Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  “Yes, sir. That is the most logical conclusion.”

  “Great. Both North Korea and China have that capability, so we are still no closer to identifying the responsible party.” Jim stood and paced beside the conference table. “What about the thermal image of the exhaust?”

  “You mean the plume from the main rocket engines?” Stephens said.

  Jim nodded. “Can we use that as a kind of fingerprint, maybe identify the country that manufactured the rocket motors?”

  Mona Stephens frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. We looked into that, and since the characteristics of thrust and weight, at least for a given class of ballistic missile, are not especially unique—as well as the fact that almost every rocket motor uses similar propellants—we can’t distinguish Chinese and North Korean intermediate-range ballistic missiles. Not from the thermal signature.”

  “Have we considered non-government groups?” Jim asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Lacey answered. “But none of the known terrorist groups have access to this technology. I mean, this is really sophisticated. Just acquiring and launching a theater ballistic missile is a high bar, but think about the targeting. Whoever is doing this has to have access to satellite imagery and GPS to have any chance of scoring a hit.”

  “What about commercial companies who will sell satellite images? And access to GPS is hardly restricted technology—not anymore.”

  “All true. But those sat images have to be close to real time, right? The Izumo and the Makin Island were hardly stationary targets.”

  Jim nodded. “Have you checked with the Navy? If there are missile boats in the South China Sea, I have to believe the Secretary of the Navy knows about it.”

  “We have,” replied Stephens. “However, the Navy has not detected any foreign submarines in the South China Sea. We have reason to believe that the Navy has at least one fast-attack boat on the prowl in those waters, although my sources at DIA would not go on the record, and the Department of the Navy refuses to comment.”

  “Even now? Hell, we’re about to go to war.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Maybe Colonel Pierson can get better information.”

  Jim nodded. “Make sure your reports are current and comprehensive. I’ll package what we have and send it off to the Colonel. Keep at it. You know this is vital. With public pressure mounting, before long we are going to start shooting at someone. Let’s be damned sure it’s the right party.”

  Chapter 14

  Washington, D.C

  August 24

  Secretary of State Paul Bryan hustled to the Oval Office. Overweight and overworked, he was slightly winded as he took a seat on the Chippendale sofa. He pushed strands of black hair back in place and then leaned forward to pour a cup of coffee, ignoring his physician’s repeated advise to reduce his intake of caffeine.

  President Taylor was seated at the Resolute Desk reading a report, the same report Bryan had read less than an hour ago, and the reason for this urgent meeting.

  The President looked up. “The USS Makin Island was sunk? Are we certain this is not a mistake?”

  “It’s not a mistake, sir. My staff has confirmed with the Pentagon. Casualties are in the hundreds, and the number is expected to rise. There were a large number of Marine Corp aircraft in the air at the time. Thankfully, all were able to land safely. Still working on the suspected missile launch coordinates—should have that information shortly once the trajectory has been fully analyzed.”

  “Has this made it to the press yet?”

  “No sir, not that we’re aware of. When it does, it’ll be headline news for days. Initial reports strongly suggest the Makin Island was attacked by the same weapon system that sunk the Izumo.”

  “Any claim of responsibility yet?”

  Bryan shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “So, the message is clear. If we don’t pull back our forces from the Western Pacific, the attacks will continue.”

  “That would seem to be the case.”

  Taylor slammed his fist on the desk in a rare show of emotion. “Dammit. Who’s doing this? North Korea?”

  “Maybe,” Bryan shrugged. “One could make a credible argument that it’s China.”

  “Which countries in the region have the capability to carry out these attacks?”

  “Aside from those already mentioned, maybe South Korea and Taiwan. We know they each have short-range ballistic missiles. Whether they have any intermediate range missiles is uncertain. But I see no motive for South Korea or Taiwan to force, or even encourage, the U.S. to withdraw from the region and concede military dominance to China.”

  “What about Russia?”

  “Their eastern bases are north of Japan, and the government of President Pushkin has not vocalized any interest in Southeast Asia.”

  President Taylor nodded, his eyebrows pinched together. “Summon the Chinese ambassador. See what he’ll share with you. I can’t believe China would be so brazen.”

  “Southeast Asia is becoming increasingly dangerous. China’s activities to militarize the Spratly Island chain, combined with flying bombers and sailing warships close to Japan and Taiwan, are only a few recent examples of provocative actions that are destabilizing the region.”

  “Not to mention the North Koreans testing atomic bombs regularly and launching missiles over their neighbor to the south as well as Japan.” The President pushed away from his desk and took a seat next to his Secretary of State. “Has humankind gone mad?”

  “Sir?”

  “Sometimes it seems that we are on a one-way trip to self-destruction.”

  Paul Bryan stared blankly at his boss. He’d had a similar thought, many times. Aggression was always justified based on past transgressions, with neither side being willing to listen and consider opposing perspectives. An experienced diplomat, Bryan was committed to logical reasoning and compromise, an approach that had helped him achieve success in the past in resolving difficult issues, including with the Chinese.

  “I’ll get a meeting with the ambassador right away.” Bryan stood to leave. “And, for whatever it’s worth, I still have faith in humankind.”

  s

  Gao Jiming liked living in Washington, D.C. The traffic snarls in Washington were nothing compared to the congestion that choked the flow of transportation in Beijing, turning even short commutes into multi-hour ordeals. Plus, the air was many times cleaner in his adopted American home city, and he enjoyed a degree of freedom absent from life under rule by the Central Government.

  His wife was also content, especially enjoying social media platforms that were blocked in China. And she looked forward to having their son attend an Ivy-League university. Someday, he would retire from the diplomatic corps and purchase a comfortable apartment in Alexandria, or maybe a small house in the Virginia countryside.

  Paul Bryan stepped from behind his desk as Mr. Gao entered. They shook hands, and then the Secretary of State motioned to a more comfortable seating area.

  “Thank you for coming on short notice, Mr. Gao. A serious situation is developing that threatens the longstanding peace our countries have enjoyed.”

  “I have already explained that China had nothing to do with the attack on the Izumo. What more can I share with you?”

  “There has been a second attack. This time, it was aimed at the USS Makin Island, an amphibious transport ship that was participating in joint exercises with the Philippines and Australia. The ship was sunk.”

  “Mr. Secretary. On behalf of my country, please accept my sincerest condolences—I assume there was loss of life.”

  Bryan narrowed his eyes as he studied his counterpart—body language, cadence and tone of voice, choice of words. If he’s acting, this is an Oscar-worthy performance.

  “Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass along your comments to President Taylor.”

  “No doubt you requested this meeting to ask once more if my country carried out this aggression?”

  “Did you?”

  “My answer
remains unchanged,” Gao said calmly. His expression did not betray any emotion.

  “My government was given a message—more of a demand, really. It said that the United States is to remove its military presence from the Western Pacific or face destruction. The message was anonymous.”

  “Given our ongoing disagreement over the territorial claim my government is rightfully asserting over islands in the South China Sea, it is easy to understand your suspicion. However, if President Chen wanted to send a message to President Taylor, he would do so directly. Besides, our displeasure with American warships sailing provocatively through our territorial waters surrounding these islands is communicated frequently through recognized channels. This is not a secret.”

  “If not China, then who?”

  “I assure you, China has not attacked your Navy.”

  “North Korea?”

  “What makes you think China has any useful intelligence on this issue?”

  “Do you?”

  “Mr. Secretary. I have grown fond of living in the United States. One reason is that most Americans feel perfectly comfortable speaking candidly—sometimes too much so.” Ambassador Gao paused, selecting his words precisely. “I gather that you are of the opinion that China, either directly or by aiding North Korea, attacked those two ships. And I am telling you that my government was not involved. What happened is tragic, but you would do well to look beyond your prejudices.”

  “It would be most helpful if you would share any intelligence that you have related to the possible role North Korea may have played in this matter.”

  “No doubt. I will pass along your request. However, it would be highly irregular for my government to share information related to the military capability or activities of an allied nation.”

  “We both know that the present government of North Korea represents a significant threat to world peace.”

  “Do you believe the missiles were launched from North Korea?”

  Bryan shook his head, his expression like stone.

  Gao opened his hands and raised his eyebrows.

  “We know the weapons were launched from the South China Sea.”

  “Then, why do you suspect North Korea? They do not occupy any islands there.”

  Bryan settled in his chair. “Very well, I’ll be candid.”

  Gao smiled.

  “The flight performance of the two weapons was identical. Both were intermediate-range theater ballistic missiles. As you know, few countries have these weapons in their arsenals. And in the region only China and North Korea have the capability to deploy such weapons.”

  “I see. Do you have evidence of launch facilities anywhere in the South China Sea?”

  “Submarines are not easily detected by satellites.”

  “Ah, a ballistic missile submarine. Please tell me you have evidence?”

  “We are searching. And when we locate the boat, well…”

  “For a man who has no solid evidence, you are rather certain of the guilty party.”

  “Two ships have been sunk while conducting routine exercises that threaten no nation. Hundreds of lives were lost. Those are facts, Mr. Gao. Hard facts.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have anything to add?”

  “I have already answered your questions, truthfully. There is nothing more to say, unless you have further questions for me.”

  “Mr. Ambassador, this is an extremely dangerous time. It would be prudent if your government would take actions to demonstrate its commitment to peace in the region.”

  “And what actions would you have my government take? You have already concluded that China is responsible for the sinking of the Japanese and the American ships.”

  “To begin with, your intelligence agencies could open up and cooperate—”

  Gao waved a hand, cutting off the Secretary of State. “Please, don’t insult my intellect. Your intelligence community will never cooperate with China. Nor will the American military. You would have us turn over sensitive information in a useless gesture of good will, while maneuvering for a superior position to weaken my government’s legitimate territorial claims. This is not cooperation.”

  Bryan folded his hands. He had gone as far as he could, and, with emotions rising, maybe too far. “President Taylor has instructed me to share with you the following message.” Paul Bryan drew a deep breath and exhaled. “The unprovoked attack on a U.S. Navy ship is an inexcusable act of war. All nations involved should expect a response in kind. I cannot be more clear.”

  Chapter 15

  Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei

  August 25

  Rather than take a taxi to London City Airport, the management of the Ritz insisted that Peter and Robert use the hotel’s chauffeured limousine. With no security screening lines to deal with, they simply walked onto the tarmac and climbed the stairs to board the Airbus.

  Shortly after takeoff, the attendant served a light snack, including a bowl of water and a plate of diced chicken, peas, and rice for Diesel. The red pit bull consumed the food as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. “The Captain has informed me,” the attendant said, “that we will be cruising at 35,000 feet on a course to Dubai. We will land there to refuel before completing the final leg of the journey. Would you care for wine or a cocktail?”

  Peter and Robert both declined.

  “It’s going to be a long flight,” Robert said, his first words since boarding. “I suggest we both try to get some rest. I’m gonna try a bed in one of the guest rooms. You should do the same.”

  Peter nodded, but did not rise from his seat on the leather sofa. Headline news was playing on the flat screen, but he wasn’t paying much attention. Although he felt fatigued, his mind wouldn’t shut down. He kept replaying the events of the previous evening—the attack and struggle, and finally the kidnapping of Jade. If only I’d had a weapon, something more than a steak knife.

  He leaned back, allowing the soft-padded leather to embrace his still-aching body. Eventually, he closed his eyes, wondering why Eu-meh had insisted on a face-to-face meeting that required him to travel halfway around the world. What did she know? And why was she convinced the abduction was not motivated by greed? As his mind drifted into a semiconscious state, his thoughts returned to Jade. Less than twenty-four hours ago, they were sharing stories over dinner. He recalled in vivid detail her genuine smile, bright laughter, and cheerful eyes. And then images of the kidnapping played on a loop through his mind, tormenting him with a repeating nightmare.

  Consumed in his thoughts and guilt, the hours ticked by too slowly. Finally, after a brief stop in Dubai followed by two light meals separated by short, restless naps, the flight attendant announced they were about to land and instructed his passengers to fasten their seat belts. Diesel hopped onto the seat next to Peter.

  When the aircraft came to a stop and the engines shut down, Peter stepped through the open cabin door and descended the stairs to the tarmac. His first sensation was a blast of hot, humid air. Within thirty seconds, beads of sweat dappled his forehead. “I’ve been in hot weather before, but this is something else,” he said.

  Robert smiled. “Eight-five percent humidity and ninety degrees. Unless you’re born here, I doubt a person ever gets used to it.”

  A middle-aged Malaysian, skinny and about five foot six, was hustling to catch up with their luggage stacked haphazardly on a small trolley. Mercifully, they didn’t have far to walk in the oppressive heat; the waiting limousine was parked in the shade of a nearby hangar.

  “Another Rolls. Should’ve guessed,” Peter said in mock surprise.

  “Well, think what you will of the Sultan, but brand loyalty is not one of his shortcomings.”

  The driver held the door open and Robert folded his bulk into the rear compartment while Peter walked to the opposite side, causing the driver to dash around the front of the car. He reached his hand to open the door just as Peter was about to grab the handle.

  “Oh, sorry,” Pete
r said to ease the man’s worried expression.

  “Always let the driver open the door for you,” Robert advised, his voice low.

  “So I gather.”

  Panting, Diesel jumped in and positioned his body directly in the cool air streaming from a central air vent located near the floor.

  As they rode through city traffic, Peter lost count of the number of luxury automobiles he saw—Mercedes, Jaguar, BMW, Audi, and top-of-the-line limousines from Germany and the U.K. It was not long before they stopped in front of a glass-encased modern structure on the bank of the Brunei River.

  Robert led the way—clearly he’d been here before. In the lobby, a sign directly opposite the entrance indicated the building’s occupant, Hua Ho Holdings. The floor and walls were surfaced in light-tan marble, and recessed lighting in the high ceiling supplemented the natural light flooding in through the front glass wall.

  They signed in at the reception desk and then passed a uniformed guard to enter the glistening chrome elevator. The guard inserted a key in the panel, turned it, and then pressed the top button—tenth floor.

  “Looks like we are expected,” Peter said.

  Robert nodded. “Mrs. Lim is a very important executive within the company, plus a member of the royal family. Her security is taken seriously.”

  The elevator opened onto another reception room. They signed in at the desk and then were led through a frosted glass wall into a large office. Peter tried to take it all in, discretely of course, but he was having to turn his head far to one side and then the other, and he still wasn’t capturing the entire office. He estimated the area to be at least 3,000 square feet.

  “Welcome to Brunei,” a feminine voice called from across the office, drawing Peter’s attention.

  An attractive woman with a slim figure rose from behind a massive desk. Her shoulder-length black hair showed just a hint of copper highlights. She approached with her hand outstretched, cloaked in a long, high-collared dress that extended to her ankles. Even her arms were covered to the wrists. The fabric shimmered like silk and was adorned with an intricate floral pattern. A long string of perfect white pearls was wrapped in a double loop around her neck. She shook first Peter’s hand and then Robert’s. If Peter hadn’t already known she was Jade’s mother, he would have guessed her age to be late-thirties.