"No, the opposite. It's a fascinating story. Please don't stop. What happened to Stephen? I mean, you told me this morning you still wrote to each other."
Josh shifted his eyes back to the channel and a passing boat. "After we left Burma, Henry was assigned to a mission in Malaysia. Stephen flew over that summer and stayed until school started again. That fall we both left. I went to the States and he went back to the University of Hong Kong.
You know some of the rest. I went into ROTC and-"
"Whoa," said Grant, raising her hand. "That's the part I don't understand. Why would a missionary's son join ROTC?"
Josh took a sip of beer and shrugged. "The money. When my folks died they didn't have much to leave me. ROTC paid a hundred dollars a month and offered scholarships to those who worked hard. I wanted to finish school, so I worked hard. It worked out for the best, 'cause I knew it was a way to keep moving and see new things. It's funny-I thought Vietnam cured me of that ... Vietnam and Jill. I met her in Japan while I was convalescing. She worked for the army in the post finance center. We were both gypsies-I guess things turn out that way. They found out I spoke Shan and a little Burmese and sent me back to Burma. That's where I caught up with Stephen again. He had gotten a job in the Ministry of Finance as the Shan affairs officer in Rangoon. It was like we'd never left each other. Jill came over and joined me in late '72 and I had to make her an honest woman to keep her there. Stephen had met Mya, a beautiful Shan girl who worked in the ministry. We all lived together in a house near Royal Lake. He married her a week after Jill and I were-married. In '73 Jill was pregnant with Stef, so we went back to the States. I joined the Special Forces, and we all went back to Burma in '83. It was like old home week except this time Stef was ten. We had a wonderful time together, but Stephen was having trouble advancing because of his background. Like I told you, Hondo and I kinds made him a hero."
Grant lowered her eyes. "It's a wonderful story, but I feel sorry for Xu Kang. He gave up what he loved most."
Joshua smiled. "You're good, Grant. Xu Kang was the loser, and it's always bothered me, too. I know from experience it's hard to give up what you love most in the world."
Josh looked back at the channel with a reflective gaze.
"Some of us still try to hold on ... even though it's time to let go."
Grant put her hand on his. "I'm sorry about all this, Colonel. Now that I know you and have met Stefne, I know what we're asking of you. I'm truly sorry."
Josh finished the last of his beer and stood up. "Do me a favor and look in on her when I'm gone. She likes you."
Grant forced a smile. "I was going to anyway. I like her too."
Josh looked up at the stars and stretched out his arms before giving Grant a light pat on the shoulder. "Thanks. I guess I'd better try and get some sleep. See ya in the morning." He looked back at the channel one more time as if saying good-bye before turning and disappearing into the darkened cabin.
Grant climbed up onto the pier and slowly walked over the creaking planks toward the wharf, praying she wouldn't be needed to comfort Stefne if something went wrong with the mission. She stopped and looked over her shoulder at the boat. Come back to her, Joshua Hawkins, she said silently before turning toward her home.
Chapter 12.
8 A. M., 8 June, Seattle, Washington.
The U. S. Customs officers walked up the rusting steps to the bridge, where the captain of the freighter waited with a young man who would interpret. The officer in charge glanced at the papers on the clipboard in his hands. "Your papers say you've got a little over forty-eight hundred tons of teak plywood. That right?"
The young Malaysian quickly translated for his captain, who bowed his head and spoke only a few words the officer took as a yes.
The officer held out the clipboard and a pen to the translator. "Have him sign the bottom of the inspection form saying he understands that any non-declared cargo found on this vessel will be confiscated. And if we find drugs aboard, his vessel will be confiscated and he will be incarcerated pending trial."
The young man translated without expression and handed the captain the clipboard. The middle-aged captain signed the form as he spoke in an accommodating tone. The young man interpreted.
"My captain say, he understand and will assist you in any way possible. He say he has crew standing by to open cargo holds, and will open any pallet you wish."
The officer nodded his thanks and turned to his three assistants. "This should be pretty easy. The plywood is three-quarter-inch stuff stacked twenty-four sheets per pallet. Each of you take a hold, pick three to four pallets at random, and have 'em cut the bands. Get the crew to unstack enough to check if they've hollowed the stack out for contraband.
We've got only two hours before we have to inspect that load of Taiwanese bike parts on pier three. Questions? Okay, let's do it."
In a car facing the wharf, Colonel Po's two captains watched the freighter for almost two hours. The Customs crew walked down the gangplank and the lead officer gave a thumbs-up to the waiting stevedore crew chief. The two men knew the sign meant the ship was clean and the crew could begin off-loading. Captain Sing picked up a portable phone and punched in a number. Colonel Po picked up on the first ring.
"The first is in, no complications," Sing said. Then he hung up and drove away.
Camp Pickett Virginia Josh and Crow sat in the dark in the first row of a converted army movie theater turned briefing hall. Seated all around them were men from various departments of the Central Intelligence Agency and a group of soldiers wearing civilian clothes from the Special Operations Command (SOCOM) in Fort Bragg, North Carolina.
The operations officer walked up a short flight of steps to the lighted stage, and all talking ceased. He faced the audience and rocked back on his heels.
"Gentlemen, you have all been issued your equipment and been briefed by our security officer. It's now time to tell you what Operation Miracle is all about. This is an intra-govemmental operation using assets from the Agency and SOCOM, with the Agency having the lead. Our mission is to conduct a point reconnaissance and surveillance of selected targets within the country of Burma."
A murmur rolled through the audience like a breaking wave. The ops officer raised his hand for silence. "The SOCOM helicopter crews are already inbound to a temporary base and will join us at the operational staging base when it is established. Departure from this location will be in seven days. Execution of mission, depending on the weather, will be in ten days."
Another murmur, louder than the first, stopped the officer for several moments. He waited patiently and placed his hands on his hips. "I know it isn't much time, but the mission demands we execute as soon as possible. This will be a sterile, quick, looksee-and-get-out op. Five teams will be inserted; judging from satellite photos, there are plenty of landing zones so you won't need high altitude or low-opening parachute refresher training. You'll be air landed by the Pave Low I'll go into details later, but first I'll give you a general overview of how it's going to go down. We'll base out of a staging camp inside a neutral country. Once air assets are on hand we will begin a night air infiltration of the five teams into the target country. An emergency base will be established in-country in a remote area for use in case of compromise. Communications will be ..."
After the briefing Josh and Crow walked into an old barracks that had been converted into the operation headquarters.
They entered the first room off the hallway, the ops commander's office. Waiting for them was Buck McCoy, an Agency strategic operations officer. He eyed the two men as they approached and leaned back in his chair with a scowl.
"What now? You old vets going to complain that we don't have hot water or that the afternoon chow was cold?"
The two men ignored the comment and sat down in the cheap metal chairs without being asked. Josh handed over the notes he'd made at the operations briefing. "I didn't want to make your planner look bad, but you'll need to make some changes."
> McCoy glanced down the single page before looking up.
"Why do we 'have to' change the time of the insertion to later?"
Josh lowered his head and inspected his fingernails as he spoke. "It's the planting season for most of the mountain people. They'll plant and clear land till dusk and will be all over the lower valleys. If you want us, and the other teams, to go in low level, you'll have to do it later at night so we're not detected. If the locals hear a chopper they'll think it's the Burmese government's, but if they can see our birds they'll know they have company."
McCoy nodded noncommittally and pointed to the second item. "And you think the other teams are too big."
Crow furrowed his brow and leaned forward. "This ain't a combat mission, Buck. Your boys are going in too heavy.
They need to be like our team, no more than three people.
Less chance of detection, and it makes the cover story better if they're caught. Six-man teams are asking for trouble. Since your boys don't know the lay of the land and are going in cold, they're gonna have to move only at night and very early in the morning. The rest of the time they're gonna have to hole up. Like we told your planners, there's more than their army to worry about. The hill bandits are all over the mountains, and they don't fuck around asking questions of strangers. Hawk and I saw them in action once and had to shoot our way out. They ain't what ya'd call nice people."
McCoy tossed the paper on his desk. "I'll talk to the team leaders. I think you're right that the teams are too big. How's your radioman working out?"
Josh exchanged glances with Crow before looking back at their commander. "He's not. He's too big and talks too much.
He's not listening. No offense, but we want one of the Special Forces radiomen rather than your man. We want the Vietnamese sergeant, Nguyen Vee."
McCoy sighed as he ran a hand through his short hair. "I don't mind tellin' you old-timers I don't like the pressure they're putting on us for this op." He leaned forward and pinned both men with his eyes. "There's not enough time to get the other teams ready. I'll give you Vee, but you've got to help the others out more. Talk to them and give them the benefit of your experience."
"Tell your trainers that," Crow snapped. "Every time we open our mouths with suggestions, your boys hammer us."
"I'll talk to them tonight," McCoy replied with a frown.
"It's the same old story of professional jealousy, and we don't have time for that shit. We just received word the government of India approved State's request for a temporary base on India's border with Burma. State's cover was that we need a temporary base to recover an inbound errant telecommunications satellite. It cost our government a diplomatic bundle, but at least we know for sure we have a staging area.
To tell you the truth, it's still not close enough for me. We're going to be at least three hundred kilometers from the farthest insertion ,point. Yours."
Josh got up and took Crow's hand, pulling him to his feet.
"Ya hear that, Hondo? Buck is worried about the insertion."
Crow winked at McCoy. "That's the only part I ain't worried about. I just hope I can hump enough batteries to keep all that high-tech shit you're givin' us runnin'. What I really need is a new set of legs, and about three more inches of--"
"Come on," Josh said. "Let's go find something else to complain about."
Once the men had left the office, McCoy again picked up the list of suggestions, knowing they were all needed changes. Reaching for the telephone, he wished he had thirty more of the old-timers--then, he thought, this operation might have a chance.
Chinatown, Washington, D. C.
Sheng Chen stood by the huge darkened plate-glass windows overlooking H Street seven stories below. He heard footsteps behind him and knew it was time. Glancing slightly to his right, he could see the reflection of the tall, sixty-five-year-old tycoon coming toward him dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His father's dark gray hair was swept back and he was wearing new gold-framed, blue-tinted glasses that masked his cold, impenetrable eyes.
"Come, we're about to start the meeting," Dorba said, taking his son's arm. "I want you to sit behind me at the great table."
Hating the weakness he felt in the old man's presence, Chen forced a smile. "Thank you for the honor."
The recessed lights radiated a golden glow that reflected off the huge, lacquered rosewood table where ten men stood waiting for their San Chu. Dorba entered the windowless room, took his position at the head of the table, and bowed.
The others bowed deeply and took their seats as Chen and the rest of the compradors, or advisers, filed in and sat behind their respective leaders.
Still standing, Dorba looked down the table at the expectant faces of his appointed deputies who were responsible for the major East Coast cities of the United States. Behind the tinted glasses his eyes were smiling. "The first shipment is in," he said flatly. "We can expect to begin our new business within a week, so make the final offers. All of you have reported there are those who are bad-mannered and do not wish to do business with us. Give them one more opportunity. If they . Persist, make examples of some and report the others to the authorities through your lieutenants. Our new business will be like a fragile flower needing much care in the beginning until the roots have gone deep into the soil. The beauty of our flowers is they will bloom in all seasons and spread and grow stronger with each passing year. Our garden will provide seeds for expanding rapidly in our other interests and ultimately give us the strength to end our need for the flowers completely."
The leader of the New York syndicate, ten years younger than Dorba, dipped his chin in respect. "San Chu, I understand making examples of some of our competitors, but I am concerned about the authorities' response."
Dorba nodded. "Yes, we can all expect weeds to try to choke our garden in the beginning. We will pull them early.
These American officials are no different from those in Hong Kong. They will learn that the cost of pursuing our organization is too high. Find the authorities' leaders, target their families, and take immediate action to make an example for the others. Yes, you can expect to lose some of your lieutenants, but that is the price of business. They can be replaced easily.
We all must do whatever is necessary to ensure that our flowers grow."
Sitting behind his father, Chen felt a chill run up his spine and across his shoulders. Shuddering, he closed his eyes.
The black Chrysler Town Car turned into the estate driveway and slowed just long enough for the ornate metal gate to slide back before proceeding past the two guards in the stone key house. Sitting beyond the manicured lawn and geometrically shaped English gardens stood a two-story gray stone mansion. The car stopped in the circular driveway at the front entrance, and a waiting security man opened the right passenger door.
Dorba stepped out and looked back toward the front gate a hundred yards away. He smiled and pointed at the squirrels beneath a huge maple close to a rock wall. "They are full of such energy."
Chen had gotten out of the other side of the car wanting only to change clothes and begin drinking the many gin and tonics that would get him through the night.
Seeing his son wasn't listening, Dorba walked over to take his arm and guided him toward a red-graveled path that led to the back of the estate. "I see you're troubled. Let's take a walk in the garden and talk."
Chen nodded submissively, caught off guard by his father's gentle tone. He walked alongside him in silence, trying to find the strength to tell him he wanted out. His previous plan to wait a year had changed once he heard his father would be using the old methods of control.
"You didn't approve of my words today. Why?" Dorba asked, again in a fatherly tone.
Chen took a breath, steeling himself. "Father, I think you're making a mistake by using the old methods. These Americans are not like our people; they have never known true suffering or defeat. They are proud people who won't scare as easily as you seem to think."
Dorba squeezed his son's arm in a rare show of affection.
"I have found that all men have a weakness, and it's just a matter of finding it. Most cherish their families; others, their work."
They had entered the estate's rear Oriental gardens which Dorba had had planted upon his arrival five months before.
Stands of bamboo hid the surrounding security walls, and climbing honeysuckle filled the evening with its delicate sweet scent. Dorba slowed his steps and stopped on the arched wooden footbridge. Bending over, he peered into the crystal-clear water and smiled at his prize koi that had gathered in his shadow.
"These are like children to me," he said in almost a whisper as his fingers rippled the water above the large, brightly colored fish. "I love caring for them and ensuring they have only the best of conditions. There, you see the pair of reds nibbling my fingers? They're my favorite-they are a weakness within me, for I have a deep desire to watch them grow, produce young, and give me years of pleasure. You see, even I have a weakness. I think most fathers have a weakness in watching their children grow."
Forged in Honor (1995) Page 20