by Jack Du Brul
“Damn,” Harry remarked. “This must be what Sly Stallone’s dressing room looked like when he made Rambo.”
“Rambo! Rambo!” the gun dealers parroted when they heard the name.
“Lauren, what are we paying for these?” Mercer asked, keeping the bag full of cash close to his body.
“The pistols are two hundred, M-16s are a thousand. Ammo and combat harness are negotiable.”
Harry had already blown three thousand dollars at the casino so there was twelve thousand in the bag, more than enough to outfit the Special Forces in addition to him and Lauren. Foch had arms left to provide for his men. Mercer asked if he needed ammunition.
“We could use some 5.56mm rounds for our FAMAS assault rifles,” Foch answered. “We’re okay with 9mm for our H&Ks.”
Lauren purchased eight pistols and rifles, and spent the remaining money on ammo and combat vests. The Panamanians seemed pleased with the transaction and joked with her as they packed up the weapons they didn’t sell.
Mercer moved to her side so he wouldn’t be overheard and asked, “How do you know they won’t go straight to the police when they leave?”
Lauren laughed and translated the comment to the arms dealers. They laughed even harder. One of them reached into his wallet and showed off his ID. He was a cop. They all were.
“Call this cross-agency cooperation,” Lauren explained.
“I promised Freddie here the arrest of anyone involved in the plot once we’ve stopped the Mario diCastorelli. In fact, he’s going to take Maria Barber off our hands tonight.”
“But he’s still charging for the guns?” Harry quipped.
“Beesness es beesness,” the Panamanian cop said in a thick accent. He turned to Lauren. “Vaya con Dios, gringa.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow morning when the dust settles,” she told him in Spanish, and they shook hands. One of Foch’s men left with the officers to hand over Maria.
“Now we have soldiers, weapons, a boat, and one of the vans we’ve been renting.” Bruneseau accepted a cigarette from Harry.
“And a target,” Lauren added. “So far, so good.”
“Then why do I feel like we’ve missed something?” Exhaustion had turned Mercer’s voice gravelly. Part of him wanted a drink to relax and another part craved caffeine to keep him going. He settled on bottled water.
“We’ve been over it a dozen times.” Lauren sat on the couch next to him and casually took a sip from his bottle. It was such a familiar gesture that Mercer had to fight not to smile. Her leg was tight up against his and it would be so easy and right to put his arm over her shoulder. She seemed to be swaying into him as if inviting the touch.
“I can’t think of anything we’ve forgotten.” Roddy looked like he was sinking into one of the overstuffed chairs opposite them.
“That’s what bothers me.” Mercer rubbed his eyes and noted the time. Midnight. “We should all get some sleep. Meet here again at six? Will that give us enough time to get in position?”
Everyone nodded. Roddy and the Frenchmen made their way out of the suite while Lauren claimed woman’s prerogative and scooted into the bathroom first. Harry had just come from there so he bade Mercer a good night with a dismissive wave and closed the door to his bedroom.
Mercer remained on the couch, trying to pull together his fragmented thoughts. He gave up quickly, and sat there with his eyes closed.
“You awake?” Lauren whispered a short time later. She was so close he could smell toothpaste on her breath.
Mercer levered open an eye. She was bent over him, dressed in a T-shirt that just reached the top of her thighs. Her unrestrained breasts were at the level of his head and he had to drag his gaze upward. Her dark hair was brushed back from her face and her skin looked luminous from being washed. “If you heard me snoring,” he said, “then I was asleep. If not, I was silently cursing Harry for taking the second bed again.”
“Poor baby,” she cooed. “If it weren’t for tomorrow I’d invite you into mine.”
Mercer managed to keep up the flirting despite his racing heart. “If it weren’t for tomorrow you’d still be disappointed. I’m whipped.”
She smiled. “In that case, why don’t you come with me. I’m warning you that if you snore, I’ll make you sleep with Harry.”
“I’d do the same to you, but the old bird isn’t as much of a gentleman as I am.”
Her eyes danced. “I think I could trust either of you for one night.”
“What happens if I get a chance for another?”
Lauren took his hand. “You won’t be able to trust me.”
Hatcherly Consolidated Terminal Balboa, Panama
Captain Wong Hui watched critically as deckhands secured heavy manila ropes to his ship. The other end of the lines were wound around diesel-powered capstans at the far end of the dry dock. Powerful lamps attached to the enormous shedlike building spread a glare of white light across his ship and the black waters that lapped against the newly built structure. The massive doors were open and in moments the four-hundred-foot refrigerator ship Korvald would be drawn into the enclosed dock and her long trip from Shanghai would be finished.
He muttered a few terse words to the helmsman as he felt his ship move against the sluggish tidal surge. Athwartship thrusters adjusted her heading, lining her up perfectly with the narrow, concrete-lined berth. His walkie-talkie crackled and an operator at the far side of the building indicated he was ready to engage the winches.
Wong knew that his ship had been chosen by COSTIND, China’s military-industrial combine, because she carried a sophisticated cooling system that usually kept her cargoes of meat frozen, but also because her superstructure was low enough to fit into the dry-dock chamber. Still he kept a wary eye on the roof of the building as the capstans slowly drew the ship past the doors and into the dry dock. From where he stood, forty feet off the water, the span of the ceiling trusses were another fifty feet above him.
Even with fifteen feet of clearance on each side of the Korvald, Wong paced from wing bridge to wing bridge watching to see that his vessel stayed in the exact center of the dry dock. He looked aft in time to see her fantail clear the steel doors and the heavy gates begin to close. She was in. The winches hauled the reefer ship another one hundred feet to the front of the building until her graceful bows loomed over the quay and a pair of forward ropes dropped almost vertically to mushroomlike bollards.
The veteran seaman gave no outward sign that reaching Panama had reduced the tension that had robbed him of sleep since leaving China. He remained erect and aloof, fitting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it from a match. Just because he’d delivered his cargo didn’t mean the danger was past, thanks to the coded orders he’d received en route from General Yu. It would be at least another day before the large overhead crane, normally used to pull heavy machinery from disabled ships, would haul away the Korvald ’s load of eight DF-31 medium-range missiles.
The solid rocket boosters were fifty feet long and weighed nearly nine tons without their nuclear payload. The Korvald had undergone modifications to her hatches while in Shanghai so the missiles could be removed safely. He recalled that when the train carrying the rockets had arrived in Shanghai from the Wuzhai Missile and Space Center near Beijing, it had taken six hours for the workers to settle the boosters into the special cradles deep in the hold. Without the distraction of so many hawkish politburo members watching the work, he was sure the men here could cut that time in half. Once the canal was disabled, he wanted his ship out of Panamanian waters as soon as possible.
Had General Yu not ordered he wait, he would have liked to see the rockets unloaded tonight, but that was not to be.
Wong pitched the stub of his cigarette into the oily waters separating the Korvald from the dock and watched as Liu Yousheng strode down the length of the pier to where the ship’s gangway had been lowered. With him were two armed soldiers and an ancient figure who moved with bird-like steps that covered the grou
nd deceptively fast. Wong supposed he owed Liu the deference of meeting the executive when he came aboard, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he sent his first officer to the deck to escort Liu and his party to the captain’s day cabin directly behind the bridge.
A steward brought in tea just as Liu Yousheng reached the cabin. He nearly toppled the young servant as he pushed past. The two guards stayed outside the spartan room while the elderly man in the dark suit stood mutely at Liu’s side. Wong struggled to hide his distaste at the man’s pallid appearance.
“Wong?” Liu made no move to formally greet the captain or introduce his guest.
“I am Captain Wong, master of the Korvald.” Wong bowed, sensing the fury already radiating off Liu.
“Your first officer just told me that you won’t allow the missiles to be unloaded.” Liu’s voice was a low snarl.
Wong wasn’t about to be intimidated aboard his own ship and his tone rose to match Liu’s. “By order of General Yu.” He handed over a decrypted transcript of Yu’s recent orders. “We are not to remove the rockets from this ship until after the canal has been sealed. As you can see there in the second paragraph, the general still harbors reservations about your plan and is unwilling to risk the DF-31s in case you fail. My orders are to keep all officers and crew aboard the Korvald and to be prepared to leave this facility at a moment’s notice.”
Liu scanned the orders and then read them again slowly, his anger subsiding as he saw the wisdom in Yu’s instructions. This wasn’t an attempt to double-cross him or undermine his authority. Yu just wanted to maintain the security of the rockets. There were a total of twelve DF-31s currently in China’s arsenal and two-thirds of them were on the Korvald . They represented an investment far beyond the gold bullion that had been spent on Operation Red Island, and unlike the gold, they could not be quickly replaced. Still, the orders felt like a mild rebuke.
Wong continued. “I intend to raise the gangplank as soon as you are off my ship and I expect that you will post workers in the control room to open the dry-dock gates if I need to leave quickly.”
“The general is so concerned about his precious rockets,” Liu said sarcastically. “Did he say what is to be done with the mobile launchers in case I fail? They are a rather expensive investment and would create quite an incident if the Americans discovered them here.”
Wong shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. Perhaps General Yu believes you know your duty regarding them.”
Liu took a calming breath, realizing that he’d gain nothing by goading the captain further. Wong was under the same kind of control as he himself felt. And he knew that mechanics here at the terminal could disassemble the monstrous trucks in a couple of hours and load the parts into shipping containers. His voice returned to the silken tones he used so effectively in board meetings and business negotiations. “What do you know about the warheads themselves?”
“Before leaving China, General Yu told me to report that they have already been loaded aboard a submarine for transit directly to this facility. The sub is diesel-electric and will need to be refueled en route. An oiler has been dispatched to the rendezvous point north of the Society Islands. Because the at-sea refueling must take place when there is no satellite coverage, I can’t give an exact arrival time, but it should be approximately three weeks after departing China.”
Liu nodded. “Very well, Captain. You have your orders and apparently I have mine. If tomorrow’s schedule is maintained, the submersible carrying the men off Gemini should reach Gamboa at about ten forty-five in the morning, which means the canal should be rendered inoperable at eleven.”
“Then we will commence the unloading a short time later,” Wong said, warily eyeing the old man, who watched him like an undertaker looks at a fresh corpse.
“Sergeant Huai,” Liu barked.
The noncom stepped into the cabin and snapped a salute. “Sir?”
“You and Mr. Sun are to remain on board this vessel until I return tomorrow to supervise her unloading. Captain Wong has the authority to leave the dock under certain circumstances. Mr. Sun knows what they are. If Sun deems the captain is attempting to leave without those conditions being met, it is your duty to prevent it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Huai saluted again.
Liu expected Wong to report this back to General Yu. He was counting on it. Yu had to understand that he didn’t like being told a change in his plans by a mere ship’s captain and that he was still in charge of Red Island. He leveled his gaze at Wong, just so there was no misunderstanding. “This isn’t personal, Captain.”
Wong gave a short laugh. “I know it isn’t. What games you and General Yu wish to play are no concern of mine. I do as ordered and leave politics to others.”
“Sergeant Huai, how many men do you need to carry out my orders?”
“What is this ship’s complement?”
“Eight officers and twenty-two crewmen,” Wong answered.
“I will need four men, sir.”
“Very well. Captain, I will see you in the morning.”
Liu left the men awkwardly regarding each other in Wong’s cabin and made his way down the utilitarian companionway to the main deck. A foreman waited for him at the gangway.
“Sir?”
“Tell your men to stand down for the night. We won’t be unloading the ship until tomorrow.” Liu barely broke stride as he gave his orders.
He checked his watch. Midnight. He had to hold everything together for another eleven hours. His stomach remained calm even if he felt a headache growing behind his eyes. Yu had known when they spoke at El Mirador that he wasn’t unloading the rockets until after the canal was sealed, and had deliberately withheld that information. It was a petty trick, a small bit of intimidation that rankled the more Liu thought about it. Red Island was about to push Yu one step higher in the government and he chose to humiliate the man who was giving him the boost.
Wong had been right. Politics. It was his nation’s curse. Take away just half of the government infighting and Red Island would have been unnecessary because China would already control all of the Pacific basin.
Well, Liu thought with a touch of pride, thanks to me and despite themselves, the government’s going to get their wish anyway.
“Merrcerrrr, Merrcerrrr.” The voice dragged him back from the deepest sleep he’d enjoyed for weeks.
Mercer opened his eyes. Hovering in front of him was a face as wrinkled and gray as a balled-up piece of newsprint. Harry. “Ugh!” he groaned. “Waking to you makes my nightmares seem pleasant.”
“It’s five-thirty, Romeo. Shag your ass.”
Mercer remembered he hadn’t gone to bed alone and felt across the sheets. Lauren was gone.
“She’s already in the bathroom,” Harry informed him. “Judging by how rested she looked, you couldn’t have been much.”
“Not only are you a depraved bastard, but I suspect you’re deprived as well.” Mercer swung his legs out of the bed. He was surprised that other than a twinge of apprehension deep in his gut, he was feeling reasonably well. “Besides,” he added to stifle Harry’s leer, “nothing happened.”
Harry tossed a bundle of dark clothes into his lap. “Compliments of Foch. This is a spare uniform from the guy injured yesterday picking up Maria.”
“How is he? Do you know?”
“The driver’s still in the pokey. He managed to call Foch’s room late last night. The guy who was hit is going to be all right.”
“You’ve seen Foch. How long have you been awake?”
Harry rubbed the stubble on his chin. “When you’re as handsome as I am you don’t need much beauty rest.”
“Funny.” Mercer drew on the black fatigue pants and T-shirt.
“I woke up at five, went down to their room and heard they were all awake. When I came back up, Lauren was in the bathroom. Seems you’re the only one who wants to sleep through the fun.”
“I would if I could.” The clot
hes fit well enough so Mercer laced up his boots and followed Harry into the sitting room. A coffee service waited on a credenza. The aromatic steam was strong enough to start reviving Mercer even before he started on his first cup. “Any word about the Special Forces guys?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know if Lauren’s called her father yet.”
She entered from the bathroom, dressed in clothes that matched Mercer’s. “Morning, boys. Who do I thank for the fatigues?”
“Me,” Harry answered quickly. “Sewed ’em myself.”
“You got the length right, but if you really think I have a thirty-six-inch waist I’m going to hurt you.”
Mercer suspected that she wouldn’t give any acknowledgment to how they’d spent the night even though they hadn’t so much as kissed. He was wrong. She stepped to him and pressed her lips to his. “How’d you sleep?”
He smiled into her eyes. “Never better.”
“Me too.”
“Break it up,” Harry growled. “You’re going to make me gag.”
When Bruneseau, Foch, and the four remaining Legionnaires entered the suite, Mercer was on his third cup of coffee and Roddy had already arrived with Miguel. The boy understood something important was about to happen and wanted to be with his two heroes for as long as possible. Considering his recent loss, neither man begrudged his clinging presence. It was a little after six in the morning. The Mario diCastorelli would be entering the canal in less than an hour, while the Special Forces were still more than two hours out.
The twinge in Mercer’s gut tightened a degree.
Sitting around the coffee table eating breakfast, he led them through their plan once again. Lauren would drive the van to pick up the American commandos. She would take them straight to the Balboa Yacht Club where Mercer, Roddy, and the Legionnaires would be waiting with the boat. No amount of argument could keep Harry White from also joining them at the marina. It was then up to the Special Forces to assault the Mario diCastorelli. If they failed, however, Mercer wanted to be ready to lead an attack of his own. He had no illusions about taking on a potential force that had just defeated an elite American unit, but he figured the initial raid would sorely deplete the number of defenders on the ship and give them a chance.
