Covert Commando: A Sam Harper Military Thriller

by Thomas Sewell

  She glanced around, as if to be sure only officers were present.

  Frowned at him.

  "Agency is pulling the plug. Operation's toast. Prepare your rangers to depart as soon as the Navy can arrive. I'll clean this place up after you leave."

  Well, didn't that news beat a rodeo clown to death!

  * * *

  Lieutenant Pahk Geon hung up the old-fashioned handset tied into the Chinese Destroyer's satellite link Voice Over IP (VOIP) phone line.

  Admiral Hu, the Fleet's political commissar (PC), pushed open the white bulkhead door into Pahk's tiny shipboard office.

  Did Hu hear his conversation with the ISIL terrorist, Omar?

  Pahk stowed his thin black metal desk into the wall to create room to stand at attention.

  Under the Chinese Communist Party (CCP)'s system for the People's Liberation Army Navy (PLAN), a career admiral was the military commander, but not the person in overall charge.

  The PC's political heft generally won if he and the military commander disagreed on a course of action.

  At least back in Korea, the military and the political class were better integrated. None of this separate duties nonsense.

  Either way, the "Party commands the gun" as the CCP put it.

  Admiral Hu, the PC in question, cleared his throat. "Your pet terrorist becomes a liability."

  Clearly, he had listened to their call.

  A premature end to Omar would also terminate Pahk's mission to deniably coordinate with the terrorist. Potentially fatal consequences would follow.

  He'd need to walk a tight rice furrow here.

  "Omar will expect a double-cross right now. Better to pay him off with some cheap weapons, make him believe we have more work for him, then set a later trap."

  "Perhaps. It doesn't escape me that your idea extends your useful life to the PLAN. Perhaps your actions will reflect well on me, or perhaps not, but your family's health still depends on how well you handle Omar."

  Pahk ground his teeth, but then forced a smile. "Of course. I'm confident I'll ultimately resolve the situation to your satisfaction."

  "See that you do." Hu pointed at Pahk. "Surprises can be deadly. I don't like this sniper team that shot at Omar. We need to be ahead of the Philippine President's information loop, not behind it, if I'm to maintain our influence over him."

  "I'll have the Comment Crew investigate." The PLA's Unit 61398, the elite Chinese military advanced Persistent Threat team known informally as the Comment Crew, had already infiltrated the local government.

  One more information request wouldn't strain their talents, nor their access.

  Hu grunted in deniable agreement. Clanged the bulkhead door shut behind him.

  Pahk unfolded his desk out of the bulkhead. He'd need to arrange for a new batch of weapons for Omar.

  Good thing the Chinese armorers were excellent craftsmen. Arranging a suitable payment would be more enjoyable than listening to the Chinese Navy threaten his family.

  Once he had the weapons in hand and Comment Crew seeking new intelligence, he'd have a long boat ride ahead of him to Lubang Island.

  * * *

  After a sandpaper consultation with his superior, and with her superior, Larrikowal wrote it all down to send upstairs. Attached the email chain from the Speaker's office.

  Having covered his rear that way, he changed into his black and gray urban camo. Loaded up his hard plates. Hung his carbine over his shoulder. Tucked his sunglasses into the center of his shirt.

  Arranged his black beret.

  The paramedics had taken his shirt tourniquet along with his sergeant, but now he was SAF official.

  He'd need to intimidate a bit at the sniper locations, anyway. Best way to impress a bunch of city cops was to look like he was ready to shoot them at any moment.

  After all, with his sergeant in the hospital, he was ready to shoot someone.

  He could use the travel time to explain the day to his girlfriend, Sheila. Call her on his mobile phone from the back of the police car.

  Reassure her.

  His driver didn't need him to navigate within Manila. Officers get used to locations in the areas they work, even if without a strict system of street numbers they needed additional knowledge to translate which particular building was located where.

  "It's okay. I'm safe."

  "I saw on teevee. You were there."

  He frowned at the accusation in her voice. "It's my job, but no one was gunning for me. They were after the Speaker."

  "That doesn't help if you take a bullet for him. How can I live without you?"

  "Sheila, I'll come back to you. I always do."

  "Don't dismiss my worries. You always say I'm too emotional, but I have a right to my feelings. Why can't you move to an office job, like your cousin?"

  "My cousin is a putanh in mo. He lives off bribes. Doesn't help anyone."

  "Don't speak of your aunt that way. Besides, he bought his wife a house outside the city, how about that? I could use some of that kind of help, if you ever marry me."

  "I get it. You're worried. I appreciate how much you care about me, but this is my job. You need to accept that."

  "Why must I accept you getting yourself killed by some random bullet?"

  "Won't happen. I was never really in any danger."

  "Your sergeant. Was he in no danger?" She let out a low moan. "Is he even still alive?"

  "In critical condition, but the doctors say he should pull through." Maybe he could spin it as a good thing. "He gets to retire."

  "If you ever get killed dead, don't come running to me. I won't have it."

  Not everything was within his control.

  "Yes, my flower. Now, I have to get back to work."

  "More shooting?"

  "No, just looking over a crime scene."

  "No more shooting."

  "Okay. Okay."

  While they said their goodbyes, his driver smirked at him in the rear-view mirror.

  Smirked!

  Really, he could've been killed. But Sheila didn't need to worry about that.

  The skyscraper roof was a bust. Empty as a wallet left in a Naga city bar.

  No new information, except they were obviously professionals, to clean-up so thoroughly while dodging our assault team.

  He left the crime scene team attempting to find a print to lift, or some DNA or fiber trace, but wasn't optimistic.

  His driver wiped the smirk off his face for their second trip, but only because of a department casualty. A traffic officer near a train station.

  Shot and killed from close range. Abandoned car nearby.

  Larrikowal frowned.

  Connected? One of the sniper teams escaping?

  Around the block, across the way from the skyscraper roof, the cordoned-off parking garage told a different story.

  Wrecked black van windshield displayed a bullet hole. They'd found a high-powered round embedded in the back seat.

  Fired from above.

  Shrapnel in the driveway from what the techs guessed was a torn radiator, judging by the pool of coolant surrounding it.

  The sniper team on the skyscraper roof hadn't aimed at the Speaker. They'd been shooting at this team.

  Trying to stop them?

  But the SAF didn't have anyone up on that roof until the assault team arrived, well after all the firing stopped.

  So who were they? Had the speaker hired private security? Is that why he'd been so calm while lying exposed on the dais?

  Something smelled. Dumi!

  Chapter Six: Tracking bits and bytes

  My MI platoon's earlier success penetrating the Philippine government's innermost secrets just whetted my appetite. In this environment, I hungered after more information like a shark looks at dangling chum.

  Despite the captain and his lady, both intent on interrupting my work with their bickering.

  I gave Spec 4 Watkins, standing next to my desk, a look to pretend he didn't hear them.
<
br />   Not ideal for his career.

  I spun my mouse's wheel to find more to show him. Dragged it across the hut's table. Scrolled through intercepted emails on my thickly hardened green issue laptop.

  Scanned through documents captured by keyword search algorithms.

  My platoon had trained expert systems to filter the mass of information pouring through undersea fiber optic cables.

  Those cables connected the Philippines to the rest of the Internet.

  I showed the process to Watkins, a lanky Boston kid among Schnier's shooters. He loved electronics, and I wanted to see if I could talk him into a future switch to intelligence.

  Currently, looked like a triathlete on vacation, hiding in plain sight like the rest of us.

  "It's a simple enough process. My rangers dug through captured data. Rated it as interesting or not. Thumbs up. Thumbs down."

  "Wicked! Even I could do that. It's like Tinder for intel."

  "MI has all the fun. We used those manual ratings to train the computer system. Get it to create millions of rules to determine which documents were interesting. It tried out all those possible rules. Kept the ones which gave results similar to the team's manual ratings, tossed the rest."

  "How does it know what to do with new documents, though? Ones not like the data you trained it on?"

  Kid was smart, I'll give him that.

  "Ran them through its rules based on that training, and then my team rated those results to give feedback. It adjusted itself to compensate. Used the second round of feedback to judge it's first round attempts. Through self-reinforcement, improved itself over time. It's a computer. Can afford to run a billion tests while we're all sleeping."

  "Right. So then what, you just dump more data in?"

  "We have it hunt through every electronic communication in the country. Produce virtual needles out of the local haystacks. Makes our intelligence production a billion times faster."

  "That's killa mint."

  He spoke techno better than I spoke Boston. "Is that good, dude?"

  "Ya huh!"

  I leaned back to show him today's intelligence take. My cheap thatch office chair squeaked.

  Our island headquarters held a hodgepodge of locally acquired products and the military procurement we'd either brought with us or received from regular supply runs up the beach from the Seventh Fleet.

  Modular electronics contrasted weirdly with a nipa hut constructed from bamboo and palm fronds, but the locals knew what they were doing.

  Besides, we wouldn't be here long enough to get comfortable.

  Instead of a lowly spec 4 on his first deployment with Schnier, what I really needed were my TCAPS earbuds, so the screeching lovebirds didn't disturb my concentration on figuring out the reactions to this morning's sniper attack.

  Michelle sighed somewhere behind us. "Captain, you're here at the behest of the Agency I represent. I've argued with D.C. all night. They order your platoons to pack up and go home. The Navy will be here in a few hours to drag you out of bed."

  It's always a bad sign when she calls Schnier by his rank. I glanced at Watkins. Held my finger to my lips and then mimed slicing my throat.

  He nodded, eyes wide.

  "Look, honey, we evaded the SAF. Stopped the assassination of a major government leader." Schnier gave as good as he got. "Probably prevented the protests from turning into riots. Kept Manila from burning last night. They could cut us a break. Call 'em back. We're safely home now. Situation has changed."

  "The overnight crew in Langley don't have the authority to countermand anything. The Assistant Directory left an hour ago. I'm not calling him at home again."

  We pretended to ignore them. I flipped through a few more summaries to show Watkins what the system output.

  Interesting, the President didn't seem surprised by the assassination attempt on his political ally. In fact, his press secretary emailed about pre-written obituaries for key government ministers just yesterday.

  Schnier wasn't done. "Give us until the end of the day. Our mission isn't complete. We have at least sixteen hours until your boss is back. We can take that long and still be moving when he arrives in the morning."

  She stuck her hands onto her slender hips. "What can you hope to accomplish? We can't locate the ISIL cell and do anything about them in less than a day. Besides, our mission is information gathering, not direct action."

  "Direct action is what rangers do, babe. You know that."

  Michelle pointed at me, "Not his guys."

  I shook my head, "Leave me out of this. You two love-birds are doing fine on your own. Besides, I may have found something interesting."

  Of course, rather than ignoring me as requested, they crowded around, one looking over each shoulder.

  Their presence pushed Watkins away, around the table.

  I give up.

  "Michelle, you remember Watkins, right? I introduced you at RASP graduation. He was on my team during ranger selection."

  She glared at him, as if he represented the worst of me and Schnier both. "Of course."

  I winked at Watkins. "We can pick this demo up another time. Our allotment of the fourth dimension shrinks rapidly."

  He nodded. "Sirs. Ma'am. If you'll excuse me?" Headed for the ladder down without waiting for a response.

  Schnier cocked his head. "Fourth dimension?"

  "Never mind. He got it. I'll explain later, when we have more time." I pointed at my screen. "Why wouldn't the President warn his top political ally in Congress about an attempt on his life?"

  Schnier shrugged.

  I expanded another email from the President's chief of staff. "Read this. No coincidences. His inner circle obviously knew all about it."

  Schnier glared at Michelle. "Maybe they had a falling out. It happens, even between the closest of people. Maybe even especially between intimate partners."

  Michelle ignored his insinuation. "Or maybe the sniper meant to miss. Did you geniuses ever consider that you weren't quite the big heroes you thought you were, saving the day?"

  A false flag operation. Something to turn the politicians in power into almost-martyrs. Flip the protests against their corrupt administration into disgust for the evil assassins. Perhaps even justify another round of martial law to crack down on their political enemies.

  Had we been worked?

  Schnier's wheels didn't quite turn fast enough. "At least we dodged the bull's horns this time. Hot damn."

  Michelle scowled, like she did when a bully back in high school hit on her and she preferred to punch him.

  "You got lucky. There's a reason this entire mission is covert. Just knowing we're operating here would piss off the locals. The ones who already dislike America. Imagine if they had caught you with a sniper rifle near the assassination attempt? Would've justified their entire campaign to cancel our base leases. Lead to war if they didn't know they'd lose."

  I tried to save him. "We had actionable intelligence of a credible threat. Couldn't just sit on our boards watching the wave, doing sigint while ISIL operated in Manila. What's the point of developing intelligence if you don't use it?"

  She shook her head. Huffed. "My point exactly. What's the point of your intelligence if you don't use it? Let me spell it out for you. That's not our mission. Leave it to the locals. It's moot. We're going home anyway."

  Maybe she was right. What if the Filipinos didn't want us here? Their government certainly didn't, so we hid our presence. Do we really have the right to stay and pursue our own ideas of morality if it conflicted with the local's choices? Get some people killed as collateral damage? Their arm blown off, like that bodyguard whose image appeared every time I closed my eyes?

  Schnier wasn't much for retreat. "Harper may be here to collect intelligence, but my guys are strictly the kick ass and take names variety. Point us in the right direction and we'll take care of it. Not our fault we've had yet another intelligence failure."

  My laptop emitted a soft ding. A priority
update.

  I flipped it up on the screen. Read.

  Michelle stalked to the door. Evidently, ready to go call in the Navy to have us escorted out of her territory.

  "Wait." I pulled up a map. "Come back." Zoomed in. "SAF reported a dead cop next to an abandoned car with a bullet hole in the radiator. Got a good image of the dude with the sniper rifle from a train platform camera. Omar Yousef. AKA, the Wrath of Allah."

  She stopped. Looked back. "So?"

  "My team ran the image through facial rec. Analyzed the local video feeds. Got more hits. Followed Omar onto the train. Tracked his female companion, although she covered her face, so no identification there. They got off the train near a ferry stop. Ferry runs to Lubang Island. Omar and Abu Sayyaf must be based on the island. No other reason to leave the train at that stop."

  Schnier grinned like a shark tossed a handful of bloody fish. "Less than ninety miles. Plenty of time to check it out."

  I shook my head. "We'd have to wait for naval transportation, and they're planning to take us in the opposite direction, north to Japan and Seventh Fleet HQ. No, it's going the long way, but we should take the ferry. Might even be able to track him from the dock on the island."

  Michelle shook her head. "You two won't be happy until you've started a war, will you?"

  We needed to appeal to her well-worn sense of self-preservation.

  "If we go home now, your mission will be a failure, but if we take down ISIL in the Philippines, any issues along the way become, what did you say before? Moot."

  She tilted her head. Pursed her lips.

  Finally, rolled her eyes and sighed.

  "Find them and get back in less than sixteen hours. I'll blame a storm or the tide or something for the delay."

  I gave my best mock salute. Attempted a serious look.

  "Yes, Ma'am. They call us Recon Rangers for a reason. I'll find them, then Schnier's platoon can come destroy them."

  Now it was my turn to receive one of his Texas glares.

  "Be reasonable." I grinned. "You can't go hiking through the jungle looking for their base while also organizing your platoon to come along and mop them up. You're in command here. Have duties. Responsibilities."

  "I came here to party, not sit back in camp."

  "You'll get your shot. Just let my team guide you in."