Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  “Follow me,” Robert ordered, and the group moved along a covered walkway. “There’s a door up here. We can enter the palace. It’s too dangerous out here in the open.”

  By now Rei had gotten pretty good at his skip-shuffle, and the bleeding had mostly stopped. Robert reached for the doorknob and was surprised to find it locked. He placed the barrel of his Glock where the latch entered the doorframe and pulled the trigger twice. The wood splintered around the strike plate, and the door opened without any resistance.

  They entered a service corridor. It was lit by an overhead track of recessed lights. Doors lined both sides, and another door lay ahead at the end.

  “Kitchen on the left, storage and utilities on the right,” Robert explained. They pressed forward, and exited into an ornately-decorated room. A wide stairway, covered in red carpet and with gilded bannisters and railing, was to the right. Overhead hung a crystal chandelier that Peter estimated was at least fifteen feet in diameter. Suspended thirty feet overhead was the gilded ceiling.

  Around the perimeter of the room were gold-framed mirrors alternating with portraits of past sultans. Narrow tables along the walls held vases filled with a rich variety of brightly colored tropical blooms.

  “The banquet hall is through those doors,” Robert indicated the pair of double doors to the left. As if on cue, the doors burst open and ten soldiers wearing black berets pushed through, rifles pointed at the American intruders and their hostage. Robert instantly raised his Glock.

  The co-pilot fired first. A short burst from the hip. His shots struck four guards, killing three and wounding one. But the return fire was equally deadly, and the aviator was cut down under a hail of lead.

  Silence ensued. It was a standoff.

  The guards parted, allowing an officer to pass through the group—Pehin Anak Shah, the Director of Security. He removed his sidearm from the black leather holster on his hip. “Robert. I am disappointed.” He turned to face Peter. “And you, Mr. Savage. You seem to be a troublemaker.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” Peter said over Rei’s shoulder. Diesel rumbled with a guttural growl. “On me. Stay.” He issued the command softly so as not to draw unwanted attention to the canine. Diesel silenced, but licked his lips—a display of anxiety and distress.

  The Security Director glanced at the wounded soldier, and with a nod of his head, instructed a guard to assist the injured man and the two of them left. He then locked eyes with Captain Rei. “I did not expect to see you here, Captain.” Rei’s eyes were wide in fright. “And what conclusion should I draw from your presence?”

  “Please,” Rei pleaded. “I had no choice. They forced me—”

  “Silence!” For a few moments, the room was deadly still. And then Pehin spoke again. “I know you have failed. We tracked your missile, of course, and saw the instant it failed to respond to the homing signal. Our satellite imagery shows the American aircraft carrier is still afloat. In fact, it is still quite functional.”

  “But,” Rei stammered, “They had explosives. They destroyed the instruments.”

  Pehin raised his pistol and fired. The bullet struck Rei in the leg and passed through, just missing Peter. The captain suddenly slumped and slipped from Peter’s grasp. The Security Director fired twice more, both bullets hitting Rei in the center of his chest.

  “He became an unacceptable liability the moment he failed his mission,” Pehin said. His pistol was leveled at Peter. “Now, lower your gun, or you will be the next to die.”

  Chapter 32

  Istana Nurul Iman Palace

  August 26

  “The Sultan’s sister is dead,” Peter said. “She was murdered on the Royal Seeker by crewmembers you hired. You might want to think about how to explain that to your father.”

  “My father will find it much easier to believe that you killed his beloved sister.” His mouth twisted in a wicked grin as he continued, “Fortunately, when I caught up with you and your accomplices, you were all shot by my loyal guards.”

  “Your story won’t work,” Peter said defiantly.

  Pehin turned his lips down, mocking Peter. “I don’t see why not.”

  “Because I already talked to a reporter,” Robert said. “Someone outside of your reach. Someone who is very eager to share the story of the Royal Seeker and the murder of Eu-meh.”

  “Come now, you don’t really expect me to believe that you found time to call a reporter after your helicopter landed on the palace grounds. My men engaged you immediately; you had no time.”

  “But I did. On the flight here. Used the radio. My entire conversation with the reporter was recorded, and I’ve no doubt she has already sent out her story over the wire services. Right now, she’s following through on the leads I gave her, checking the facts and getting corroboration. I suspect she’ll write a follow-up tonight. Of course, a half dozen news agencies will be all over this—not every day that a member of a royal family is murdered.”

  “Plus the tie-in to the unprovoked attacks on the two Navy ships,” Peter added.

  “Three, by my count. At the very least two-and-a-half since the USS Ford didn’t sink. Not yet, anyway,” Pehin said.

  Robert was outraged. “You think this is a joke? Hundreds of men and women were killed! And for what?”

  Pehin pinched his eyebrows. “The American military is responsible for hundreds of thousands of murdered civilians in Syria and Libya. Millions more displaced in what is, without doubt, the worst civilian crisis of the new millennium. In the decades following the end of World War II, American presidents have trampled the rights of sovereign nations, using covert operations to overthrow governments not to their liking. Your past presidents ignored international law when it suited their narrative and then denounced other governments for lesser infractions. President Taylor and your current Congress are no better.”

  He took a deep breath, and Peter saw the simmering anger calm as the Security Director reigned in his emotions.

  “If you do not lower your guns, my men will shoot you here.”

  “People will have heard those gunshots,” Peter said.

  “Don’t delude yourself. These walls are very well insulated against sound, and the palace is very large. No one is close by.”

  Although Peter was confident he could take down Pehin, with five assault rifles pointed in his direction, their death was certain. Peter relaxed his shoulders and slowly lowered his pistol. Robert followed suit.

  “Excellent!” Pehin said. “Now we may have a civilized conversation.”

  “I want Jade,” Peter demanded. “Holding her no longer serves any purpose. Let her go.”

  He considered the appeal for a long moment. “Very well. You may follow me.” He turned to the closest guard. “First, search them.”

  Two guards patted down Peter and Robert, taking the portable radio from Peter and Robert’s cell phone. They also picked up the two pistols laying on the floor along with the rifles from the dead guards.

  “You don’t have a cell phone?” Pehin addressed the question to Peter.

  “No,” he said. “Left it on the Royal Seeker. Was kinda rushed to get off the ship and back to land.”

  “Hmmm.” The Director of Security turned and exited the way he’d come. In the lead, with his prisoners surrounded by the five guards, he crossed through the banquet hall and entered another corridor on the far side. They continued some distance along the hallway, passing more paintings and sculptures, more floral arrangements, all illuminated by huge crystal chandeliers. Their destination seemed to be a room at the end of the lavish hallway where they stopped before a pair of ornate gilded doors.

  Pehin pressed the buzzer and then opened the doors. They entered an outer reception room furnished with ruby-red upholstered chairs and matching sofas. “Sit,” he ordered Peter and Robert. They sat on one of the sofas, Diesel parking by his master’s feet. The amber eyes tracked every movement of the Security Director as he left through a door on the opposite wall. The d
oor was decorated to blend in with the wall décor.

  Several minutes passed in silence. Peter and Robert stared back at the guards who never lowered their M4 assault rifles. Finally, Pehin returned. He was accompanied by another person: a woman. He stood to the side as she entered, his head bowed. All of the guards bowed as well, her mere presence demanding the highest level of respect.

  She was dressed in a traditional Chinese gown. A jade necklace rested across her collarbones. To Peter’s eye, she appeared to be in her seventies, maybe early eighties.

  “Stand, and bow your heads in respect,” Pehin ordered. Robert and Peter rose to their feet and dipped their chins.

  When Peter raised his eyes, he was looking directly at the woman. Her features were Asian, but hardly a wrinkle showed on her face. Her hair was black and thinning. Her eyes conveyed fierce determination.

  “This is Lim Guan-Yin,” Pehin announced. “The mother of the Sultan himself.”

  Peter’s mouth fell agape. Jade had only spoken breifly of her grandmother. How was she involved?

  “You may call me by my given name, Guan-Yin,” she said. Her voice was neither frail nor weak.

  Peter bowed again. “My name is—”

  She cut him off. “I know your name, Peter Savage. My grandson keeps me well informed.” She turned somewhat. “And you are Robert. Although we have not been formally introduced, I have observed you before, from a distance, protecting my granddaughter.”

  “I am sorry, ma’am,” Peter said. “Your daughter was killed by men working for your grandson. Out of respect for your religion, you should know that Eu-meh was wrapped in a shroud and laid in the prayer room of the mosque. We didn’t think it would be right to take her body to a public location like the hospital.”

  Upon hearing the news, her eyes softened and glistened with moisture. “I suppose I should thank you.” She blinked twice, the tears never fully materializing as she seemingly banished whatever grief she had been feeling only moments before.

  “Islam is not my religion. Still, I’m sure the Imam will be suitably dismayed at having her unwashed body left in his prayer hall—but not so much so that he’ll refuse the Sultan’s money.” She faced her grandson. “Make certain my daughter’s body is properly washed three times and wrapped in appropriate burial shrouds in accordance with the teachings of the Prophet.”

  “Yes, Grandmother.”

  “Didn’t you hear what Peter said?” Robert asked. “Your grandson is responsible for murdering your only daughter!”

  “What would you have me say? She was a casualty. Unfortunate—but also unavoidable, I’m sure. My daughter did not share my vision—our vision,” she glanced at her grandson. “So it became necessary to isolate her from the planning and daily operations. It should have been sufficient for her to manage Hua Ho Holdings. But when she began to ask questions and start investigations into things she had no involvement with…”

  “I don’t believe it,” Peter said. “You orchestrated the kidnapping of your own granddaughter?”

  “It was necessary,” she answered coldly.

  “I’ve met some ruthless people, but lady, you take the prize.”

  “You stand before me in self-righteous judgment, and yet you are as ignorant as you are arrogant.”

  “Well, I’d be perfectly happy to leave, but…” Peter motioned to the surrounding guards with guns aimed in his direction.

  Guan-Yin squinted her eyes and tilted her head back, appraising the taller American standing before her. Finally, she asked a single question. “Do you know who discovered America?”

  “You mean after the North American continent was populated by the indigenous peoples who crossed from northern Asia?”

  “You are reluctant to answer, even though my question was simple and direct. Very well, you are not one to be easily baited, I see.”

  She took one small step closer to Peter, and looked him squarely in the eye. “America was discovered by Chinese explorers who set sail with a great treasure fleet on March 8, 1421. The fleet was under the command of Admiral Zheng He. We know this with certainty. Zheng’s fleet circumnavigated the globe 100 years before Magellan and set foot on North America seventy years before Columbus.”

  “All very interesting, and under less…contrived… circumstances, I would enjoy discussing this with you. I’m a history buff, too.” Peter forced a smile.

  Guan-Yin maintained a stony countenance. “Perhaps I should show you my collection of ancient maps.”

  “Sure. I really enjoy very old classic books, too. How’s your collection?”

  Pehin made a nearly imperceptible nod of his head and the guard closest to Peter rammed the butt of his rifle into Peter’s stomach. He doubled over, hands over his gut, coughing and trying to catch his breath.

  “From your juvenile response, I can see you don’t understand the import of my statements.”

  Peter gulped and took three deep breaths before straightening his torso. His side burned again, and he suspected his sudden movement had torn open the gash.

  When he cast his gaze upon Guan-Yin, there was no longer any trace of humor in his expression. “Oh, I get it. You believe some ancient Chinese admiral sailed a fleet around the world claiming all lands for the Emperor. So what? The Vikings sailed to Iceland, Greenland, and along the eastern coast of Canada and New England. And everyone knows about the visit from Columbus who sailed for the king and queen of Spain. It doesn’t matter who was there first.”

  Guan-Yin’s lips curled in a tight expression of amusement. “On that point, we do agree. But where it does matter is on the question of sovereignty over the islands to the east of China. In the South China Sea and the East China Sea.”

  “Many countries lay claim to those islands.”

  “Yes. They find it convenient to ignore the historical record, supported by written historical accounts and detailed maps first drafted by cartographers under the direction of Admiral Zheng. Being quite large, the main fleet split into smaller groups of ships under the leadership of prominent Chinese explorers—Hong Bao, Zhou Man, Yang Qing, Zhou Wen. These brave men were the first to lay rightful claim to these islands in the name of Emperor Zhu Di.”

  “So why doesn’t the Chinese government simply work their claim through the international courts? Why take military action and risk starting a war?”

  “The courts are merely political instruments that work at the pleasure of the West—the European Union and the United States.”

  “And you think war is a better option?” Peter didn’t wait for an answer. “You know, I really don’t get it. I mean, you are the mother of the Sultan of Brunei. You live in grand luxury, guaranteed that whatever happens anywhere in the world, your comfort will be assured. So why you? What is your stake in this dispute?”

  Her eyes flared in anger, showing an extreme of emotion that had previously been missing. “You have no idea of the suffering I have endured at the hands of invaders!” She paused in thought. No one outside of her closest family members knew her complete history, when she was a young girl in Nanking.

  She closed her eyes and was transported back in time and space. When she spoke, her words were measured, and barely audible. “I was a little girl when the Japanese army invaded my hometown. They took what they wanted. They gorged on our rice and livestock—chickens, ducks, pigs. And when they had their fill they slaughtered the rest so there would be nothing for the people. The officers thought it good sport to see who could cut off the most Chinese heads using their katanas. They raped my mother, and in doing so they crushed her spirit.” A single tear ran down Guan-Yin’s cheek. “And when they came back and threatened to rape her again, my father tried to protect her. The soldiers murdered him, and then they murdered my mother. They beat me, and left me for dead.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up at Peter. “I am Chinese. I will always be Chinese. And I will never forgive the invaders who butchered, enslaved, and demeaned my family, my people, treating them worse than
wild dogs. Justice must be served.”

  Stunned by her story, Peter empathized with the old woman, imagining the horrors she had witnessed and the suffering she had endured. “I am truly sorry for what happened. Humankind has exhibited barbaric cruelty throughout the ages. But what you have done… these missile attacks… that is not the answer. There are better solutions.”

  “No. I am an old woman. I’ve lived almost my entire life waiting for justice. To this day, the Japanese government does not accept responsibility for the crimes committed by its military. And the United States has been unwilling to demand repentance from their ally. Your country took swift action against Nazi war criminals—why did it fail to seek justice against the Japanese scientists and officers who committed abhorrent crimes against humanity?”

  Peter shook his head. “I… I don’t have an answer. I wish I did.”

  Guan-Yin’s eyes blazed again. “I do know why! The experiments, the data—the West wanted that information, the results of gruesome biological experiments that Japanese doctors and scientists conducted on helpless prisoners. The United States, Australia, England—they were all too willing to simply let the guilty go in exchange for the hideous knowledge accrued from the torture and deaths of thousands of men, women, and children. It is a shared guilt, and a wrong that the West will never admit to.”

  With nothing to say, Peter and Robert stood in silence.

  She continued, “These are crimes for which there is no statute of limitations. Justice will be served, and China will take control of lands it discovered centuries ago. As it was before, in 1421 when the grand treasure fleet sailed a magnificent voyage of discovery to the far corners of the world, China will again be the dominant cultural, economic, and military power in the East. Without the protection of the United States, Japan will bow in humiliation to a greater China.”

  Breaking his silence, Robert said, “You don’t really think the U.S. will withdraw its military from the Western Pacific, do you? As a former Navy man, I can assure you China is in for a fight it can’t possibly win.”