War Tactic

by Don Pendleton

  As for Harold Rhemsen, stories were circulated about the poor young man’s terrible injury. So badly had the fire burned him that he would be several months recovering. His graduation would be delayed. This was very sad but, apart from that poor dead Chinese boy, whom did Harold Rhemsen truly call friend? Not many on campus.

  Thus, when young Harold Rhemsen returned to campus, his face swaddled in bandages while he recovered from reconstructive surgery, few talked to him. No one held his silence against him for how could anyone be expected to cope with so hideous and thorough an injury? It was rumored that the burning was so bad that Harold would be practically unrecognizable when the bandages came off. His speech, too, had been affected by inhaling fire. But he was still Harold Rhemsen. He was still a student of Oxford, and he was accorded concomitant respect.

  Seated in his office in Atlanta, Cheung Yeong picked up the hand mirror from his desk and looked at himself again. He spent many long minutes every day staring at that alien face. It had come to horrify him as much as it fascinated him, that plastic mask, that face that made him able to pass for a white Anglo-Saxon male named Harold Rhemsen.

  How he hated that frozen face.

  Returning “home” to Harold Rhemsen’s ancestral property in North Carolina, the man now wearing an approximation of Rhemsen’s face had wasted no time asserting ownership. The formation of RhemCorp followed not long after. Between the family fortune and the secret backing of Beijing, supported by industrial espionage carried out by Chinese intelligence agents, RhemCorp built itself up quickly in the field of armament. All that was needed, to secure Department of Defense patronage, was to offer ordnance that was cheaper, that killed more and killed faster. This was easy enough to accomplish. For many years RhemCorp’s operations were completely legal, apart from the methods through which its designs were achieved. It was only when the company was established that Rhemsen began to branch out, to serve illegal foreign markets.

  Through it all, he had met periodically with Lao, always in secret, determining how his position in the American arms industry could best be used to help China. They had mulled over many possibilities. For some time they had considered sabotaging the weapons themselves, so that American troops in combat would be dealt serious losses. This plan they discarded. Not only had it been tried before by other intelligence operatives, with limited success, but it would not be sustainable. A single batch of bad weaponry would start tongues wagging. While the American military was notoriously slow to respond to reports of defective equipment, respond it eventually would. Then the power and influence RhemCorp had built would be lost, with little to show for it but a few dead American grunts.

  No, what they needed was something far more sweeping. It was in discussing this that Lao and Rhemsen—for that was who Cheung Yeong had to pretend to be—hit on the idea of using RhemCorp, first to implicate China, then to reveal the plot as a ruse on the part of a corrupt American capitalist. They had proceeded accordingly with Beijing’s blessing and its resources at their disposal.

  Only in recent months had Fitzpatrick, that fool who headed the mercenary forces Rhemsen had hired to secure his properties, learned of Lao’s existence. It had taken all of Rhemsen’s self-control not to murder Fitzpatrick when the explosion killed Lao. But Fitzpatrick was necessary to his plan. After all, if the man known as Harold Rhemsen simply disappeared, there would be nothing to indicate exactly what had happened. Yes, he would be safe in China, but China itself would not be cleared in the scandal involving RhemCorp’s weaponry. He was not out simply to destroy the reputation of RhemCorp with the Americans. That was a bonus, implicating corrupt capitalism, but it was not the main thrust of the scheme.

  No, for the plan truly to work, it had to appear that Rhemsen, a corrupt American fat cat, had first sold his weapons abroad to illegal interests, then used those interests to fund attacks in the South China Sea that were only made to look as if the Chinese were responsible. This plot would be exposed and, when it was, further criticism of China’s territorial expansion would look like more conspiracy to frame Beijing for actions it did not commit.

  Westerners were cowards. They hated to appear prejudiced or biased. They would shrink back in their cowardice. The great injustice perpetrated against China by a corrupt American would make the Americans look even more dishonest than they already were, while shielding China from the rabble who sought to deny her the territory that was hers. In the transition, RhemCorp would become a Chinese holding, just as Rhemsen had described to Fitzpatrick. And Rhemsen himself could return to China and live under his own name once more; enjoying the fruits of his labor at the helm of the company he had built.

  That idiot Fitzpatrick was key to the plan. The journal Rhemsen had given him was faked. It told only the story that Beijing wanted told. It was filled with Harold Rhemsen’s greedy fantasies, his pathological hatred for all Asians—especially the “dirty Chinese”—and an outline of the plot to frame China for aggressions it had not committed, using pirates hired in the South China Sea for muscle. It was also filled with various derisive statements about Fitzpatrick and about Blackstar in general, including Rhemsen’s joy at the wanton killing of Blackstar’s men.

  Sooner or later, Fitzpatrick would read through the journal. It was the type of man he was. He had no honor. He had no respect. He would read the journal, out of curiosity to see just what weapon he possessed. And when he did, he would realize that he had been betrayed—for the journal also contained the admission that the briefcase full of money with which Rhemsen had paid Fitzpatrick was counterfeit. Those provocations should be enough to send Fitzpatrick to the nearest American authorities to plead for immunity from prosecution in exchange for what he knew. Fitzpatrick, craven as he was, would also go to the press. He would see it as the way to cash in on what he knew. The fact that the money was not real would burn him. The big oaf would have been making plans for that money, picturing how he would spend it, feeling rich and powerful. To have that taken away would burn him, would gall him, would make him feel the lack of something he had scarcely possessed before it was stolen back. He would want to find a way to enrich himself, and the press would do that for him.

  Should that plan fail, should Fitzpatrick turn out to be less useful than even Rhemsen thought him to be, there would be other ways of releasing the information. But Rhemsen knew Fitzpatrick well. He was confident that the brute would not let him down. Jason Fitzpatrick was, in the grand scheme of things, entirely predictable…and entirely a fool.

  Fitzpatrick would be occupied, in the near term, with the tasks Rhemsen had given him. That should see to it he did not begin to thumb through the journal until he had sufficient leisure. The oaf would probably do something like hide the briefcase and journal under his bed at home while he embarked on his current mission. It was how someone like that thought. That was, if you could call it thinking at all.

  In the meantime Fitzpatrick’s Blackstar men would prove useful. He did not care how many of them died, here or in Hilton Head, as long as the government investigators were eliminated. Why, they need not even be killed, as long as they were delayed sufficiently. There were files here that had to be collected, files that could only be properly destroyed if they were decrypted and deleted using a special algorithm Lao had developed for the purpose. The process was a lengthy one. Only when it was complete could Rhemsen leave this place behind. He would go to the airport, board the jet of which he had spoken to Fitzpatrick, and leave the American dullard to his pile of fake money and his betrayal. Cheung Yeong would finally be free to resume his normal life back in China.

  His only regret was that he would have to do that…with this alien face Beijing had given him.

  Harold Rhemsen hurled his hand mirror across the room and watched it shatter into glistening fragments.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The chopper that flew Phoenix Force over the South China Sea had been patched, repaired and re-armed. It was heavily laden with both fuel and ammunition, and
rightly so. The target to which they now traveled was the hardest target yet: an entire Filipino oil rig that had just been captured by officially “unknown” forces.

  If the rig were lost, it would be a heavy blow to the Filipino economy. Discovery of an oil deposit off Cebu Island had given the nation hope of becoming a viable oil producer for the first time in a long time, giving the nation a much-needed financial boost and bolstering its energy security while reducing its dependence on foreign imports. Foreign contractors had been drilling exploratory wells in the islands since the 1960s. The work was finally paying off, and a deposit of natural gas had allowed the rig to be used as an offshore electricity producer, as well. The whole thing was one giant gem of a target for anyone seeking to hurt the Philippines. That made protecting it that much more important. Data, including the schematics and plans for the rig, were uploading to Phoenix Force’s smartphones as they flew. McCarter himself was still on the satellite phone with Barbara Price as the team neared its target.

  “They’re flying the Chinese flag,” Price said. “Transmissions from the rig, which have been in broken English, have proclaimed the rig property of the Chinese government. They’re claiming that the People’s Republic of China has extended its territory to cover that entire area of the South China Sea.”

  “Is anybody buying that?” McCarter asked. “Before I took him out, this Mhusa character claimed he was first mate to a pirate captain named Wijeya. If he was telling the truth, then this Wijeya, perhaps in conjunction with other pirates, is behind the attacks here in the South China Sea. Our man couldn’t tell us where Wijeya got the weapons and the uniforms.”

  “Able Team is running down Rhemsen,” Price advised. “We’ve located what we believe is his last facility in the United States. It was concealed by several layers of data encryption and cut-outs, holding companies and other concealing methods. That’s part of why Bear believes this is the last one. What’s more, Rhemsen and his forces, including this corporation Blackstar, have repeatedly attacked both you and Able Team while nominally in Rhemsen’s employ.”

  “Just to play devil’s advocate, Barb,” McCarter interjected, “how do we know it isn’t some other company pulling the strings?”

  “In-depth analysis of RhemCorp’s financial data, including the records they didn’t want anybody to know about, led us to the holding companies that employ Blackstar. That prompted us to sift through Blackstar with a fine-toothed comb. The company, at this point, has just one client. RhemCorp funds Blackstar through a number of different dummy companies, but all roads lead back to Rhemsen and his money. In fact, we don’t think Blackstar knows that they’re completely in Rhemsen’s pocket. Bear has uncovered emails that show Blackstar was under the impression that it answered to more than one client. Rhemsen and his people actively worked to give them that impression. Not that Blackstar’s management was particular about breaking the law. It’s just bad business to have all your eggs in one client’s basket.”

  “So Rhemsen is a control freak,” said McCarter. “He wanted a private army at his beck and call, and he didn’t want that army potentially distracted by other buyers. So he made sure there were never any conflicts, and Blackstar, criminals they may be, were never any wiser.”

  “What a tangled web, indeed,” Price said. “What we don’t know is why Rhemsen is mixed up in stirring up trouble in the South China Sea. Blackstar is obviously working for him there as well as domestically. They’re mixed up with the pirates somehow. And thanks to your good work, Phoenix, we know that it’s pirates, not the Chinese, who are sponsoring these terror attacks. Beijing denies that they are involved in the oil rig attack. What’s more—this is significant, David—they’re offering to provide air support and combat troops. That’s never happened before.”

  “How bloody convenient,” McCarter stated.

  “That was Hal’s thought, too,” Price noted. “Which makes me wonder if there isn’t some sneaky way that the Chinese government is involved in this. Beijing is getting better at public relations, especially after some nasty missteps.”

  “You mean that whole thing where they tried to show off their latest air-superiority fighter using footage stolen from an American fighter-pilot movie?”

  Price said, “Yes. Yes, very much so. The Chinese hate to lose face when this kind of thing happens. They’re eager to prove that they’re a superpower. Imagine the public relations coup that they could spin out of sending troops to help us regain an oil rig controlled by pirates…and one that is falsely running their flag to make them look bad. We need more data, but Hal smells a rat, and so do I.”

  “All right, Barb,” said McCarter. “We’ll stay on it. Something about this feels like a grandstand final play. This oil rig is the biggest target they’ve hit yet. And I can’t help but feel that the hostage drama with the freighter was designed to keep us busy while they set this up. Tell me, are there news crews on site?”

  “The Filipino government is enforcing an air space perimeter,” said Price. “Designed to keep the news choppers at bay. They’re also maintaining a naval cordon to stop any reporters from blundering into the whole affair by boat. That should keep any innocent casualties to a minimum. And I have some other good news that’s just coming over the wire,” she added.

  “What’s that?”

  “The Filipinos are reporting that the rig was shut down for some kind of maintenance cycle,” said Price. “They were running a skeleton crew, and when the pirates attacked, that crew took a launch and got out of there fast. That’s why the rig went down so easily. But it also means that there are no civilians aboard. The only people on that oil rig are the invaders, which, if your intel is correct, are either pirates or Blackstar personnel. Possibly both, given that it was Blackstar who tried to take you down.”

  “Something that bothers me,” McCarter revealed, “is the fact that, from what you’ve told me, Able has been targeted by Rhemsen’s forces, just as we have. That means that Rhemsen knows someone in our government is on to him and actively working against him. For most people, for most corrupt businessmen, anyway, that would be the bloody signal to get out of the country. So why’s Rhemsen still trying to duke it out with forces he knows are far more powerful than he is? There isn’t a private business alive that can stand up to the power of the federal government once it trains its full resources against someone. What does Rhemsen hope to gain except his complete destruction?”

  “You’re asking the same questions Hal asked me,” said Price. “And I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer for you. Everything Rhemsen is doing is absolutely self-destructive. There’s no way either he or his company come out of this intact. Not if he hopes ever to do business again. It’s suicidal. It’s worse than suicidal, actually, because it isn’t just his life and livelihood he’s affecting. We just don’t know.”

  “We are almost within range,” Grimaldi interrupted over the transceiver. “Everybody strap in and gun up.”

  “That’s my cue, Barb,” McCarter said. “I’ll give the boys the good news.”

  “Good news?” Price echoed.

  “Weapons free, Barb,” McCarter advised. “Weapons free.”

  “Good luck, David—again. Farm, out.”

  McCarter moved up toward the front of the chopper. “Everyone take your stations,” he said, repeating Grimaldi’s instructions unnecessarily. “Gary, on the launcher. Rafe, T.J., take the guns. Barb has cleared us to go in hot. There are no civilians aboard the oil rig. Just bad guys. And you know what that means.”

  “Finally, we get to clean house the way the gods of war intended,” Hawkins said.

  Everybody but Grimaldi turned to stare at Hawkins. There was an awkward moment of silence.

  “Starting to worry about you, T.J.,” James said.

  “I, uh, heard it in a movie,” Hawkins said.

  “Right,” McCarter intoned. “Well, then, let’s get this done, shall we? Jack, take us in.”

  “Gladly,” said Grimaldi. “Hang on
to your hats, boys. We’re about to put a dent in the price of oil.”

  “Uh,” James began, “you do know we want to liberate the oil rig and not just blow it up, right?”

  “Barb might have said something about that,” Grimaldi said. He ran a cable from the MP3 player in his pocket to a jack in the control panel. “But I think this is appropriate nonetheless.”

  “I love it when he gets like this,” Encizo said.

  Manning shook his head. He hadn’t said much in the past few days, and didn’t seem inclined to share much now.

  Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” began to play over the cockpit speakers. Grimaldi let out a war whoop and dropped the nose of the chopper, sending them hurtling toward the oil rig as they picked up speed.

  The oil rig was a massive L-shape built on a structure that put it well up above the water. There was a landing pad, a large loading crane and several multistory structures that housed everything from living quarters to supplies to the equipment used in drilling. There was also a very large setup devoted to piping the drilled oil and natural gas, and a pod, or secondary platform, that comprised the natural-gas power-generation facility.

  Armed men were all over the rigs. None of them wore Chinese uniforms, even though the Chinese flag was flying from a post on the power station. Some looked to be wearing what McCarter thought of as “paramilitary casual”—castoff BDUs, denim, ragged vests, that kind of thing. The others were wearing the dark uniforms McCarter recognized as belonging to Blackstar security. He took his monocular from his eye and pointed. “Multiple hostiles, confirmed. Looks like pirates and Blackstar goons.”

  “Even if they’re Chinese military in disguise,” said Grimaldi, “the Chinese have disclaimed them. No worries about an international incident.”