Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  “Why should she,” Robert said. “You’re at the Sultan’s palace, not the Holiday Inn.”

  “But—“

  “Relax. The butler will be here 24/7. Probably has a room on the ground floor. And besides, this place has a security detail that puts the White House to shame.”

  Peter walked to the bar and opened a wine refrigerator, removing a bottle of white. “Pinot gris. Chile.” He cast his eyes about the bar and opened drawers until he found what he was seeking. He pulled the cork and poured a glass, leaving the cork puller on the bar. “Care for some?”

  “Why not,” Robert said.

  “So, what now?” Peter asked.

  As Robert sipped from his glass, he walked to the billiard table and rolled a few balls around the table with his free hand. Peter watched in silence for a minute.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “We could start by reviewing all the documents Hua Ho Holdings has on the Royal Seeker. Maybe Eu-meh missed something in the maintenance and engineering logs.”

  “And we’d be wasting time. Whatever is in those records, it doesn’t explain why the Royal Seeker was not where it’s locating beacon indicted it should be.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “I don’t know.” Peter removed two pool cues from the rack and handed one to Robert. “Rack ‘em up.”

  Peter leaned over the edge of the table, moving the cue stick back and forth, then slammed the tip into the cue ball. “What could be on an oil exploration ship that would justify making it disappear?”

  Robert stared back. “I don’t know. Maybe they found something? And they don’t want their log book and records to be seen by Hua Ho Holdings.”

  “Nah. You don’t disappear an entire ship if all you want are the records. It would have been easy to replace the original log book with a forged copy, and the same for the computer records. And, now that I think about it—there’s the crew.”

  Robert took his shot, the number ten ball failing to drop into the pocket. “What do you mean?”

  “Well. If you are going to make a ship disappear, what about the crew? I mean, are they all complicit? Or only some? And those who don’t play along, what do you do?”

  “They’d have to kill them.”

  “Exactly. And how many of the crew can they kill and still operate the ship?” Peter rammed the cue ball into the three ball, it sank. He lined up for the next shot.

  “All of them. Even the captain and executives officers could be eliminated if a replacement crew was onboard.”

  The clack of billiard balls colliding sounded loud and sharp, echoing off the hard surfaces of the room. For a moment, Peter thought it metaphorical, like a gunshot punctuating the hypothetical murder of the ship’s crew.

  “Or none. What if the crew was hired by another party?”

  “Same difference,” Robert replied. “Either way, we have a crew that is not answering to their supposed employer, Hua Ho Holdings.”

  “Exactly.” Crack! The five ball fell into a leather pocket. “So, it doesn’t matter what is in the company’s maintenance logs. The answer lies in what’s onboard the Royal Seeker.”

  “Okay, Master Yoda. How do we answer that question?”

  “First, we find the Royal Seeker.”

  Robert rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like that thought never occurred to me. Okay, how do we find the ship? It’s tracking beacon is not functioning, remember? And, in case you didn’t know, there are hundreds of ships in the South China Sea.”

  Peter set the cue stick aside and started punching a number into his phone. “I think I know someone who can help us.”

  Chapter 17

  Sacramento, California

  August 24

  There was no mistake. Commander Nicolaou had gone over the data with Lacey and the team. Based on the radar tracking from the Shiloh, Lassen, and McCampbell of the missile used in the first attack, and radar data from a circling AWACs that tracked the second missile, the conclusion was irrefutable.

  His secure desk phone rang; the call was expected. “Commander Nicolaou.”

  “I need answers, Commander.” It was Colonel Pierson. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the gravity of the situation. And it seems to be deteriorating by the hour. President Chen vehemently denies any involvement in the sinking of either ship, and has publicly accused the United States of fabricating the incidents in order to justify a military buildup in the South China Sea. We are tracking an increased level of troop movements, not to mention a flotilla of nine Chinese warships that is steaming for the Spratly Islands. Satellite photos show that fighter aircraft have already been transferred to the three operational airfields in that island chain.”

  “We’re working the problem, Colonel. This is our top priority… Hell, our only priority.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “There just isn’t much to go on. We’ve tracked the two missile launchings to two separate locations near the Spratly Islands. Since we see no evidence of missile launch facilities on any of the islands—even those enhanced in land area and further improved by President Chen’s government with airfields and missile batteries—it is very likely that we are looking for a submarine.”

  “With ballistic missile capability?” In a rare display of emotion, Colonel Pierson did not hide his surprise.

  “Yes, sir. Based on the work by Lieutenant Lacey’s team, that’s the most probable explanation. Both China and North Korea possess submarines with ballistic missile capability.”

  The phone line was silent while the colonel considered the implications. “Then we’re looking for a needle in a haystack, and for all practical purposes we’re blind. The only way we’ll find that missile boat is if one of our ships stumbles across it.”

  “Sir, I recommend that the Navy deploy sonobuoys at every choke point in and near the Spratlys.”

  “That’ll take some time.”

  “Yes, I understand. Which is why it’s vital to start ASAP. Both the Chinese Jin class ballistic missile submarine and the North Korean Sinpo class are relatively noisy, and we should be able to detect and track them from a great distance. The commercial shipping traffic will create a lot of background noise, but that can be filtered out with computer software. How many fast attack boats do we have in theater?”

  “Not enough. The New Mexico is presently on station, and two more Virginia-class submarines are scheduled to arrive in the South China Sea within thirty-three hours. Carrier Strike Group 5 left the Sea of Japan over a day ago. They’re making thirty-five knots for the Spratly Islands.”

  Jim heard a muffled conversation in the background, then Colonel Pierson addressed him again. “I just instructed my aide to advise the Navy to get every P-3 and P-8 they have from Canberra to Manilla in the air and seed the South China Sea with sonobuoys. If there are any Chinese or North Korean submarines lurking in that vicinity, we’ll know within forty-eight hours. I’ll relay your assessment to the Joint Chiefs. Keep me updated if you have any new developments.” The colonel ended the call.

  Jim had a nagging concern that he hadn’t been able to shake. If the Chinese were using the ship-killer weapon, they had to know they were risking all-out war with the only super-power navy; a fight they were sure to lose, and at great cost. Could it be that North Korea’s Supreme Leader—a reckless ruler who many considered to be mad—was trying to implicate China? But what would that gain for his regime? After all, China was the only benefactor of the isolated and poverty-stricken country. If China were to suffer a blow at the hands of the U.S. Navy, what good would North Korea derive? And if the Supreme Leader was, in fact, receiving the hardened and ultra-dense warheads from China, didn’t that make China culpable? It has to be China—but why? What do they hope to gain?

  At the heart of Carrier Strike Group 5 was the modern aircraft carrier USS Gerald R. Ford. Recently commissioned and temporarily based out of Yokosuka, Japan, there was no match for her battle capability and firepower. Soon, she would be
within aviation range of the Chinese airbases and naval ships in the South China Sea. Approximately 15,000 men and women from both sides were about to come face-to-face. Would one side blink? Or would someone pull the trigger and fire the first shot inaugurating a Sino-American war?

  Jim leaned forward, resting his chin on the palms of his hands, elbows firmly planted on the desktop. Stress and lack of sleep were conspiring against him, and he closed his eyes. He saw the USS Gerald Ford steaming into the wind, his vantage point above the carrier and to the side, but keeping pace perfectly as the warship sailed at thirty-five knots.

  Super Hornets were taking off, one after another, from the massive flight deck. And then, from the Heavens, a bright streak reached down and connected to the center of the ship. It was like a lightning bolt, only it formed a perfectly straight trajectory. At the point of connection with the flight deck, a massive hole instantly appeared, followed a second later by the horrendous noise—a combination of sonic boom and the bending and renting of steel as the hardened, hypersonic projectile tore a path of destruction through the ship, exiting through the keel. A heartbeat later, secondary explosions added to the cacophony. A huge fireball erupted from the impact hole, fed by almost a million gallons of aviation fuel. Flame ejected through the aircraft elevators, fiery tongues lapping out the side of the hull.

  The aircraft carrier seemed to slow. The wake behind the ship as well as the bow wave were diminishing in size. Men were scurrying across the flight deck. A new sound rose in intensity to be heard above the roar of fire and both large and small explosions from ordnance cooking off. The mournful sound rumbled from deep within the ship as the steel groaned and bellowed, fighting against the uneven stresses of blast-furnace heat, and compromised bulkheads and deck plates. Then suddenly, the mighty carrier, pride of the Navy, buckled and separated in two. The cleaved sections quickly slid under the waves, leaving behind a burning slick of fuel.

  Jim awoke with a start. He rubbed a hand across his face and then rose from his desk. A walk around the facility would do wonders to relieve his lethargy. He entered the cafeteria and was pouring a cup of coffee when his phone rang, the caller identified on the screen.

  “Hello, Peter.”

  “Jim, hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time. Do you have a minute?”

  “Just grabbing a coffee and stretching my legs. What’s up?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Okay, if I can.”

  “A friend has been kidnapped, and I need some help to find her.”

  “This sounds like police business. Domestic crimes are not within the charter of SGIT, or the Defense Department.”

  “Look, I know that. Just hear me out—please.”

  Jim listened as Peter recounted the events leading up to Jade’s kidnapping.

  “Jade’s mother,” Peter explained, “received an anonymous note demanding she stop searching for an oil exploration ship that apparently is missing.”

  “Go on,” Jim said.

  “How can we search for this missing ship? We know what it looks like, so I’m wondering if high resolution satellite images can be used to identify it?”

  “Sounds intriguing. You have a real-life mystery on your hands.”

  “So it can be done?”

  “Yes, it can be done. Assuming the ship’s not sunk or hidden by cloud cover, that is. But searching and screening images is a tedious and time-consuming task. And depending on the angle of the sun, a ship’s super structure can take on different appearances. Unless you have a computer doing the work. And before you ask, no… I can’t authorize MOTHER to search through satellite images for you. Besides, my entire team is focused on another priority at the moment.”

  After a brief pause, Peter said, “I understand. Actually, Jade’s family is very well connected. I’ve no doubt they can buy the computer time as well as the satellite images.”

  “They’ll also need to hire a programmer to write the code, a short program that instructs the computer to examine each image against the specifications and design of the missing ship…”

  Jim’s voice trailed off as another thought entered his mind.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Brunei. Jade is a niece of the Sultan.”

  “And this missing oil exploration ship—where was it last seen?”

  “The South China Sea, in waters Brunei lays claim to.”

  Jim fell silent as the possibility registered in his brain.

  “Hello? Jim, can you hear me?”

  “This could be important,” Jim said. He suddenly lost interest in coffee and was striding back to his office. “I’m gonna call you back. I want to get Lacey in on this. Are you in a private location where you can talk?”

  s

  Barely five minutes had passed when Peter answered his phone. “I have you on speaker. Where are you?” Jim asked.

  “I’m at the Istana Nurul Imam Palace.”

  “Palace of the Faith Light.” Lieutenant Lacey recited the English translation.

  “It’s the Sultan’s palace in Bandar Seri Begawan. A mouthful, so the ex-pats here just call it BSB.”

  “Are you in a private location?” Jim asked.

  “Yes, I am. Jade’s mother—Eu-meh—has invited us to stay in a guest apartment at the palace. I’m there now.”

  “You said ‘us’. Who’s with you?”

  “A guy named Robert Schneider. Ex-Navy. He’s Jade’s bodyguard and driver.”

  Jim noticed that Lacey was typing the name into her tablet. “I’ll have Sergeant Williams run a background check,” she said.

  “Good. Now, you mentioned an oil exploration ship. Do you know the name of the ship?”

  “Eu-meh said it’s the Royal Seeker. It’s owned and operated by Hua Ho Holdings.”

  Lacey was entering the information. “Got it. Here’s an image of the ship.” She turned the screen so Jim could see it. With the superstructure placed far forward, the middle and stern of the ship was low and relatively flat. Towering above the middle of the ship was a grid-like structure; a crane was farther aft. Beneath the tower was the moon pool, an opening in the hull to allow pipe and drilling equipment to enter the water beneath the ship.

  “What do you think, Lieutenant?”

  Lacey raised her eyebrows. “I think you are suggesting an intriguing theory.”

  “See if Williams can run the numbers. I want to know if it’s possible.”

  “Latitude for modifications?”

  Jim nodded. “Tower and crane. For now, assume no change to the hull or superstructure.”

  “Hello? I’m still here, you know,” Peter said.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Savage,” Lacey said. “But this line is not secure.”

  “Look, I called asking for help. And now you’re playing the security card on me?”

  “Relax, Peter.” Jim locked eyes with Ellen Lacey as he finished his thought. “We can help you. I believe we now have reason to task MOTHER with your quest.”

  Chapter 18

  South China Sea

  August 25

  With a sleek hull and angular superstructure that more closely resembled Darth Vader’s Imperial Star Cruiser than it did classic warship design, the littoral combat ship USS Independence was making thirty knots on a northeasterly heading. Sailing from Singapore and accompanied by her sister ship the USS Coronado, the Independence had travelled more than 600 nautical miles to the southern reach of the Spratly Islands.

  “East Reef is directly to port, sir,” announced Executive Officer (XO) Birch.

  Captain Moresby was scanning the forward horizon through binoculars. He had read the latest update from USPACFLT. Two ships, thought to be Chinese destroyers, were well north of his current position. Satellite surveillance photos suggested the pair of warships were patrolling the central region of the South China Sea.

  Moresby’s mission was to sail through the southern grouping of islands and then along the eastern edge of the Spratly Island chain, exe
rcising what the United States government termed “freedom of navigation.” There was nothing new about this policy, but with the current heightened tension between the U.S. and China, Moresby knew this would not be a routine deployment. He had ordered his crew to strictly adhere to international law and Navy policy. In particular, his ship was to approach no closer than twelve nautical miles from any landmass, no matter how small the chunk of coral and sand may be.

  “Maintaining minimum approach distance?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Birch replied. “Closest approach was 12.1 nautical miles. We are passing East Reef now. Cuarteron Reef is ahead. Also to port.”

  “Very well.” Captain Moresby was young, only forty-six. Born and raised far from the ocean in Topeka, Kansas, Bruce Moresby was ambitious, smart, and yearned to travel. From an early age, there was never a doubt in his mind that his calling was to serve in the Navy. He graduated from Annapolis at the top of his class and then began a meteoric rise through the Navy until he was awarded command of his own ship.

  “Status of defensive systems?” he said.

  “SeaRAM is online and ready,” answered the XO. “All guns are manned and ready.”

  Constructed of steel and aluminum, the littoral combat ships were designed to move fast and traverse shallow, coastal waters. They were not designed to slug it out with larger and more heavily-armed opponents. One well-placed anti-ship missile and the Independence would be another chunk of litter on the ocean floor. That’s not to say the Independence and her sister ship, the Coronado, were defenseless. Both vessels carried a Seahawk helicopter for antisubmarine warfare, an unmanned Fire Scout drone armed with Hellfire guided missiles, and Harpoon anti-ship missiles.

  Moresby continued to scan the horizon. As far as he could see, the sky was clear—pale blue with a few scattered white puffs of clouds. The ocean almost merged with the sky, distinguished only by a slightly-darker shade of blue. Thankfully, the seas were relatively calm, and motion onboard the Independence was minimal as the sleek vessel knifed through the water.