Moon Mask

by James Richardson

  “Well I’m not,” Gibbs replied. “Kill them!”

  A burst of bullets erupted in a spray of fire from the muzzles of the CIA operatives, slamming into Raine, King, Tank and Aiko. The pain was blinding and King looked down as though in a dream, or a nightmare, as geysers of blood erupted from his own chest. He screamed in agony and felt darkness encroach even as he fell backwards into the shark infested water.

  His last thought was of Sid.

  Laurence Gibbs watched in satisfaction as his team’s bullets pummelled Raine and King’s bodies and they rolled backwards, torn and bloody, into the sea.

  He walked to the aft of the boat and watched as the lifeless bodies of the four soldiers drifted into the inky blue, swallowed up in a red cloud of blood. As expected, it was only a matter of seconds before the first shark arrived. Dozens more soon appeared, swarming around the carcasses. The water frothed and churned as the creatures ripped into their hearty meal.

  “What shall we do with her?” Garcia asked. Gibbs glanced at Sid’s body lying alongside Murray’s and the other marine. “They’re fish food now. Throw them overboard.”

  Lake walked over carrying the team’s sat-com equipment. “Chopper’s on its way. ETA five minutes.”

  Gibbs nodded then stepped over to O’Rourke. His African skin had turned green as he stared at the frothing mass of blood and gore in the water below, intensified each time Garcia rolled one of the other bodies into it.

  “I know he was you friend,” he said with little sympathy in his voice. “But we are soldiers. We’re given our orders. We follow our orders.” Pep-talk done, he was back to business. “Now, prepare for evac!”

  Five minutes later, the team and all their equipment had been winched up to a helicopter that had been on standby on the far side of the island. As it thundered away from Yonaguni and out over the Pacific Ocean, the C4 explosives attached to the boat’s fuel tank detonated and a fireball plumed into the sky, masking all the death, destruction and betrayal that had been left in their wake.

  53:

  Blood on their Hands

  The White House,

  Washington D.C., USA

  “Mister President, we have a National Security situation developing.”

  President John Harper turned from the windows in the Oval Office. It had been a bright and warm day but storm clouds had rolled over the capital city, casting the green lawn in front of the White House into shadow.

  Striding confidently into the room were Sec Def Mick Kane and CIA Director Jason Briggs.

  “What is it, gentlemen?” Harper asked, coming around his desk and gesturing for the two men to take a seat on the blue couch. He sat opposite them as Briggs got right to the point.

  “One of our assets in Beijing has informed us that the Phoenix files have been sent to a secure server inside Chinese Intelligence.”

  Harper felt a rush of blood to the head and a sudden bout of dizziness overwhelm him. “What?”

  He knew that two nights ago, aided by a hacker named Rasta-Man 872 who had since been elevated to Number One on the FBI’s cyber-crime ‘Most Wanted’ list, Alexander Langley had hacked into the Department of Defence database and stolen classified information relating to the Phoenix Project. But never in a million years would he have expected the former soldier-turned-diplomat to sell the information to America’s enemies.

  “What did they get?” he demanded.

  “Everything, Mister President,” the Secretary of Defense replied.

  “The entire Phoenix file was downloaded by Chinese Intelligence,” Briggs elaborated. “The theory, the design schematics, the test history, everything.”

  “The current operation?” Harper asked nervously.

  Kane fixed eyes with him. “I’m afraid so, Mister President.” He opened a folder which he’d had perched on his lap and spread several satellite photos over the coffee table that sat between the three men. “NSA satellites took these images about thirty minutes ago.”

  Harper rubbed his chin as he stared at the photographs, his heart racing. He knew roughly what he was looking at- ships in the water- but he looked up to Kane for an explanation.

  “That’s the Shin Lang,” Kane said. Harper knew the Shin Lang well. China’s first aircraft carrier, bought from the Ukraine about fifteen years ago, had strained diplomatic relations when it was first launched in 2011. However, despite the state-of-the-art J-15 Flying Sharks which could be launched from her deck, China’s single, second hand carrier was no match for the eleven purpose built U.S. behemoths that prowled the waters.

  “She’s been patrolling the Pacific ever since this whole Moon Mask crisis began, but now she’s underway to intercept our task force at her maximum speed.”

  “She’ll be in range to launch her fighters in a little over two hours,” Briggs added.

  “Mister President,” Kane said, a note of hesitation in his voice. “I strongly suggest recalling the task force to Pearl Harbour.”

  “What?” Briggs snapped. “That’s ridiculous.” He looked at Harper. “Mister President, I hardly think one aircraft carrier is anything to worry about. We’ve got our own carrier with the task force. Not to mention our ships anti-aircraft defences are second to none.”

  “I don’t doubt we can defeat them, Jason,” Kane replied heatedly. “But at what cost? Sir,” he glanced at the president. “If we engage the Chinese forces, there will be a substantial loss of American lives. Not to mention the political fallout.”

  Briggs harrumphed irritably but Harper held up a hand to silence him. “What do you mean, Mick?”

  “With all due respect, Mister President, we’re not talking about some minor skirmish here, a ruffling of feathers.” Kane knew he had to proceed carefully. “If we engage Chinese forces over the Pacific, we’ll be committing American troops to potentially the biggest seaborne battle since World War Two. And for what, sir? A science experiment?” He leaned forward in his chair, ignoring the incessant shaking of Briggs’ head, and stared hard at the President of the United States. “Sir, we’re talking about war here. Congress will not sanction a war based on the president’s personal desire to see a sixty year old science experiment come to fruition.”

  Harper leaned back into his couch and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He tried to hide the fact that his hands were trembling. It had all gotten out of hand! If only the UNESCO Expedition hadn’t gotten word out to the U.N.! His team could have gone into Venezuela covertly, taken the mask and silenced the scientists without the world ever knowing it. They could have followed the clues themselves, tracked down the other pieces and finished what had been started over sixty years ago. But the secret was out. Diplomatic relations had collapsed, allies had become enemies, friends had betrayed friends. Militaries had been mobilised and while most of it had been kept from the public domain, enough people in the intelligence communities knew of the situation to do anything covertly. What happened out in the Pacific Ocean in the next few hours could decide the fate of generations to come.

  Kane was right. Congress would never sanction military action of this sort.

  “Recall the-”

  “Mister President,” Briggs cut in. “We’re forgetting one very important thing here.” Harper looked at the CIA chief, his eyebrows pinched. “As it stands, the story we’ve fed to the public is that our ships are performing war-games in the Pacific. Nothing too unusual about that. Our own intelligence communities, as well as the U.N. Security Council, and even the men and women on those ships out there, know they are there to keep an eye on China following some ‘indiscretion’.”

  “Where are you going with this, Jason?” Harper asked.

  Briggs gestured casually with his hands. “The world will not frown on America if we are not the aggressors. If we are the victims of an unprovoked, surprise attack.”

  Kane’s face reddened with anger. “Are you suggesting we don’t even warn our people out there?”

  “If we war
n them, the world will know we could have taken preventive actions, recalled our ships to base, diffused the situation. We’ll be villainised as the antagonistic party. But what if there were,” he shrugged casually, “breakdowns in communications between intelligence agencies? Blame it on some mid-level staffer who failed to pass the satellite feed onto the correct department. There’d be an enquiry, a few forced resignations. You’d give a speech about how the real tragedy of this situation is that our troops weren’t warned of the impending danger and promise to shake up the Intelligence services.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Kane barked.

  “It worked after 9/11,” Briggs shrugged.

  “We’re talking about people’s lives here. American sailors!”

  “They’ll still have their own early warning systems. Radar and what-not. They’ll have time to mobilise a defence.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Kane was on his feet and for a moment Harper thought he was going to physically lash out at Briggs. “You’re talking about sitting around and doing nothing while watching as hundreds, even thousands of American sailors die!”

  “But that’s just the beauty of it, Mister President.” Briggs leaned back in the couch, his body evidently as comfortable as his conscience. He blanked Kane and looked directly at his Commander in Chief. “If all goes to plan, those lives will never have been lost in the first place.” His smile was shark like.

  Harper swallowed hard, biting his lower lip. “I want to speak to Gibbs,” he said.

  Kane frowned. “Sir-”

  “Now, Mick!” he demanded, his eyes hard. His decision made.

  Airborne over the Pacific

  “Hold for the President,” a female voice said into Laurence Gibbs’ radio.

  He sat in the hold of the MH-53 Sea Dragon helicopter as it thundered across the Pacific, closing in on its target. The faces of the few surviving members of his team were hard and serious. O’Rourke, Lake, Garcia and he were all that remained of the eight that set out with the four scientists over a week ago.

  The operator connected the call and President John Harper’s voice came through his helmet mounted radio.

  “Laurie,” he greeted him. As the commander of the CIA’s number one SOG team, often referred to as ‘the president’s private guard’, he was used to taking orders directly from his C-in-C.

  “Mister President,” Gibbs replied, wondering why he was calling. He had already spoken to the president to confirm the acquisition of the final missing piece of the mask and the eradication of Raine, King and Siddiqa. The president had been concerned about Nadia Yashina’s betrayal but Gibbs had assured him that the fake mask was of no concern. Stupid bitch!

  “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.

  “We have a situation developing with the Chinese, courtesy of Alex Langley.”

  Gibbs felt a pang of anger hit him at the mention of that name. Raine’s former C.O. had ended up taking a leaf out of his student’s book and resorting to treason. Gibbs had been made aware of the situation while the team was in Germany but had kept the information to himself. Despite his irritation at Langley going directly to Raine to inform him of a possible traitor in the team, Gibbs was the point-man on this mission and there hadn’t been any further reason for another team member to speak to him.

  “We’re not waiting ‘til morning. I’m escalating the time-line,” the president explained. “You have a go to proceed with Phoenix as soon as possible.”

  Gibbs absorbed this information and his revised orders with his usual detached professionalism. “I understand, Mister President.”

  There was a pause, then; “Godspeed.”

  The finality of the president’s farewell as the line clicked dead sent a shiver down Gibbs’ spine but his concerns were cut through by the voice of the navy pilot at the helicopter controls.

  “I have a visual on our destination, sir.”

  Gibbs pushed out of his seat and staggered up behind the cockpit, staring between the shoulders of the two pilots.

  The sun was setting, its dying rays bursting through the gathering storm clouds to the west and turning the choppy waters of the Pacific to molten gold. But, silhouetted against it, tiny from this altitude and spread out in a two-mile wide defensive pattern around their destination, were the six ships of the task force. One, the furthest out, was by far the largest. The USS George Washington.

  In the centre of the defensive net another gun-metal grey ship bobbed on the swell. Gibbs gripped the back of the pilots’ chair as the chopper dropped in altitude and raced down towards that lonesome vessel, slowing into a hover as they prepared to touch down on the helipad on the ship’s stern.

  In bold letters etched into the gun-metal grey aft bulkhead, the ship’s name was emblazoned: USS Eldridge.

  54:

  Blood in the Sky

  Off the Coast of Yonaguni Island,

  Japan

  Raine and King broke the surface and heaved in a great lung full of air. Unfortunately, the air was anything but the sweet tasting nectar they had both anticipated. Instead, it was cloying and laced with the acid taste of burning diesel. All around them fires crackled and popped as they consumed the slicks of oil which shone metallic on the heavy swell. All that remained of the boat.

  All that remained of Sid.

  Almost immediately upon surfacing, Benjamin King broke into sobs of tears, his breathing laboured. He choked on the burning fumes and coughed on sea water as he sank beneath the surface again. Raine held him afloat, giving him a moment. He could feel his body tremble as he held him beneath the arms. To have him drown now would have been a crying shame considering all that Rudy O’Rourke had done to save them.

  The main tip-off had been his reference to the Sri Lanka mission, but Raine had been picking up on subtle hints as far back as the mission to the mine in Cornwall. In reality, Raine had known all along that the presidential pardon he had been given wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. Sooner or later he knew that someone would come for him. He hadn’t, however, truly thought that Gibbs would murder three innocent scientists in cold blood, not to mention the U.S. marines.

  But, while suiting up on the deck of the boat, Raine had been puzzled to find O’Rourke secretly placing bullet-proof vests on them. “Kinda reminds you of that time in Sri Lanka, ay, Boss?”

  Almost five years ago, on O’Rourke’s first mission on Raine’s team, they had infiltrated a group of pirates who had been holding an American diplomat hostage. But O’Rourke’s cover had been blown and Raine had been ordered to kill him. If he didn’t, his cover would have been blown too and the diplomat executed. During a mock confrontation with the soldier, Raine had managed to sneak a slab of metal under his shirt and then proceeded to shoot him. He’d fallen overboard and, despite being dazed and in pain, the young recruit had had the good sense to sink.

  Now, just like Sri Lanka, knowing he had been ordered to execute Raine and the scientists, the now more experienced soldier had perfected Raine’s own deception, using bullet proof vests and sachets of fake blood. When the time came, Raine, King, Sid and Nadia would be shot and go overboard. Still in their diving equipment, they’d stay underwater until the boat left then swim for the island.

  But it hadn’t gone quite according to plan.

  “You knew.” King came to the conclusion just as the thoughts were running through Raine’s head. “You knew they were going to betray us yet you did nothing!” He thrashed out of Raine’s grip and began to go under.

  Once they had been shot off the back of the boat, Raine had dragged King down to the seafloor as quickly as possible. The pain was excruciating. While the bullet proof vests had prevented the bullets from entering their bodies, the impact was still enough to knock a man unconscious from the pain. Both men now felt the bruises swelling on their chests from at least half a dozen impacts.

  Above them, the two marines, not wearing bullet-proof vests, were torn apart by the sha
rks that zeroed in on their blood. But King was also covered in blood – Sid’s blood – and so Raine had quickly stripped the dazed man of any equipment with blood on it, including his buoyancy vest and rebreather system, as well as Raine’s own gloves.

  Then they had sat in silence in the shelter of the Yonaguni Monument, sharing the single rebreather, passing it from one to the other. At first it was clumsy and King had been close to panic whenever Raine took the mask from him to get his own gulp of air. But, eventually, they’d found a rhythm, and that was how they remained for almost half an hour, until the boat had been obliterated and the sharks had finished their gruesome feast and moved on.

  “Benny, calm down,” he told him now.

  “No! I won’t calm down!” He splashed, his head going beneath the waves despite his kicking.

  “Ben, you’re exhausted.” Raine grasped the other man’s arms and held him tight. With his own vest inflated he wouldn’t sink.

  “You knew!” King cried, his face a mask of agony. “You just let them-”

  “Rudy saved us,” Raine explained.

  “Us but not Sid!”

  “He tried. I tried.”

  “How?! How did you-”

  “I tried to get out of the water with them. So long as the four of us stayed together and kept our bullet-proof vests on I knew we’d be safe. I didn’t know Nadia was going to-” He cut himself off, overcome by anger. Betrayal. But now wasn’t the time. “Benny, we’ve got to swim to land. It’s not far-”

  “Leave me!” King broke from his grip again. The hollowness in his eyes, in his voice, was painful to witness. “I don’t want to go to land,” he sobbed, fresh tears falling. He trod water slowly and began to sink. “I can’t leave her, Nate.”

  “Ben, I-”