Rules of Engagement

by David Bruns

The boy set up his bag at the last tee box, brought him a bucket of balls, and left. Merville was sad to see him go. He was alone now, just him and his bad choices.

  Might as well make this look good, he thought. He dumped out the balls and placed one on a tee. A heavy slice curved the ball far away from his intended path. Merville cursed and placed another ball, correcting his body and swing as the horrendously expensive golf pro had taught him last year. The next swing was a little better, but not much. He’d gone through a dozen shots when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

  The man was short and solidly built, his face like a blank slate. He was of Japanese descent but mixed with some other heritage that made his features seem heavier. Chinese, maybe? Is that who he was dealing with?

  The man handed Merville a mobile phone.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Weston, good of you to show up, but I’m a little disappointed in your game. For a guy who’s using KZG clubs I expected a better performance.”

  Merville looked around. Four tees away was another golfer, but he was concentrating on his game. The sun was setting, darkening the edge of the course. Was he hiding in there?

  “Don’t bother looking around, Weston. You won’t see me.”

  The short man in his tee box tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a USB drive the size of his thumbnail.

  “My associate is giving you a thumb drive. I want you to insert this into the systems administrator server on the USS Blue Ridge. When the light turns green, remove the drive and throw it into the ocean.”

  “I can’t do that!” Weston said. “There’s too many people around. That server is off-limits.”

  “Weston, why do think I chose you? I have complete faith in your ability to get the job done.”

  “I won’t do it!”

  “Put the phone on speaker, Weston.” He touched the appropriate button. The man barked out an order in a foreign language. Not Japanese. Chinese? Russian?

  The man drew a pistol from under his jacket and held it at his side.

  “I just ordered my associate to shoot you if you don’t put the drive in your pocket and nod to him. Ten seconds, Weston. By the way, I’ll still release the pictures of dear dead Sabrina after you’re gone so your ex-wife can have the satisfaction of knowing she was right about you all along.”

  Merville’s eyes flicked to the golfer four tees away, but he was still absorbed in his game. He slid the drive into his pocket and nodded at the man with the gun.

  “Wise choice, Weston. You have forty-eight hours. I’ll be watching.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force Headquarters Ichigaya, Japan

  US Pacific Fleet Commander Tom Williams popped a quick salute as he left his car. “Be back in forty-five minutes, Petty Officer Binder,” he said to his driver. He hurried up the stone steps of the JMSDF headquarters building without waiting for a reply. Admiral Hideki Tanaka valued punctuality above all else.

  “Tom, how good to see you,” Tanaka said as Williams was ushered through the door. “I was about to send out a search party.”

  “I’m two minutes late, Hideki,” Williams protested.

  “I thought the first rule of the Naval Academy was that on time means five minutes early, or am I mistaken?” Hideki’s weather-beaten face broke into a wide smile. “But since we’re old friends, I’ll let you slide this time. Tea?”

  “Of course.” Williams followed him to the far side of the office, where a small sitting area overlooked a tiny garden. He accepted a cup of tea and gestured at the window. “It’s beautiful, Hideki.”

  “I use that tiny bit of nature to calm myself, especially these days.”

  Williams sipped his drink. He’d grown to like Japanese tea. It had a heavier taste than teas from the US, but he found it satisfying. He set his cup on the lacquered table between them. “What’s the latest with the Chinese?”

  Tanaka shook his head. “More aggressive than we’ve seen them in years, and more determined than ever to push their claim on the Senkakus. Now, there’s a move afoot in the National Diet to charge the Chinese with war crimes over the sinking of the Japanese fishing boat. The boat’s engine was out! And they ran it down. Politicians are calling me three times a day demanding I do something, but no one seems to agree on what that should be.”

  Williams nodded, letting his friend vent. He’d known Hideki Tanaka since they attended the US Naval War College together as senior officers over a dozen years ago. Their families had lived on the same street near downtown Newport, Rhode Island, and many a happy evening had been shared between the Williamses and the Tanakas. That relationship had only deepened when Williams was tapped to command Seventh Fleet from their headquarters in Japan five years ago. After a two-year stint as vice chief of naval operations in DC, Williams was glad to be back in the region, this time as Commander, US Pacific Fleet, based in Pearl Harbor.

  But the action right now was in the South China Sea, hence his visit to his old friend in Japan.

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re in charge of Pac Fleet, Tom,” Hideki said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. The Chinese don’t seem to be sending a message this time; I feel like they’re doubling down. This could be the Big One.”

  The Big One—the scenario they talked about endlessly at the War College. How some minor incident triggered an out-of-control global cataclysm. Lord knew politicians around the world were talking tough about China, but no one had acted yet. Some days, Williams felt it was just a matter of time before the right mixture of oxygen and jet fuel met the spark of an international incident.

  And right now, the Chinese seemed overly anxious to create as many sparks as possible.

  “So, let’s talk specifics, Hideki. What are they doing now that’s different than six months ago?”

  Hideki frowned as he sipped his tea. “The PLA Navy has always been visible in the waters off the Senkakus, but as you saw with the fishing boat, they’ve taken to more aggressive moves, like shouldering, to harass the fleet. The number of Chinese fishing vessels in the territorial waters around the Senkakus has doubled and they’ve even taken to sending over Chinese coast guard ships!”

  Williams frowned. The last was a real insult to Japanese pride.

  “Well, Hideki, we feel like we’ve gone out of our way to be patient with the Chinese and it’s gotten us nowhere, so effective tomorrow, there’s a new sheriff in town.” He slid a manila folder from his briefcase.

  “I’ve ordered the Reagan and the Teddy Roosevelt into the region. Three carriers send a pretty strong message that we mean business. Furthermore, the president has signed new rules of engagement that give in-theater commanders a lot more options for dealing with China’s aggressive posture.”

  Hideki’s face grew still as he listened to his old friend outline the new engagement protocol for the US fleet. He nodded when Williams finished. “That’s very comforting to hear—and long overdue, I might add. Still, I’m worried about the root cause. Have your diplomats been able to glean any insight into why the Chinese have changed their tactics?”

  Williams sighed and sat back in his chair. “No, we get the same old doublespeak about territorial waters and so on. That’s what concerns me most. We’re addressing a symptom, not the cause, and if the underlying issue isn’t put to rest, we could be creating a lot of sparks.”

  Hideki offered a tight smile. “All the same, I’m glad to hear the US is taking these threats seriously. That will go a long way to soothe the angst of the politicians that are calling me every day.”

  Williams held out his cup for a refill. “We aim to please, sir. What are friends for?”

  CHAPTER 30

  USS Blue Ridge (LCC-19) Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan

  The sky was still pitch-black when Lieutenant Commander Weston Merville crossed the quarterdeck of the USS Blue Ridge and made his way belowdecks. He hadn’t slept a wink in the previous twenty-four hours, and his nerves fel
t raw, exposed. He jumped as a young petty officer rounded the corner in front of him.

  “Watch where you’re going, goddammit!” he yelled.

  “Yes, sir.” The young man’s eyes were red from lack of sleep; he was probably just coming off watch. “Sorry, sir.”

  Merville calmed his racing heart. “It’s okay, just slow down, all right?”

  He stepped into the wardroom and was surprised to find the XO sitting at the long table with a bowl of oatmeal. “Morning, Weston.” Jason Karrick was a heavy man, with placid features and a walrus mustache. “Coffee’s fresh.”

  “Thanks, sir.” Merville’s hand shook as he poured himself a mug. The tiny thumb drive felt like an anvil in the breast pocket of his khaki uniform. Surely, the XO’s presence was a sign from above that he was supposed to turn himself in. Right here, right now.

  “Join me, please,” the XO said. Merville pulled out a chair and sat. He gripped his thigh to stop his foot from jiggling.

  “I come in early to avoid the temptation,” the XO said.

  “Pardon, sir?”

  He pointed at the bowl of oatmeal. “Cholesterol’s high and my wife says I need to lose ten pounds before I come home to San Diego. If I come in for regular breakfast, everybody’ll be having bacon and eggs and sausage and toast…” He sighed. “So I eat early to avoid the temptation.”

  Merville nodded and sipped his coffee.

  “What about you?”

  Merville started. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you’re in awful early.”

  I’m going to betray my country! “I, uh, needed to talk to the night shift,” he lied. “Didn’t want them to have to stay late, being in port and all. So I came in early.”

  The XO spooned another glop of oatmeal into his mouth and made a face.

  “Sir, can I talk to you about something?”

  The XO dropped his spoon into the bowl. “Sure, what’s up?”

  Just then, the wardroom door opened, and Lieutenant Goren strode in, the duty officer keys hanging from his neck. “Good morning, XO,” he said. “And Lieutenant Commander Stud Muffin.” He winked at Merville. “Get any postcards from Down Under, sir? She was totally into you.”

  “Lieutenant,” the XO said in a sharp tone, “we were having a conversation.”

  Goren flushed. “Sorry, sir, I’ll grab a coffee in the crew’s mess.” Silence settled over the room as the door shut behind the junior officer.

  The XO considered the bowl of oatmeal, then pushed it away with a look of disgust. “You were about to say, Weston?” His eyes searched Merville’s face. Surely the man could see how guilty he was, Merville thought.

  Merville stood. “I need to get moving if I’m going to catch the off-going watch, sir.”

  The XO shrugged and turned back to his oatmeal.

  * * *

  Merville strode through the hard steel passageways into the heart of the USS Blue Ridge, the command and control center. He accessed the cipher lock that gave him entry into the server room. The room was a chilly sixty degrees, making Merville shiver in his short-sleeved uniform. The first-class petty officer on duty jerked his feet off the desk when he saw Merville.

  “Good morning, sir!” He stood, shifting from foot to foot. “Chief Reynolds doesn’t get in till six, sir.”

  “That’s okay, Jurgens. Sit down. Just came in early to do a walk-through.”

  “Yes, sir.” The petty officer stayed on his feet.

  “Maintenance logs, please,” Merville said. Jurgens handed him a clipboard, which Merville pretended to study. He looked around and snapped his fingers. “Petty Officer Jurgens, I left my coffee cup in my office. Can you fetch it for me? Command cup with my name on it.”

  “Sure, sir, but I’m still on watch.”

  Merville shrugged. “No problem. I’ll stay here till you get back.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Merville waited until the door closed behind the petty officer, then moved swiftly to the server at the back of the room. His hand was steady as he unbuttoned his shirt pocket and drew out the tiny USB drive. He snapped it into the slot and folded down the keyboard. Merville drew a sharp breath as the drive registered on the screen. Twenty-five gigabytes. He hoped whatever install program was on that drive was smart enough to disguise the upload of a file that large.

  Ninety seconds later, it was done. Merville unplugged the drive and slipped it back into his pocket just as he heard the cipher lock on the door click. Jurgens stood in the doorway, holding a white coffee cup with the ship’s logo on the side.

  “Found it, sir,” he said. His gaze slid to the lowered keyboard on the system admin server.

  “Thanks, Jurgens.” Merville slammed the maintenance log clipboard down on the desk. “By the way, the keyboards on these servers are filthy! I want every single one of them cleaned before you go off watch.”

  The petty officer’s face fell. “Yes, sir.”

  Merville was gripped by a sudden urgency to put all this behind him. He’d saved himself, that was the important thing. What was done was done. Now he could move on.

  The sun was rising out of the ocean as he stepped onto the deck of the USS Blue Ridge. The superstructure of the ship rose behind him like a gray cliff glistening with dew in the light of the dawn. A weary petty officer wearing a white watch belt and a sidearm saluted him as he walked by. Merville returned the salute and approached the railing.

  Sunlight bronzed the ripples in the water as Merville palmed the thumb drive from his pocket. With a quick flick of his wrist, the tiny device arced over the water, catching the sun for a brief moment before making a tiny splash.

  CHAPTER 31

  Yang-do Island, North Korea

  Rafiq sipped his tea, keeping his face the very picture of calmness. The four large wall screens at the front of the stadium-style room were blank, waiting for inputs. The dozen operators sat behind their computer workstations, idle.

  He’d shaved and donned his olive-green North Korean officer’s uniform. The rest of the operators were similarly dressed in their best, their dark hair combed, caps resting in their laps.

  “Chul, it’s time,” said So-won. Her thin face had a glow of excitement.

  Rafiq nodded but said nothing. This was their moment of truth, the moment when they found out if their audacious plan was going to work. He was confident about their ability to control Beijing and Japan, but the Americans worried him. The US physical security was too great: too many layers, too many opportunities for failure. But every network, no matter how secure, was only as strong as its weakest link.

  Rafiq believed he’d found his weak link, someone who could circumvent all that security and take Rafiq’s code right to the heart of the network. But finding and compromising an inside operative was a tricky business. Some people, no matter how good they looked on paper, when faced with a moral choice found a core of confidence even they didn’t know they possessed. Others, unable to live with the potential consequences, tried to hurt themselves. There were relatively few who could handle the pressure of being compromised and still perform.

  Money was rarely the difference. Often the telltale pressure points were minor in the grand scheme of life, but they mattered a great deal to the individual. Things like pride. And shame.

  Rafiq had a nose for weakness. He knew how to ferret out individuals with a fatal character flaw and exploit that softness to maximum effect.

  Lieutenant Commander Weston Merville had been his choice. Now Rafiq would find out if he had chosen wisely.

  He set his teacup down with care and leaned over the keyboard, entering the command to ping the program sleeping on the servers of the USS Blue Ridge.

  If it was even there.

  He sat back and folded his hands in his lap, waiting.

  The cursor blinked as steady as a metronome beat.

  “It may take some time, Chul,” So-won whispered.

  They were in uncharted waters. No one had any idea how long it wo
uld take for the command ping to establish contact with the program residing on the USS Blue Ridge.

  If the program was even there. If Merville had done his job.

  The cursor blinked.

  This could take minutes, maybe even hours. He passed his teacup to a soldier, amazed that his grip showed not even a tremble to reveal the quaking mass of anxiety roiling in his gut.

  “More tea, please,” he said.

  The soldier nodded and hurried off.

  The cursor blinked.

  What would he do if the access to the US network failed? Pak would still be pleased. The access to the Chinese and Japanese networks alone was more than enough to fulfill the assignment from the Russian Bratva. Hell, if he believed the intelligence reports from the DPRK Special Branch, the Chinese were already causing havoc in the region—and Rafiq had yet to do anything!

  Pak would take credit for it, of course, but that was Pak’s reason for being. Just as Rafiq could size up an individual and see immediately how the person could be exploited, Pak could size up any situation and assess his personal gain from it just as quickly. He had a nose for profit. He was just born into the wrong society.

  The tea arrived and Rafiq accepted the cup without so much as a ripple in the surface of the liquid. Meanwhile, So-won shifted in her chair and fretted next to him. She reached for the keyboard and he stayed her hand.

  “Wait” was all he said.

  She nodded and leaned back. Rafiq sipped his tea. The operators in the room all watched them, watched him. What would they do if the command ping failed? Surely there was at least one spy in the group. He had chosen his people carefully, but in North Korea, spying was assumed as a fact of daily life. Children spied on parents, neighbors spied on each other, people spied on strangers on the bus. In a way, it was the genius of the DPRK: a self-policing state with a completely flat hierarchy of power. There was the Supreme Leader, then everyone else. But everyone else believed that if they could just amass a certain amount of notice, they would be elevated above the crowd. They would find themselves on a new level of power beneath the Supreme Leader.