Dangerous Grounds

by Don Keith

  "Welcome aboard the Hong Chian, Mullah Nurizam," Lee Dawn Shun said as she gave a slight bow. "The vessel’s name means ‘wind traveler’ in Cantonese."

  The woman was short, barely five feet tall, with jet-black hair and almond eyes. Her yellow rain slicker and hat afforded her some protection from the driving rainstorm but it hid any hint of her body. Nurizam couldn't resist thinking that a good Muslim woman would have hidden her face as well. But then again, a good Muslim woman wouldn't be the head of a major heroin operation. That was a job for a man. Still, it was hardly his intent to preach to this woman. Her value to him and his cause was far too great to risk offense.

  “Thank you,” he said and politely returned the bow.

  "Come below. My crew will show you to a cabin and provide some dry clothes for you. We sail in a few minutes. We will talk later."

  Nurizam gave her a quizzical look. Her message summoning him to Rangoon had not mentioned a sailing trip. In fact, the rather perfunctory communication had merely stated that she wished to talk to him “about business,” and told him where to find the junk. He had assumed that she had questions about the sixty million dollars for which he was asking, and that the discussion would take place there in the harbor.

  Lee Dawn Shun did not miss his questioning expression.

  "There are fewer eyes and ears out there in the Andaman Sea. Better to take a few precautions for our discussion, do you not think?"

  She didn't wait for an answer but turned and disappeared into what appeared to be the captain's cabin beneath the high poop deck. Nurizam, still a bit cautious, followed a beckoning crewman down a broad wooden ladder to the deck below. It was a gamble to come here alone, without benefit of his perpetually present bodyguards. It was an even bigger risk to have the boat sail from this spot and go off to who knows where. It was a risk he would have to take. Besides, the Chinese woman had proven trustworthy in their dealings so far. They each needed the other. It was a basis for a good business arrangement.

  Nurizam was impressed with what he saw of the boat once they were below decks. Despite its somewhat primitive appearance above, down here the junk was modern. He could feel the faint vibration of a powerful diesel engine somewhere under his feet. The teak-paneled passageway reflected the soft indirect lighting with a warm golden glow. The deck was covered with a deep-pile maroon carpet. They passed heavy, solid doors to three other cabins before the crewman stopped and opened the door at the after end of the passageway.

  The large cabin encompassed the entire stern of the ship. Nurizam glanced around quickly. A huge, king-size bed dominated the space, with a small sitting area to one side. The rear bulkhead was mostly glass, looking out to the sea a few feet below. Rangoon's waterfront disappeared astern, nearly lost in the dense rain.

  Someone had laid out dry clothes on the bed for Nurizam. Once he dressed in the khaki pants and blue polo shirt, he would look just like the rest of the crew. Then it was time for prayers. He unfolded his rug and guessed the direction of Mecca.

  The Hong Chian was an hour out into the Andaman Sea when the crewman came to escort Nurizam to Lee Dawn Shun's cabin. He could feel the ship pitch gently as it met the swell of the open sea. Large red sails spread between spars on each of the three masts. With the monsoon on-shore breeze, the big boat was making slow work of beating upwind.

  Nurizam wondered why the crew was putting all the effort into sailing the ship, using the wind to drive her, when the diesels would make short work of pushing them away from the coast. He was much more familiar with the power boats his men used, but from his limited sailing knowledge, Nurizam guessed the crew would need to tack the ungainly ship every thirty minutes or so. The junk's lug rig meant that the whole maneuver could be accomplished by manipulating lines on the main deck. No one needed to scurry up the masts like the old square-rigged sailing ships, but still, the sails required constant attention. The diesel engine could be put in gear and forgotten.

  Nurizam was still pondering the question when Lee Dawn Shun opened the door to her cabin. The raincoat and hat were gone. She wore a bright red tunic with a high Mandarin collar and black trousers. The tunic was decorated with gold and black dragons intertwined in fantastic patterns across the front. It was expertly tailored to accentuate her slim figure. The fine silk shimmered in the golden backlighting from the cabin. She was, indeed, a strikingly beautiful woman.

  "Good evening, Mullah," she said. Her voice was soft and melodious. Nurizam thought of the songbirds that serenaded his camp in the Philippine jungle. "I thought we might have a light dinner while we discussed our mutual interests."

  Nurizam held back. This was not proper. An Iman did not eat with an infidel woman. Especially alone. This was different, though. This lovely, petite woman controlled the money that he and his followers needed. How could he resolve this impasse?

  Lee Dawn Shun seemed to read his thoughts.

  "I have asked my financial officer to dine with us." She stepped back into the cabin and waved toward a small, dark man who was standing there. "May I introduce Sun Rey. He knows all the details of our discussion, so do not be reticent to speak freely in his presence."

  Rey wore a dark pinstriped suit and a red-and-blue-striped club tie. He looked as if he would be much more at home in one of the giant banking institutions of Singapore than here on some Chinese junk. The financial officer bowed slightly toward the cleric but remained silent.

  This cabin was even larger than the one Nurizam had been assigned. The furnishings also struck him. He could have just stepped into a Ming Emperor's private dining room in the Hidden City. The furniture was richly carved rosewood with brass, jade, and mother of pearl adornments. The deep patina could only have come from centuries of care. Hand-loomed Chinese carpets lay deep on the deck. Plush silk cushions were piled around a low table laden with lacquered dishes. The aroma of rich food filled the cabin. That reminded Nurizam that he had not eaten since early that morning. He hoped his hosts could not hear the rumbling of his stomach.

  Lee Dawn Shun escorted him into the cabin, explaining, "My family can trace its origins back though a thousand years of Chinese history. There is much tradition in such a heritage. I prefer many of the ancient traditions. They give me a tie back to my ancestors. Do you not find that a connection with your personal history gives you strength? Almost as if your ancestors are there, waiting to help you in your endeavors?"

  Nurizam thought he understood but her statement also raised an anomaly. After all, she was paying him to help her destroy her father's heroin trade. There was more to it than a simple, ruthless business competition. Her father, Sui Kia Shun, had thrown her out of the family, not just the family business, following a failed venture a few years before. A failed venture that had been blamed on her. Lee Dawn Shun was raised in a traditional Chinese family with all its sense of familial duties and obligations, but also with its support and camaraderie. All that was lost to her now. Old ways and ancient artifacts must be her substitute, he decided.

  The boat heeled noticeably as the vessel tacked. That reliance on the old ways might explain, as well, why they were under sail instead of using the engines.

  "I find my strength in Allah,” Nurizam said, answering her question. “He is there to advise me and to give me the power to defeat those who would destroy our ways."

  Lee Dawn Shun nodded distractedly.

  "Of course, of course. Now come, let us eat and discuss our business."

  She led the mullah to the low table. Nurizam sat on the cushions and folded his legs beneath him. Sun Rey sat to his right. Lee Dawn Shun chose the position directly across from him. She poured green tea into exquisitely thin porcelain cups then passed one to Nurizam and another to Sun Rey before pouring one for herself. She sipped delicately and placed the cup on a tiny saucer.

  "You have requested a great deal of money from us," she said directly, turning the discussion to business without even a hint of subtlety.

  "It is for the defeat of the American inf
idel,” Nurizam murmured. “They pollute our culture and prevent our rightful establishment of an Islamic state. With this money, we will…."

  Shun raised her hand to interrupt him.

  "With all due respect, I do not want to know what you will use the money for. Nor do I care. It would be better to keep that secret yourself. You must remember; the Americans are my best customers. Their insatiable appetite for chemical happiness brings us our profits."

  Sun Rey chuckled as he stepped in to complete his boss’s thought.

  "What Shun says is quite true, and very handsome profits they are. As we gain a larger market segment from our chief competitor, we will be able to better control the price to raise our profit margin even higher." The financier might just as well have been talking about exporting textiles or dinnerware instead of narcotics. He grasped a dim sum with his long chopsticks and nibbled on it as the woman picked up the discussion.

  "Sun Rey has succinctly outlined our objectives," Shun continued. "We are not interested in politics or religion, other than where it overlaps with our business ventures. We are not zealots, Mullah. Other than for profits, of course. In exchange for our investment in your cause, we will require a return. Since it is a very high-risk investment, we will expect an equally high rate of return. Business, you understand."

  Nurizam nodded. This was to be expected. These people were not of the faith. They were infidels, too. He knew that from the beginning. He still had to remind himself of that difference, though. Lee Dawn Shun would only help the Abu Sayuff movement so long as it also served her own mercenary purposes. That was fine. He would pay, so long as the price was not too high and it would garner enough cash to buy Colonel Chung's nuclear weapons. Or, at least, he would promise to pay a high price.

  "We will require repayment in two forms," Lee Dawn Shun continued. "For the sake of our accountant here, we’ll discuss them in monetary terms." She nodded toward Sun Rey, who smiled slightly. "Let's call them interest payments on the near term and principal repayment on the long."

  Nurizam looked at her questioningly. The discussion was taking an odd turn. He wondered where it would lead.

  "You must realize that our financial assets are very limited right now, and dedicated toward the cause,” the radical cleric said. “We will not have any money to make interest payments until we are victorious."

  "We understand," Shun answered with a dark smile. "Please understand, I am talking about money only in the metaphorical sense. Repayment for our investment will be in the form of services rendered, not cash. As you know, my organization is attempting to establish itself as the dominant player in our market.” She paused to take a sip of her tea. “The current dominant player has grown old and tired. He is ripe for the plucking. I will require your forces to work with us in this matter."

  It was clear to Nurizam now. He knew what his purpose, what the purpose of his cause, would be in this transaction.

  Sabul u Nurizam and the Abu Sayuff would be the sword that Lee Dawn Shun would use to slash the life out of her father.

  Ellen Ward stepped out of the air-conditioned terminal into the sweltering heat and humidity of Bangkok. The long flight was over, finally. Twenty-three hours in the air since she and her students had left Norfolk. Of course the airline had lost her bags. That was par for the course. And her neck was stiff from gazing out the window over a good portion of the Pacific, trying to pick out Guam from the occasional islands they passed over. That was where her only child was, joining up with his submarine for his own summer tour, but she had not been able to see anything she thought might be the speck of an island in the vast, blue-green ocean.

  She was exhausted, her teeth felt gritty and she needed a bath, but that would have to wait a bit.

  Now where was Roger Sindhlan? He was supposed to meet them at the airport but there was no sign of the botanist yet. Ellen had not seen the man since they completed their doctorates together twenty years before. She couldn’t help wondering if he had changed much. She remembered a short, swarthy, dark young man whose Oxford accent and punctilious manners reminded Ellen of the British Raj. So very different from Jon Ward, the tall, slim, blonde submarine sailor she had married.

  She wiped her forehead with her handkerchief as she wondered why she had just compared her old lab partner to her husband. She had never thought romantically of Sindhlan before. She smiled. Must just be the random hormones of a middle-aged woman.

  She looked around and tried to pick her students out of the busy crowd. Better get the kids rounded up before they scattered all over Southeast Asia. Then she would have to explain to the dean how she lost her charges on the first day of the study tour.

  Ellen had just about collared all of them and their mountain of luggage and piled them all in one spot along the curb when a modern, dark-blue touring bus pulled to a stop in front of them. Ellen couldn't see anything through the dark, smoked-glass windows. There wasn't any name on the sides to identify it either. Probably for someone else. Professor Sindhlan hadn't mentioned any touring bus during their several trans-Pacific conversations arranging this tour. Only that they would enter Thailand at Bangkok and he would arrange further transport to upcountry.

  The bus squatted down like some bedding animal so that its access was at sidewalk level. The door slid open with a hiss of compressed air and a dapper man wearing a white linen suit and bright green open-collar shirt hopped out. He smiled broadly at her and stepped closer.

  "Ellen!" he said as he swept her up in a hug. "It's so good to see you after so long. You haven't changed a bit."

  Ellen Ward had no choice but to return the embrace. She chuckled.

  “You're either lying or blind, Roger, but thank you anyway. Now, you truly haven't changed. Still trying to turn a girl's head."

  Sindhlan released her from the embrace but held her at arm’s length as he looked into her face.

  "I have a little less hair, for sure. But you…” He let her go and took in the gaggle of young people gathered around their luggage, most of them still with their ever-present earphones in place, listening to some kind of hissing, banging music that escaped around the edges. “So, anyway, let's get your students aboard. Our plane is waiting over at the general aviation terminal. We're off on the grand adventure as soon as we can get over there."

  "One small problem. My bags," Ellen said. "They didn't make this flight. We'll have to get them somehow."

  Sindhlan waved away the problem, just as he once had any sort of worry or bother at school. He had a knack for always being in control. Just like her Jon in that way, Ellen thought.

  "Don't worry. I'll have them delivered. They'll be in your room this evening. Come on, let's go. I have arranged the most marvelous tour to begin your stay.”

  “Tour? But I thought…”

  “Yes. We will be the guests of my current benefactor. He is an enormously wealthy Chinese businessman. We'll be flying upcountry in his private Gulfstream.” He pointed to the mound of luggage. Two men materialized from nowhere and began loading it into the bus’s lower compartment. “You’ll love meeting him, Ellen. He owns huge plantations in both Malaysia and Thailand.” Sindhlan waved the students up the short steps into the bus. “He’s an orchid fanatic. He hired me to catalog all the species native to his land. I've found over a thousand so far. Six of them have never been identified before.” With a hand in the small of Ellen’s back, he guided her up into the cool air conditioning of the tour bus, and then he followed her closely up the steps. “You'll love him, Ellen. He’s a real gentleman. His name is Sui Kia Shun.”

  9

  "You've got to be kidding!" President Adolphus Brown exclaimed in disbelief. "Let me get this straight. You're proposing I okay our personnel invading a sovereign country. And one that's not particularly friendly, either."

  The briefing room, in the fourth basement under the West Wing of the White House, resembled any high-level executive conference room. The recessed indirect lighting reflected the dark walnut wainscot
ing and beige fabric wall covering. A pair of Monet prints added a bit of color to the long wall behind the President.

  This room was a bit different from the average office-suite conference room though. When the heavy wooden doors were shut, it was totally isolated from the outside world. No sound wave or stray electron penetrated the sophisticated security barrier that protected its occupants from even the most advanced attempt at surveillance. The NSA engineers had used every trick, down to routing the room’s electrical power through a series of isolation transformers, just in case someone came up with a new way of tapping the room through those lines. This was a place intended for use when the most secret and sensitive decisions had to be discussed.

  Dr. Samuel Kinnowitz sat across the conference table. He looked the President directly in the eye when he answered his rather pointed question.

  "Yes, sir, Mr. President. It would definitely be considered an act of war if the team were detected. Even bringing the sub in close enough to deploy and retrieve them in their territorial waters would be an act of war."

  "Sam, are you telling me that there's no other way? That with all that hardware we have orbiting around up there, we can’t spot nuclear weapons in North Korea?" President Brown asked. His jaw was clenched tightly as he looked around the table at the others who were assembled there. If the press had even an inkling that these people were all gathered in one place at the same time like this, the vultures would have themselves a field day, speculating on the possibilities and manufacturing their own wild theories about what might be going on. Even then, they would likely never guess the nature or the magnitude of the crisis that led to this meeting. Dr. Kinnowitz had gathered the heads of all the various intelligence and homeland security agencies for the job of briefing President Brown about the apparent North Korean nuclear threat. Now they had to come up with a way to verify and counter its existence.