could escape again. She knew how Mako did things, that they were going to hold her son as collateral, and that if she ever tried to escape again with her son and was unsuccessful, they’d kill him.

  The Mercedes bounced up and down on the dirt roads, and even one of the armed thugs in the backbench had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly. She thought about everybody that was involved with the industry. All people just trying to make a living. What made the people in the back want to be a part of this organization that Mako ran? Was it the money? Did they have wives and kids at home? Was it their lack of Education? Did they not have skills or talents that could be useful outside the world of crime? But the question that she always came back to was one of worth. What gave them the right to treat people so inhumanely?

  A phone rang and woke her up again. Mako talked for a few minutes, and it sounded like he was confirming their arrival, although she couldn't be sure.

  She looked at him in the front seat. It was weird. He was like any other man. He had hair, ears, a neck, and a body, just like every other man. She used to think that the difference between him and a normal man was the space between his ears, his brain. But now she realized there was something that made him evil beyond just his intellect. There was a spirit about him, a palpable evil that demanded to keep getting fed. Somehow, he was addicted to darkness and would try and bring everybody into his evil world. This wasn’t the first time she had thought about these things. She used to lie awake at night after he’d raped her and wonder how he could be so cruel.

  Tala wondered about his lineage. The Japanese had been brutal to the people of the Philippines. On December 8, 1941, they launched an invasion of the islands just ten hours after attacking Pearl Harbor, in Hawaii. Strategically, the Japanese wanted to destroy American and European influences in the region and gain power over their neighbors. The Japanese Imperial General Staff was obsessed with conquering the Dutch East Indies and the rest of Southeast Asia to secure the fuel resources to expand their imperial ambitions. They were committed to doing whatever it took to conquer the islands. Historians recorded the atrocities that followed as an “Asian Holocaust,” and some estimate the number of deaths that resulted from Japanese war crimes to be over ten million. Southeast Asians were massacred, experimented on, starved, raped, pillaged, and enslaved—often at the directive of the Japanese military command and the civilian government. Tala looked at Mako and wondered what role his ancestors had played in Southeast Asia. Was he just continuing historical abuses, or was he a new brand of Japanese horror in the land? Whatever the answer, she feared now for her life and the life of her son.