The special forces operators cheered, and the MSS clapped politely.
"The bad news is, we’re only going to need eight of you."
Groans.
"Remember, this is a covert operation. The Sri Lankans are going to know someone is fucking with them. We just don’t need them knowing who. The fewer people we use for this, the better."
She tapped the LCD and a large, colonial-era hotel appeared.
"This is the Galle Face Hotel," said Lee. "It is probably the nicest hotel in Colombo. Al-Moussawi likes his comforts and he checked in to it, early this morning. You’ll notice here," she pulled up the next image, "that it’s right by sea. This is our opportunity, people. We’re going to catch him at the hotel, and extract by the sea. Any questions so far?"
None.
"Good. Both the strike and backup teams will stay at the Galle Face Hotel. Qui Wong?"
"Yes Madam?" one of the smaller, less obtrusive operators.
"You’re leading the backup team, you’re getting Jian Chu, Zhou Zhang, and Jia Chow."
"We’re all language experts."
Lee smiled, "Very good. Your fake documents will be ready within the hour. You’ll be posing as a Vietnamese businessman. As soon as we land, I want you to make some calls to some local businesses, to try and set up some meetings."
"Anything in particular? Or does it not matter?"
"It doesn’t matter. You just need some evidence that you are indeed trying to conduct business. It’ll help protect you if you get questioned by the authorities."
"Yes Madam."
"Jian Chu," she pointed at the man, "you’re going to be a Malaysian wrestling coach. You’re in transit to Dubai, where you will be teaching at a rich private school. A team in Beijing are making fake web pages for it, right now."
"My parents always dreamed of sending me to a private school."
"Zhou Zhang, you’re going to be A Filipino tourist. You’ll book a travel guide, and then you’ll try and find some girls."
"Girls?" his face was a study in suspicion and earnest hope.
"Sex workers, Zhang. You are a man travelling alone in Asia. Why else would you be visiting?"
"Does that mean I can – "
"No. It doesn’t. It’s your cover, Zhang. And if for some reason you do end with a friend in the room, the People’s Republic of China is not paying."
"Yes Madam," he looked down.
"Jia Chow, you are going to be a lay Buddhist. You will have a bag full of pamphlets. You’re keen to see the sights, especially the temple of the Buddha’s tooth."
"But Madam, can’t I be a sex tourist as well?"
"I’m sorry, no. Someone has to be the Buddhist. You can be a Buddhist hypocrite if you like, from what I understand you’d fit in quite well there."
"Yes Madam."
"Again, you four are the backup team. Depending where in the hotel we grab him, you will be given standby locations. Exits mostly, to catch him if he flees. Leave all your gear on the plane. You’ll get a pistol, printed and sent from a safe house. You’re on staggered departures, so you don’t appear connected to each other."
The four men nodded.
"Understood," said Wong. "What about the strike team?"
"The strike team will be myself, Zhu, Huang, and Liao," two men and a small made woman looked up at her. "Ms. Liao, no one will expect either of us to start shooting people. Sri Lankan agents will book two rooms for us, and then give us the keys. The hotel has a high volume, no one is going to notice. We’re going to familiarize ourselves with the place, and prepare for the grab. It may come at any time, preferably at night. It depends on Al-Moussawi. However, it won’t be sooner than tomorrow morning."
"Why not, Lieutenant Colonel?" asked Liao.
"Because we’re waiting for our extraction to arrive. We’ll be leaving by a midget submarine. Specifically, the Project 801."
She pulled up a new image. It showed a cutaway of what seemed an underwater rocket.
"Is that a Russian Shkval[l]?" asked Liao.
"Close. Like a Shkval series torpedo, this is a supercavitating system. It creates a gas bubble all around the vessel. So, it doesn’t deal with the high resistance water creates. Instead, it deals with gas, just like a plane. So, like Shkval, Project 801 can hit 350 kilometers per hour, underwater. However, Project 801 can also stop, start, and steer. It’s also equipped with a conventional, screw propeller system, for ‘normal’ traveling. And, unlike any supercavitating system, it’s large enough to carry people. Project 801 has three crew and can carry seven more passengers. It’s been tested in friendly waters. This is its first mission."
There were oohs and ahs, some started clapping.
"I don't understand," Zhu half-raised his hand. "We have a naval base what - two hundred meters from there? We could drag him out in the open and say he's our drunk friend."
"I was in Sri Lanka ten years ago, on a goodwill exercise," Suyin replied. "We had a general with us. As his staff, we would organize activities with his counterparts at the Defense Ministry. Then, when we were half-way across the country, some Captain sitting in a tin-roof building, would call me in, and berate me. Berate me because though we had permission from the Defense Ministry, we were apparently supposed to get his permission."
People laughed.
"No really, that's what they're like over there. Sri Lankan organizations typically keep people powerless, and deny them respect. So then they act out, to try to feel important and find some validation. Now, China owns their country. We know it, they know it, and everyone else knows it. But we have to pretend otherwise, so that they can pretend otherwise. That's why we can't take Al-Moussawi to the base, that's literally up the road. It would be too insulting for the Sri Lankans. Beijing doesn't want that.
"This isn’t going to be as easy. As Zhu has noticed, the Galle Face Hotel isn’t a beach hotel along the distant, rural coast. It’s in the heart of the capital. The president’s mansion is just down the street. The Sri Lankans learned to do rapid urban response during their civil war. That was a long time ago, but some units retain that readiness."
"We’ll take care of them," said one of the operators. Those sitting around him grunted and nodded.
"Remember, this is a covert operation. We don’t want them tracing this back to us."
"But if we don’t engage their rapid response, how will we deal with them?" he asked.
"By using distraction and confusion. The Sun Tzu STS will launch a cyber attack against Colombo. It will cripple their infrastructure, paralyzing their response. That got everyone’s attention, didn’t it? At the least, Beijing sees this mission as an important weapons test. As Self-Transcending Systems become more powerful, we’re going to see them play a larger role on the battlefield."
She looked from face to face. "Any questions?"
"I’ve sent our finalized list of needs to the embassy," said Meng. "A safe house is printing everything, they’ll be ready when we arrive."
"Good. Then we’re leaving behind all our weapons on the plane. Make sure they’re hidden away before we land. I don’t want to risk ground staff coming aboard and seeing something. Do you feel like babysitting?"
"Madam?"
"I’m giving you a small budget. Everyone I’m benching today, gets a little treat when you reach the Maldives. Take them out for Karaoke and drinks, and let them sleep in."
"Thank you! We’re all a little sick of being on our guard all the time."
"I’ve noticed. Indonesia is only going to get tenser. Take a day to breathe. Tomorrow morning, you fly back."
Meng looked over his shoulder, and quickly back at Lee. "Look who’s coming over."
Lee looked over his shoulder.
"Mr. Stockwell?"
"Hey there," he stood over Meng, hand on his head rest. "Nice little briefing that was. I didn’t understand a word but the slides looked nice," he chuckled.
The two stared at him.
"So, um, I know you’ve got things all
tied up and sorted, but, maybe there’s something I can do to help."
"Mr. Stockwell, your government – and mine – were very clear about this. This is a Chinese covert operation. Your government doesn’t approve, and doesn’t want to be implicated. You and Agent Pirello are here as liaisons, nothing more. Until we have Al-Moussawi in custody, I don’t see what’s there to liaise about. I did tell you this before you got on this flight."
"Alright – look. I’m not saying let’s piss off our bosses, and I don’t want to get in your way. You and I don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I think we’re progressing. I respect you, this is your operation, I get that. But I also think you respect me – juuust a little bit – and you can appreciate that I want to do something useful. Anything. It doesn’t have to get us in trouble, or be extra hassle for you. I’m there. I’m your guy."
"Alright," she said slowly. "Then, in the spirit of causing me no extra hassle, have you any ideas? Because I’ve just worked quite hard, to not involve you."
Stockwell smiled and his shoulders relaxed. "Oh I’ve got one. Your whole team is Chinese – different kinds of Chinese I know – but no one in Sri Lanka is going to know that. Al-Moussawi isn’t going to know that. What if he gets suspicious about Chinese people around him the whole time? What if you need him tailed and he recognizes a face from the hotel? Jemaat Ansar has never struck at a US target. He’s not going to suspect an American. Or, I can do an Australian accent. No one suspects Australians."
"I heard him practicing," said Meng in Mandarin. "It’s monstrous."
"I have actually been worried about surrounding him with Chinese faces. So you want to just – keep an eye on him?"
"That’s fine, right? There’s nothing to link us to you guys. Pirello and I can take turns. If he’s suspicious, he’ll notice a pattern of Chinese minders. Throw in my pretty face, and that breaks the pattern. That’s all it takes. I’ll just sit a couple of tables from him, my head in a menu. That kind of thing."
"It’s not a great role, Stockwell."
"It’s better than watching cable in a hotel room."
"Agent Pirello isn’t chafing over the prospect of relaxing on a peaceful, tropical island. Stockwell, how often do you do fieldwork? Have you ever done an operation like this before?"
A deer in headlights.
"I didn’t think so. But, if all you’re going to do is watch him out of the corner of your eye for a few hours, that’s different. Breaking the pattern of Chinese minders, would be invaluable. I can keep two operators outdoors, who he’ll never see in the hotel. We’ll get rooms for you and Pirello at the hotel as well."
"Thank you for accepting and going with my input. I look forward to being a resource to your operation."
"Remember Agent, you’re just observing. Whatever happens, you don’t get involved."
"You got my pinky swear on that."
"That was nicely done," said Meng.
"I couldn’t sound too eager. If I did, he’d have realized I wanted them to stay at the hotel, all along."
"Do you think he’ll get in the way?"
"No, he doesn’t seem the cowboy type. He’s just an analyst. Agent Pirello is quite capable, but she’ll follow her orders." She frowned. "I’m not pleased about this. Beijing is making a mistake."
"The Americans will be fine. They’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s unlikely they’ll be questioned, and when they reveal they’re FBI there will be more questions. And that’s it, questions. The US and Sri Lanka are on good terms. The authorities will look in the wrong place, while our other people get out. And this is all assuming that the Sri Lankans question the hotel guests. It’s just insurance, and it only creates a speed bump."
"If the Americans become a speed bump, there’ll be trouble. We asked for their help and they’re giving it, unconditionally. They showed us that Jemaat Ansar was larger than we thought. They told us Al-Moussawi was in Sri Lanka. The FBI fly team is helpful, and Stockwell is more helpful than annoying. Especially when he’s annoying."
"It was Beijing’s decision."
"It was Beijing’s interference. The Sun Tzu recommended that we work with these people, but someone still wants to play politics as usual. If there’s one thing I’ve learned working with the Americans, it’s that we’re fools not to do it more often."
Meng said nothing for a while. "I think we’re getting beyond ourselves. But, the power is still in your hands, Lieutenant Colonel. If you can keep the Americans out of trouble, none of this is going to matter."
"Yes," she looked over at Stockwell. He was talking to Pirello, grinning and waving his hands about. "If I can keep him out of trouble."
INS Agni, 160 meters, Off the West Coast of Sri Lanka, 6:32pm
"Captain," the sonar operator turned, lifting his headset off one ear. "I’ve got a contact. Bearing, Green 020."
"What is it?" asked the Captain.
"I don’t know Sir. It’s definitely a small submarine, but I can’t tell the type."
The Executive Officer shook his head. "There shouldn’t be anyone else out here."
"Are you sure, Lieutenant?" asked the Captain.
"Yes Sir. It’s getting weaker," the technician leaned forward, headset over both ears again. "Bearing unchanged."
"That’s towards Colombo," said the XO. "It could be moving to the port."
"Helmsman, change our bearing to Green 020."
"Yes Captain."
"Let’s go see who or what this is."
Project 801, 5 meters, Off Colombo, 8:16pm
"Sea floor three fathoms," said the ensign. His face was lit green by his instruments. "Sea floor two fathoms."
"Take us in closer," said the Lieutenant.
"Sea floor one fathom!"
"All stop," said the Lieutenant. "Let’s see what’s out there."
A fist-sized coal broke the surface of the black water.
The lieutenant grinned. "Good fucking driving, Huan. We’re right where we need to be."
"What do you see?" asked the pilot.
"The hotel terrace. It’s well lit, but no lights are facing towards the sea. There’s some asshole with a selfie stick taking flash photos."
"Could he see us?" asked the ensign.
"No chance. Besides, he’s blocking us out, with himself. Zhi, Chen, are you ready?"
"Flood the tubes already," came a digitized-sounding reply.
The sub’s only two torpedo ports, opened. Black-clad frogmen swam out slowly. They opened a locker on the sub’s side, and pulled out a large, black, bag. They unfolded it between them, till it became a deflated dingy. One went back to the locker, and retrieved a small, outboard, motor. With their treasures, they swam to the hotel’s sea wall, and waited.
Galle Face Hotel, 8:46pm
Has he moved yet :) ?
Pirello squeezed the lemon slice into her Gin and Tonic. The gin was a revived variant from World War Two, using coriander, cinnamon, curry leaves and ginger. It only came from Sri Lanka.[li]
I hope he hasnt. I want to see it go down on my shift!!! :P
She sat back in the heavy chair. She nodded to the smiling waiter who took her plate. Dinner had been devilled potatoes and grilled Seer fish steaks, with a white wine sauce. Desert was a local, brown pudding named Watalappam. It was made from coconut milk; eggs; jaggery; cloves; cashews; and a dash of ground cardamon.
Going nuts here. Any moment now well be in bizness!
She turned the page in her book. Johan treated Deidre badly, but Olaf was so boring. She would never go back to him. Olaf, she thought, would probably drown himself in the pond by Chapter Six. Unless of course, Johan revealed himself to be a vampire. That might help. Or maybe not. She turned the book over and looked at the cover.
Johan was cute.
Yur there rite?
She had a spoonful of the pudding and closed her eyes. She could hear sundowner parties running over into dinner. Surprisingly pleasant first dates. Too-loud Indian businessmen. The sea.
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U will tell if its going down rite?
Pirello?
"Mr. Tran, can I get you anything Sir?"
Sergeant Wong shook his head and drew a box of cigarettes. The doorman produced a lighter.
"Thank you," Wong smiled and inhaled. The cigarette glowed like a tiny furnace.
"You can smoke inside Sir. Many places. I show you?"
"No no, I like it here," he took in the parking lot with his arm. "Nice cars. In Vietnam, you don’t see these."
The doorman smiled and nodded. His eyes drifted over the cigarette pack, and sharpened.
"Chinese brand?" he asked.
Wong froze.
"From Duty Free. Good price."
"Ah. You want more, I can help you find. Many Chinese in Sri Lanka now."
"No, no, is okay. I stand here. I smoke."
"Why do you want to stand here in the lobby men?" asked the grey haired, Sri Lankan man. "Why don’t we sit on the terrace and put a drink? You should try our local spirits now, its called arrack. I’m sorry, do you drink?"
"Er, no," said Corporal Jia Chow. He looked past the reception to the hotel entrance. Beyond the hotel was a large, open space, packed with food carts and visitors. "I am Buddhist. Very strict Buddhist. I don’t drink."
"So sorry," the old man smiled, "I shouldn’t have assumed," he pronounced it ass-sumed. "Thanks for your pamphlet about this Rivers chap, his is an excellent story. Brilliant fellow! How often do people in the West discover Buddhism? Real Buddhism, not these new fangled things they are doing in California," Caleefornia.
"Ah, yes. I’m glad you like the Buddhist pamphlet." His phone beeped and he sneaked a look. The stork has come to feed.
"My father’s sister’s daughter in-law migrated there. They went once to one of these American temples. Just buildings, no? Just normal, simple, buildings. She said their meditation is all wrong. They meditate like Hindus! But you know, at least they are trying no? Ha, ha, these white fellows."
Corporal Chow tapped his trouser pocket. The plastic pistol felt like an anvil.
The Hundred Gram Mission Page 16