Syren's Song

by Claude G. Berube

  “This is USS LeFon to littoral combat ships. There is something wrong. Turn away from those small boats immediately.” LeFon’s powerful engines took her past the fishing boats before they could cross her bow as she distanced herself nearly two nautical miles from the catamaran.

  RHIB Somers

  “Good job, LeFon, but why the hell are those two other ships still on course?” Connor demanded.

  “Captain, what do we do?” Gunny Willis asked.

  “Fire shots across the sailboat’s bow,” Stark said to the guard at the pedestal gun. Immediately the MAG-58 let loose a short, staccato burst of fire. The catamaran continued toward the ships undeterred.

  “Commander,” Stark said turning to Ranasinghe. “You said the Sri Lankan navy didn’t know how the EMP hit the harbors and you never caught the Tigers who did it.”

  “Correct.”

  “Jay, that catamaran isn’t making use of its sails. Do you remember when we were building Syren and we got that brief on those Hamas rockets?”

  “Yeah, boss,” Warren nodded. “The Qassams they were using against Israel.”

  “Remember their diameter?”

  “About five inches.”

  “Small enough to use a mast as the launcher?” Stark asked, already knowing the answer. “Gunny, open up on that catamaran now.”

  Stark got back on the radio and warned the LCSs again but in response only got an admonition from their commander to stand down from firing on an unarmed vessel. The fishing boats with their long lines had already crossed the bows of both LCSs.

  Hundreds of bullets from the RHIB peppered the composite hull of the catamaran, and smoke emerged from its engines. The man in the cockpit was down, but there was no sign of the two men who had gone below. Suddenly, fiery smoke blew out of the top of the mast like dragon’s breath. And then a small rocket emerged.

  Singapore

  All Special Agent Damien Golzari knew for certain was that lab equipment from the United States had been passed to a nonexistent company in Singapore, a dead informant knew of a shipment to Sri Lanka, that shipment had ties to a Chinese firm called Zheng Research & Development, and Bill Blake had been killed because he was asking questions. Nothing else he found in Blake’s office had proved to be of any use in the investigation, and there was no other source of information in Singapore. He looked at the files spread out on Blake’s desk.

  The file from Homeland Security Investigations had been faxed to him a few hours earlier. The agent he spoke to was correct about Academy Solutions. A modern hydrostatic extrusion press had been sent to the ghost firm from the Argonne National Laboratory in Illinois. A quick search on the Internet told Golzari that an extrusion press was used to shape metal into tubes, rods, and wires. The HSI file also showed another shipment from a company in the United States two months before to Academic Solutions—four large 3D printers.

  After Golzari completed the paperwork for the State Department on the deaths at Raffles, he made two calls. The first was to Argonne National Laboratory to find the person involved with the extrusion press. After being transferred several times, he reached someone familiar with it.

  “Dr. Paddock,” the man said abruptly.

  “This is Special Agent Damien Golzari with the Diplomatic Security Service.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Information. About a hydrostatic extrusion press,” Golzari said.

  “Any press in particular?”

  “Yes, one that was shipped several weeks ago by Argonne to Academic Solutions in Singapore.”

  “My colleague, Dr. Sims, ordered it. Why?”

  “Well, sir, we’re following up on paperwork here in Singapore. Can I speak with Dr. Sims?”

  “No, you can’t. Unfortunately he passed away last week.”

  “Oh? Had he been ill?”

  “No,” Paddock said. “There was an accident at the lab. He was working alone at night and there was a fire. Apparently the sprinkler system was faulty.”

  “My condolences,” Golzari said trying to sound sincere. “But I do need more information. Can you help me?” Golzari made a note to check the fire department’s report on the incident.

  “All right, I guess so,” Paddock responded. “What do you want to know?” Golzari heard the distinctive sound of mastication. It was morning in Chicago, and judging by the chewing sounds on the line followed by slurps the scientist was eating breakfast and washing it down with coffee.

  “Can you tell me who ordered the press?” Golzari asked.

  “Not specifically. Any paperwork on it was in Sims’ office, and that was destroyed in the fire, although I did ask him about it when they were putting it on the pallet for shipment to Singapore.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he met a very smart young scientist at a conference earlier this year in San Francisco,” Paddock responded. “He discussed his work with Sims and asked if his lab might borrow a hydrostatic press.”

  “Did he give a name?”

  “It was short. Gama? Galu? No, Gala. That was it.”

  “And what was the focus of his research?” Golzari pressed.

  “He was working on new applications for zirconium.”

  “And the press would help how?”

  “I don’t know. I believe he told Dr. Sims that he needed one for testing.”

  Golzari was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. “Do you have a guess on how the press might be used with zirconium?”

  “Nothing specific, Agent Mozilla,” the scientist responded.

  “Golzari.”

  “Yeah, right. Look, it could be used for a lot of different things. Without seeing the proposal, I can’t give you more information. But this is the latest model, so it would work with metals with potentially volatile characteristics.”

  “Is zirconium volatile?”

  “Not that I know of. And it’s pretty common. It is kind of strange though,” he said almost as an afterthought.

  Well, at least I have a name. Golzari thanked Dr. Paddock and hung up the phone. Then he picked it up again and placed a call to the field office in San Francisco to get the name of the conference and a list of attendees and anything they could find on this scientist Gala.

  Among Blake’s files was a list from the naval attaché of all the ships that had left Singapore for Sri Lanka during the past month. Unfortunately for his investigation, Singapore was one of the busiest ports in the world. In the past month alone more than one hundred ships had followed that itinerary, and Golzari doubted that any of the reported manifests would include stolen lab equipment.

  As Golzari worked through his dilemma Agent Kelly poked her head in the door. “How are you making out?”

  “Nothing but dead ends here. I need a flight to Sri Lanka.”

  Kelly shook her head. “That’ll be tough right now. Haven’t you seen the news from there over the past few days?”

  “A few reports. Some cities experienced power failures and there were attacks on the navy.”

  “It was much more than that. Looks like the Tamil Tigers are back in force,” Kelly said. “No advance intel that we were aware of, but they took out the Sri Lankan fleets at Galle, Colombo, and Trincomalee. All flights to and from Sri Lanka have been suspended.”

  “Great. What about a flight to India and a ship to Sri Lanka?”

  “Possible. Let me see what I can do.”

  An hour later Golzari had his itinerary. He was boarding a cab for the trip to the airport when another car pulled up beside it and two officers grabbed him and shoved him through the open back door, slamming it behind him. Sitting next to him was the detective who had interrogated him.

  “At least you’re not cuffing me this time,” Golzari said as the car sped away from the hotel.

  “Agent Golzari, we’ve been instructed to take you to the airport.”

  “You’re wasting your time. I was just heading there. I appreciate your generosity though,” he said sarcastically.


  “We are to put you on a plane to the United States and watch you leave,” the detective continued. “The government has instructed us to tell you that if you ever return to Singapore you will be arrested and incarcerated indefinitely.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Do not take this lightly, Agent Golzari. We were also told that if we did not arrest you and send you back to your country, your life would be at risk. Of course, it may already be wherever you go.”

  RHIB Somers

  The rocket wasn’t accurate, but it didn’t have to be because it wasn’t designed to hit another platform. In any case, the crew of the RHIB stopped firing at the catamaran, which was now listing to one side and taking on water through the many holes in its hull. All Stark and the others could do was wait. When the rocket reached an altitude of five hundred yards it exploded into an orange ball that expanded into lazy greenish-blue sparks. Stark could only pray that LeFon and Syren were far enough away to escape the EMP’s effects.

  The scene suddenly became deathly quiet as the RHIB’s motor stopped. The boat lost momentum and stopped dead in the water. The two fishing boats also stopped. Far more discomfiting was the sight of the two littoral combat ships, which had been barreling toward them at thirty knots and were now completely devoid of electronics and engines. Their momentum continued to propel them over the fishing lines with the translucent buoys.

  Stark tried to hail them, but to no avail. The RHIB’s radio was dead, too. He could see through the binoculars that LeFon was under way, which meant she was outside the range of the EMP rocket’s effect.

  Life appeared unexpectedly on the bullet-ridden catamaran as the two men who had gone below emerged in the cockpit with weapons. Stark realized that they could have survived the gunfire only if they had up-armored the cabin. “Take them out, Gunny,” Stark said coldly, and gunfire from the RHIB silenced them permanently. Stark’s group still had to worry about the men in the fishing boats, but those were out of range for now.

  In the distance Stark could see the fishing lines beginning to wrap around the hulls of the drifting LCSs. The lines were in no danger of fouling the propellers because the EMP had destroyed the ships’ electronics and machinery and the props no longer worked. That didn’t make sense. If the Sea Tigers knew the EMP would kill the ships’ electronics, then why try to foul the props with fishing lines? Unless the propellers weren’t the target.

  The first buoy exploded just as Stark realized the implication. One by one and in succession the translucent buoys detonated along the waterline of each LCS. The Highland Maritime team watched helplessly as holes eight feet in diameter ripped through the thin hulls. Each ship, Stark knew, carried a minimal crew because the designers had insisted that automation would make large crews unnecessary for damage control. Stark wondered what the designers would say at this moment as he watched the hulls of two modern ships crumple and sink in a matter of minutes, taking their minimal crews with them.

  Stark put a hand on Ranasinghe’s shoulder to express his anger and sorrow. The Tigers had just killed two more Sri Lankan crews. Even if anyone had survived, the men in the RHIB could do nothing to help them. He ordered the security team to keep a sharp lookout. The last time the Sea Tigers had attacked the Sri Lankan navy they hadn’t stopped until all the ships were sunk.

  “Sir,” Gunny Willis said pointing at the drifting fishing boats.

  “What is it?” Stark said as he drew his own binoculars to the direction Willis was pointing. One of the larger fishing vessels, about 100 tons, was bobbing around like the others, but several men were gathered at the stern. Just as Stark tightened the focus the ship’s double doors opened.

  “This isn’t good,” he told Ranasinghe. “I’ve heard about these elsewhere. North Korea uses them—or at least used to. They’re getting ready to launch a small boat.”

  Almost on cue, a thirty-foot speedboat with a low profile and three large outboard motors slid into the sea. It was the only operational platform in the immediate vicinity, it carried half a dozen Sea Tigers, and it was speeding toward the RHIB.

  “More trouble, boss,” Jay said as he pointed to a second speedboat easing down the ramp.

  “Positions, everyone. Port side,” Stark commanded, and the men took up prone positions from bow to stern, resting their FAL-308s on the port tube. Stark was in the middle with Ranasinghe and Warren to his right and Gunny Willis and the coxswain to his left. The other security officer held his position with the MAG-58. A couple adjusted their Kevlar helmets and armor-plated vests. Stark handed his Beretta to Jay.

  “I’m not a shooter, boss.”

  “We’re all shooters right now, Jay. I’d give you the bigger one, but I need the range that the pistol doesn’t give me,” Stark replied.

  “Right. Hitting a target just like in the Olympics,” Warren said.

  “My targets in Seoul didn’t move,” Stark said as he focused on the Tiger boat.

  “Captain, they’re coming into our range,” Willis said.

  That’s good, Stark thought. If the Tigers hadn’t started firing yet, then his group would have a brief advantage based on the range of their own weapons. Most insurgent groups relied on AK-47s because of their availability. That gave them an effective range of a bit over 400 yards at best, while the FAL-308s had a range of at least 650 yards. Stark’s own personally sighted weapon and expertise as a marksman added 200 yards to his effective range.

  The first Tiger speedboat had veered to port to give the soldiers an opportunity to fire. Stark slowed his breathing in preparation. As the RHIB’s port tube settled with the next swell, he trained his sights on the high-speed engines. He fired one round, hitting the Tiger boat’s starboard engine and causing the boat to reduce speed, which in turn caused confusion among the five soldiers readying their weapons.

  “Weapons free,” he said, and the pedestal-mounted MAG-58 and FAL-308s opened up on the Sea Tigers’ boat. With its other two engines still running, the speedboat pulled to starboard for a few seconds, then turned broadside again at 550 yards. Three Tigers immediately fell to the security team’s gunfire while two other soldiers hid behind the boat’s metal freeboard. The MAG-58 let loose, and every nonmetallic item on the speedboat splintered. After the initial MAG-58 volley, Gunny Willis and Stark both found their marks as the final two men were killed. Only the helmsman remained alive.

  “Second—” the security officer managed to say before the impact of weapons fire from the second Tiger boat lifted his body and impelled him overboard. Stark shifted direction toward the stern and saw the speedboat less than 450 yards away and the coxswain’s lifeless body draped over the transom. Gunny Willis was about to shift when he was hit by debris from the MAG-58. He clutched his throat with one hand and tried to fire with the other as he put himself between the oncoming boat and Jay Warren.

  Ranasinghe came around to Stark’s left as Stark dropped to one knee. Stark flipped the FAL-308 to full auto mode just as two rounds hit his Kevlar chest protector, driving the air from his lungs and propelling him backward. He struggled to regain his balance and breathe, thankful for the body armor that had saved his life. Ranasinghe had just taken a prone position when he was hit in the head, his helmet flying back viciously.

  Just as Stark raised his weapon again, fighting back the pain in his chest, a wall of water exploded between the RHIB and the second Tiger boat. He wondered briefly if the boat had a mortar, but no mortar round would have created such a high wall of water. A second later he heard the distinctive sound of the 5-inch/62 Mark 45 gun carried by Navy destroyers and realized what had happened. LeFon had taken a big chance with a friendly so close, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Stark and Gunny Willis kept firing blindly through the wall of water. As it descended Stark saw Syren making her way toward the scene. Puffs of smoke showed that two of her .50-caliber machine guns were firing at the speedboat as well. The Tigers turned their boat around and made for Syren. Stark dropped his weapon, grabbed the pedestal, and pulled
himself into position to fire the MAG-58. The stern of the second Tiger boat disintegrated, sending the occupants, already dead, into the water.

  LeFon’s 5-inch gun continued to fire—this time at the larger stern-trawler mother ship—and destroyed her with only a few rounds. LeFon next focused on the two fishing boats that had dragged the explosive lines earlier, and with a few more rounds the battle was over.

  Jay was leaning over Gunny Willis, trying to stem the blood gushing from his throat. Ranasinghe was down as well and barely breathing. Stark picked up the ship-to-ship radio. “LeFon, request medical assistance. Two dead. Two severely injured.” He removed his vest, lay back on the starboard tube, and lost consciousness, having forgotten that the EMP blast had rendered the radio ineffective.

  PART II

  DAY 8

  Mullaitivu District

  Outsiders knew the site as the Mullaitivu Breakers. The local Tamils who worked there called it hell. The Breakers was the reclamation site for more than a hundred freighters, tankers, passenger ships, and other boats whose engines were outdated, had been damaged, or otherwise were too costly to operate in a competitive global market. Some of the ships were less than thirty years old. They bore faded names like Wei Express, Golden Pacific, and Katya P. Two dozen of the ships lay like beached whales on the shore; the others, nearly a hundred of them, awaited their fate in the shallow waters offshore. Instead of maggots and scavengers slowly eating away at the great beasts, a legion of barefoot workers deprived the ships of their former glory, many using only their hands as tools.

  Sparks flew inside and around the ships as men tore them apart piece by piece for the metal scrap that was now their only value. There was no Occupational Safety and Health Administration here. Falling steel plates could crush a worker who wasn’t paying attention, and unstable decks could give way and plunge an unwary man to his death. Two or three men died every day at the Breakers, and most of the others who worked there bore “Mullaitivu tattoos”—the scars from close calls. And so it had been for forty years, with the only exception being the years of the civil war. Hundreds of men lost their lives or dignity to this trade for poverty wages while the government of Sri Lanka and the shipowners reaped the profits.