Golden Serpent am-1

by Mark Abernethy

  Wang tried to say something with his eyes, but the MSS thugs dragged him away for one of those dentist appointments where you never have to wait.

  Mac followed Don into the Chinook. Hatfi eld was laid out snoring on one of the airline seats. Like spooks, army blokes had to take sleep where they could fi nd it.

  Don sat down at the map table. ‘Want coffee?’

  Mac shook. Paul nodded. Don asked Brown’s sidekick for coffee.

  Brown turned, said hi to Mac.

  Don looked like shit. Pale, drawn, unhappy. ‘So, what have we got?’

  Mac felt sorry for him. All his DIA guys were probably on Golden Serpent or with the naval SONAR birds. Mac and Paul were still a sideshow – although the briefi ng they’d given Don over the radio was bringing Kaohsiung Holdings and the PLA further to the centre.

  ‘Mate, we’ve had an idea,’ said Mac. ‘The PLA General Staff have been running this ghost ship around Asia for years. Probably got others too.’

  ‘It’s highly illegal,’ said Don. ‘Not to mention incredibly unsafe.’

  ‘Not so different to the unmarkeds that go out to Johnston.’

  ‘That’s different, and you know it,’ said Don.

  Mac was glad Jenny wasn’t present.

  ‘Anyway, the idea,’ continued Mac. ‘Let’s say we can’t get any satellite bounces off this tub. It’s not on the AIS, so we can’t trig a position, right?’

  Don nodded. As the coffee came, Paul reached forward.

  ‘But we still have imaging, right?’

  Don nodded.

  Mac looked over at Brown, who was in front of his panel of screens and keyboards. ‘That right, Brownie? We can fi nd an image of Hainan Star?’

  Brown turned and looked at Don, who said, ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Can I get a better idea of what you want?’ asked Brown.

  Mac got up, walked over to the panel. ‘Okay, so once there was a terrorist emergency in Singapore, the satellite cameras would have been going overtime, right?’

  Brown nodded, looked at Mac with a dawning smile.

  ‘And it was in the morning, clear morning, right?’

  Brown broke in, lightbulb going on in his head. ‘So there’s going to be a shot of Hainan Star logged somewhere.’

  ‘Bingo, Brownie.’

  Brownie tapped on keys, mumbled things into his headset. He scrolled databases, input searches, manipulated dates. He played multiple keyboards like Rick Wakeman. Finally, the big black SGI screen came up with an astonishing image: Port of Singapore with a time and date log on the bottom right. On the top right were coordinates in the nautical format. A ghosted cross-cursor fl oated in the middle of the screen and the imagery was amazingly clear.

  ‘Shit. Guess they dropped the Polaroids, huh? Got some new gear?’ said Mac, impressed.

  Brownie laughed. ‘It’s pretty good stuff.’

  Mac took a seat, pulled it up close. Paul and Don leaned over the back of both of them. Mac asked for a closer pull on Brani. Brownie shifted the cross, double-clicked on his mouse. The image got closer over Brani.

  ‘Again, mate.’

  Brownie brought them in close, then Mac asked him to go further south. They zeroed in over the Kaohsiung Holdings building and Hainan Star.

  The time code said they were looking at an image from seven-thirty am, the day before.

  ‘Can we take the time series forward, say ten minutes at a time?’

  Brownie brought a smaller box up on the screen, changed a setting and got rid of the box, then took the time series of images forward by ten-minute increments by hitting an arrow key on the SGI keyboard.

  The men watched the tailgate come down at eight am, watched the tug from the facility drive into the ship’s hold at 8.10. Brownie stopped the series. Let real time run. You could see the tug moving into the ship, with no trailers.

  Mac smiled at Paul and Don. ‘It was being offl oaded.’

  The time series jumped forward again. Tug taking trailers out of the hold, soldiers in plain clothes lounging on the quayside with assault rifl es over their shoulders.

  At eight-thirty, the emergency started. Brownie ran the real time.

  People out of the building, looking around. Pointing into the building.

  People up and down the gangway of the ship. Confusion.

  Brownie took it forward in jumps again. At 8.50, a tender boat arrived at the quay. Brownie took it back to real time. A group of people walked up to the Kaohsiung building. Two peeled off, placing a large bag on the quay beside the ship’s gangway. Then one went up the gangway, the other joining a group of people. They went into the building and about three minutes later the tug was moving trailers again, this time out of the building and into the ship.

  Paul laughed. ‘Holy shit, Mac. Ever get the feeling you’re in the wrong line of business?’

  Mac was quietly astonished at what he was watching. ‘Tell ya what, if we fi nd these blokes we’d better bring the cavalry. Know what I mean?’

  Don and Paul nodded.

  Brownie took the time series forward again. At 9.20 am, a person who looked to be in charge suddenly walked onto the quay. The tug reversed into the ship and soldiers disappeared into the building.

  They waited. And waited. Mac was about to ask Brownie to go back to the time series, but then there it was. A naked man – Mac – emerged on the quayside, right behind Hainan Star, holding a black box to his chest. A smaller bag was on his back. He paused, looked around.

  Mac turned to Brown. ‘Beautiful one day. Perfect the next.’

  Another man appeared on the quay, carrying the same accessories as the fi rst man. Also naked. Paul.

  Mac winked at Brown. ‘Not true what they say about Asian blokes.’

  Mac made a sign like he was awarding a goal at the MCG. Felt a clip over the ear.

  Onscreen the men moved to a position beside the building, dressed in overalls. One walked out of the picture. The other stood there, maybe making a call. The other man came back, they stowed their stuff and jogged away.

  About forty seconds later, the loading operation began again.

  Mac looked at Brown. ‘Now what we need is to get a still shot of Hainan Star, load it into that tricky NSA neural net stuff, and run a real-time matching exercise. All ships have distinctive dimensions and features. If we can fi nd the same size, same shape, we’ve got a target.’

  He turned. ‘Right, Don?’

  Don looked at the SGI screen. ‘I like it.’

  CHAPTER 47

  Mac got nasi goreng from one bain-marie and some stir-fried vegies from another. Grabbing a bottle of water, he walked over to the plastic table where Don, Paul and Sawtell were seated in the makeshift chow line.

  Mac put his plate on the table, ready to dig in, noticed the others had barely touched theirs.

  ‘Problem, boys?’ he asked.

  ‘Shit, what happened to the food?’ said Sawtell, pushing it around his plate.

  ‘Have to get Michelin in here for a quick chat, eh John?’ joked Mac, but Sawtell wasn’t smiling.

  ‘I’m with him,’ said Paul. ‘Bloke’s gotta eat.’

  Don smiled, rolled his eyes. ‘Singaporeans doing the catering,’ he said, like that explained everything.

  Mac couldn’t believe it. ‘What, you want to get McDonald’s and Pizza Hut in here? Shit, guys, we’re in Singers. When in Rome – all that shit.’

  Mac looked into annoyed, peevish eyes and got up. He went over to the chow line, grabbed the fruit bowl, came back with it. Hands went out, grabbed oranges, apples and bananas.

  ‘Just been having a chat with John,’ said Don. ‘It’s going to have to happen in two sections. The boat in one section and the fugitives in another. Copy?’

  Mac and Paul nodded.

  ‘So there’s going to be a pursuit by Special Forces, with some SEALs in there too,’ said Don. ‘Then there’s the matter of securing the stolen substance and securing the ship. There’s going to be an overlap there, obvio
usly.’ He cleared his throat.

  Mac scoffed his nasi goreng, ravenous.

  ‘I think we’ve all been very lucky so far with the VX,’ continued Don. ‘But these guys are running around with a warhead of the substance, and it’s sitting on a bomb. Please, please, leave the scene if there’s any doubt, okay?’

  They looked at him, silent.

  ‘I’m serious, guys. I know you’ve all got the Mark One pack, but you can only do so much with the antidote. Believe me, this stuff will fi nish you in fi ve minutes. You won’t even smell it.’ He looked from face to face, making sure they all understood there were to be no crazy heroics. ‘So leave the ship to the Twentieth – just leave it – and if the fugitives have the stolen item on their person, or in proximity, stand off, okay?’

  The call came at 1.58 pm local while Paul and Mac were running through the ins and outs of the M4 carbine, the Green Berets’ offi cial assault rifl e.

  Brownie leaned out of the Chinook door and yelled for Mac and Paul to come into the command Chinook. Don was speaking into a phone as they entered, spittle fl ying. There were two images on the SGI screen. One was of the Hainan Star from the earlier images, the other at a different berth.

  Mac got closer, amazed at the comms and imaging gear the Yanks took for granted.

  ‘Got a match,’ said Brownie, clearly proud of his work.

  ‘They the same? Hainan Star?’ asked Mac.

  ‘No name coming up. But, yes sir, the computers say it’s a match,’ said Brownie.

  ‘Where’s this one?’ Mac pointed at the second image.

  ‘Don’s double-checking, but the grid says the Sulu Islands.’

  Paul and Mac looked at one another. Behind them Don was rousing resources from wherever he could fi nd them. The satellite imagery was being shared from Guam to DC to Manila.

  Mac pointed at the time coding on the bottom right of the second screen. ‘Is that real time?’

  ‘Sure is,’ said Brownie, ‘we’re live.’

  ‘Holy crap,’ said Mac.

  ‘Back into Mindanao. Same old same old,’ said Sawtell.

  The Black Hawks pulled out before the Chinooks, Sawtell right behind the pilot. ‘Buckle in, ladies. It’s going to be a long fl ight.’

  The two Army Black Hawks lifted off. The Navy SEALs were still getting their divers out of the water. As the helo pulled away Mac saw Hatfi eld standing outside his Chinook, dressed in T-shirt and BDU pants. Tired, stressed.

  Mac sat back, taking occasional sit-reps from Sawtell as it was relayed to him from Brownie. There was a special Marines recon team out of Zamboanga being saddled up to get into the Sulu Islands quick-smart. But they’d been rostered on base duties and hadn’t been prepped for quick-reaction so half of them were in the gym or at the movies in town. The two QR forces – SEALs and Green Berets – were in Singapore.

  The Black Hawk chugged on over the Java Sea. Their fi rst stop would be Balikpapan on the east coast of Borneo. Then they’d hop straight into Sulu, the chain of islands joining the south of the Philippines archipelago to the top of Indonesia. Zamboanga City poked south-west into the Sulu Islands. It was darkly familiar to all of them.

  The Sulu Islands had been a haven for pirates and bandits for hundreds of years. It was to this remote and inaccessible chain that Abu Sabaya had always withdrawn when there was too much heat on Mindanao. One of the biggest battles Sawtell’s Alpha team had fought was on the Sulu island of Basilan. Other sorties had taken US Special Forces and their Filipino counterparts down to Jolo, another pirate stronghold island in the chain. It was tough countryside with dense jungle and locals loyal to Sabaya. Just getting helos onto some of the Sulu Islands was perilous in itself. Locals with SAMs and belt-fed . 50 cal machine guns were not afraid of a bit of target practice at Yankee birds.

  Mac leaned back, thought about how things went in circles.

  Thought about that night in Sibuco Bay, just around the point from Zam. Thought about the hoaxed death of Sabaya, how he must have been laughing somewhere on Jolo or further down the islands at Balimbing, biding his time, counting his money, until that chance meeting with Peter Garrison. He could just imagine Garrison: ‘Boy, have I got a deal for you!’

  Now they were going back in. The coordinates translated to an island between Jolo and Cabucan. The area was so isolated that Filipino legend had it that the Japanese generals hid a lot of their Yamashita Gold in the highlands.

  Mac caught Paul’s eye. Held it. Both of them thinking, Two helos of special forces will not be enough.

  Mac looked out over the Macassar Strait while the Black Hawks were refuelled at Balikpapan Air Base. He’d done as much mental prepping for their assignment as he could for the moment, and now his mind wandered to how things had ended with Diane, which still rankled with him. Wrong girl, wrong number? What was that about?

  Giving it up as a distraction, Mac refocused.

  It was late afternoon, clouds built high in the sky. They’d release in about three hours, but in the meantime there was a breeze that worked on the humidity.

  In an hour they’d be in the Sulu Islands, and Mac was dreading it. Sawtell had tried to remain calm as they landed in Balikpapan. The early reports from the Marines recon guys was a big zero. No one on Hainan Star, no trace of gold. No VX bomb. The US Navy was getting people in there too. But the Marines were being asked to stand-by, not engage.

  ‘You know, you have to put that gold somewhere, right?’ said Mac to Paul. ‘It’s a physical thing, takes up space. It’s not like electronic money between computers.’

  ‘Well, yeah. You’d need trucks, need loading gear, need people to do it,’ said Paul.

  ‘Absolutely. Then you need a safe little hidey-hole to stash it.’

  ‘Any ideas?’ asked Paul.

  Mac turned, looked around. ‘I’ve only got one idea, but it’s pretty far-fetched.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Sawtell wandered over. Tossed them a water bottle each.

  ‘You know, this is Yamashita country.’

  ‘The Jap guy. General. Hid all that gold in caves round South-East Asia?’ said Sawtell.

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Mac. ‘It was stolen from their occupied territories. The OSS came through after the Japs were driven out, grabbed a lot of it.’

  Paul laughed. ‘Man, I grew up on that stuff. My mum? Forget it, brother! The Filipinos love stories of hidden caves fi lled with gold.’

  ‘Yeah, some of it’s bullshit,’ said Mac. ‘But there were some caches found.’

  ‘So what’s it got to do with us?’ asked Sawtell.

  ‘Yamashita’s engineers found real mines and pretended to be exploiting them. That was cover within cover. Most of the Japanese Army had no idea what they really were.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Sawtell.

  ‘The locals thought they were working in a mine,’ continued Mac.

  ‘But they were building gold repositories. Had false walls, booby traps, secret tunnels. They’d stash the gold, put in the false wall and drop a part of the old mine in front of it with dynamite. They’d come up with a story that the mine had collapsed, and there was no more tin or copper in there.’

  Mac opened his bottle. ‘The idea was they’d go back and dig out the gold when the dust of war had settled.’

  Sawtell stared at Mac, thought dawning. ‘So, that mine at Sabulu?

  That what we’re talking about?’

  Mac nodded. ‘I reckon we blew their Plan A. I think Sabaya and Garrison had prepped that one for the gold but we found it. I think they’ve gone to Plan B.’

  Paul scoffed. ‘What, a whole separate set of trucks, forklifts?

  A whole new mine prepared?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Mac. ‘If the haul is a billion dollars US, why short-change yourself on an exit plan? When you pull a job, you have a Plan B?’

  Paul nodded.

  Mac swigged the water. ‘And remember, the Japs have already done your hard work. Some of these storage mines were very we
ll engineered.’

  A shout came from the Black Hawks and the whine of the starter motors began.

  ‘So what are we looking for?’ said Sawtell.

  ‘I reckon we fl y across the interior, fi nd the mine opening and see where the recently used roads are. Shouldn’t be hard – it’s been raining every arvo.’

  Mac paused, looked from Paul to Sawtell. ‘I reckon they’re already inside.’

  ‘You know where most of that Yamashita Gold came from, right?’ said Paul, chuckling, as they headed for the Black Hawk.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fucking China.’

  CHAPTER 48

  The Black Hawks swept down into the Sulu Islands – the Wild West of South-East Asia. Sawtell and the SEALs had sit-repped. The SEALs were about to relieve the Marines at the Hainan Star, then they were going to work inland to a small township and secure it, ask some questions, see where the bomb might have been left.

  Sawtell’s Alpha group was going straight into the highlands. Using map databases, DIA had confi rmed a mine at the top of one of the island’s valleys.

  If things turned bad upstream, the SEALs would support. Mac didn’t like it, thought the navy could take the ship, the Marines could move into the small town. He wanted those two other Black Hawks fi lled with SEALs to be right on his wing.

  Mac fi red up the mic to Sawtell. ‘Mate, this is Sabaya country.

  I’d feel happier if the SEALs were with us.’

  ‘Negative,’ Sawtell fi red back. ‘It’s a CBNRE mission so we’re tasked for the VX. The Twentieth sets the priorities on this. Sorry.’

  Mac sort of understood that you couldn’t go chasing the bad guys when the actual item you were trying to retrieve could be anywhere

  – could be on a ship, could be in a town, could be sitting on the side of a road waiting for a farmer to pick it up, take it home in his cart.

  The island was very small but it had to be shut down. And that started with the wharf and the ship.

  They fl ew over the island with a couple of hours of daylight to play with. About three miles across, it was fi ve miles north-south. Mac’s gut churned when he saw how diffi cult the terrain was – mountainous, heavily jungled with jagged peaks and valleys running down to river deltas at the coast. It looked like the pictures they showed candidates at the Duntroon military academy in Canberra. The pictures they put on the wall when they talked about Vietnam and why foreign powers shouldn’t fi ght a land war in Asia. Mac had a second lesson to add: don’t fi ght an island war in the Pacifi c. The Americans had tried that during the Second World War and suffered casualty rates they were still embarrassed about.