Flash Point

by Kenneth Andrus

They had been at sea for ten days, and he thought it shear madness to be conducting a routine area denial mission in these current conditions. But his opinion accounted for little. He had his orders from WESTCOM.

  He wasn’t privy to the details of his superior’s reasoning. That was above his pay-grade. What he did know was the senior staff in Manila took a dim view of Montalvo’s declaration proclaiming a joint exploration agreement between Philippine National Oil and China Offshore Services for the waters around Reed Bank. This could not be tolerated. Their agreement flew in the face of Manila’s decision to name the waters surrounding the contested atoll the West Philippine Sea.

  Reyes shook his head. Screw them.

  Another swell rolled into the ship. He broadened his stance to compensate for the movement and addressed his Executive Officer, Lieutenant Lenny Santos. “XO, we’re in for a pounding. Rig for heavy seas.”

  “Captain, I have a contact,” the radar operator broke in.

  “There can’t be anyone crazy enough to be out in this weather. It’s not land scatter?”

  “No, sir.”

  A wall of gray water exploded over the bow enveloping the ship in spindrift up to the forward gun mount. Reyes squinted, trying to see through the haze blanketing the sea. What’s out there?

  The approaching storm churned the shallow waters surrounding Reed Bank, obliterating his few visual references. The Emilio could easily run aground on an unchartered reef. “Slow to five knots. Maintain our current heading.”

  The engine room telegraph rang out its confirmation and the Emilio slowed. Within moments, they broke through the squall line. “XO, station a bow-watch. I want a set of eyes forward.”

  “Target bearing five degrees. Distance four hundred yards,” the OOD announced.

  Reyes leaned forward, squinting to focus on the horizon. Dead ahead, he spotted the unknown contact. Streaks of rust stained the white superstructure situated well aft of the high forecastle. A Chinese fishing boat.

  What the...? He couldn’t believe his eyes. Strung out behind the trawler were at least three dinghies.

  Reyes pointed to the distant ship. “XO, over there, just to port.”

  “What the hell are they doing out there? They can’t possibly be working their nets.”

  Santos grabbed a pair of binoculars and handed them to Reyes.

  Reyes studied the trawler. The captain of the trawler appeared to be calling it quits and retrieving the dinghies. “XO, we’re going to close. Right, thirty-degree rudder.”

  “Right, thirty-degree rudder,’ the helmsman echoed.

  Reyes braced his legs as the Emilio rolled and veered off course.

  “Mind your helm.”

  Puzzled, the helmsman looked at the rudder indicator dial and turned the wheel to bring the Emilio around to the proper heading. There was no response. He tried again. “Captain, she’s not responding.”

  Reyes was focused on the response of the trawler to his approach and the matter-of-fact tone of the man’s warning didn’t register. “Say again?”

  The helmsman stared at the Chinese ship looming ahead. “Captain, the rudder’s not responding.”

  Reyes had no reason to question the helmsman. Something was very wrong. They were about to ram the trawler. “Sound the steering casualty alarm. Starboard engine, emergency back. After steering, rudder amidships.”

  Another wave pushed the Emilio back around, countering the measures Reyes had just taken. The distance to the fishing boat was seventy yards and closing. “All back, emergency.”

  His actions wouldn’t be enough. They were slowing, but the Emilio’s momentum would carry her into the trawler. The unrelenting whoop of the collision alarm pounded his ears.

  He caught sight of the helmsman out of the corner of his eye. The terrified man was about to bolt. “Stand fast, Mendoza. I need every man at his station.”

  Only a few yards separated the two ships. The impact would be just forward of the trawler’s bridge.

  Transfixed, Reyes gripped the handles protruding from either side of the rudder indicator consul. He could make out several faces staring in disbelief from the other vessel’s bridge. One held a video camera. He heard their panicked shouting.

  A belch of oily smoke erupted from the trawler’s stack. A door leading to the deck flew open. Caught by a gust of wind, it clanged against the superstructure. Three men poured out of the door and sprinted toward the boat’s stern.

  Reyes tightened his grip. He had no time to question what they were doing. “Brace for impact.”

  A dull thud and the screech of iron-on-iron resonated across the water. He ran to the bridge wing, ignoring the slashing rain to examine his hull. The anchor appeared intact. A smear of dirty-blue paint was all the damage he could see.

  The glancing collision forced the two ships apart. The trawler surged ahead, opening the distance. He gripped the railing. A ragged line of white-water loomed to leeward. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

  Holy, shit. Just visible in the distance, the raging surf pounded the fringing reef of an atoll.

  Reyes yelled to Santos over the roaring wind. “XO, do we have emergency steering?”

  “Yes, sir. After steering confirms they can respond.”

  “You see the reef?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take the conn. We’ll use the swells to help push us around. Hard left rudder.”

  Reyes was transfixed at the sight of white-water exploding over the reef. His mind registered the Emilio responding. She was swinging away from danger. They were on a heading toward open water and safety. His shoulders slumped in relief. “All ahead, full. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Reyes scanned the receding rocks of the atoll. His relief was cut short at another sight. Oh, crap. He leaned against the railing. The line securing them must have parted. The Chinese dinghies were being swept toward the reef. They would all drown. That’s what they’d been doing. They cut the line and abandoned their own shipmates. Cowards.

  He ran back to the bridge and grabbed Santos by the shoulder. He pointed to the dinghies. “We’ve got to come around. Keep them to leeward.”

  Santos looked at the helmsman. “Mendoza, you good?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Reyes turned to Santos. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to heave them a line and secure the entire string. We’ll only get one chance before they go over the reef.”

  “No sweat, sir,” Santos replied seeking to calm the rest of the men on the bridge.

  Reyes took a moment to get his bearings. God, what a mess. The Chinese are going to raise holy hell. And what am I going to do with those fishermen? Provided I can even get them on board. “XO, I’ll guide you in. And XO...”

  “Sir?”

  “Secure that damn alarm.”

  Reyes turned his attention back to the dinghies. Santos was making a flawless approach. Blessed Mother of God. We’re actually going to pull this off.

  “XO, when we get those men on board, set a course for Palawan, Hulugan Bay. We’ll ride out the storm there.”

  “What about them?” Santos said gesturing toward the fishermen bobbing in the dinghies.

  “We’ll dry them off and give them some of our stash of San Miguel.”

  “Works for me, Skipper.”

  Reyes smiled for the first time that day. “After we drop them off, I’m confident the Foreign Ministry will be able to figure out what to do.”

  Chapter 41

  UNITED STATES EMBASSY

  MANILA

  13:25 MONDAY 21 JULY

  Marie Lynne made a quick mental note of her surroundings. She, and many of the other correspondents stationed in Manila, were packed into the embassy’s small pressroom. They were anxious to learn Washington’s comments about the rescue of the Chinese fishermen by the Philippine navy. Lynne smiled. Her friend, Captain Reyes, made the news again.

  She listened while the press officer recounted what he knew of the event, but soon lost intere
st. The story didn’t have enough substance to make it on ABCs international broadcast. She jotted down a perfunctory note and closed her iPad. Her mind drifted, dwelling on her evening’s date with the cute expat. His blue eyes––

  The grating of chairs on the wooden floors interrupted her musings. The briefing was over. She stood and made her way to the exit, exchanging pleasantries with the reporter from the Manila Bulletin. A hand touched her elbow.

  “Ms. Lynne? Do you have a moment?”

  Lynne didn’t recognize the man. She glanced at her companion. “May I ask the subject?”

  The man addressed the other correspondent. “Could you excuse us, please?”

  When the reporter turned away, the man said, “We can’t talk here.”

  Lynne nodded and followed the stranger out a side door. They wove their way through several narrow corridors and up a flight of stairs before the man deposited her in a windowless room.

  “Where are—?”

  “Please make yourself comfortable. Someone will be with you in a moment.”

  Lynne took a step toward the door. “I’m—”

  The man closed it in her face.

  What the hell? She grasped the door handle. It spun in her hand. She pounded on the door. “Hey, is anybody out there?”

  There was no response. Are you kidding me? I’m a prisoner?

  She pulled out her iPhone and pressed the speed dial. Nothing. She tried again. Crap.

  Lynne dropped the phone into her purse. Well, they can’t keep me in here forever.

  She tapped her thumbs together and flicked her eyes around the enclosed space before ending up staring at a plain wooden chair. She looked at her watch. Enough of the mind games.

  The door opened.

  “You.” She dropped into the chair at the sight of the stranger who’d accosted her in the park.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Lynne. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. The briefing ended sooner than expected.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To thank you.”

  “You just locked me in this damn room.”

  “Yes, that wasn’t a good start. I’ll have a word with my assistant.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I couldn’t be more serious, Ms. Lynne. Your assistance made it possible for us to intervene on President Montalvo’s behalf and thwart a major initiative by the Chinese Ministry of State Security to destabilize his government.”

  “The box you gave me?”

  “We’re going to arrange for his release.”

  “Raul? I won’t betray my friend.”

  “Friend? Please, spare me.” He leaned forward. “Perhaps your relationship is more, shall I say, pragmatic––perhaps a financial one? Perhaps something in the order of twenty-thousand dollars.”

  “I didn’t––”

  “Yes, we know. We’ve tracked your accounts and there have been no large charges on your credit cards, major purchases, or evidence that you’ve opened an overseas account.”

  “You––”

  “Certainly, you can’t be so naïve as to think we don’t have our own sources within Atencio’s network?”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, but with that in mind, we––”

  Lynne stood to leave. “Not interested.”

  The man blocked the door. “Patience, Ms. Lynne. I will not keep you, but before you go, you may be interested in what I have to say.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We’d like you to consider joining us.”

  “What? You’re kidding, right?”

  “We thought that would be your first reaction.”

  “My first reaction?”

  “Yes. We believe you could be a valuable asset.”

  “Asset? Who the hell are you? CIA?”

  “We’ve done a considerable amount of research, Ms. Lynne. Of particular interest is the time you spent at Subic Bay as a teenager when your father commanded the Naval Shipyard.”

  “Leave my father out of this.”

  “We have. His record is impeccable. What is pertinent is your work at the orphanage in Olongapo City. Your efforts were most commendable despite the radicalized Priest in charge.”

  “Father Diaz was a remarkable man.”

  “I don’t disagree. The point is, you’ve made a remarkable connection with the Philippine people and learned a considerable amount about the Pacific region in your short time here.”

  “And?”

  “And, we would like to provide you the opportunity to... No, I’ll get straight to the point. You know as well as I, how much of what ends up in the news is just plain wrong or leaves so many gaps as to be worthless.”

  “Why should I want to do anything for you?”

  “This is not about me. We’re looking for what’s not being said. There’s much more you can do beyond providing thirty-second sound bites to your network. The danger is miscalculation by all parties, misinformation, and the manipulation of events.”

  Lynne stiffened, but inwardly she agreed. She had lost count of the number of times her material had been altered or cut out in its entirety. Before she could comment though, the man said something that stuck a cord.

  “You’re too good for that, Ms. Lynne. We can provide you the means to make a difference out here––just like you once did in Olongapo.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jack. I’m the Station Chief.”

  “Okay, Jack. I’m still not convinced.”

  “At some point in your life, Ms. Lynne, you’re going to look back and think about what you’ve contributed. Have you made the world a better place? It’s entirely your decision.”

  Lynne realized there was much she didn’t know and likely never would, but she knew she could make a difference. She thought of Reyes and his crew repeatedly putting their lives on the line against overwhelming odds.

  “Not good enough.”

  “Do you want money?”

  “No.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “To make a difference. To protect the Philippine people.”

  “Notable goals, Ms. Lynne, but only if the Philippines doesn’t become a vassal State. And to do that, we must disable Cruz’s and Atencio’s network.”

  “What’s that say about us?”

  “Not a damn thing. We’re trying to prevent a war.”

  Lynne considered what she must do. “And if I say yes?”

  “You won’t be asked to do anything immediately. While we already know a great deal about you, you will still need to be vetted and go through the formal hiring process.”

  “Understood.”

  Jack extended his hand. “Welcome to the Agency, Ms. Lynne.”

  Chapter 42

  THE OVAL OFFICE

  07:00 TUESDAY 22 JULY

  Stuart waved Gilmore toward the vacant chair beside Dan Lantis. “Morning, Bryce. What do we have going?”

  “We need to review the latest developments in the Spratlys.”

  Stuart’s jaw tightened. Despite the hour, he was already having one of those days when he asked himself why he had been crazy enough to want to be President. He concluded he was suffering from the delusion he could actually control events and make a difference.

  Gilmore read the look on his boss’s face. “The implications of the first could be significant, and the others––”

  “Start with the first.”

  “A Philippine navy ship intercepted a Chinese fishing boat near Reed Bank and detained a number of the crew. The embassy was directed to acknowledge the event, but not go into the details.”

  “The same area where that Chinese patrol boat fired a round at that Filipino archeological survey ship?”

  “The Saranggani. Had nine French nationals on board.”

  “Has Beijing reacted?”

  “Not yet. Paris is really pissed, but the French can take care of themselves. I’m more concerned about the implications for Montalv
o.”

  “Oh?” Stuart shifted in his chair. “How’s that?”

  “We have it from a trusted source that General Medeiros decided to take matters into his own hands and manufactured the confrontation to undermine Montalvo’s efforts to engage Beijing.”

  Stuart stared at the wall over Gilmore’s shoulder. “That may not be such a bad thing. We don’t need another crisis, but I’m tired of waiting for him to get off his butt and make a decision on the new basing agreement.”

  “You thinking of pulling our offer?”

  “No, but I am going to pull Richard from the Two-plus-Two negotiations in Manila. Clarke can go.”

  “That’ll send a message, but this may not be the time to play hardball.”

  Stuart compressed his lips into a thin line. “Understood. What else?”

  Gilmore paused. There wasn’t any way he could make this any easier. “Valiant Crane may have been compromised.”

  Stuart removed his glasses and fixed his eyes on the DNI. “What’s going on?”

  “One of the Vietnamese nationals working on Platform Ten went missing. The authorities found him yesterday. Dead. We have reason to believe he was turned.”

  “Got a name?”

  “Tran.”

  “I didn’t think you had any of them on your payroll.”

  “We don’t. Our operatives on the rig were suspicious when he began nosing around the restricted area asking too many questions.”

  “What’s the connection?”

  “There was a handwritten note stuffed in one of his pockets. It said he couldn’t bear the shame of betraying his father and that he forgave him for abandoning him.”

  “You’re losing me, Bryce.”

  “Tran was Hanoi’s senior rep on the platform.”

  “Go on.”

  “And we knew he was orphaned at the end of the Vietnam War.”

  “How does any of this tie into Valiant Crane? There were thousands of orphans. Do we know anything about his father?”

  “Nothing. Our background investigation of the victim did turn up something, though. He was left behind when his family fled Vietnam at the end of the war. We’re presuming the family ended up in the U.S. or Canada.”

  “We don’t know for sure?”