Commander Wallace lives with his wife, Penny, in Alexandria, Virginia.
Don Keith
Don Keith is a native Alabamian and attended the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa where he received his degree in broadcast and film with a double major in literature. He has won numerous awards from the Associated Press and United Press International for news writing and reporting. He is also the only person to be named Billboard Magazine "Radio Personality of the Year" in two formats, country and contemporary. Keith was a broadcast personality for over twenty years and also owned his own consultancy, co-owned a Mobile, Alabama, radio station, and hosted and produced several nationally syndicated radio shows.
His first novel, "The Forever Season." was published in fall 1995 to commercial and critical success. It won the Alabama Library Association's "Fiction of the Year" award in 1997. His second novel, "Wizard of the Wind," was based on Keith's years in radio. Keith next released a series of young adult/men’s adventure novels co-written with Kent Wright set in stock car racing, titled "The Rolling Thunder Stock Car Racing Series." Keith has most recently published several non-fiction historical works about World War II submarine history and co-authored “The Ice Diaries” with Captain William Anderson, the second skipper of USS Nautilus, the world’s first nuclear submarine. Captain Anderson took the submarine on her historic trip across the top of the world and through the North Pole in August 1958.
Mr. Keith lives in Indian Springs Village, Alabama.
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DANGEROUS GROUNDS
The deadliest waters in the world. More rocks, shoals and uncharted reefs than can be counted. Thousands of wrecks litter the bottom, their bones bleached white on the reefs. And, if reefs, shoals and massive typhoons aren’t enough, pirates lurk to take the unwary.
They lie directly across some of the most congested shipping lanes in the world and in the heart of a cauldron where politics, religion, drugs, and greed boils over. A young Naval Academy midshipman, a few SEALs, and the crew of a stolen submarine are the only people in a position to stop terrorists bent on bringing down a nuclear Armageddon, unleashing a holy war on mankind. Ripped directly from today’s headlines, it all starts in a part of the world that has for centuries been designated on navigational charts as The Dangerous Grounds.
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Dangerous Grounds: Prologue
The Medong Sui threaded her way among the hundreds of small islands that were silhouetted between the blue-black water and the pink and orange streaks of sunset. The ancient diesel engine groaned pitifully under the strain as it did its best to propel the overloaded freighter across the South China Sea. Long beards of sea grass draped under the hull, slowing the old coaster's progress even more. Jagged streaks of rust festooned her once white-painted sides.
Kei Nugyen Doa leaned back against the ship’s bridge rail while he sucked on a Vietnamese cigarette. He took a deep draw then blew the smoke out, allowing the gentle tropical wind to take away what little smoke he had not been able to hold in his lungs. From up here he could see the passengers milling about on the main deck below. They were finishing the last remnants of their evening meal by lantern light. Soon they would be bedding down for the night, their din would subside, and he could listen to the quiet of the night.
This evening, while the passengers and most of the crew slept, Kei would guide the Medong Sui through the narrow Balabac Straits, into the Sulu Sea. Tomorrow night, the Medong Sui would arrive, only a few hours late, at Isabella, on Basilan Island in the southern Philippines.
The freighter was four days out of Nakhon Pathom, Thailand. It carried a manifest proclaiming that the Medong Sui was hauling a cargo of foodstuffs for delivery to a wholesaler in Isabella and a supercargo of Buddhist pilgrims returning home from a pilgrimage to Doi Suthep, one of the faith’s most revered shrines.
Kei would be happy when he could offload the fifty peasants who were making the passage. He would be even happier to rid himself of the other cargo the ship carried down in its hold. The manifest did not lie. It was just incomplete. It wasn’t the bags of rice and the dried fish that made Kei so nervous. It was the ton of pure heroin hidden underneath the rice and fish that scared him. The value of that cargo represented more money than he and his family could ever earn, not in a hundred lifetimes. He also knew that Sui Kia Shun would hold him personally responsible for every baht’s worth if it should somehow be lost, whether it was his fault or not.
Sui, the powerful Chinese drug lord, expected his servants to perform their duties unfailingly. There was no margin for error. Kei's duty was to deliver the heroin to a waiting freighter in Isabella. Barring catastrophe, he would do just that, then accept his small compensation and wait for Sui to call upon him again someday.
Kei had traveled this passage, and most every other one in the South China Sea, countless times. Medong Sui was almost new when, as a young man, he first set sail. Now both he and his ship were well past their prime, worn and tired. Now that they were once again near their destination, he would soon breathe easier again.
Kei inhaled the last bitter tendrils of smoke, held it in as long as he could, and then exhaled as he tossed the tiny butt over the side. The embers at its tip died in the damp air.
It was time to enjoy the solitude of the night. A million stars would keep him company on what was left of this moonless voyage.
Manju Shehab sat low in the black inflatable boat. Like the men behind him and those in the other two boats on either side of his, he was dressed all in black. The boats were running without any lights, invisible to anyone traveling these waters on such a dark night. Even with very sensitive radar, it would be almost impossible to detect the trio of boats, each with its own well-armed five-man team crouching inside.
But they knew their quarry tonight wouldn't have sensitive radar. Most ships transiting these waters were lucky to have engines that worked, much less electronics.
The rusty old freighter they were awaiting was a few hours late but that was to be expected. Shehab's instructions were to remain in this spot until it came, no matter how long it took. If Sabul u Nurizam…Allah praise his blessed leader’s name…said they were to wait until the stars fell from the heavens, Shehab would do so.
Finally, near midnight, Shehab saw the freighter’s running lights on the horizon. There was no mistaking the old coaster. He let it chug a mile past them before he signaled his men to start their engines. The powerful, expensive outboard motors could jet the rigid-hulled, inflatable boats across the water at better than forty knots, yet they were quiet enough that they were almost inaudible above the wave slap.
The old freighter was easy to track. The three boats followed the glimmering phosphorescent wake that trailed out far behind the ship.
Within minutes they had caught her and were hidden beneath the overhang of the high, sloping sides of the old vessel. Shehab moved his boat up along the starboard side and kept pace while he watched for any sign that they had been observed while they closed. He listened for excited calls of alarm from up on the main deck, but there were none.
Satisfied they were ready, he allowed his boat to slip back until it was only a few feet in front of the freighter's single churning screw. It was a dangerous place to be. One small slip and they could be capsized and chopped into shark food. But this spot had the advantage of being aft of the bridge. In the unlikely event there was anyone up there awake, he would certainly be looking forward. Still, the ship's superstructure would hide Shehab and his men, even if someone on the bridge should glance backward.
The pirate checked his AK-47 ready and then, with one broad swing, tossed his rubber-coated grappling hook up over the rail. He scurried up the line, followed closely by the other four men from his boat. Shehab knew that one of his team leaders already had his boat riding along on the port side, and that they were mimicking every move hi
s group made. The third team would remain a few yards astern, riding in the ship’s rough wake, ready to charge in and open fire if help was needed.
Shehab reached the top of his line, rolled over the railing onto the deck, and jumped to his feet, his AK-47 ready. He stayed in a low crouch as he ran the short distance to a ladder that led up to the bridge. He could hear the muted footfalls of his men, following behind. He silently charged up the ladder and rushed through the open doorway into the wheelhouse.
Kei Nugyen Doa was in danger of being lulled to sleep by the quiet night and the soft rocking of the ship beneath him. He was about to light another of the cigarettes when he was startled by movement out of the corner of his eye. He found himself staring at the business end of an AK-47 as a black-clad man slipped through the starboard hatch. Seconds later the first intruder was joined by an accomplice through the port hatch. The old seaman leaned against his chart table and watched the armed men while he allowed his heart to slow its racing.
He had sailed these waters long enough to know there was nothing he could do to stop them. The pirates would simply take what they wanted. The best course of action was always to be helpful and hope they left peacefully. They would steal the little bit of money Kei had in the ship's safe and rob the passengers. There weren't any of them worth kidnapping and holding for ransom. Maybe, if the gods were smiling, they would never even go below, would never find the heroin hidden deep in Medong Sui's bowels.
Kei was surprised when the pirates herded him off the bridge and down the ladder to the main deck. Pirates usually left one or two men to make sure he steered straight while the others seized what plunder they could easily get to. This time, he was shoved down, right into the middle of the milling mass of crew and passengers who had been awakened by the men’s shouts.
This was not going well. The pirates should be in a hurry to gather any valuables and leave the Medong Sui. They would need to be far away from the ship before the sun rose. After all, they were only a few miles from the Philippine Coast Guard base at Balabac.
Kei felt the ship heel slightly as it began a turn. He knew at once what was happening. Someone was up in the wheelhouse, turning the Medong Sui so that she was retracing the track they had just steamed down.
This was trouble. Kei slumped down, squatting forlornly in the midst of his chattering passengers. There was nothing he could do now. Nothing but pray.
The sun had risen high into the sky when Manju Shehab spotted the ship for which he had been scanning the horizon from the old freighter’s bridge. The vessel rode at anchor, just to the leeward of Royal Charlotte Reef, a narrow spit of land that barely broke the water's surface at the southern end of the Spratley Islands. The isolated bit of rock and coral was a perfect meeting place. It was too far off the beaten track for anyone to stumble across them accidentally. Not even the most desperate fishermen would venture out here.
Shehab ordered the engines stopped and allowed the old scow to coast until he came to a halt two hundred meters from the anchored ship. Then he directed one of his men to drop Medong Sui’s anchor.
It fell free with an awful racket and splashed into the blue water.
Kei Nugyen Doa had kept his eyes closed since the bright sun had come up. He did not want to see what might happen next. These men were not the usual pirates, looking for a few coins or cargo that was light enough to drop over the sides to their mates. These men seemed to have no interest in the few bills in an old sailor’s dungaree pockets.
When he heard the anchor chain rattling loose, he dared to look. As his eyes grew accustomed to the brightness on the deck, he could see that they were stopped near a rocky sliver of land that looked vaguely familiar to him. If they were where he thought they were, rescue was not likely.
There was another ship anchored over there, as if it had been awaiting them. He watched as a pair of lighters left from alongside the other freighter and made their way across the short stretch of turquoise water. They pulled alongside the Medong Sui and tied up next to the Jacob’s ladder that the pirates had lowered. A dozen armed men clambered up the ladder. They milled around on deck, shouting friendly greetings to the pirates who now controlled the Medong Sui.
This seemed to be a lot of effort and planning, a lot of men, all just to steal the rice from a little coastal freighter. It was almost as if they were intent on taking the whole ship. Certainly it wasn't for the value of the Medong Sui. The rusted old scow was near worthless. They wanted something much more valuable.
Kei felt his stomach sink.
The leader of the pirates, the one who was called Shehab, pointed at Kei and spoke to him for the first time.
"Show us where you hid the heroin. Show us now or we will kill all the passengers."
To punctuate his order, the pirate fired a short, vicious burst into the midst of the huddled group. The pilgrims screamed and cried in terror. Four of them fell, their blood staining the deck red as it drained toward the scuppers.
"Be quick or more will die. Passengers, then your crew, and finally you, old man."
There was nothing else for Kei to do. The inevitability of what was about to happen had already dawned on the old freighter captain.
If he refused to tell them where the drug was, the pirates would murder everyone. They knew already it was onboard and they would still find the heroin, even if they shot everyone and then searched the Medong Sui themselves. If he revealed the drugs’ hidden location, the pirates would still murder them all, if for no other reason than to eliminate witnesses.
Kei shrugged his shoulders tiredly. He was much too old to think of dying defiantly. Better to go into the next world with as little angst as possible.
"Come, I will show you," he muttered.
Slowly, he forced his stiff old legs to push him upright. He made his way down the ladder into the main cargo hold. There, under the sacks of dried fish, the deck planks were loose. He pulled up one to show the pirates where the bags of white powder were stuffed.
Shehab forced the hapless captives to off-load the drugs while all the pirates stood about and watched. One ton of pure heroin made a nice little pile on one of the rusty old lighters’ decks. It would be safely stowed on the other freighter soon.
But it was not to be. The actual plan puzzled even Shehab. It had mystified him ever since their leader, Sabul u Nurizam, had spelled out in no uncertain terms this most unusual final step in the plot. It didn't make any sense to go to all the trouble and danger of stealing fifty million dollars’ worth of drugs, only to dump the stuff into the sea. That money would have gone far in the new war of terror against the infidels.
There was no question, though. Sabul had ordered it done so, and Sabul was the anointed one.
The remainder of his leader’s orders had made more sense. Shehab set about following them to the letter. When the off-loading of the drugs was completed, Shehab ordered the Buddhist pilgrims and the freighter’s crew herded into Medong Sui’s main hold. Most of them assumed they were to be locked up there until someone came to rescue them. They settled down to pray and wait.
Kei knew better. Even so, he could not resist looking up at the pirates as they glared down through the hold at them. He could not help pleading with his eyes.
It did no good. They opened fire.
The deep-throated rumbling roar of the AK-47s didn't stop until the last plaintive cry for mercy, the last shrieks of horror were silenced, and nothing remained but the eerie creaking of the old scow as she rocked in the sea swell.
Dangerous Grounds: Chapter 1
The pale yellow sun peeked over the ledge of the horizon, as if considering whether or not it was worth the effort to resume its mundane daily task of burning away the morning mist. The cloudless sky and clammy air foretold yet another hot, humid day. Typical weather for the South China Sea, a mere eight degrees north of the equator.
"Bridge, combat,” squawked the communicator on the bridge of the American warship. “Captain, Aegis reports a surface contac
t, range five-nine hundred yards, bearing one-seven-nine."
The warm tropical breeze was heavy with the fetid, earthy scent of the jungle, drifting over from the tiny islands to port of where the USS Higgins (DDG 76) patrolled. On her bridge, Commander Paul Wilson, the tanned, lean skipper of the Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, looked to the south, toward where the reported contact should be. From his seat high on the starboard bridge wing, he should be able to see this new intruder who had so rudely disrupted his first cup of morning coffee.
The contact had to be small to stay hidden from the Aegis radar until it got this close. That, or it had just come into view from behind one of the islands. This part of the South China Sea was littered with plenty of tiny islets, rocky reefs and old shipwrecks. The British had lost so many tea clippers out here that their charts still labeled this area "The Dangerous Grounds."
Wilson lifted his ball cap and ran his hand through his steel-gray hair as he scanned the horizon. Nothing in sight. He was about to take another sip of the coffee when he spotted the contact. Just to the right of Grainger Bank, the westernmost point of the Spratley Islands. It looked like a thousand other little coastal steamers that plied the waters out here. Most were all but derelict, with bright rust streaks like streamers down their sides. Even at first glance, this one fit the bill.
Wilson noticed one difference though, even from this distance. Normally the decks of these coasters swarmed with people. This one looked abandoned. The bridge was empty. There appeared to be no one on deck.
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