Red Tide

by William C. Dietz

  “But, in spite of American assistance, the daily battles reduced the No. 75 Squadron RAAF to just three airworthy machines.

  “Eventually elements of the American 35th, and the full 36th Pursuit Squadron, arrived to lend a hand. The No. 75 Squadron lost twenty-one aircraft and twelve pilots. It was a close thing.”

  While Swallow continued talking, the lead Bushmaster led the convoy through narrow streets, and onto the road that climbed the side of Touaguba Hill. “There’s the bay,” Swallow said. “As you can see two Indonesian destroyers are in port.”

  Ryson knew that Western New Guinea was governed by Indonesia, which was clearly doing a piss poor job of it. But there was no reason to say that and he didn’t.

  The convoy slowed, then came to a stop in front of a military style checkpoint, complete with concertina wire and machine gun positions. Smart looking soldiers, most of whom were black, came forward to check IDs and search the vehicles for IEDs.

  “They’re mercenaries,” Swallow explained. “All veterans of the South African Special Forces Brigade. That’s something Mr. Parker insists on. ‘You can’t trust the locals.’ That’s what he says. And I agree.”

  Once cleared, the convoy was allowed to pass through a gate, and follow a paved road up through a series of switchbacks to the sprawling mansion above. It was painted an eye-searing white and much given to right angles, gleaming windows, and verandahs. All boasting views of the city and bay.

  The convoy took a hard turn to the left, climbed the last stretch of driveway, and came to a stop under a flat-roofed portico. “Duty calls,” Swallow said, as the navy officers got out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Two white clad servants appeared to greet the guests. One was a young woman in a sari. “My name is Nia,” the girl said, as she brought the palms of her hands together and bowed. “Welcome to Parker House. Please allow me to take your bag, and show you to your room.”

  “Thank you,” Ryson replied. “I’ll carry the bag.”

  “As you wish,” Nia said, with another bow. “Please follow me.”

  Glass doors slid out of the way as Nia approached them. The reception area was large and beautifully furnished. An enormous portrait confronted each guest as they entered. The woman was Asian. Chinese? Ryson thought so.

  She was dressed for a formal occasion. A large diamond dangled from her neck. Matching diamonds glittered on her ears. The skintight evening dress fit like a glove. The woman’s eyes were focused on a point somewhere in the distance. “And who,” Ryson inquired, “is she?”

  “That’s Li jing,” Nia answered. “Her name means beautiful spirit. She was Mr. Parker’s first wife.”

  “Was?”

  “Yes. She died of cancer over twenty-five years ago.”

  “And Mr. Parker’s second wife?”

  “They’re divorced. She lives in Sydney.”

  So, Kelsey’s mother was alive, and living in Australia. Ryson filed the fact away.

  Servants bowed, as Nia led Ryson to a bank of elevators, and stood to one side as he entered.

  “Your suite is on the second floor,” Nia informed him, as the elevator carried the officer upwards. The doors swished open onto a small lobby. Nia led Ryson down a hall to a door. The name plate read, “The Celine II.”

  “Each guest suite is named after one of the family’s ships,” Nia explained, as she opened the door.

  Ryson entered to discover that the room was beautifully furnished with a dazzling view of the bay. A white envelope with his name on it was waiting on the king-sized bed. “If you need anything dial zero and ask for me,” Nia told him.

  “Thank you,” Ryson said. “I will.”

  Nia withdrew and Ryson opened the envelope. The calligraphy was beautiful. “Lieutenant Commander Ryson … Please join George and Kelsey Parker at six for cocktails, followed by dinner, and entertainments. Formal dress is required.”

  Ryson eyed his watch. It was nearly 5:00 PM. So there wasn’t enough time for a nap. He laid out his whites, took a long shower, and continued to towel off as he entered the bedroom. The window beckoned and there, waiting on the windowsill, was a pair of powerful binoculars. Just the thing for enjoying the view.

  But Ryson had very little interest in the city. His gaze went straight to the Indonesian warships anchored in the bay. The flotilla consisted of the destroyers he’d seen earlier, plus two patrol boats, which Ryson recognized as Mandau-class missile boats circa 1977 or 78.

  The boats were badly outmoded, but Ryson understood why they remained in service. With WWIII raging Indonesia needed every hull it had. And since the vessels were well armed, and could do nearly 43 knots, the boats could give a good account of themselves in a shootout with any adversary of their size.

  But what Ryson found to be most interesting were the torpedo launchers mounted next to the Mandau superstructures. The tubes were in addition to a pair of missile launchers. Why?

  So, they can duke it out with destroyers and frigates if necessary, Ryson decided. And do so at ranges where missiles don’t make sense. What about the Armindales? Could they be fitted with torpedo tubes? That would give us an option we don’t have now.

  Ryson put the binoculars down and began the process of getting dressed. He hated parties. Especially parties thrown by VIPs for VIPs. Only the fact that Kelsey might attend prevented Ryson from descending into a bad mood.

  Two Asian men, both wearing tuxedos, were in the elevator that delivered Ryson to the first floor. Servants were everywhere and one of them bowed. “Cocktails are being served in the Bay Room, sir … The door is over there.”

  Ryson thanked him and followed a well-dressed couple through double doors and into a beautifully appointed lounge. The bar was an eye-catching combination of polished brass and Southeast Asian rosewood. A material so precious that poachers were stripping Thailand’s national parks of it. Did the Parkers know that? It seemed safe to assume that they did.

  Ryson made his way over to the bar where he ordered a gin and tonic. “Empress 1908 if you have it please.”

  “We do,” one of six bartenders answered. “With lime?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  The bartender smiled. “I agree.”

  “I was looking for you,” a female voice said.

  Ryson turned to discover Kelsey Parker standing there. Her hair was up. A large amethyst rested in the hollow of her throat. The skintight red gown fit perfectly. “You are very beautiful,” Ryson said.

  “And you are very handsome,” Kelsey replied.

  “We didn’t get to see each other following the rescue mission,” Ryson said. “I want to thank you. No one runs a ship aground the way you do.”

  Kelsey laughed, and Ryson liked the sound of it. A voice came from behind him. “Your drink is ready, sir.”

  Ryson turned to collect his drink and thank the bartender. “Follow me,” Kelsey said, as she took control of his free arm. “This is a meet and greet. So, let’s get to work.”

  What followed was a seemingly endless round of introductions to people Ryson didn’t want to know, the inevitable questions about how the war was going, and complaints of wartime shortages. None of which were in evidence as waiters made the rounds carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne.

  Ryson was still nursing the gin and tonic when George Parker emerged from the crowd. “There you are my dear … And who is this chap?”

  “Commander Ryson, this is my father George,” Kelsey said. The men shook hands.

  In spite of his perfectly tailored tux there was something elemental about George Parker. The bushy brows, the prow-like nose, and the thin lips were reminiscent of sea captains from a bygone era. And the shipping magnate’s voice was loud enough to hail the masthead lookout during a roaring typhoon. “Ryson is it?” George demanded.

  “Admiral Nathan thinks very highly of you. I however, am of a different opinion, since you saw fit to send my daughter into harm’s way.”

  Ryson looked at Kelse
y and back to her father. “Is that what she told you, sir?”

  George laughed. “I should have known! My daughter has a mind of her own. She comes by it honestly I’m afraid.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the clang of a ship’s bell. “Dinner is being served,” Kelsey said. “And you’re sitting next to me.”

  Ryson allowed himself to be led into a vast dining room where he wound up being seated between Kelsey and Admiral Nathan near the head of the table. “Mind the weather,” Nathan cautioned sotto voice. “You could be blown ashore.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Ryson promised. “Who is the officer seated to Mr. Parker’s right?”

  ‘That’s General Haskell,” Nathan replied darkly. “The man who recently referred to you as ‘a sonofabitch.’”

  Ryson was about to respond when George Parker stood, and began what turned out to be a long list of toasts. The first of which honored the Allied soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen killed or wounded during the attack on Okinawa, as well as the Japanese citizens who’d lost their lives as well.

  That was followed by toasts to the Alliance, individual countries and VIPs, including Haskell. And it was during the latter that Kelsey placed her right hand on Ryson’s left thigh. And, as her father spoke, the hand slowly but surely slid up towards his crotch.

  Ryson was hard long before the hand arrived at its destination, and made him even harder. Then it became necessary to remove it or run the risk of an embarrassing accident. Kelsey smiled knowingly as she raised her glass to General Haskell.

  Dinner was a long grueling affair in which dish after exotic dish arrived at the table, finally culminating with the presentation of three suckling pigs, all of which had spent the day baking in a stone lined pit.

  Once the chicken wire that held the meat in place was removed servers moved in to heap roast pork on each plate. It was delicious. And Ryson would have eaten more if he hadn’t been so full already.

  By the time an elaborate dessert arrived, all Ryson could do was pick at it. Fortunately, Kelsey was schmoozing the businessman at her left, while Admiral Nathan flirted with the forty-something newswoman to his right. An arrangement which left Ryson free to sip coffee and wonder when the torture would end.

  The answer was fifteen minutes later when George Parker stood and announced that a fire dance was about to take place on the verandah. That struck Ryson as the perfect moment to slip away. He was about to do so when the family’s major domo arrived. “Excuse me gentlemen. Coffee will be served in the library, and General Haskell asks that you join him.”

  Ryson had a bad feeling about that. But like Admiral Nathan, he couldn’t say “no.” He turned to say goodbye to Kelsey, only to discover that she was no longer there. Because she knew about the meeting with Haskell? Or because she was expected to be present on the verandah? Either way it would have been nice to say goodbye.

  The major domo led the officers back to the reception area, through a decorative door, and into a library that didn’t contain any books. Or shelves to put them on. Just a long table and four computer stations which, Ryson assumed, could access a private network and the digital books stored there.

  A U-shaped seating area lay beyond. And there, standing with his back to a gas fireplace, was General Haskell. He was holding a cup of coffee which he put down in order to greet the new arrivals. “It’s good to see you Alexander,” Haskell said, as they shook hands.

  “This is Commander Max Ryson,” Nathan said. “The man largely responsible for rescuing three American pilots a couple of days ago.”

  “That was quite a feat,” Haskell said. “And one which would have been all over every news network in the free world, if it hadn’t been for the attack on Okinawa. I’m sure some sort of recognition will come your way eventually.”

  Ryson wanted to say that he didn’t care about recognition. But Haskell clearly did. So he left the thought unsaid. “Thank you, sir. But the men and women who carried out the …”

  “Yes, yes,” Haskell said impatiently. “Credit where credit is due, and all that. I’ll leave the awards to you. I’ll sign whatever you send me.

  “We’re not here to talk about attaboys gentlemen,” Haskell continued. “We’re here to discuss the Sea Dragon and how to stop her.

  “I asked you to join me so we could have a private conversation prior to the meeting tomorrow. The simple truth is that Squadron 7 is performing well in every category—other than the one that the President of the United States and Australia’s Prime Minister are most interested in. And that’s the destruction of the Sea Dragon.

  “No, you aren’t in this alone. Surveillance satellites, spy planes, drones and submarines are all searching for the bitch day and night.

  “But like an archer with a quiver full of arrows, I don’t know which one has the correct profile—just the right heft—to strike the target. And Squadron 7 is one of those arrows. I’m aware of the forward operating base. It’s damned expensive. How’s that effort going?”

  “My XO is there now,” Ryson replied. “She tells me that all of our defenses are up and running. Regular patrols will begin soon.”

  “Good,” Haskell said. “So long as ‘soon’ means tomorrow. But patrols rely on luck. Maybe you run into something. Maybe you don’t. What we need is more humint.”

  “I agree,” Ryson replied. “And with some help from the Parkers, I think we could assemble a pop-up intelligence network in a very short period of time.”

  That was news to Admiral Nathan. But Ryson couldn’t help it. It was a nascent idea. And far from fully formed. But if he could sell the concept to Haskell the rest would follow.

  “I’m listening,” Haskell said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Tens of thousands of fishing boats ply the South China Sea,” Ryson said. “Not to mention hundreds of interisland steamers and ferries. And between them that’s a lot of eyeballs. Thanks to their shipping interests the Parkers know everyone there is to know. And, if they put their network to use, we could harvest the kind of Intel that you need.

  “Perhaps some sort of reward should be offered for images of the Sea Dragon and the coordinates for where the photos were taken.”

  “That sort of system would be likely to produce a lot of false positives,” Haskell observed. “But a photo taken at the right place and time could make all the difference. What do you think Alexander? I assume you’re onboard?”

  Nathan cleared his throat. “Yes, or course. But as Commander Ryson indicated, we would need help from the Parkers to pull it off.”

  Haskell nodded. ‘I’ll talk to George. Thank you, gentlemen. Please keep the concept under your hats.”

  “We will,” Nathan promised.

  “Good. Let’s join the rest of them on the verandah.”

  Haskell left right away which gave the other men an opportunity to talk. Admiral Nathan was pissed. “Why didn’t you tell me about the intelligence network before the meeting?”

  “Because I hadn’t thought of it yet,” Ryson replied honestly.

  Nathan was at least partially mollified. “Well, let’s do better next time. It’s important for us to be on the same page. Are you going to join the rest of them on the verandah?”

  “No,” Ryson replied. “I’m going to crash.”

  Nathan nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Ryson took the elevator to the second floor, slipped the key card into the lock, and saw the indicator light turn green.

  The lights were dim within. So much so that it took Ryson a moment to see the clothes puddled on the floor, and realize that Kelsey was waiting in his bed. She smiled. “Hello, sailor. It took you long enough to get here. Now strip and come to bed.”

  ***

  Ryson awoke on time. And was halfway out of bed when Kelsey pulled him back. “Oh, no you don’t!”

  What happened next took the better part of twenty minutes. And by the time Ryson had showered, shaved, and put his uniform on, he was fifteen mi
nutes late for Haskell’s Command and Control conference. Fortunately, the meeting room was packed with officers and senior enlisted people representing half a dozen Allied countries. And outside of Nathan, who shot him a dirty look, Ryson managed to enter the room largely unnoticed.

  Breakfast consisted of a danish and coffee from the back table. The only chairs available were in the back row. It soon became apparent that all of the presentations had one thing in common, and that was the need to find the Sea Dragon, and sink her.

  And the overall strategy was quite simple. Locate the bitch, try to pin her down, and call for help. The problem was that, depending on the circumstances, it might take hours for help to arrive. Unless the brass hats had something special up their sleeves, that is. Like the satellite-based laser weapon which had been used to destroy the Russian cruiser Admiral Konev many months earlier.

  But insofar as Ryson knew, Derringer hadn’t been used since. He wondered why. And so, as it turned out, did a navy captain from New Zealand. She not only wondered about it but was brave enough to inquire about the weapon’s status.

  Haskell’s face darkened. “Suffice it to say that Derringer was destroyed by a kinetic attack from another space vehicle. I have been assured that more weapons of that sort are coming. But they aren’t likely to arrive quickly enough to solve our problem.

  “That’s top secret of course. But you need to know that, if you get a crack at the Sea Dragon, there won’t be any bolt of lightning coming down from the sky.”

  That was depressing, since Ryson had been secretly hoping that the laser weapon was in the mix, and might save the day.

  The conference ended at noon, a flood of people left the room, and Nathan appeared. “You were late. Overslept I suppose. I expect better.”

  “As you should,” Ryson said contritely. “I apologize.”

  Nathan might have said more if General Haskell hadn’t joined them. “A quick word before you go,” Haskell said. “I spoke with George, and he agreed to help us with the matter we discussed last night. His daughter Kelsey will work with you to put the pieces together. I will brief the spooks so they’re in the loop. Keep me informed.” Then he was gone.