Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  Jim continued, “To further reduce drag and conserve battery power, weapons are to be discarded once we have cleared the ship. We will stay in tight formation about one meter under the surface until the rebreathers are expended. Your GPS has been preloaded with the rendezvous point, which is expected to be about two clicks south from your landing coordinates when you set foot on the helipad. The computer will calculate the route automatically, triggered when you stop descending. So even if you miss the helipad, you will still have the proper coordinates. If you get separated for any reason, follow your GPS.” Jim indicated a spot of ocean on a detailed navigational chart.

  “Then what?” Bull asked.

  “On my order, the Combat King will come in low and slow and drop an inflatable fitted with a silenced outboard. Everyone has NVGs, so the Zodiac will not be hard to see. Just in case, it will have a short-range radio beacon. Each of your GPS units will pick up the signal. Once in the Zodiac, we’ll motor to new coordinates here.” Jim pointed at another spot of open ocean. “At 0430 hours, the USS New Mexico will surface and we can all get a good, hot meal.”

  “And if things don’t go as planned?” Magnum asked.

  “Then we hold the ship until the Marines arrive. A V22 Osprey is circling here.” Jim pointed at a location on the chart. “On my order, the Osprey will fly to our position and a platoon of reinforcements will fast-rope onto the helipad. We will take control of the vessel until the Navy arrives. Questions?”

  Ghost spoke up. “What about the other ship?”

  “The Royal Seeker will receive a visit from Brunei military.”

  All of the SGIT operators exchanged questioning glances.

  “Don’t ask,” Jim said. “It’s need-to-know information. Other questions?”

  “What can we expect for backup if the Panda Star is really hot?” Iceberg said.

  “The man next to you is your backup until the Marines arrive. The Combat King will stay on station to provide radio relay and air cover should the Chinese attempt to intervene, although that is not expected.”

  Jim cast his gaze across his assembled team. In every face he read confidence and determination. “Anything else?”

  Only silence was returned.

  “Very well. Get some rest. We’re still on hold until authorization is received from President Taylor.”

  Ninety minutes later, and still two hours from the drop zone, Commander Jim Nicolaou received the message he’d been hoping for.

  Chapter 23

  Washington, D.C.

  August 24

  President Taylor stood before the three tall windows overlooking the garden. He was accustomed to making difficult decisions; it came with the job. All too often, lives were at stake. This call was no different, except maybe in regard to the number of people he was placing in peril. He recalled a poem, one he’d been required to memorize as a young student.

  Half a league, half a league,

  Half a league onward,

  All in the valley of Death

  Rode the six hundred.

  “Forward, the Light Brigade!

  Charge for the guns!” he said.

  Into the valley of Death

  Rode the six hundred.

  “Forward, the Light Brigade!”

  Was there a man dismayed?

  Not though the soldier knew

  Someone had blundered.

  Theirs not to make reply,

  Theirs not to reason why,

  Theirs but to do and die.

  Into the valley of Death

  Rode the six hundred.

  He paused, repeating the line, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “Theirs but to do and die.”

  With two naval ships swiftly sunk and tensions with China nearing the breaking point, was he being reckless, prideful? Was he repeating the errors of British commanders who, during the Crimean War in 1854, ordered the Light Brigade on their futile charge, dooming two-thirds of the men?

  A familiar voice interrupted his introspection.

  “Stormed at with shot and shell,

  While horse and hero fell.

  They that had fought so well

  Came through the jaws of Death,

  Back from the mouth of hell,

  All that was left of them,

  Left of six hundred.”

  President Taylor turned, facing his Secretary of State.

  “Lord Alfred Tennyson, if memory serves me well.”

  “Paul, I didn’t hear you enter.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Should I wait outside?”

  The President waved his hand. “Walk with me. I need some fresh air.”

  The two men exited the tall glass door opening onto the Rose Garden. Walking slowly, a contemplative President Taylor voiced his concern. “Have I made the right decision?”

  “You mean by sending the Gerald R. Ford strike group to the South China Sea? To the Spratly Islands?”

  Taylor nodded. He stopped and faced Paul Bryan. “Paul, you’ve been an integral member of my cabinet from day one. I think you know that I value your counsel.”

  “Thank you, sir. We’ve been tested before and have always prevailed. The carrier strike group is the best there is. I have confidence they will succeed.”

  Taylor frowned. “But this weapon, this ship killer—we have no means of defense.” Secretary Bryan wanted to rebut the President’s statement, but he knew the truth as well as Taylor did.

  “We can’t take out the launching sites, so what’s the tactical value of sending the carrier into harm’s way? Hell, we don’t even know what the launch vehicle is. It could be a sub or surface ship. It could be a secret silo on one of those islands and we just missed it.” Taylor sighed heavily.

  To Paul Bryan’s eye, his boss had aged ten years in the last ten hours.

  “Am I repeating the mistakes made by those arrogant British officers who ordered the Light Brigade to charge entrenched Russian cannon? Four-thousand five-hundred men and women serve on the Ford. It’s their lives I’m gambling with.”

  “We can’t pull back the fleet, sir,” Bryan said. “To do so would concede the entire Western Pacific to China.”

  “You’re assuming China is the power behind the attacks.”

  “Assuming, for the sake of argument, that North Korea is somehow capable of carrying out these launchings—and mind you, we have no reason to believe they possess the technology to fabricate the warheads—it doesn’t materially change the balance of power in that region of the world. The U.S. Seventh Fleet is the only force able to check Chinese expansionism. If we pull back, China becomes the second superpower. Beijing has laid claim to almost all of the East China Sea and the South China Sea. Her sphere of influence will cover more than half of Asia plus the seas stretching east to Korea, Japan, the Philippines, and south to Malaysia.

  “The mineral wealth beneath those waters could represent a staggering fortune. China is thirsty for oil, and many experts think there are enormous undiscovered reserves waiting to be claimed. If that’s true, it would be a boon for China’s economy.”

  “I don’t see that as a bad thing,” Taylor replied.

  “No sir, it’s not. But the South China Sea is a major shipping route. Five trillion dollars of sea-borne trade passes annually. If China refuses to allow open access under historical freedom of navigation agreements, the impact will be felt by every country that trades with Southeast Asia.”

  “I’ve heard that argument before. But isn’t this simple fear mongering? Sure, China may clamp down on shipping and charge fees for passage, or forbid some ships altogether based on the flag they fly—and they may not. So what? I really don’t see this issue as materially different from the Panama Canal.”

  “I beg to differ. Control of the Panama Canal was transferred to Panama by two treaties, collectively called the Torrijos-Carter Treaties. It was the second of the two documents, the Panama Canal Treaty, that actually transferred control of the canal as of December 31, 1999. However, the firs
t document, commonly known as the Neutrality Treaty, provides that the United States will retain the right to defend the canal from any threat that might interfere with equitable access by ships of all nationality. In essence, the U.S. maintains the right to use military force to keep the canal open.”

  “I’m familiar with the Neutrality Treaty. And yet we don’t see China or Russia complaining that the U.S. should relinquish influence over the canal. What if President Chen made a similar proposal regarding shipping through the South China Sea? Isn’t it time that we look at China as a trading partner and not a military threat?”

  “Perhaps. However, the legal claims put forth by China to the disputed islands in the South China Sea and the East China Sea are not clear. The number of islands subject to the disputed claims is quite numerous.”

  Taylor raised his eyebrows. “You’re not telling me anything we haven’t already discussed—in detail.”

  “Respectfully sir, it is my duty to remind you of our obligations to our allies—Japan, Taiwan, Malaysia, the Philippines—who also have legitimate claims contradicting those of China. This is a complicated matter that must be resolved through diplomacy and the international courts—not through threat of force.”

  Taylor had resumed his walk, turning the corner and strolling along the west colonnade, his hands folded behind his back. “As usual, Paul, you make a compelling argument.”

  They took a few more steps in silence, thoughts weighing heavily on the President’s mind.

  “Wanna know what really bothers me, Paul?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “It’s the relative ease with which these life-and-death decisions are made.” Taylor turned and gazed across the garden as if his eyes were searching for something that wasn’t there. “Hardly a week goes by when I’m not being asked to make a decision that would put our people at risk. Hell, the only remarkable point about the current affair is the number of service men and women that I’m…” The President paused, searching for the right word. “That I’m ordering to charge the Russian cannon, with literally no defense.”

  “I’m sure all of your predecessors also wrestled with this very issue. But the world is a violent place, and we have to deal, as best we can, with situations and problems that are not of our making.”

  “You’d make a good professor,” Taylor said, turning just enough for Paul Bryan to see his crooked grin. In fact, Paul Bryan had taught political science at Stanford. But the lure of politics was simply too strong.

  “I’d like to believe,” Taylor continued, “the voters elected me in no small part because they had confidence I’d do a better job than the former administration at finding diplomatic solutions to conflict, rather than opting to use military might.”

  “And you have, sir. At the risk of sounding self-congratulatory, you have a pretty impressive record of defusing very challenging international incidents. The Sudan and Eastern Europe immediately come to mind.” Bryan was thinking of two particularly dangerous events involving the Chinese in Africa in one case, and in another the Russians attempting to expand their borders through the use of proxy militia.

  “Not good enough. It doesn’t matter what we’ve done, only what we do—or plan to do—that counts.” Taylor sighed. “I’ve ordered an entire carrier strike group—more than 7,000 enlisted men and officers—into harm’s way. All from the comfort of my office. And then, less than an hour later, I delivered a feel-good speech to high rollers in exchange for their generous contributions to the DNC. I order men and women to risk their lives, knowing many will pay the ultimate price, while I dine on prime rib and drink Champagne.”

  He faced his Secretary of State. Bryan found it difficult to meet the President’s eyes. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Maybe even perverse?”

  “Sir—” Bryan was cut off.

  “No, I’m not back peddling. But I am saying that we need to do more to find common ground with our sometimes adversaries, especially China. We need to do better—we will do better.”

  “I’ll revisit some Southeast Asia initiatives previously under consideration.”

  Taylor nodded, liking what he heard. “And put a high priority on equality and respect. I don’t want to be preaching from a soap box or negotiating for a double standard. Look to historical examples of how territorial disputes were resolved amicably while preserving national self-interest. The Panama Canal treaties that you mentioned are a case in point.”

  “I’ll get my people working on it. But in the meantime, we still have a very delicate situation off the coast of China.”

  “Yes, plus possible involvement of North Korea—maybe even collusion with President Chen.”

  “It makes for an extremely volatile mix, sir,” Bryan said.

  Several more steps were taken in silence, and then the President said, “So, we can’t afford to fail. We have to find that launcher.”

  “Colonel Pierson’s team at SGIT was made for this type of mission.” Bryan glanced at his watch. “We should have their first report in a little more than an hour.”

  “You know, someday we’re going to run out of luck.”

  “Who’s to say luck has any role in this mission?”

  “It always does,” Taylor answered, his expression dour. “And between you and me, I’ll take luck over skill any day.”

  Chapter 24

  Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei

  August 25

  As night descended across the city, exertion and lack of rest finally caught up with Peter. He stretched his frame along a wall, using the sleeping bag as a pillow. Mercifully, he fell into a dreamless sleep, the first in many days. Diesel lay against his legs, snoring rhythmically.

  “It’s time,” Robert said, one hand nudging Peter’s shoulder.

  He sat upright and rubbed a hand across his face. “Right.”

  Groggily, Peter rose and crossed to the table. Spread across the surface were the tools they would carry on this mission: pistols, spare magazines and ammunition, explosives and detonators, flash-bangs, bottles of water, rope, medical kit, knives, sturdy nylon zip ties, and two backpacks. Robert handed one of the packs to Peter. “The magazines are loaded. I stripped and cleaned the Glock while you were sleeping. Take a box of extra ammo, two of the flash-bangs, the first aid kit, and a couple bottles of water. Which knife do you want?”

  Peter pointed to a folding three-inch blade and then filled his pack. Cinching the top closed, he slipped his arms through the straps and followed Robert out the door. This time, they exited through the front entrance to the building. After walking two blocks, Robert flagged down a taxi and they rode to the international airport.

  With Diesel, they would draw too much unwanted attention within the departure terminal, so instead Robert pointed along the road. A blue sign marked the way to a long-term parking lot.

  The expansive paved lot was in sore need of repair and maintenance. Cracks and potholes were abundant. This was the low-price parking lot, and unlike the modern parking garage, there was no roof to shelter the cars from the torrential tropical rain that alternated with blistering sun. Still, most of the slots were occupied. The few lights high overhead on posts provided minimal illumination. “This way,” Robert said.

  They crossed the lot in silence, exiting onto an unlit service road. He followed Robert single file along the side of the macadam. Before long, they turned to the side and crossed through grass and low bushes. Peter recognized the open expanse before them as the golf course. In the dim light, he could just barely make out the flag marking the cup.

  Still wanting to avoid attention, they stood off the green by ten yards, each man squatting low in the bushes. There they waited for thirty minutes, surrounded by sounds of distant automobile traffic, insects chirping and clicking, and one commercial airplane landing on the long runway. Peter shifted his body and leaned against the trunk of a palm tree, taking the strain off his knees. He popped two more acetaminophen tablets. And then he heard helicopter blades, whipping the still night air, quickly gr
owing in intensity.

  The swirling air was gentle at first but grew quite strong as the helicopter closed on the flat green. Peter was surprised at how the aircraft still sounded distant. Clearly some sort of noise attenuation was engineered into the turbine engines and the rotors.

  Only at the last second did the pilot turn on the landing lights to accurately gauge the distance to solid ground. The sleek machine slowed and gently touched the manicured green. The door was pulled open, and Peter and Robert dashed from the cover of their hiding spot with their heads low. Diesel leapt into the passenger compartment a step head of Peter.

  The helicopter lifted into the air even before the door was closed. Peter took the nearest seat, and was surprised to see Eu-meh Lim occupying one of the beige leather chairs. He cast a questioning look toward Robert.

  “She insisted,” he said. “I tried to talk her into staying behind.”

  “I have every right to board the Royal Seeker,” Eu-meh said defiantly. “They could be holding my daughter there.”

  “It’s likely to be dangerous,” Peter replied.

  Eu-meh gave a mirthless smile. “I’ve been in a car randomly riding around Brunei for the past several hours. All because Robert said my life could be in danger if I was at my office, or my apartment. So, it seems I’m in danger wherever I go.”

  “The crew are likely to be armed.”

  “Mr. Savage. This is my daughter we are talking about. My only child. Surely, you cannot expect me to find a safe hole to hide in until she is returned.”

  If the situation were different and it was Peter’s family, he knew what he’d do—what he had done before when Ethan was kidnapped, or Joanna was being held hostage. “No, I suppose not.”

  Peter took stock of the cabin. It was furnished as a luxury corporate aircraft with leather upholstery, wood panels, and gold trim. Other than Eu-meh and Robert, there were the two crew members: the pilot and copilot. He noticed an MP5 submachine gun—a dependable piece of German engineering—secured next to the co-pilot’s seat.