by Don Keith
Ψ
Vice Admiral Yon Hun Glo looked long and hard at the navigation plot on the table before him. The seemingly interminable transit from Hainan to Tonga was finally nearing its completion. By this time tomorrow, the wolf pack would be safely tied up in the new, protected Chinese base on the Tongan main island. Their sudden appearance at the dock on the American spy satellite images would come as a startling surprise to them. One that would ring alarm bells from their Pentagon to the Oval Office. But Yon had not time or will to contemplate the effect. He must now get to work on the true reason he had made this stealthy and thus far undetected voyage to a forgotten corner of the South Pacific. From here, he would take control of the gold field, and by doing so, assist his older brother, Yon Ba Deng, in employing that almost endless bounty of gold to secure the power and influence within the Party and their country’s military hierarchy that they had so long deserved.
The admiral sat back and contemplated the next steps in the plan. Here he was, in his stateroom on the submarine Changcheng Wushiwu, idly stirring his tea as he pondered the future. He and his brother held all the cards. And the groundwork they had been laying for years—the people they had bribed, bullied, blackmailed, and bludgeoned—would finally be put to good use now that the mounds of precious metal on the sea floor had become their means to an end. They were in a strong position for success. However, as he analyzed the situation from all angles—as he always did with any prospective battle plan—he recognized two major obstacles that would have to be overcome to assure its accomplishment.
The first and foremost problem was the Americans. Of course. As always. But more than ever, that nation’s leadership—business and government alike—had become weak, timid, lacking the will for such a contest as this one would be. They and their much-ballyhooed capitalistic system had become deeply dependent economically on China, on the entrenched business relationships, and on China’s extensive investments in their country’s private sector. They might bluster and complain, threaten and cajole, but ultimately, the US would not risk such an intertwined and complicated relationship. Nor could the Americans rely on the support from many more of the world’s governments since they, too, had long since succumbed to China’s economic addiction. Such hesitation should make it easy for Yon to shove them away with his submarines, just as his brother shunted them aside in the world of international politics and economics.
The other obstacle, though, was more problematic. And it was much closer to home. That was King Tofuwanga of Tonga. Yon knew he needed to come up with a way to deal with that pompous idiot, keeping him reasonably content with China’s largess while at the same time curbing the greedy simpleton’s more extravagant and dangerous proclivities. The fool had already demonstrated one of those inclinations, and he had almost wrecked their whole timetable, when he impetuously invaded Niue.
Fortunately, Yon Ba Deng had exercised the forethought to have a battalion of People’s Liberation Army Marines at the ready on Guadalcanal. That had averted one potential catastrophe. But what would “King Two-for-One" come up with next to try to throw his considerable weight around and justify his existence as head of his government? Especially now that the man was aware of the strategic value of his islands because of the gold-spewing fumarole.
“Excuse me, Admiral?”
It was Yu Feng, Wushiwu’s political officer. Yet again, he had stuck his head through the stateroom doorway without bothering to knock or ask permission to enter. Yon decided not to make a fuss this time. There would be an opportunity later.
“Yes?”
“Captain Liu Zhang asked for me to report to you that they have completed a careful ASW search. No submarines have been detected. Captain Liu Zhang requests permission to secure the ASW search and continue the voyage.”
Yon Hun Glo took a sip of his tea before nodding approval.
“Yes, please tell the captain to proceed. And please, see that I am not disturbed for the next couple of hours. I believe that I will take a nap now.”
Yu Feng bobbed his head in a short bow and quietly shut the stateroom door.
The lang qun once again formed its familiar line astern and steered for Tongatapu. Or more precisely, for the narrow passage between the dreaded Dido Shoals and Kelefesia Island. From there it would be a relatively easy sail down to the Avi Piha passage and then into port.
However, no one in the Chinese wolf pack noticed that a fifth and uninvited member had joined the neat line of submarines a few miles east of Fiji. It was ORCA One, obediently following its recently downloaded commands. She fell in, unobserved, close astern of the Changcheng Ershi, the last of the Chinese boats. Then she followed along as if she belonged there just as much as they did.
Ψ
Jim Ward stared out the window of the Gulfstream G550 executive jet as it climbed out of Singapore’s Changi Airport. The young SEAL lay reasonably comfortably on a small bed that had been specially fitted into the aircraft’s otherwise luxurious interior. Although he had been weaning himself off the pain meds as quickly as he could tolerate, his wounds still left him sore and with a nagging ache in his left side where the Chinese bullets had done their damage.
The doctors at Changi General Hospital had been decidedly unhappy when Ward informed them that he would be checking out, with or without their approval. They had ultimately relented when Li Min Zhou, the Chinese spy lady, showed up with a world-renowned thoracic surgeon from Taipei University Hospital. The doctor carefully examined Ward and reviewed the diagnostic and treatment records, then his most recent CT images, before he pronounced him fit to travel, but only under medical supervision. Supervision by the doctor and his “assistant,” Li Min Zhou.
The SEAL team leader certainly had no objections. And that was how he ended up on the Gulfstream, bound for Taiwan.
Though he assured everyone that he was able, Ward still could not walk without some pain, so they wheeled him out of his room to a waiting ambulance. It was a mercifully short ride from the hospital right up to the Gulfstream’s ramp at the airport’s JetQuay VIP terminal. By the time Ward was comfortably tucked in, the plane had begun its takeoff roll and he was starting to doze. It was the way of life for members of the Navy Sea, Air and Land Teams. Grab sleep whenever available. No telling when it might not be.
Once they reached their cruising altitude, Li Min Zhou unbuckled her seat belt, rose from her seat, and walked back to where Jim Ward lay, eyes closed and snoring quietly. Along the way, she secured two glasses of champagne from a small refrigerator and carried one in each hand. As she settled into the seat next to him, she gave him a gentle nudge. He instantly came fully awake, another valuable trait for one in his line of work.
Li smiled as she offered one of the glasses to Ward.
“Didn’t realize I was booked into first class,” he said as he pushed the button to raise the bed, almost to eye level with her.
She turned up the brightness on the smile. “Doctor’s orders. You are allowed one glass, as long as it is properly chilled and at least a Dom Perignon 2002. Anything less might be too hard on your delicate system.”
Ward assumed this lovely but mysterious woman was not serious, that she was only pulling his leg, but he was willing to take what she offered. He accepted the glass and took a sip.
“Delicious, but after my time in the Navy and associating with the characters I do, I’m not sure my palate could tell the difference between a 2002 Dom and a five-dollar Total Wine special.”
“Barbarian,” she said, but with a chuckle. “I should have expected as much. Your friend TJ Dillon is no better. At least you are giving it a try. He prefers Budweiser. Absolutely disgusting.”
She leaned back in the overstuffed chair opposite his bed, carefully crossing her legs. He tried not to let her see that he was studying her. But as with most beautiful women, she was more than aware of how men saw her. And of the advantage that often gave her.
She took another small sip of the wine before placing the flute on th
e little fold-out tray. Again, the shifting of gears was obvious.
“Well, Mister Steely-eyed Trained Killer, I think it is time we talked a little. We did not spring you from that hospital room just to listen to you snore. As you might expect, not everything is as it seems in our most complicated world. That is especially true here in Asia. There are many players, and it is a very convoluted game in which we find ourselves. Some of the players you can easily see and can also quickly figure out what they are attempting to achieve. Others, not so much.”
She picked up the flute and took another sip. She thought for a moment, as if deciding how to explain some dense math problem to him. Jim Ward was more than intrigued by this woman, by her beauty but also by her demeanor, her obvious smarts. But there was something else there he could not quite figure out. He hoped that he would have the opportunity to learn just what that might be.
Finally, she set the glass back down, looked hard at him, and went on.
“As you know, fighting has broken out between our Taiwanese Armed Forces and the People’s Liberation Army Navy over the Dongsha Islands. It would appear that the Chinese were trying to stage some kind of nuisance raid that spooled out of control when one of our destroyers detected submarines and went out to investigate. There is nothing of any interest to anyone on that bit of coral and no reason for China to risk international scorn and retaliation over it. Of course, they have staged similar confrontations on the Indian border and, as you know only too well, on the Vietnamese border. As we always fear, such pushing and shoving can easily escalate into a serious knife fight, one in which people get hurt. This time, it happened. It cost PLAN a submarine or two and many men their lives. And another dozen of my countrymen died on the destroyer. Even one of your submarines was caught in the middle and suffered damage but, thankfully, no casualties. Now this event threatens even greater ramifications. There is a very real possibility that the current fighting could easily escalate and engulf the whole area in the major war over Taiwan that the world has dreaded for so long.”
Ward nodded. He had studied naval engineering at the Naval Academy but had opted in for courses in Chinese history and politics. It had been obvious to him even then that China might possibly play a role in his military career someday. He had also read all of the intel reports that his father had sent him while he was flat on his back in the hospital. Nothing very enlightening about Dongsha, though. Mostly just reports of a lot of ordnance being expended over an insignificant little island since the initial fisticuffs between the submarines and destroyer.
“So where do we fit in? The US, the Navy, the SEALs?”
“Not so fast, my impetuous friend,” Li Min Zhou cautioned, but again with a smile. “Please, allow me to continue. As I warned you, this is a very complicated game populated with many significant players. You should be aware that I have many contacts, some of them at the highest levels in the Party. As you are aware, these politicians are a very corrupt group. Maybe even more so than your own political elite. Both groups tend to posture and preen in public, but in their greed for ultimate power, they are deadly and dangerous in private, their blind ambition making them rotten to the very core.”
The high-flying jet bounced a bit as it hit some minor turbulence. Jim Ward winced as it kicked off pain in his side. Li Min Zhou’s champagne flute skittered across the little table and crashed on the carpeted deck. She did not seem to notice either his wince or the spilt wine. And her face held no trace of a smile now.
“My sources tell me that two rather minor functionaries are in a snit with each other as they both try to clamber up the ladder of power within the military. One is named Soo Be Xian, someone you have likely never heard of. Few in the US have. I am certain, though, that your father knows plenty about him. Your godfather, Tom Donnegan, too. Soo is the Vice Deputy to the Minister of National Defense. That would be roughly equivalent to your Secretary of Defense, though with much less public profile since he was not subject to Senate approval as your president’s cabinet members are. He is strongly allied with the People’s Liberation Army and is working to raise his level of influence by fomenting some kind of border conflict. You received your little boo-boo in one of his attempts to start another Vietnamese border war. He may be lacking in mental acuity, but he is utterly ruthless. That and his determination to gain power make him very, very dangerous.”
Li Min Zhou shivered noticeably. Ward assumed it was in reaction to this Soo Be Xian’s threat to peace. Only in part. As she described the man’s position and goals, she was also remembering the man’s clumsy attack on her at a National Day party only a couple of years ago. Now, for the first time, she shared her story with someone else.
She told Jim of how the fat little politician had positively slobbered over her as he drunkenly tried to force his hand up her dress when he caught her alone in a coat closet. She had managed to subdue him, put him on his back on the floor, and in a way that, in his drunkenness, would leave him to believe he had slipped and fallen. She could easily have killed the bastard. But she had since managed to never be alone anywhere with the vice deputy, despite his many attempts to corner her.
“However, be assured that Soo Be Xian is not the real threat. At least not regarding this situation,” Li continued. “That honor belongs to the second functionary, Yon Ba Deng. He is the Assistant Vice Deputy to the Minister of National Defense for Naval Matters. Ostensibly, that makes him Soo Be Xian’s underling. But again, all is not as it appears when it comes to Party politics. Yon is roughly the Secretary of the Navy for China, but he also holds the same title within the Communist Party. Soo Be Xian does not have that advantage. Yon Ba Deng is every bit as ruthless, but he is far more intelligent and cunning. And that, my SEAL friend, makes him infinitely more dangerous.”
“I assume he has never attacked you in a coat closet,” Ward said.
“No. Though he has a wife and several mistresses, I know his primary appetite is for power. Infinite power. And now he believes he has a golden path to that very thing.”
She looked out the window at the darkening sky for a long few minutes. Jim Ward wondered if that was all she intended to share with him for now. He was about to prompt her to go on when she turned from the window, again looking directly at him with those dark, intense eyes.
“This is where the plot thickens, Jim. The fighting on Dongsha bears the stamp of Soo Be Xian. It was not well planned and clumsily initiated. It points a dagger directly at Yon Ba Deng. However, that is just too obvious to be believed. Yon Ba Deng would never use submarines that can easily be traced right back to him. So, I am convinced that the dagger is actually a boomerang, and it is ultimately aimed at Soo Be Xian.”
“So, Soo Be Xian is actually our target in this?” Ward asked, a questioning look on his face. The champagne, the pain meds, or the twists and turns she was taking him through were making Li’s story even more difficult to follow.
Li Min Zhou chuckled dryly and reached for the glass of wine. Only then did she realize it had slid off the table. She went on anyway.
“Again, my wounded American friend, remember that in Asia very few things are as they appear. It is often difficult to explain to westerners the ways of our world so that they might better understand. That has created difficulties between our cultures for centuries, you know. Politically and personally. But that is why you, of all people, might be of such great value to us.”
Jim Ward was not sure he heard the last statement correctly.
“Excuse me?”
“Your paper for the Naval Academy class in Chinese military history, senior year, Captain Caldwell’s class. ‘Politics and Military Promotions Within the Chinese People’s Liberation Army and Navy Submarine Force Since World War II.’ Some might not find it all that fascinating of a read, but I certainly did. And remarkably on target.”
“I spent most of the term in the Nimitz Library researching that bad boy,” Ward told her. “While my buddies were chasing girls. But the truth is, I found it fas
cinating, how China has built and maintained such a strong military after falling to the Japanese, even with such obvious and rampant corruption within. But how did you find...?”
“You had one particular source I assume you relied on heavily.”
Ward looked hard at her. She had found his term paper. She had read it. She remembered it. Surely, this enigmatic spy lady did not know his top-secret source for some of the paper’s best conclusions.
“I listed my sources. That’s an academic requirement.”
“But you neglected to credit one. Your godfather. Admiral Tom Donnegan. Who, at the time, just happened to be head of Naval Intelligence.”
“But how would you know that?”
“He told me.”
Jim Ward blinked, trying to clear his head. “You do, indeed, have some good sources, Miss Li. It is ‘Miss Li,’ right?”
She ignored his question.
“Indeed, I do. And some more of my very reliable sources assure me that Yon Ba Deng actually created this entire episode as a double-reverse trap, one set to catch Soo Be Xian. President Tan Yong actually bought this ploy and he is now setting up Soo for destruction. And when you are the President of China, that is easily accomplished. My sources also tell me that Tan Yong is planning to move Yon Ba Deng further up the ladder to power. He appreciates Yon’s network and willingness to do whatever is necessary to accomplish his own goals. The president is perfectly happy to enable him to do so as long as they mesh with his own purposes.”
“So, Yon Ba Deng is our target?”
“My, aren’t you the eager one?” she chided him. “There is much to Yon Ba Deng’s game that we don’t know yet, and certainly far more to President Tan Yong’s. But first we need to bring an end to this war being fought for nothing, the attack on Dongsha. And that, Lieutenant Commander, is where you...”
