China Star

by Maurice Medland

  Not likely. The U.S. wouldn’t sacrifice on officer so valuable over one accidental death. Connor was probably a senior naval officer posing as the captain of an ocean-salvage ship, a cover for the CIA. Chen ground his teeth. Armed with only a derelict salvage ship, he’d brought down one of Chen’s most advanced helicopters. The yang gwei had probably hidden a shoulder-fired missile aboard, perhaps an American Stinger. How could his men have overlooked it?

  He cursed Matthew Connor’s ancestors. To have to admit to the loss of a helicopter and crew was bad enough. Admitting it before the leadership of China was a loss of face that would haunt him forever. Not only was the highest-ranking officer in the PLA present, General First Class Lao Jianxing, but so was the president of China himself. Even worse, Han Jinhua was in the room.

  General Lao and President Xiang could destroy his naval career, but the head of the Chinese Secret Intelligence Service could destroy his life. Han Jinhua was the most feared man in China, and with good reason. Anyone who displeased him could find himself sentenced to a laogai indefinitely, on his orders alone.

  Fornicate all gods. He should have known better than to follow the orders of a Red Prince like Lao Jintao. Lao’s appointment to senior colonel had been pure politics - the man knew nothing about military tactics. It made no sense to risk sending a lone helicopter against a ship, even if it had been searched. No one could search a ship and know absolutely that everything aboard had been found. If it had been up to Chen, he’d simply have waited until Zhuhai caught up with the American ship. Then there would have been no contest, no matter what weapons they had hidden aboard.

  Chen had followed the orders of the son because he feared the wrath of the father, but he’d heard the father countermand the son’s orders with his own ears. Now that he knew the father and son were not together, he wouldn’t be so quick to accept the son’s orders the next time. He dropped the fax into the document shredder and watched Matthew Connor’s face disappear into the steel blades. Dealing with the bogus “senior colonel” was another issue. For now, his number one goal was to erase the stain Matthew Connor had inflicted on his record.

  The radarman raised his hand. Chen hurried back to the surface radar station.

  “A sighting?”

  “Yes, Captain, briefly,” the man said. “We caught a glimpse of the ship at the western edge of the storm, then it disappeared.”

  “Can you estimate the speed of the ship?”

  “It’s difficult because it keeps falling off the scope, but the ship appears to be making around eight knots, sir.”

  Chen removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A small steel-hulled ship with four diesel engines should be able to make at least fifteen knots. The storm would slow it down to some extent, but not that much. So. The helicopter pilot’s report of torpedo damage to the stern of the ship on the port side had been accurate. Possibly the port screw. Compensating for that and running on the starboard screw would cut their speed by half, perhaps more. As soon as the storm lifted, Zhuhai would overtake them easily.

  “What’s the forecast?”

  “Storm’s moving eastward at approximately ten knots, Captain. It should lift by tomorrow morning.”

  “Stay on it. Call me as soon as you make contact.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chen walked back to the bridge. He was grateful that General Lao had countermanded Senior Colonel Lao’s orders to dispose of everyone aboard. He cared nothing for the others one way or the other, but killing Matthew Connor from the deck of a destroyer would be too easy. He looked forward to a face-to-face meeting with his former classmate. He had specialists aboard Zhuhai who were skilled in the art of extracting information from their enemies. Chen would enjoy watching the American be humiliated as he had been. He picked up his binoculars and looked east, to the dark storm clouds on the horizon that hid the barbarian ship and its troublesome captain. It was only a matter of time before he had him in his sights.

  Matt gripped the wheel of CoMar Explorer and blinked into the black haze, still fighting the reality of Jason’s death. Salt water burst into the pilothouse through the shattered window, searing his face and hands. He forced his eyes open and faced the punishing force of nature head-on. Pain offered the only relief for the guilt he felt. It had been his need for quick money that had gotten them into this mess. If he’d resisted, waited for a real job to come along, Jason would still be alive.

  And to top that one off, he’d done it all for nothing. There wasn’t going to be any reward money. Jason’s death proved what Gray Wolf and now Beth had been telling him. There really was a Chinese conspiracy to cripple the U.S. All he could do now was try to find a way to survive long enough to get the launch of that damned satellite stopped. What happened after that didn’t much matter.

  “I hate to say it, but doesn’t what’s happened prove what I was saying?” Beth said. She stood next to him, gripping an overhead I-beam, her thin figure swaying with the roll of the ship.

  Matt held his concentration on the pattern of the swells and braced himself for the next roll. She was right, but he was too damned angry to admit it.

  “You’re an escaped prisoner. Why wouldn’t they fire on us?”

  “Fire on us? They tried to sink us with a torpedo. You think they’d be trying to kill more than a dozen Americans if I were just an escaped prisoner?”

  “Life is cheap to the Chinese.”

  “You ever meet a stereotype you didn’t like?”

  “All stereotypes have some basis in fact. I guess you’ve never heard of Mousy Dung.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of Mao Tse-tung. I know his insane policies caused the deaths of millions of people. But he was an anomaly. The Chinese aren’t like that.”

  “Aren’t they?

  “I’m half-Chinese, you bastard. Open your eyes and look at me.”

  Matt looked up, startled. Beth was staring at him with a world of hurt in her eyes. “Sorry.”

  She sighed. “That reward my father is paying you must be something for you to rationalize like that. Do you think Beijing would risk an international incident over something as simple as one American prisoner escaping? Everyone on this ship has been contaminated with what I know. That’s the reason they’re trying to kill us. All of us.”

  “You’re making my point,” Matt said. “They’d even kill their own men.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean, their own men?”

  CoMar Explorer labored up a swell and hung on the crest of the wave as though suspended, her one good propeller spinning out of the water. Matt rotated the wheel to starboard in a futile attempt to regain control of the ship before she plunged into a black trough. He leaned forward and braced himself against the wheel. Tons of white water exploded from the bow, covering the pilothouse in a stinging spray. Water shot in through the open window, blinding him. He shook the water from his face.

  “We’ve got five men from the Zhuhai aboard. PLA marines.”

  Beth blinked water out of her eyes. “Five? I only saw one. Where are they?”

  “Locked in the brig and a forward compartment-”

  “What if we get hit with another torpedo?” Beth said. “What if the ship goes down in the storm?”

  That was a definite possibility. Matt was beginning to question his strategy of hiding in the storm. Even if he was successful in eluding Zhuhai, the storm was turning out to be more than he’d bargained for. The deeper he got into it, the worse it became.

  “They’re not my biggest problem right now.”

  “I agree, but you can’t keep anyone locked up in a situation like this. Another torpedo could come out of nowhere. There wouldn’t be time-”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re a little busy right now. If I let them out, I’d have to assign men to watch them. I don’t have anyone to spare.”

  “I’ll watch them,” Beth said. “I speak the language. I’ll talk to them, get them to promise to behave in exchange for their release.”
>
  Matt looked at her standing next to him, an aristocratic beauty with wet, stringy hair and an exposed navel, clinging to the I-beam with both hands, wearing too-short jeans and a soaked yellow sweatshirt. Her doe-eyed naïveté made something inside him crumble.

  “Don’t you do-gooders ever take a day off?”

  “Do-gooders?”

  “An earnest but naïve humanitarian.”

  “I know what it means. It’s cruel to leave them there, that’s all. They must be terrified. It’d be better to put them off in a boat.”

  “In a storm? What a great idea.”

  “At least they’d have a fighting chance.”

  The door to the pilothouse opened. Sam burst in through a blast of spray and leaned into the door to dog it closed. In his glossy black slicker, he looked like a walrus emerging from the sea.

  “Any luck, Sam?”

  “Yeah, all bad.” He shook out his slicker and wiped his face. “Those Chinese marines did a real number on the surface radar. Murph’s pretty good with that stuff, and he says there’s no way to fix it.”

  Matt shook his head, too frustrated to respond. Surface radar wouldn’t do them much good in the storm, but once the storm lifted they’d be flying blind without it. Just as they were now, they’d be the hunted with no way to track the hunter.

  “What about the radio?”

  “Same story. Both Murph and Andy went over it. Smashed with rifle butts, including some circuit boards and diodes, critical stuff. Hopeless.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Matt said. “They wrecked every piece of navigation and communication equipment we had.”

  “Kinda funny,” Sam said. “Now they need it as much as we do. Serve ‘em right if the ship goes down.”

  “I don’t care what they did,” Beth said. “You can’t just leave them locked up in weather like this.”

  “Watch me.”

  Charles Shen blew into the pilothouse with a plate of food covered with plastic wrap. Traveller darted in behind him.

  “Here you go, Matt.”

  “What is it?”

  “The only thing I know how to cook. White rice and pinto beans. I made enough for the whole crew. If you dous it with hot sauce, it’s not too bad.”

  “How’s Francisco?”

  “Sick as a dog. Strapped in his rack, keeps begging for somebody to shoot him.”

  Matt laughed. It sounded out of place. He was running on pure adrenaline, the exhilaration of combat. Other than target practice he’d never fired a shot during his naval career, but it had been combat nevertheless. He missed it. It was a feeling he thought he’d never have again.

  “If that destroyer catches up with us, he just might get his wish.” Traveller sniffed Matt’s legs, shook himself off, and settled down in the corner. “How about Trav? He had anything to eat?”

  “I gave him some dry stuff I found in the galley,” Charlie said, “but he didn’t eat much.”

  “He never does when it’s rough.”

  “He’s got a lot of company there,” Charlie said.

  Sam walked over. “Let me take the helm while you eat, Skipper.”

  “I’m okay,” Matt said.

  “You sure? You’ve been on your feet all day.”

  “It’s not as bad as it was. I finally got the hang of compensating for that port screw.”

  Sam looked out the window. “Weather isn’t getting any better.”

  “That’s the bad news,” Matt said. “The good news is, it’ll be tougher to find us in this stuff.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  They cruised without talking for a few minutes, each compensating for the roll of the ship in his own way. The distant crack of naval gunfire split the air, a whistling, thundering sound, coming closer. A shell exploded into the side of a wave thirty yards off the starboard bow. Matt’s stomach knotted.

  “That’s got to be the Zhuhai. All hands, emergency stations. Take the helm, Sam.” He picked up a pair of binoculars and looked in the direction the shell had come from. He adjusted the focus. A signal light blinked on the horizon, a faint glimmer through the black haze.

  “See anything?” Sam said, fighting the wheel.

  “Just a light, but they can see us.”

  “What kind of light?”

  “They’re sending us a message.”

  “What is it?”

  “Heave-to-or-I-will-fire,” Matt said. “I don’t get it. Last time they wanted to sink us. Now it looks like they want to board us.”

  “Maybe the helicopter pilot got his orders wrong,” Sam said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe that Stinger missile’s holding them back,” Charlie said. “Maybe they don’t want to get close enough to sink us.”

  “They’re not worried about any weapons we might have,” Matt said. “They could sink us with one of their missiles from where they stand, and we wouldn’t even know what hit us.”

  “So what changed?” Beth said.

  Matt didn’t answer. The only reason they’d want to board is to take prisoners. He watched the Zhuhai emerge from the black wall on the horizon, signal light flashing. Crashing through the waves at flank speed, she repeated the message: “Heave-to-or-I-will-fire.”

  They stood in silence and watched the ship approach. Matt saw a flash of light and heard the clap of naval gunfire. Another whistling sound crackled across the bow. The shell exploded harmlessly twenty yards off. Closer now. It was Captain Chen’s way of telling him he could put the next one anywhere he wanted. The Naval Academy had taught him well. Matt cranked the engine-order telegraph to All Stop.

  “What are you doing?” Beth said as if coming out of a trance.

  “The only thing we can do,” Matt said.

  The engine room phone rang. Matt picked it up. “What is it, Scootchy?”

  “What the hell’s going on up there?”

  “We just took a shot across the bow. What do you think?” Matt slammed the phone back into its bracket. He picked up the binoculars and watched the Chinese destroyer cut its engines and drift into position. It stood off about 400 yards, heaving violently, guns trained on the bridge. The signal light began blinking a new message.

  “What are they saying?” Beth said.

  “Maintain-radio-silence. Follow-me. Use-maximum-speed.”

  “Follow them? Why?”

  “It’s too rough to board. Too dangerous. They want to take us into calmer waters.”

  “How do they know where that is?”

  “They’ve got weather experts tracking the storm. They’ll know the direction it’s moving, where the edge is. Probably not too far from here.”

  Matt rang up All Ahead Full and spun the wheel to starboard. He picked up the hand-held signal light and flashed, “Port-screw-damaged. Max-speed-eight-knots. I-will-follow-you.” Then he heaved a sigh and faced the others.

  “Listen to me. We’ve got a few hours to think this through. If anybody’s got any ideas, now’s the time.”

  “Can’t you radio for help?” Beth said.

  Matt shook his head. “I put out a Mayday call on channel twenty-one on Sergeant Li’s radio right after we took that helicopter out and got no response. It’s got a limited range, I doubt if anyone heard it.”

  “How about we make a run for it,” Charlie said. “Try to hide in the storm again. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “They sink us, and we all go down,” Matt said.

  “We got Kalashnikovs and Stinger missiles and RPGs,” Sam said.

  “Against a destroyer?” Matt said.

  “We can go down fighting.”

  “Going down won’t prove anything,” Matt said. “You can’t fight when you’re dead.”

  “What kind of fighting did you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said. “All I do know is that Beth has something important to say, and we’ve got to be around to help her say it.”

  Beth stared at Matt. “When did you come to that conclusion?”
/>   “The minute that helicopter opened fire.”

  “Why, you . . . Why did you put me through all that?”

  “Not easy to say you’re wrong, especially when you want to be right.”

  The door opened, and Scootchy burst into the pilothouse. He pointed to Beth. “She’s the one they want. Let ‘em have her. Give her up.”

  “Nobody’s giving anybody up,” Matt said.

  “He’s right,” Beth said. “Send them a message, see if they’ll settle for me. If they will, they’ll probably let the rest of you go.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “She’s talking sense,” Scootchy said. “See if they’ll take her, let the rest of us go. I ain’t looking to spend the rest of my days sitting in prison with a bunch of gooks.”

  “You might like it,” Charlie said. “Might improve your intellect.”

  “Knock it off,” Matt said. “That’s not an option. For me or the Chinese.”

  “Why not?” Scootchy said.

  “In the first place, I wouldn’t do it. In the second place, the Chinese have to assume everyone on this ship knows what Beth knows. They aren’t about to let anybody go.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Scootchy said. “You mean you’re just going to let ‘em take us?”

  “We don’t have a choice. Now get back down in the engine room and do your job.”

  Matt keyed the microphone on the ship’s PA system and briefed the crew on what was happening. One by one, crew members drifted up on the bridge to peer at the Chinese destroyer plowing through the sea ahead of them and commiserate with each other. Matt made it a point to apologize to each member of the crew for getting them into this. With the exception of Scootchy, they all said they were okay with it, they’d signed on for whatever, but it didn’t help.

  As exhausted as he was, Matt stayed at the helm. Beth, Sam, and Charlie stayed on the bridge with him. They moved in grim silence, following in Zhuhai’s wake, her aft thirty-seven-millimeter guns trained on the bridge. Where were they being taken? Why? Clearly, they didn’t intend to kill them, at least not yet. Captain Chen could have done that without them ever knowing what hit them. Whatever the reason for the reprieve, it could only be good for Matt and his crew. Every hour they were alive was a chance to get away, try to find a way to stop this madness.