Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  “Of course not. It’s so beautiful here.”

  Peter held the door open as Jade walked out, and he cast a quick glance back at Nancy. She had a sly grin and Peter shook his head and mouthed the word “no.” That only caused her to giggle.

  Robert stepped out of the Rolls and approached Peter and Jade. “Thank you for your help yesterday. Those guys got the jump on me.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’m Peter.”

  “Robert Schneider,” he replied as they shook hands. Then, turning to Jade, he said, “I’ll stay nearby. Not expecting any trouble, but just in case.”

  “Okay,” she said. As they walked, Robert a few steps behind, she looped her arm around Peter’s. He glanced at her, but she remained looking forward, her expression a slight grin. Although Peter felt uncomfortable—not only because of their age difference, about two decades he estimated—he elected not to push her arm away.

  The blue sky and warm weather was very inviting, and it looked like everyone had the same idea of getting away from work for lunch. The lucky ones were already occupying sidewalk tables under brightly colored umbrellas.

  “The restaurant is just ahead. I reserved an outdoor table, close to the river.” Peter waved his hand to the right indicating a large expanse of green, manicured lawn and beyond that, the blue waters of the Deschutes River. A half dozen people were standing on paddleboards moving in rhythmic strides up and down the lazy river.

  “Oh, that’s gorgeous!” Jade exclaimed.

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” Peter led his new friend to a wooden pedestrian bridge crossing the river. He stopped in the center of the 100-foot span and pointed out the ducks and geese floating amongst the paddle boarders. “This part of Central Oregon was explored by French fur trappers, and they named this river Deschutes. It means rapids or falls.”

  Jade was drinking in the natural beauty, her head slowly turning from side to side as she leaned on the weathered wooden railing. “This is so different from my home. I mean, you have mountains, and rivers, and so much open land with wild animals!”

  Peter chuckled at her unbridled enthusiasm. “Well, I wouldn’t consider the ducks and geese wild animals. They’re pretty tame.”

  After a few more minutes admiring the river and local waterfowl, Peter said, “We should get our table before it’s given away to another party. It’s just ahead,” he pointed and encouraged Jade to walk with him. A wide walkway made from cobblestone-like pavers joined the wooden footbridge to the restaurant courtyard.

  Sitting in the shade of a large red and white outdoor umbrella, Peter and Jade ordered iced tea.

  “Are you ready to order lunch?” the waitress asked.

  Jade leaned forward eagerly. “I’ll have a salad, please, with bay shrimp.”

  “Make that two,” Peter rejoined. He glanced to the side and saw that Robert had shouldered his way to a stool at the outdoor bar. Still wearing dark sunglasses, he turned his back to the bar so he could covertly keep an eye on Jade.

  Many minutes passed in silence, and Peter was beginning to feel awkward. “You are so quiet,” Jade finally said.

  “Am I? I was just thinking that you are a mysterious woman.”

  “Oh really?” she said, and raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.

  “Yes, really. I’ve never had lunch with anyone who had a personal bodyguard.”

  She frowned. “Let me tell you, it’s not all that great.”

  “So where is home? I mean, when you’re not attending classes at Stanford.”

  Just then their salads arrived and Jade took a bite before answering. “A tiny country in Southeast Asia. You may have heard of it: Brunei.”

  Now it was Peter’s turn to be surprised. “Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. A tiny nation indeed. Ruled by the Sultan, who is very rich.” He wondered if Jade was related to the royal family, but decided not to ask.

  “Actually, my country is the fifth richest country in the world, and with a fairly small population, that means we enjoy a high gross domestic product per capita.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows. Jade said, “I’m an economics major,” and she smiled. “My mother works in shipping. She’s in charge of logistics at Hua Ho Holdings. It’s a joint venture between a major Chinese container-shipping company named Sino Global and Brunei Royal Petroleum Company.”

  “And your father?” Peter asked.

  “He died… when I was a little girl.”

  “I’m sorry.” Peter’s eyes turned to the Cascade Mountains not far to the west, and for a moment his mind conjured images of Maggie, his late wife. He still felt the pain of loss—it didn’t seem to diminish with time.

  “It’s okay,” Jade said matter-of-factly, refocusing Peter’s attention. “I never really knew him.”

  “Do you have other family in Brunei?”

  “Why are you so curious about my family?” Jade paused. “Okay. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, but I have a lot of cousins. My mother—her name is Lim Eu-meh—thought I should attend university in America. She says that with a degree in business and economics, I could work at her company.”

  “Her name sounds Chinese.”

  “Yes. Are you surprised?”

  “No.” Peter knew that many Chinese had settled in Southeast Asia. “So, let me see if I have this correct. Following the Chinese custom, her first name would be Eu-meh?”

  Jade smiled. “Yes, very good. The family name is given first. You know something of Chinese culture and customs?”

  “A little.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “Eu-meh sounds like a very wise lady.”

  The talk continued between bites of salad. Jade described her homeland, how it was always warm and humid. She talked about the mix of Malay, Chinese, Indonesian, and British cultures and people. Brunei was very much a melting pot.

  The small talk was interrupted by the ringing of Jade’s phone. She dug into her small handbag.

  “Hello?”

  She looked at Peter and handed the phone to him. “It’s for you.”

  Peter pinched his eyebrows and cocked his head. “I don’t understand…”

  Jade pushed the phone to him.

  “Hello, this is Peter.”

  “Ah, Dr. Savage. My name is George McIntire. I’m the Customer Service Manager for Rolls Royce.” The British accent was thick.

  Peter laughed. “This is a joke, right? Rolls Royce?”

  “Yes, sir. Rolls Royce. The factory at Goodwood, U.K. Quite the contrary, this is not a farce at all. I was asked to call you and arrange for your visit.”

  Peter was still smiling, figuring this was a pretty good prank. He played along. “And just who asked you to call me? A young lady named Jade?”

  “No, sir.” The voice betrayed mild confusion. “Her uncle, His Majesty the Sultan of Brunei. He requested that I personally call you to schedule your visit so you can configure your automobile. The Sultan suggests a Wraith, but naturally you may select any model you wish.”

  “A Wraith. That would be—”

  “Our newest model, sir. It is rather sporty.”

  Peter shifted his eyes to Jade. She was nodding as if she was also a party to the conversation.

  “So let me get this straight. I’m supposed to fly to… Goodwood, or wherever… and pick out the paint color for my new car.”

  “Well, Dr. Savage, that is a bit simplified. Every automobile we build is bespoke. The owners have many selections to make and the Sultan suggests that Miss Jade accompany you. She may offer helpful advice, but of course the selections are yours to make.”

  Peter shifted the phone and nodded to Jade. “He says your uncle is the Sultan.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she nodded.

  “And he says you’re to accompany me to the factory, where I will pick out the options for my new car.” Peter’s eyebrows were raised in amusement, still not believing this was more than a good prank.

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  Peter spoke into the p
hone again. “Okay, George. My schedule is rather full this afternoon, so how about we hop on the Sultan’s jumbo jet and fly across the pond tomorrow morning.”

  “Well sir, I’m sorry to disappoint, but the Sultan’s 747 is being fitted with a new interior. However, I’m told the A340 is available; the engine overhaul was completed only yesterday. I should imagine the aircraft can pick you up tomorrow, before noon. You’re on the west coast of the States?”

  “Yes, close enough anyway. Hey, isn’t it evening in the U.K. now?” Peter thought he had the prankster trapped.

  “Yes, sir, shortly after eight in the evening. May I have my assistant call you directly after we confirm the travel schedule?”

  Peter was still scrutinizing Jade’s expression and only saw satisfaction and pleasure, perhaps mixed with a bit of excitement.

  “You’re not kidding, are you George?” Peter said it as much to Jade as the voice on the phone.

  “I beg your pardon, sir. I would never joke about these matters. The Sultan is a very good client.”

  Peter relayed his cell number and ended the call. He was completely flabbergasted. He handed the phone back to Jade. She took it as if this was as normal a conversation as friends agreeing to go to the movies.

  “So, if your uncle is the Sultan of Brunei, that would make your mother his sister.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And what is your mother’s position at Hua Ho Holdings?”

  Jade shrugged. “She’s in management like I said, an executive with the company. Why?”

  “Young lady, you could have told me all this earlier.”

  “Oh, but that would have ruined the surprise! Besides, I wanted to make sure you were truly the nice man I thought you were and not just someone interested in my family’s money.”

  “That’s why you’ve been flirting with me, to see how I would react?”

  Jade just shrugged and cocked her head to the side.

  “Now I understand the bodyguard.” He glanced to the bar. Robert was ever vigilant.

  “So tomorrow we fly to London?” Jade said.

  “Well, let me get back to my office and clear my calendar. But…” Peter had a huge grin as the realization finally sunk in. “I think I can make time for this. I would have to bring Diesel. Is that okay? He doesn’t do well at a boarding kennel and I don’t have time to book a dog sitter.” The American Pit Bull Terrier had been rescued from a dog-fighting ring and adopted by Peter through the Humane Society of Central Oregon. Although the visible scars on the dog’s face and nose had largely faded, the emotional scars had not. The sounds and smells of any kennel never failed to trigger terror in the dog, causing him to shake and refuse to eat.

  Jade smiled. “Diesel is welcome—after all, he saved your life, right? He must be a good dog, and I can tell he’s pretty close to you.”

  “It won’t be a problem on the Sultan’s jet?”

  “Oh, not at all. My uncle has two Rhodesian Ridgebacks, and they often fly to London for the Westminster dog show.”

  Peter nodded. He was about to step foot into the world of the rich and famous, and everything was new and different.

  “This will be fun! But you should allow two full days at the factory. There are so many choices to make.”

  “It sounds like you’ve done this before?”

  “Of course! My uncle owns more than 600 Rolls Royce automobiles. I think his total collection is close to 7,000 cars. He gave me my first Rolls when I turned eighteen. I picked out everything myself, including the silver and black paint color. It’s not too masculine for a woman, is it?” She went on before Peter could answer. “I think it’s classy.”

  Peter was laughing again. “Jade, you are a remarkable young lady. And please tell your uncle thank you. But if we are to travel to the U.K. tomorrow, there are certain things I must get done.”

  “Yes, you should go, and I’ll finish my salad. Besides, I can’t think of a lovelier place to sit and enjoy this view of the river and mountains.”

  Peter rose from the table. “I’ll be at work at least until six tonight, but call me later and I’ll let you know what our travel schedule is.”

  “Oh, no need. George knows to make sure I get the schedule, too. I’ll meet you at your office in the morning. Robert will drive us to the airport. Be sure to pack for five days.”

  “I thought you said it would only take two days at the factory?”

  She laughed lightly. “Silly man. We can’t go to London and not see a couple shows, now can we?”

  Chapter 4

  South China Sea

  August 21

  The hulking steel machine had an ungainly appearance with its high bow and centrally-positioned trio of towers. The calm seas lapped at the water line, and three bilge pumps discharged a steady stream of water from the side. Orange streaks of rust stained the gray-painted hull, conveying an appearance of neglect. Aft of the towers, many dozen lengths of pipe lay neatly stacked, ready to be lifted into place by the deck-mounted crane, a necessity to extend the drill bit deeper into the seabed.

  Opposite of oil tankers, the superstructure of the drilling ship was located close to the bow. From his forward-looking perch seven decks above the water line, the captain controlled the propulsion and navigation of the vessel. In stark contrast to the exterior hull, the bridge was state-of-the-art: packed with modern electronics and comfortably air-conditioned. Bridge windows facing aft afforded a panoramic view of activities on the deck below.

  Presently, the ship was making headway at a steady ten knots. Almost illegible due to flaking and peeling paint, the name Royal Seeker was displayed in block letters on the stern.

  “Maintain course and speed,” the Captain ordered. In his early fifties, Captain Rei Jianming was an experienced seaman, having worked first on cargo ships under the employ of Hua Ho Holdings. His neatly trimmed hair was still jet-black, despite the pressures of his duties. He sported a short mustache, brown eyes, and deep wrinkles across his forehead. By faithfully using the well-appointed exercise facilities, one of the many perks afforded the crew, Captain Rei maintained a trim physique even though he worked a relatively sedentary job.

  Although the Royal Seeker looked like an aging drilling ship, oil exploration and production was not her mission.

  Captain Rei examined the folded paper from his pocket again. The message was clear and economical in its use of words. He addressed his First Officer. “Instruct the crew to begin preparations for a second launch. The missile is to be on the pad and ready to fire in thirty-six hours.”

  “Yes, Captain. It will be done.”

  The Captain nodded. “I will provide launch instructions later. Let me know when the missile is ready, but do not move it to the pad until I give the order.”

  s

  More than 9,000 miles to the east, President Taylor was meeting with Secretary of State Paul Bryan, Secretary of Defense Howard Hale, and Director of the National Security Agency, Colleen Walker. The President was pacing in front of the Resolute Desk, his arms folded across his chest, as he listened intently to the report.

  Paul Bryan had just finished sharing the cryptic message forwarded from the U.S. Embassy in Tokyo. “That’s all there is to it.”

  “Brief and to the point,” Hale commented.

  “So, whoever is behind the attack wants a complete withdrawal of U.S. forces from Japan,” Taylor said.

  “And,” Bryan added, “they are also demanding the Pacific Fleet be withdrawn to American ports along the West Coast and Hawaii.”

  The President stopped at a side table, staring at a bronze replica of the Vietnam Women’s Memorial Statue resting on the polished wood surface. He ran his hand over the cool metal, reverently touching the figure of the wounded soldier receiving critical aid from a nurse while a second nurse looked upward to an imaginary approaching helicopter. Finally, he said, “It would take months to execute a redeployment of that magnitude.”

  “Sir!” Hale objected, sliding
forward in his seat. “We can’t remove our military from the region. In the ensuing power vacuum, the entire Asia-Pacific region would be thrust into turmoil.”

  “Relax, Howard. I’m not agreeing to anything.” He turned to face his team. “No idea who left the message?”

  “No, sir,” Bryan said. “It was found by the night cleaning crew taped to the mirror in the men’s room.”

  “Okay. So what are we dealing with?” The President addressed this question to his intelligence and defense advisors.

  “Our information is still very preliminary,” Colleen said. “And we don’t have any physical evidence yet. It could take months before we are able to have heavy salvage ships on site to raise sections of the Izumo. Maybe weeks just to explore the wreck with robotic submersibles. Even then, there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to retrieve any useful evidence given the depth and the effects of prolonged exposure to seawater.”

  “How deep is the wreck?” Taylor asked.

  “Based on the location of the Izumo at the time she was sunk, we estimate the debris to be under 3,000 feet of water, plus or minus.”

  “Why the uncertainty?”

  “Because debris can be scattered widely as a result of the forward momentum of the ship and the irregular hydrodynamics of the major sections. Eyewitnesses report she broke in two as she sank. Sonar data from the Tucson is consistent with major hull failure.”

  “So the two halves of the ship could have settled far from each other.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s assuming there are only two major sections. It’s possible, maybe even likely, that further structural failure occurred in the weakened sections, resulting in other large sections of the ship breaking off.”

  President Taylor frowned and shifted his gaze to Secretary Hale, sitting at the opposite end of a Chippendale sofa from Colleen Walker. “Howard, how soon can you have an exploration vessel onsite?”

  Howard Hale had served the President throughout his first term and was widely expected to remain Secretary of Defense until the end of Taylor’s second term. A slim man, his sandy-brown hair and blue eyes contributed to his appearance of youth, even though he was in his early sixties.