THE
PRICE OF
POWER
JAMES W.
HUSTON
Dedication
FOR MY FATHER,
JAMES A. HUSTON
United States Constitution. Article I, Section 8: The Congress shall have Power … To declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise for James W. Huston’s explosive blockbuster
Books by James W. Huston
Excerpt from Flash Point
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter One
The black cigarette boats were barely discernible in the darkness. The low rumble of each boat’s engine merged with the other three as they drifted closer together. The sea was unusually calm for a hot South Pacific night. The moon was just breaking over the horizon and threw vague shadows on the water as the boats glided toward the northwestern shore of Irian Jaya. A small Indonesian man in black clothing guided the lead boat under a large tree and threw the engine into reverse to slow the boat’s momentum. As the boat nudged the shore another man lowered himself over the side into waist-deep water and strode up the bank with a line attached to the bow. He wrapped the line around one of the massive trees ten feet up from the shore. The other boats followed suit. The engines fell silent and the boats bobbed along, separated only by black rubber bumpers. Without a sound, men moved carefully but quickly to the bow of each boat and let themselves down into the water. Each carried an assault rifle and a few had backpacks. Each wore the same black clothing. Their darkened faces were invisible.
When they had gone ashore, thirty of the men stood in a clearing around their leader. He reviewed their instructions quietly. They signaled their understanding. They checked their rifles and backpacks. When the leader was satisfied, they squatted on their heels under the jungle canopy and waited. The leader checked his watch several times. Finally, after fifteen minutes, a half-naked figure emerged from the darkest part of the jungle. He had been watching them.
The leader was annoyed at having been made to wait; he was on a schedule. He went to the man and spoke to him in Indonesian. The half-naked man pointed. The leader motioned for him to go and for the rest to follow. They turned inland on a small trail in single file. The leader and guide set a quick but careful pace toward the largest gold mine in the world.
Dan Heidel stared out of the small window in his bedroom. He leaned forward, resting the weight of his shoulders on his hands, which grasped the window frame above his head. He drank in the smells and listened to the sounds of the jungle. He glanced over his shoulder at his wife. “Smells like rain.”
She slipped her white silk nightgown on and pulled her hair back. “It’s a rain forest.”
“It’s so beautiful and peaceful. I love it,” he said, adjusting his striped pajama bottoms. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Only nine more months. I’m going to miss it.”
“I will too, but it’ll be nice to go back. We’re so far from everything.”
“It’s been good for my career.”
Connie smiled as she brushed her hair. “Harvard MBA to sit in a jungle?”
He scratched his flat stomach. “No—to be the president of the biggest gold mine in the world.” He sat in the wicker chair in the corner of the room. “Mind if I leave the windows open tonight instead of using the air conditioner? I’d like some fresh air.”
“Fine with me.” She sat on the edge of the sumptuous bed covered with pressed linens.
He opened the other window and walked to the door.
She watched him prop the heavy wooden door open. “We’re not supposed to leave the door—”
“What could happen? We’re in the middle of a compound. There are guards on our front porch.”
“I know. It’s just the rule—”
“Live dangerously for once,” he said, looking for the book he had been reading. “Did you check on the kids?”
“They’re fine. Both asleep.” She turned around and faced him. “Have you thought about it?”
“What?”
“Sending the kids to live with your brother. Richard will be ready for high school in the fall.”
“They’re doing fine.”
“Don’t you want them to be able to go to a football game?”
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow.” Heidel found his book and picked it up.
“You going to read?”
“Just for a few minutes.”
She pulled the covers back. “I’m really tired.”
“Okay. Night.”
“Good night.” She lay on her side facing the wall away from him. He turned off the overhead light and turned on a small brass lamp on his nightstand. He started to read as something screeched in a tree nearby.
It was so dark under the jungle canopy that the men kept track of each other by touching the man in front. They followed a small, almost imperceptible trail behind their guide, who strode confidently. Each of the men pointed his assault rifle out toward the jungle as he walked.
They traveled for three hours. The moon would occasionally break through the cover of the trees to illuminate their black clothing. In spite of their rubber sandals, the birds and animals could hear them and grew quiet as they passed, afraid of the unknown predators.
The guide stopped in front of them and pointed. The leader stood beside him and could see the high wire fence rising out of the jungle floor. They stood fifty feet back from the barrier and watched. They turned to their right to parallel the fence and kept moving. They walked for another mile, back from the fence, out of sight. The guide slowed and began gesturing vigorously. The leader motioned for them to kneel down. The gate of the gold mine was directly in front of them. The men’s eyes danced with excitement and fear.
The intruders watched two guards walk aimlessly by from the gate toward their left. The guards had their rifles slung over their shoulders as they casually smoked cigarettes and laughed in low voices. They didn’t even glance outside the entrance. They didn’t need to. They stood this watch every night and nothing ever happened.
The guide, a tribesman, stood and moved toward the gate. The other men fanned out behind him in the jungle, forming a large semicircle. In front of the gate to their right was a wide street in the darkened town of maybe two hundred people. The town was developed by the company primarily to provide clothing and food for the employees.
The tribesman kneeled down just outside the fence. He made an unusual calling noi
se with his mouth, like some rare tropical bird, which no Westerner could possibly imitate. Twice. Three times. Finally, he stood and continued walking toward the front gate. He waited, looked around, then yelled loudly in his native tongue. The two guards ran toward the entrance yelling at him to be quiet. One was an American, and one, much smaller, appeared to be a native. Through the gate, the American guard turned a flashlight on the tribesman and spoke to him angrily in English, “Shut the hell up! What do you want?”
The guide spoke enthusiastically in his native language and waved his arms frantically.
“What are you talking—”
The small guard pulled an automatic pistol with a silencer from inside his shirt and placed it against the American guard’s chest. The American stared at him, confused. The small guard pulled the trigger and the American’s body jerked back and fell to the ground. He twitched for a moment and then lay still in the night as a dark pool formed under his left arm. The small guard took out his keys, and unlocked the enormous wrought-iron gate. The two tribesmen, one in bare feet and the other in a guard’s uniform, pushed the gate open and ran away.
The thirty intruders waited momentarily in the shadows of the jungle. They watched the gate, the fence, the shadows. Finally, on a signal, they sprang up as one and dashed through the entrance. They headed up the slight hill to the left to the house of the president of the company a quarter mile from the gate. The house was dark. Two guards sat on the porch with automatic rifles on their laps. As the intruders approached, the two guards stood up slowly and challenged them. Several sharp clicks from the attackers’ silenced assault rifles answered. The guards were thrown against the wall of the house and slumped to the deck. Five of the intruders walked up the stairs quietly and waited outside the screen door to the bedroom of the president of the South Sea Mining Company and listened.
Dan Heidel heard a noise and sat up quickly in bed trying to see through the darkness. “Connie, wake up. Wake up!” he whispered. Then more loudly toward the door, “Who’s there?”
Connie sat up, confused. “What? What is it?”
Suddenly the screen door burst open as it was ripped from its hinges. Two men ran to each side of the bed. Heidel jumped at the first intruder. He didn’t have a plan, he just knew he had to try to stop them. The first attacker timed his movement and struck Heidel flat on his cheekbone with the butt of his rifle, knocking him back onto the bed. The attacker climbed on Heidel’s back and pushed his head down against the pillow with his rifle.
The two on the other side of the bed grabbed Connie. She began to scream. “Dan! The childr—”
Heidel turned his head toward her, tearing his cheek on the rifle. “Shut up!” he cried.
One of the two men at her side forced her down onto the bed and climbed on top of her. He grabbed her jaw and forced it closed with his rough, callused hand. He yanked off a piece of tape hanging from his shirt and taped her mouth shut. He took a nylon bag out of his pocket and pulled it over her head, her long blond hair splayed out on her neck.
The leader grabbed Heidel’s hands and tied them behind his back, turned him over, and roughly pulled the piece of tape off his black shirt and taped Heidel’s mouth shut. He whipped a nylon bag over his head.
The attackers pulled them out of the bed and taped their hands together more firmly behind their backs. Not caring that they were barefoot or what they were wearing, they dragged them down the stairs. They stopped on the porch next to the two dead guards and looked around for the rest of the men. The compound was starkly quiet. The remaining guards had not been awakened and no one else was up. The intruders gathered quickly and headed out of the compound. Those in the back walked backward, their guns trained on the gold mine administrative buildings and guards’ dormitory to stop anyone who came after them. They left quickly through the gate, leaving it open behind them, and joined the two natives at the edge of the jungle.
Two of the men took off their backpacks and quickly assembled two sets of two long poles with netting in between, framing two rough hammocks. The Americans were pushed to the ground and forced to lie on the netting, their hands still tied and their heads still covered. Two men then picked up two poles each, put them on their shoulders, and headed off into the jungle behind the tribesmen.
As the main group of intruders disappeared into the jungle, the leader called out and ten men returned with him to the compound.
Each wore a backpack filled with Semtex, the Czech plastic explosive. They followed their leader at a trot, heading toward the mouth of the gold mine. Four guards standing by the entrance saw them coming. They were confused by the orderly trot of the eleven men in black garb carrying rifles. They hesitated just too long. The eleven fired, killing the four guards instantly, their bodies sprawled in front of the entrance to the mine.
The eleven men jumped over the guards into the mine. It was quiet. They walked into the shaft deep enough to satisfy their leader, who barked a command. They stopped, set their weapons on the ground, and took off their backpacks. They lined up in a prearranged order as their leader connected the cables protruding from the backpacks. The ten backpacks fit together in a sequence connected by the cables. The leader took off his own backpack and set a heavy metal device on the ground, hooking it by the cable to the first backpack. He turned a dial and pressed a large button, which caused an audible click. There were no other indicators on the box at all. The leader looked at his watch, picked up his weapon, and started toward the entrance, followed by his men. They were surprised to encounter no other guards on their way out as they trotted down the streets and out the main gate to catch up with the others who had preceded them, carrying Heidel and his wife.
They moved quickly and precisely back along the path that had brought them to the gold mine. It was a long way and they had to make it to the coast before dawn. After fifteen minutes the two groups were back together. As the leader spoke with the others they heard a thunderous explosion behind them, much louder and bigger than they had expected.
They increased their pace through the jungle. They switched the load of the two Americans every fifteen minutes. The two tribesmen steered them around the creeks and rivers that would have slowed them. The sky began to lighten as they finally reached the small inlet where their four black Cigarette boats waited. The men who had been left to watch the boats started the engines. The deep rumble reassured the intruders as they gathered on the bank.
They waded into the ocean and passed the two Americans into the boats. Heidel and his wife were turned on their backs and lashed to the decks of two of the boats with the hammock netting pinning them to the fiberglass boat deck, exposing them to the elements. Their faces strained against the nylon hoods. Heidel fought the panic he felt from breathing only through his nose.
The men scurried aboard as two Indonesian Parchim class frigates appeared over the horizon. The leader yelled at them to hurry. They cut the lines to the shore. The black boats pivoted as one and turned their knifelike bows toward the open ocean. As they did, the frigates picked them up on their radar and closed in on the shore. The sky was light enough to see the smoke pouring from the stacks of the frigates as they went to flank speed. Without warning, the two frigates began firing their 57-mm guns. The first shots hit the shoreline with a whumpf that drove the intruders into furious action. The black boats accelerated instantly. The noise of their enormous engines assaulted the morning air. The boats quickly were up on step—most of their hulls out of the water—as they passed through twenty knots, then thirty and forty. They banged across the small waves at fifty knots, their speed still increasing. The best the frigates could make was twelve knots, but they hoped to reach the boats with their long-range guns. The black boats paralleled the coastline of Irian Jaya as closely as they could to camouflage their radar signature, pulling farther away from the frigates every second.
The frigates’ guns fired rapidly and recklessly at full speed, but against such a quick-moving target, a hit was unlikely. T
he shells began to fall behind the Cigarette boats as they sped away at nearly sixty knots. The frigates lagged, the shots fell short, and the speedboats, jumping across the waves, disappeared over the horizon into the Java Sea.
Chapter Two
Admiral Ray Billings would rather have his hands fall off than ask to have the handcuffs loosened. His tropical white uniform shone like a beacon in the Hawaiian sun, as he stood at the top of the gangplank of the USS Constitution. He knew the Master-at-Arms hadn’t decided to lead him off his aircraft carrier in handcuffs just to humiliate him. That order must have come from the President himself.
His immaculate hat with its admiral’s gold braid was slightly askew. His inability to set it straight was excruciating. He glanced down the long pier next to the USS Constitution, the enormous Nimitz-class nuclear aircraft carrier. Cars and media vans crammed the pier, waiting. He had kept the media off the ship, but he couldn’t keep them off Pearl Harbor Naval Base completely; that was someone else’s decision. He scanned the crowd anxiously and finally saw Carolyn at the base of the gangplank. Shame washed over him. He hadn’t seen her since Hong Kong. They had spent five beautiful days together.
He stood as tall and straight as he could. The lieutenant at the quarterdeck stayed busy with administrative tasks so he wouldn’t stare at his admiral, his hero—the hero of the entire country for having the courage to hit back at the terrorists who had murdered twenty-five American merchant sailors and a Navy SEAL.
Billings managed a pinched, thin-lipped smile for Carolyn, his wife of twenty-five years.
“We need to get ashore, Admiral,” the MAA said.
Billings jerked his head toward the petty officer. “Don’t rush me.”
“I don’t mean to rush you, sir, but we do need to get ashore.” The petty officer glanced at the lieutenant commander, a legal officer from CINCPAC, who had received the worst assignment of his life—officer in charge of an arrest detail for an admiral.
Billings scanned the sea of clamoring reporters and television crews. He imagined hundreds of electronically controlled lenses zooming in on his face, showing every emotion, every pore.
The Price Of Power Page 1