Autumn Assassins: [#3] A Special Operations Group Thriller

by Stephen Templin

  “Right away, sir,” the operations officer said. “And may I say it is an honor to continue serving with you.”

  “I know,” Zhao said confidently.

  The ops officer briskly departed the warehouse, but the XO remained.

  “Something on your mind, Wei?” Zhao asked, calling him by his given name. They’d known each other since their first years in navy special operations. Both had similar ideas about how China’s commandos should be employed, and they’d been close friends ever since.

  “You know about the man who was captured at Gang Fang’s party?” Wei said.

  “Yes, I read the message. Hank something. Gang Fang had him interrogated to find out who he was and what information he might’ve seen.”

  “He escaped.”

  “Swell,” Zhao said.

  “What would you like me to do?”

  “That’s behind us now,” Zhao said. “Prepare for Yokosuka.”

  “Will do.”

  Zhao and Wei departed the warehouse together and boarded their boat, a large Japanese fishing trawler tied to the pier. As Zhao checked on his equipment, he noticed that his operations officer wasn’t around. Something didn’t seem right. He could send his XO to investigate, but if this turned out to be a serious problem, Zhao wanted to handle it personally.

  He exited the boat and searched the docks in a fifty-meter radius but didn’t find him. When he increased the radius to a hundred meters, he heard something in the direction of the stacks of massive metal storage crates. He stalked through the maze of crates. As he neared the noise, he recognized the hushed voice of his operations officer. Creeping closer still, there was only the sound of his ops officer. Rather than show himself, Zhao stood still and listened.

  “I know this isn’t a secure line, but this is an emergency, and I can’t wait until I have access to a secure line,” the ops officer said. “Tell Beijing that Commander Zhao Ye has gone rogue and is about to launch Operation Autumn Wind. Part of the operation requires aerosol anthrax—Zhao must be the one who stole it. Right now he’s making final preparations to sail to Yokosuka, Japan. I texted you but received no answer. I need to know what to do.”

  It wasn’t necessary for Zhao to hear more. He stepped out from around the crate.

  The ops officer jerked around. When his eyes met Zhao’s, he exclaimed, “Zhao!?”

  Zhao stared through him as if he was nothing and spoke through him as well. “Surprised to see me?”

  “I-I-I …”

  Zhao raised Chairman Mao and squeezed the trigger twice, both shots striking the ops officer in the chest. He fell, dropping his iPhone. Zhao strolled over to him, picked up the phone, and listened.

  “Can you confirm that he has the stolen anthrax?” a voice asked on the other end.

  Zhao kept quiet.

  “Hello? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is not okay,” Zhao said.

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Commander Zhao Ye. Who am I speaking to?”

  A man cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m the chief communications officer.”

  “Chief communications officer of what?” Zhao asked.

  There was no response.

  “Communicate this,” Zhao said. “All my life, I’ve waited for the great war. Now it begins.” He threw the iPhone toward the ocean, but it struck something hard and shattered before it reached water.

  The ops officer was still alive, barely. His face covered in sweat, he held his hand to his chest and struggled to roll over. Now he was simply an inconvenience. Rather than waste another bullet on the traitor, Zhao left him there to bleed out.

  13

  The following day, inside the secure conference room at the US embassy in Hanoi, Max, Tom, and June sifted through intelligence data and analyses in order to find out more about the missing anthrax. Max’s cell phone vibrated. He took it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Young Park calling from a secure line at the joint CIA-NSA’s Special Collection Service in Maryland.

  Max answered. “What’s up, buddy?”

  Young’s voice overflowed with excitement. “You’re going to love this.”

  “You sound like you just won the lottery,” Max said. Tom and June seemed interested, so he put Young on speakerphone.

  “Better.” His tone became hyper professional. “Since the anthrax was stolen, we’ve been flagging all communication intercepts in all languages containing the word ‘anthrax.’ Last night, we intercepted a call from Shanghai to Beijing. On the phone was a People’s Liberation Army officer named Zhao Ye. The Chinese government thinks he’s gone rogue and launched Operation Autumn Wind. Part of that operation requires the use of aerosolized anthrax.”

  “Can you tell us more about Autumn Wind?” Max asked.

  “We haven’t been able to find anything more about it yet, but Zhao and his executive officer, Wei Wuyang, departed for Yokosuka, Japan.”

  “Well it isn’t a jackpot,” Max said, “but it’ll do until the jackpot comes. Any details on why he’s going to Yokosuka?”

  “No, but we’re working on it. Around the clock,” he added proudly.

  “Awesome.”

  “Is Tomahawk there?” Young asked.

  “Right here, brother,” Tom answered.

  “When are you guys going to come check out my new house and new pool table?” Young asked.

  “After we find that missing anthrax,” Max said.

  “Roger,” Young said.

  “Later,” Max said.

  “Later,” Young said before hanging up.

  June cleared her throat as if she wasn’t comfortable speaking up. “Who was that?”

  “Young,” Max said. “Tom and I worked with him in western Iraq as part of a joint task force. Syrians were smuggling hundreds of terrorists and their IEDs across the border into Iraq, and our job was to shut them down. Young hacked into their smartphones, laptops, and anything else that sent or received some kind of signal. If the tangos had used smoke signals, Young and his minions would’ve found a way to hack them.”

  “Young Park,” June said.

  “You know him?” Tom asked.

  “Know of him,” June said. “He was captured by terrorists and lost an arm. A day or so later, he was rescued. Soon he went back to work gathering intel for the Agency.”

  “Young’s capture was a couple years before we arrived,” Tom said. “He helped us capture and kill a lot of tangos—he’s the best.”

  “But the president, in his infinite wisdom,” Max said sarcastically, “pulled us and the other troops out of Iraq.” Talking about the withdrawal left an acid taste in his mouth, and he was eager to change the subject.

  Tom’s face soured. “Soon ISIS took over, and now our guys have to spill more blood to take back the same ground.”

  “I’m sorry,” June said. “Young is a legend in our community.”

  “He’s a friggin’ national treasure,” Max said.

  June’s voice perked up. “Young mentioned a Chinese PLA officer named Zhao Ye—I have a file on him.”

  The brothers leaned toward her. “Where?”

  “I’ll get it,” June said. She left them and minutes later she returned with a red folder.

  Max took it from her and opened it. Tom looked over his shoulder. “People’s Liberation Army Ground Force—PLAGF,” Max read aloud. “Special Operations Forces.”

  “June, you wrote these reports,” Tom said, flashing her a warm, brotherly smile.

  She smiled happily but squirmed as if uncomfortable receiving recognition.

  Max continued to read from a paper in the folder. “Says here that Zhao was assigned to a special operations unit in Guangzhou.”

  “Codenamed South Blade,” June explained. “In 2000, South Blade became the first sea, air, and land–capable unit, similar to America’s Navy SEALs.”

  Tom picked up the file and flipped through it, searching for something. “There’s no picture in here for this guy. W
here’s his picture?”

  “There isn’t one,” June said. “Nobody has ever taken his photograph.”

  “How’d you obtain all this?” Tom asked kindly.

  “He first came to our knowledge when I met him in Beijing at a party for his father, who was officially promoted to major general. We knew about Zhao’s father, but we didn’t know he had a son. My father was a general, too, so Zhao and I had something in common to talk about.”

  “What exactly did you two discuss?” Tom asked.

  “We talked about growing up and having to move around from place to place,” June said, “following our fathers to each new command. Always being the new kid at school, never fitting in. Zhao told me that the experience of being a general’s son made him stronger. I told him that I didn’t think being a general’s daughter made me stronger. My father retired as a brigadier general, one rank below his father. My father regretted never being able to put on that next star. He regretted that I didn’t join the military. And I think he regretted I wasn’t a boy.”

  “Anything else?” Max asked.

  “Since the party, Zhao’s father was promoted again,” June said. “It’s all in the file.”

  “Can you summarize what else is in the file?” Tom asked.

  “Zhao said that he’s a history buff,” June said. “He described himself as a romantic warrior, lost without a war. Someone at the party said that Zhao doesn’t believe in Buddhism or other religions, but he does believe in reincarnation.”

  “So maybe Zhao is our man,” Tom said.

  “We should take a trip to Yokosuka,” Max said.

  “Tokyo is the largest metropolitan area in the world,” Tom said. “That would be the target-richest environment for killing civilians.”

  “If he’s heading to Yokosuka, he could be planning to strike the US Navy base there,” Max said.

  “It’s going to be hard to find this guy in a big city like Yokosuka,” Tom said, “and nearly impossible if we don’t have his photo.”

  “Maybe June can come with us to Japan,” Max said.

  Tom agreed. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  June shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re the only one who has seen Zhao, and you know a lot about him,” Max said. “We need you to help us find him.”

  June was quiet for a moment before saying, “I’m running an agent here in Hanoi. He feeds me regular intel. I can’t just leave.”

  “This is your first duty station, isn’t it?” Max asked.

  “Yes,” June said.

  “You were probably assigned to run an agent who a previous case officer recruited. An agent who provides steady, low-level intel. Part of this agent’s responsibility is breaking in new case officers like you.”

  “I guess,” June said.

  “Your agent can report to another one of the case officers here in Hanoi while you’re gone. Your agent wants to keep getting paid, so he’ll keep doing his job. You can bring him back a souvenir from Japan.”

  “I don’t know,” June said. “I’m just a newbie.”

  Max smiled politely. “I can talk to your chief about letting you go with us.”

  June looked down and made squirrely movements with her hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I could.”

  Max abruptly changed the subject. “I’m getting hungry,” he said. “Is there a good Vietnamese restaurant nearby?”

  June chuckled. “Yes, of course. We’re in Vietnam.”

  “We should go to a Vietnamese restaurant for lunch.”

  Her lips stretched into a smile. “Sure.”

  “Just the two of us.”

  “What about Tom?” June asked.

  Max drilled his eyes into Tom and lied. “Tom told me that today he wants to eat somewhere else for lunch—not Vietnamese. Alone.”

  June looked at Tom as if soliciting approval.

  Tom grinned.

  June locked up the Zhao folder before they broke for lunch, and she and Max left the embassy compound ahead of Tom.

  Tom mumbled out of range of June, but Max heard him. “Poor girl.”

  14

  Nearly five hours later, it was early evening when they touched down in Atsugi, Japan, at the US Navy’s largest air base in the Pacific Ocean, an hour’s drive from Yokosuka. They disembarked the plane, and a sharply dressed female officer welcomed them. “Good evening, I’m Lieutenant Morris. I’ll take you to your quarters on base.” She escorted them to a white Navy van that shuttled them from the tarmac and off base. The officer was professional and didn’t engage in small talk, which made for a relaxing journey.

  This was Max’s first time in Japan. As they rode through the streets, he made a mental reminder that they drove on the left side of the road, and the local drivers sat behind the steering wheel on the opposite side of the vehicle. The drivers seemed to follow traffic laws more like those in the US, in contrast to the chaotic streets of Hanoi. The cars and buildings in Japan seemed newer and less faded than those in Hanoi. Although Max liked the Wild West feel of Hanoi, he welcomed the efficiency and modernity he was seeing in Japan. Even so, it took an hour to travel just fifteen kilometers, and the van arrived at the gate of the United States Fleet Activities Yokosuka. The sentry waved them through, and the van took them to the opposite end where the Navy Lodge stood.

  After checking in at the lodge and stowing their gear, Lieutenant Morris took the threesome off base for dinner at a nearby restaurant called Sushiro. Inside was a sushi-go-round restaurant.

  They sat in one of the booths situated at right angles to a conveyor belt that rotated around the center of the room with plates of sushi on it. A waitress took orders for drinks, and Max was the only one who ordered alcohol—sake.

  Max, Tom, June, and Lieutenant Morris snatched plates before the sushi passed their table: yellowtail, snapper, white fish, eel, shrimp, salmon, and tuna. There were less exotic items, too, like chicken and French fries. The plates were different colors and designs, matching the plates and prices on a sign above them. Max most enjoyed the rich taste of the fatty tuna and how the cold fish seemed to melt in his warm mouth. At roughly three dollars for one piece, it was double the price of the regular tuna. When another plate of fatty tuna came around on the conveyor belt, Max was slow to grab it and it passed their table.

  Tom noticed Max’s fail and smiled.

  “I’ll get it when it comes back around,” Max said. The fatty tuna traveled away. Two tables over, a sumo-sized dude grabbed it. Max frowned.

  Tom chuckled.

  A bowl of ramen appeared, and June grabbed quickly before it passed her by. As she snatched it off the conveyor belt, she almost spilled broth on herself.

  Max looked ahead on the conveyor belt to see what was coming and spotted a fatty tuna. Nobody took it, so when it neared his table, he snatched it. He glanced over at Sumo-size, and he seemed disappointed.

  Lieutenant Morris swallowed a bite of fried eggplant. “Admiral Earp understands that our naval base here is in possible danger. And that you three are here to help prevent the threat.”

  “When might we be able to meet with him?” Max asked.

  “Tomorrow morning at 0900, I’ll pick up the three of you and drive you to meet with him. He has some questions.”

  “Great,” Max said.

  Soon empty stacks of plates stood in front of each of them. For dessert, they ate cheesecake, chocolate cake, ice cream, and frozen mango. Tom finished first and was checking his phone when he said, “It’s a message from Dad!”

  Max examined his phone and found an encrypted e-mail. “Me, too!”

  Tom read the message to the group. “Max and Tom, I’m feeling better, and the doctor says my condition has improved, but he says it’ll still be a couple weeks before they’ll let me out of here. Thanks for picking up my work where I left off. Stay safe. Love, Dad.”

  Max and Tom typed their replies.

  Lieutenant Morris asked, “You two are brothers?”

/>   “Yes,” they said in unison, then laughed. The dinner was tasty fun, but it was so much better knowing that their father was okay.

  “I’m happy to hear he’s fine,” June said.

  “Thanks,” Tom said.

  When they finished, Max asked for the check. The waitress didn’t flinch at hearing English and produced a pad from her apron. With the US base so close, she was probably accustomed to hearing English. She counted the plates on their table and tallied them on her paper. When she extended the check, Lieutenant Morris grabbed it. “Compliments of the Navy,” she said with a smile.

  Max and June thanked her.

  Tom flashed a childlike grin and gave a fist pump. “Go Navy.” He’d often given Max crap about being Navy, and now he was doing it again with his deceptive grin and fake cheer. Lieutenant Morris and June didn’t seem to pick up on it.

  Max just shook his head and mumbled, “Army bastard.”

  While Lieutenant Morris took them back to the hotel, Max, Tom, and June briefly discussed what they’d say to the admiral in the morning. Inside the hotel, June retired to her room, and Max and Tom went to their room next door.

  After locking the door, Max stripped down to his shorts, lay in his bed, and took command of the TV’s remote control. He flipped channels looking for something to watch.

  Tom plopped in his bed and looked like he was asleep.

  Max continued to flip channels, but when he saw a scantily clad woman, he stopped flipping. Minutes later, a dude joined her, and soon they commenced to moan and groan.

  Tom turned over in bed and saw the couple in the act. He wasn’t asleep. “What are you watching?” he asked.

  “Go back to sleep.”

  “I can’t with all that racket. What are you watching?”

  Max didn’t know what the show was called. “TV,” he said.

  “I guessed that. What’s on the TV?”

  Max pressed the guide button on the remote and read the information that showed up on the TV screen. “It’s a Disney show,” he said dismissively.

  Tom frowned. “That isn’t the Disney Channel.”

  The hooting and hollering persisted from the TV. “It’s a Disney show on late-night cable.”

  “It’s not a Disney show,” Tom insisted.

  “It’s a classic—Booty and the Beast.”