Tom Clancy's Op-center Novels 7-12 (9781101644591)

by Clancy, Tom

  “We would have done exactly what we are doing,” Ellsworth admitted. “We don’t have a choice. This is a scary business, Lowell. It has to be dealt with aggressively.” He looked at Coffey and smiled slightly. “But it’s good to have you on our side.”

  Coffey smiled. It was strange to hear Ellsworth talk about dealing with things aggressively. Just a minute ago he had frozen when it came to taking responsibility for drugging their guest. What the chief solicitor meant, of course, was that he must aggressively authorize others to take action and responsibility. It was a strange new world for people like Brian Ellsworth. Men who enjoyed the perks of power without the shoulder-bending weight of liability.

  In the meantime, though, Lowell Coffey found himself in agreement with Ellsworth on one point, at least.

  This was a scary business. And he had a feeling it would get a lot more terrifying before it was through.

  FIFTEEN

  Darwin, Australia Friday, 12:59 P.M.

  FNO Loh stood between Warrant Officer Jelbart and Dr. Lansing. The three wore rubber gloves and surgical masks. The Singaporean naval officer watched dispassionately as the physician injected a clear solution into the patient’s intravenous needle. He had already turned off a valve to the drip in the patient’s thin but sinewy left arm. Brian Ellsworth and Lowell Coffey stood behind the lead-lined screen near the doorway.

  The balding physician shook his head. “This poor chap is going to get a double dose of wake up,” Lansing said.

  “How so?” Jelbart asked.

  “I’ve had to shut off the flow of painkillers. Morphine inhibits the uptake of norepinephrine,” the doctor informed him. “In a perverse way, though, that may help to save him. I’m giving him a moderate dosage of levarterenol. I’m hoping that the combination of pain and stimulant will be enough to wake him without damaging him.”

  “Why would he be damaged? What does this norepinephrine do?” Jelbart asked.

  “It is an energizer,” Lansing told him. “This patient is suffering from hypotension.”

  “Shock,” Jelbart said.

  “That’s right,” Lansing replied. “The sudden jump from systemic underactivity to overactivity could easily drive him to cardiac arrest.”

  “I see,” Jelbart said. “What about the radioactivity? How has that affected him?”

  “It’s too early to say,” the doctor replied. “There would not be many symptoms this early, and we still don’t know what the original exposure levels were.”

  “Then how can you treat him?” Jelbart asked.

  “He’s still alive,” the doctor said dryly. “So we can infer that the dose was not lethal.”

  “True,” Jelbart said.

  “There are standard responses, regardless of the exposure,” Lansing went on. “I’ve given him Melbrosin pollen, a natural radiation-sickness therapy. We can treat the results, the nausea and weakness. But this boosts the capability of the bone marrow to produce red and white blood cells. It won’t affect the pharmacological treatments he’s receiving for his wounds. If there is good news in any of this, it is that the burns appear to have been caused in the explosion, not as a result of the radiation.”

  “How can you tell?” Jelbart asked.

  “The body responds differently,” the doctor replied. “You see a more extensive form of blistering with radioactive burns.”

  “What about the levels of radiation the patient himself is generating?” Jelbart asked.

  “They are extremely low,” Lansing assured him. “We won’t be contaminated in any way if we stay for less than a half hour or so. And we will be here for far less than that, I assure you. That lead screen is primarily for the nurses who walk by all day.”

  The man in the bed began to moan as the drugs entered his system. FNO Loh leaned toward him.

  “Don’t bother talking to him yet,” Lansing cautioned. “He won’t hear you. This is only the pain talking. You’ll know he’s conscious when you see his eyes begin to move under the lids.”

  Loh stood up again. She tugged on the hem of her jacket and absently ran a hand down the front.

  The room was warm, and there was the faint odor of antiseptic. It smelled sanitary rather than fresh. To FNO Loh, dirty mop water on the deck of a patrol ship smelled fresh. Salty sea air, rich with fuel from the engine room, smelled fresh. This smell was void of life, of character.

  The young woman looked at the patient. He was starting to breathe more rapidly. She felt a pinch of sadness. It took suffering and horror to put him in what was probably the cleanest bed he had ever been in. Whatever his nationality, there were thousands of other young Asian men and women just like him. Maybe he was running from something. Maybe he did not want to be like his father. Perhaps he was running to something. Perhaps he had seen European or American movies or television shows and wanted to live like that.

  The officer felt compassion for him, but she also felt contempt. It was not a crime to want to escape from terrible oppression and poverty. To desire money and freedom. Yet there were other ways to earn money. Legal, honorable ways. Service in the military was one. Working on a farm was another. Apprenticeship in a trade was yet another. People like him were devious rather than smart, indignant rather than industrious, violent rather than strong. They deserved the disaster they ultimately brought on themselves.

  The patient’s eyes opened slightly. They crinkled with discomfort. His dry lips parted and moved wordlessly. He began to shift about, then started thrashing weakly as he moaned. Loh leaned close to his ear. She lightly touched his unbandaged cheek and forehead.

  “Don’t move,” Loh said softly in Malay. She repeated it in Chinese and then in English.

  “Who—?” he said in Malay.

  “You are safe,” she said. “I am Monica. You are in a medical facility. Where are you from?”

  The patient writhed and opened his mouth in silent pain.

  “Where are you from?” Loh repeated.

  “Singapore,” he said.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Name,” he said drowsily. “Lee.”

  “Lee what?” she pressed.

  “Tong,” he replied.

  “Lee Tong, what were you doing at sea?” she asked.

  “It hurts,” the patient said. He closed his eyes. Tears fell from the sides. “My skin, my feet . . . on fire.”

  “We will make the pain stop when you answer my questions,” Loh said. She was glad the doctor could not understand her. He would only waste time with misguided pity. “What were you doing at sea?”

  “They fired at us,” he said.

  “Who did?” Loh asked.

  “They saw in the dark,” he went on.

  “The boat you were attacking?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “They hit . . . plastique.”

  “Your plastique?” she asked. “You had plastic explosives on board?”

  He nodded.

  “Lee Tong, were you trying to take something from the other vessel?” Loh asked.

  He began to pant.

  “Did you attack another vessel?” Loh demanded.

  “It hurts . . . help me!”

  “Did you attack another vessel?” she shouted.

  “Yes—”

  Dr. Lansing was checking the heart monitor to the right of the bed. “Ms. Loh, his blood pressure is rising, two ten over sixty. His heart rate is two twenty.”

  “Meaning what?” Jelbart asked.

  “He’s approaching ventricular tachycardia,” the doctor said. “That can cause hemodynamic compromise—clots, air bubbles, death.”

  “You’re saying you haven’t got much time,” Jelbart said.

  “I’m saying he hasn’t got much time,” the doctor replied. “It’s time to stop this, Ms. Loh.”

  Loh refused to move. “Lee Tong, what did you want from the vessel?” she demanded.

  He did not answer. He simply moaned.

  “Did you want to hijack it? Did you want to
steal something?” the naval officer asked.

  “Money,” he replied.

  “You just wanted money?” she asked.

  “Jewelry,” he said. “Goods.”

  “What kind of goods?” she pressed.

  “Electronic,” he replied.

  “Nothing dangerous?” she asked. “No nuclear waste?”

  He shook his head weakly.

  They were just pirates, then, she told herself. Pirates who picked the wrong vessel to try to board.

  Lee Tong began to cry. He struggled against the straps that held him to the bed. A nurse came over to help restrain him.

  “Officer Loh, this has got to stop,” Dr. Lansing said. “Nurse, he needs a beta-blocker to stabilize. Push more propranolol IV. The rest of you—out.”

  Loh ignored the physician. “Lee Tong, were you in the Celebes Sea when this happened?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Can you describe the vessel you attacked?” she asked.

  “Too dark,” he said. He began to shiver and become more active. His eyes opened suddenly. He forced out a raw, hoarse, inarticulate scream.

  “That’s enough!” the physician said.

  Dr. Lansing moved in front of the woman. He turned the morphine drip on again. Almost at once the patient began to calm.

  Loh maneuvered around the doctor. “Can you describe the boat?” she asked. “Did it sink?”

  “Did not sink,” the man said as he drifted off. “Explosion . . . kept going . . . ”

  Lee Tong relaxed and sank back into the bed.

  “Why did you do that?” Loh asked the doctor.

  “Because his heart rate was approaching two hundred and thirty-five beats a minute,” the doctor said. “In his weakened condition, we could lose him. Now step aside, Ms. Loh. Let me do my job.”

  The naval officer moved back. As the physician moved in with his nurse, Jelbart took FNO Loh by the arm. He walked her around the lead screen and into the corridor. The other men gathered around her.

  “What did he tell you?” Ellsworth asked.

  Loh looked at the others. She took a short breath. “His name is Lee Tong, and he is Singaporean. He was at sea with other pirates, and they attempted to rob a vessel at night. They only wanted those goods they could spend or fence. That is typical of the breed. Judging from the radioactivity, it appears they happened upon a vessel that was carrying nuclear waste.”

  “What kind of ship?” Jelbart asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But these people do not routinely attack the kind of vessels that would transport nuclear materials.”

  “Legal nuclear materials,” Coffey pointed out.

  “That is correct,” she said. “The pirates obviously tried to stop the ship and were repulsed by weapons fire, probably by a team with night-vision capability. Lee Tong said they were cut down in the dark.”

  “By professionals,” Jelbart said.

  “It appears so,” Loh agreed. “In the course of that exchange, the pirates’ own plastique was detonated. It must have punched a hole in the target vessel and sprayed the sampan with radiation. He said that the ship is still afloat. Perhaps it was crippled in the explosion and is at anchor not far from where it was attacked. I’m going to search for it.”

  “Before you leave,” Coffey said to Loh, “I am obligated to point something out.”

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Whatever the patient told you cannot be used in fashioning a legal case against him,” Coffey told her. “Mr. Tong did not have an attorney present, and he was under the influence of medication.”

  “He is also guilty of piracy,” Loh replied flatly.

  “Perhaps,” Coffey admitted. “And if you are inclined to prove that, you will have to do it some other way.”

  The woman’s aides were standing at the far end of the corridor. Unschooled and very young, they both knew virtue from criminal behavior better than these older, highly educated men beside her. Knowledge and liberality had crowded common sense from their brains.

  “Gentlemen, I am returning to my patrol ship,” she said. “It is probably not a coincidence that this event occurred where it did.”

  “What do you mean?” Ellsworth asked.

  “You’re thinking about the 130-5 site, aren’t you Officer Loh?” Jelbart asked.

  “I am,” Loh replied. “I would like to go there and look for evidence of a conflict or perhaps the target vessel itself.”

  “Excuse me, but what’s the 130-5 site?” Coffey asked.

  “It’s the point of intersection at one hundred and thirty degrees longitude, five degrees latitude,” Jelbart replied. “That’s where Japan and China are permitted to dump their nuclear waste.”

  “But Officer Loh just said these pirates wouldn’t have attacked a vessel of that sort,” Ellsworth said.

  “They would not have,” the Singaporean agreed. “What I’m afraid of is something else.”

  “What?” Ellsworth asked.

  “That they attacked a vessel that may have just done business with one of those vessels,” Loh replied.

  SIXTEEN

  Washington, D.C. Thursday, 11:55 P.M.

  Paul Hood was about to leave when the phone beeped. It had been nearly five hours since he turned over the running of Op-Center to the evening shift. That was the only time he got to catch up on E-mails, intelligence briefings, and personal matters.

  He snatched it up and sat on the edge of the desk.

  “Evening, Paul,” Coffey said.

  “Good afternoon,” Hood replied. “So? Did your patient wake up?”

  Coffey told him he had. Before the attorney briefed him, Hood conferenced in Mike Rodgers and Bob Herbert. Both men were at home. Rodgers was up watching old action movies, as usual. Usually John Wayne or Charlton Heston. Herbert was getting ready to turn in.

  Nothing Coffey said surprised Hood.

  “Do you have any information about the bullets they pulled from the pirate or the wreckage?” Rodgers asked.

  “Yes, I wrote that down,” Coffey said. “Jelbart had one of his men come over and take a look at them. He just received word that they were from a .380 double-action semiautomatic. The initial forensics tests said that the bullets were remanufactured with a tungsten-polymer coating—”

  “Which means that they’re doubly difficult to trace,” Rodgers said.

  “How so?” Hood asked.

  “Remanufactured, meaning that the shell and casing came from different places,” Rodgers said, “and designed so as not to retain evidence of the rifling from the barrel that shot them.”

  “Bullets without fingerprints,” Herbert said.

  “More or less,” Rodgers replied.

  “Would it take considerable financial resources or a special laboratory to create ammunition like that?” Hood asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Rodgers replied. “Depends on what scale they’re making these things. A few dozen, even a few hundred could be done in a shack with easily obtainable gear.”

  “So that’s pretty much a dead end,” Hood said.

  “There is one thing that we need to talk about,” Coffey said. “Brian Ellsworth, the chief solicitor for the Australian Maritime Intelligence Centre. He is very keen to have the United States as a part of this investigation.”

  “Officially, you mean,” Rodgers said.

  “That’s what I mean,” Coffey said. “I’m here as an independent adviser, not as a representative of Op-Center or the United States.”

  “What is Mr. Ellsworth looking for?” Hood asked.

  “A formal commitment that we are a part of this investigation,” Coffey told the others.

  “Why should that matter?” Herbert asked. “There isn’t a convenience the Australians need or a challenge that scares them.”

  “They could certainly do this by themselves,” Coffey agreed. “At the same time—”

  “They would prefer not to go it alone,” Hood interrupted. “Especially if they ne
ed to put pressure on Singapore for access to intelligence or background information on this pirate.”

  “On Singapore, Malaysia, China, anyone who could be involved in this,” Coffey replied.

  “Frankly, I don’t think the pirate is going to matter much anymore,” Herbert said. “He and his guys were just unlucky.”

  “Possibly,” Hood agreed. “I’m curious what they’ll do if they discover that any Australians are involved in this.”

  “I’m sure that’s another reason Ellsworth wants us involved,” Coffey said. “If there is an Australian component to this, we can help pressure anyone in Canberra who might be in denial. That’s one thing they don’t do very well, Bob. Self-examination. There’s a very strong bluewall component in their thinking. It’s them against the Rim, fighting for European values in an Asian world. They don’t like attacking their own.”

  “Is anyone going out to the site of the attack?” Rodgers asked.

  “Loh and Jelbart are both going on separate vessels,” Coffey said. “I’ll be joining the Australians.”

  “Lowell, if these pirates had attacked a vessel involved in the legitimate transport of nuclear material, there would be a record of the transit. Isn’t that correct?” Hood asked.

  “Yes,” Coffey said. “Also a report would have to have been filed about the attack. The International Nuclear Regulatory Commission demands that an accident or attack involving any nuclear vessel, military or civilian, must be reported to both the home and destination port. That hasn’t happened.”

  “How do you know?” Rodgers asked.

  “Because the INRC must put out a bulletin immediately, warning of potential dangers to shipping or possible radioactive contamination,” Herbert said. “The Australian Department of Defence, the Department of National Emergency Services, and the Communicable Disease and Public Health Center are among those institutions that would be notified.”

  “And have not been,” Hood said.

  “Right,” Coffey said.

  “Are the public health people down there taking any special precautions?” Hood asked.

  “They’re going to increase coastline patrols off the major cities,” Herbert said. “They’ll be looking for radioactivity, of course, as well as any ships that look as though they’ve been damaged.”