Tiger by the Tail

by John Ringo

  All heads turned to the secretary of the Department of Energy. He turned to his deputy secretary, who cleared her throat.

  “Preliminary analysis has determined that the chips are of Chinese manufacture. Working with the CIA, we have traced them to the Semiconductor Manufacturing International Corporation out of Shanghai.”

  “There’s a familiar name,” NSA snorted. “They’ll manufacture anything to turn a buck.”

  “Given China’s very strong interest in becoming a world leader in generating nuclear power, we—” the deputy secretary nodded at the CIA director, “—found it odd that the company would be exporting chips when there are dozens of planned pressurized water reactors either on the drawing board or in early construction stages in China itself. It stands to reason that the company would be ordered to produce chips for its own country’s needs first, and then sell to other nations only after the internal market was satisfied.”

  The CIA director took up the narrative. “Therefore, we figure that the chips were being sold on the black market by someone high up in the Chinese government, perhaps a high-ranking military officer. That would explain the lack of official markings on the box, as well as its integral high security.”

  “Not that high, if one of the Keldara could open it,” the secretary of defense muttered.

  “Apparently you weren’t in the loop on their Italian job,” the DNSA said, shaking his head.

  “However, the transport information was apparently leaked, and the illegal shipment was hijacked.”

  “Where were the chips supposed to be heading?” the President asked.

  “At this point, we have no idea,” DCIA replied. “Even with the chip manufacturing programs throughout Southeast Asia, there’s no shortage of countries that might want these. My geeks tell me the architecture is a nightmare. Pakistan, India, Indonesia, North Korea, and even such faraway places as Mongolia, Kazakhstan, or Iran, any of them could be a potential buyer. The bottom line is that someone high-up in China is providing vital nuclear reactor technology on the black market to whoever’s got the cash to pay for it.” The director let his gaze play around the room. “I don’t think we need to go into the potential problem this could lead to regarding refining weapons-grade nuclear waste into useable material for the manufacture of nuclear weapons.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ve already got that coming out of my ears regarding Iran as it is.” The President had turned to stare at the innocuous-looking boards nestled in their foam beds. “All we’d need is Pakistan or North Korea getting their hands on them.”

  “But, Mr. President, the purchasing country would still need a reactor to put the boards into. Surely, these are relatively worthless without the proper facility,” the deputy secretary said, incurring a glare from her superior.

  “It’s a point,” the President said.

  “Sorry, should have covered that point at the beginning,” the secretary of energy said. “These chips can be used to modify just about any PWR into a fast breeder. And it’s pretty much impossible to tell without a very close inspection.”

  “O . . . kay,” the President said. “Yes, that should have been in the very initial brief. Next question: Options?”

  The Joint Chiefs didn’t even bother to exchange glances.

  “With relations with China growing more tenuous by the month, as well as current OTEMPO, inserting American assets, military or otherwise, into this situation is disrecommended,” the CJCS said. “We jointly recommend it would be best to use on-site resources to identify, analyze, and if possible, action the supply chain series. However, no action plan should be engaged that might compromise Chinese sovereignty or social integrity.”

  “Of course,” the President said with a slight smile. “And the fact that it’s a Georgian group rather than American makes it deniable if the Chinese do get upset.”

  “There’s that,” the DCIA said. “I’d rather not put our assets on it, either, sir. Support if necessary, yes. Agents actively involved . . . Not so much.”

  “Colonel,” the President said. “It says here that Mike had discovered the identity of the person who was supposed to be purchasing the boards from the pirates, correct?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “All right then, see if he can arrange a meeting with the buyer and follow the chain to whoever’s on the other end. It’s bad enough China owns two-thirds of our country as it is. The last thing we need is to have them supplying state-of-the-art, build your own nuclear weapons, reactor control materiel to anyone with the cash to buy it.”

  “What about securing the chips, sir, or at least replacing them with dummies or rendering them inoperable? I mean, if they were to somehow get out of this Mr. Jenkins’s hands—what’s so funny?” the secretary of energy asked upon seeing smiles and even chuckles coming from the joint chiefs and the CIA head.

  The President smiled in genuine sympathy.

  “I’m sorry, Tom, the humor is unintentional. Since you haven’t been involved with previous operations where Mr. Jenkins’s expertise has been utilized, let me assure you; he is very skilled at retaining sensitive materials. My only worry is that he’ll use them to install Georgia’s next nuclear power plant in that fortified valley of his.”

  The President rose from his chair, signaling the end of the meeting.

  “Thank you for coming in on such short notice, and keep me posted on your progress regarding this matter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the State dinner before the South Korean president and my wife both start wondering where I ran off to.”

  * * *

  Thirty-seven minutes later, Pierson was back at the OSOL office and on a video link with Mike.

  “So, what does The Man want done with these?” Mike asked. He appeared to be drinking a beer.

  “How does tracking down both the buyer, and if possible the seller, sound to you?” Pierson asked.

  “I dunno, how much is it worth to you?” Mike asked.

  “Seriously?” Pierson said. “These are bad pieces of electronics going to bad people.”

  “Anastasia needs new shoes,” Mike said, referring to his Russian harem manager. “These ops don’t pay for themselves, you know.”

  “I know, I know. Send us a bill,” Pierson said, trying not to wince. “Usual rates?”

  “For you? Buddy rate, definitely. Only two and a half costs. If it was Vlad I’d have him pay through the nose. I’m still pissed about his Excellent Georgia Adventure. It would be good to give the boys a more in-depth tour of Southeast Asia anyway.” He chuckled. “They are going to shit a brick when I take them into Hong Kong. And I’ll practically have to put Adams on a leash while we’re there.”

  “Just try not to make too big a splash there, okay? The CJCS got all diplomatic and buzzword bingo trying not to say, ‘We really, really don’t want to piss off the Chinese over this!’ And let me know if the trail leads you to mainland China, all right? We’ll definitely want to alert the higher-ups before you set foot there.”

  “Don’t worry, Bob, I plan to keep this a sailing tour.”

  “Good. Is there anything else you need at this point?”

  “Yeah, let the Marshals know we’ll be keeping Big Fish for a couple more weeks. If you’ve never been on one of these, you’ve got to try it. It’s got everything you need, and then some, all at your fingertips. I’m still trying to figure out how I can get ahold of one of them without shelling out eight figures. Our beer sales are good, but not that good.”

  Pierson grinned. The luxury yacht had been confiscated by the DEA from a major Miami drug lord only three weeks earlier. It had been very courteously loaned out by the U.S. Marshals from the Central Governmental Surplus Repository in Hollywood, Florida. After the Keldara had blown through during the VX op, the Marshals had bent over backwards to extend whatever service they could to the Kildar or anyone remotely associated with him.

  “I’ll let them know tomorrow morning—I’m sure they’ll nod politely an
d say thanks for the update.”

  “If you really want to screw with their heads, tell ’em I said we’ll try to patch all the bullet holes. Jenkins out.”

  “Pierson out.” Bob shut down the Skype, hoping he wouldn’t be hearing from Mike for a few days at least. ’Cause if I do, there’s no telling what kind of trouble he’ll be bringing with him . . .

  * * *

  “So that’s the long and short of it,” Mike announced to his senior officers. Adams and Vanner sat in brown leather chairs around the mirror-polished teakwood conference table. Neilson was teleconferencing in on a secure satellite feed from the valley of the Keldara. “We’ll be staying in South China Sea for the next several days while tracking down the interested parties. The floor is now open for questions or action items.”

  “Is there anything you’ll need from home? Air support, equipment, more ammo?” Neilson asked.

  Mike looked at Adams and Vanner, both of whom were nodding. He pointed at Vanner first.

  “If we’re going to be moving to twenty-four/seven operations, I could use a few more intel girls. Especially if we’ll be accessing multiple countries at once.”

  “You just like the idea of the girls walking around in those itty-bitty bikinis,” Adams said with a snort.

  “Hey, since I’m a happily married man, you should be thanking me for this. Besides, it’s hardly my fault the Georgian summer is so short that if you blink, you miss it entirely.”

  “All right, three more girls will be on the way within twelve hours. Anything else?” Neilson asked.

  Mike caught Adams’ stare.

  “Yes, Ass-boy?”

  “We’re running low on beer.”

  “You guys are lucky,” Nielson said. “Mother Lenka just finished a batch. Since everyone did so damn well on the op, I am sending you a few cases of the really good stuff. The girls and the quill will be heading out this evening via our usual airline. They should be there in about sixteen hours, give or take. We’ll arrange with Vanner for transportation from the nearest port. Kildar, anything else you can think of?”

  “No, we’re good for now. From what I heard from on high, I get the feeling they would like us to keep a pretty low profile on this one.”

  Vanner snorted this time. “They do understand how we typically operate, right?”

  “Hey, Disney World was still standing after we were finished, remember?” Mike said.

  “Nope, I was way too busy recuperating at that island paradise you’d set up,” Vanner replied.

  “Exactly. Anyway, this should be primarily a littoral mission. We will reevaluate if it goes in-country anywhere, however.”

  Adams stretched and put his interlaced hands behind his head.

  “Another week or two on this floating pleasure palace. If I thought there was a God, he’d be smilin’ down on me for sure.”

  “Everyone’s passports are in order, correct? I do not want any red tape if we’re stopped by navy, coast guard, or customs.”

  “Everyone’s papers are in order, but how do you expect to explain the thirty sets of Level IV body armor and fatigues, not to mention the heavy weapons?” Vanner’s tone was only half-joking. “Hell, the force we’ve got could probably overthrow one or two governments around here without too much trouble.”

  “You’ve got waivers for all the nearby governments,” Nielson said. “I’ll get started on clearance for others. Singapore is always a stickler about this stuff but I’ve got friends in low places. However, the Kildar has a point. You can have anything up to and including a nuclear weapon, and with the right clearance all that a customs guy will do is shrug ’cause it’s waaay over his pay grade. On the other hand, one itsy bitsy mistake on your passport and they’re all over your ass.”

  “All of that stuff will be kept strictly out of sight any time we’re near port. The boat is clear on paper, and I can call in the diplomatic big guns if I have to. Vanner, you’ll have command while we’re ashore, and any pirates thinking they can take this ship will be in for a nasty surprise. Anything else?”

  “We are thin on regional intel,” Vanner said. “Right now the girls are scrambling to put together packages for the Keldara but we could really use someone from the area as a local guide.”

  “Second that. I even got a guy in mind. Local I worked with in Taiwan a few years ago. Member of the Marines, and served in what they call their Amphibious Searching Unit of the Republic of China Marine Force.”

  “‘Amphibious Searching Unit?’” Vanner asked.

  “Swim-ops. I won’t call them SEALs but they make noises. And they are pretty good. Up to GROM standards.”

  “Okay, see if you can get in touch with him. Vanner?”

  “I also know someone who might be able to help us out. Former jarhead named Jace Morgan. Marine Force Recon officer who headed one of the first Marine Special Operations Teams when they were formed in ’06. He served all over the Pacific, including living with the Montagnards in the Highlands of Vietnam. After he left the service, he moved to Singapore, and been there ever since. Speaks a lot of the major regional languages, and can get by in most of the others.”

  “Sounds like either could work. Each of you get in touch with your respective prospects, and we’ll get them out here for an interview while we head to Hong Kong. Unless there are any other issues to deal with—” Mike rose from the table. “—I am going to have a little chat with our female captive, see if I can bring her around to our side. After all, we’ll need her to help set up the meeting with this Arun Than.”

  “Ah, maybe we should let someone else talk to her first,” Vanner said. “I mean, it’s highly unlikely she’s going to be very forthcoming with the man who just waterboarded her.”

  “Actually, that experience usually makes detainees more cooperative, but I’m willing to try another approach. Who did you have in mind?”

  “I thought Katya might be the best choice. You know, ex-hooker to current hooker. She can probably relate, having been through something very close to this, and could probably make a better connection with our captive. On the other hand, I suppose you could try to see if the pirate leader himself would set the meet.”

  Mike’s lips peeled back in a wolfish grin. “No, your way works just fine. However, I will go extract the contact intel for this guy in Hong Kong. Go tell the boys and girls what’s going on—I am off to talk to a pirate again.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Vanner asked.

  Mike turned back to him, a puzzled look on his face.

  “You better go put Katya on the clock.”

  “Oh . . . right.”

  “With any luck, she might even be decent this time,” Adams said.

  * * *

  Mike stepped out into the red-gold light of the rising sun washing over the Big Fish’s bow. A lone woman was lying on her back a few meters away, dressed in Serengeti aviator sunglasses and three triangles of white cloth than barely covered her amazing tits and tight, toned ass. Her blunt-cut blond hair was tousled and damp, as if she’d just taken a shower, and she had earbuds in, listening to something on her iPhone. Her lips were moving, but he was damn sure she wasn’t singing along with a song.

  Mike blew a breath out between his lips. Ever since the Florida op, Katya had seized every opportunity to parade around in hardly any clothing, even back home. When he’d tried to call her on it, she had simply told him that she was working on something called “self-aware body image,” and that Jay, their resident spymaster, had given her the assignment. Mike had confirmed this with Jay, and grudgingly allowed it to continue, despite the constant distractions it caused.

  When she heard him approach, Katya raised herself up on her elbows and stared at him. While looking like she was posing for the cover of a swimsuit magazine, she was the farthest thing from a model there was. Behind those shades were the cold, flat eyes of a born sociopath. Mike warned every new man away from near her, unless the poor bastard wanted to become a eunuch. But her mind was
diamond-sharp, and the biological additions a black-box American medical lab had made to her last year had turned her into a hell of an undercover operative in certain situations. And the one thing Mike knew for certain about Asians was that they always went crazy for blondes . . .

  “Morning, Katya. Enjoying the trip so far?”

  When she removed one earbud, Mike could hear the tinny noise of what sounded like a Chinese language lesson coming from it.

  “If by that you mean being bored out of my skull, then yes, I am having a wonderful time, thank you.”

  “Glad to hear that, because I’ve got a little job for you.”

  “Finally. Where and when?” she asked.

  “Right now works, and it’s right here on the boat,” Mike said. “I assume you are aware of the three prisoners we brought on board last night?”

  “They were all the rest of the girls could talk about. What about them?”

  “One is an Asian prostitute. She was close to the pirate leader, and probably heard things he talked about with his men. I want you to get close to her. Find out what she knows.”

  She lowered her sunglasses enough to regard him over the rims.

  “What? Did the vaunted Kildar charm not do the job?”

  “Not after I waterboarded the bitch three times.”

  “So, you want me to be nice to her—the good cop to your psychotic one?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Me?” Katya said, looking at him over her rims again.

  Mike thought this might be the first time he’d ever seen her on the verge of real laughter.

  “I realize that most people would consider me psychotic for assigning you the ‘good cop’ position, but—”

  “What are my parameters?”

  “Drug her, fuck her, slap the shit out of her, whatever way you feel will work best. There is a time limit, however—we’re bound for Hong Kong, and should be there in about fifty hours. I want everything she knows by the time we go ashore.”

  “Fine. Jay said I should practice my interpersonal and interrogation skills anyway. This seems like a good place to start.” She tapped a perfect, white tooth with a French-manicured nail. “It will be good to pretend to be something other than a whore for once. The usual rates will apply, of course.”