Sudden Threat

by A. J Tata

  There was a noise coming from directly across Rathburn’s office. Then she saw it. A stairwell door closed just as she looked farther down the hallway.

  Creepy, she thought, and quickened her pace.

  As she finally reached the dark South Pentagon Parking Lot, she shook off the creepiness and wondered: Why wasn’t Keith Richards, the second most famous Rolling Stone of them all, on that list?

  But she thought she knew why. She picked up her pace, looking over her shoulder as she unlocked her car, and said to herself, “I’m getting some satisfaction.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Mindanao Island, Philippines

  Talbosa removed his Australian bush hat, stained with sweat and dirt, as he lifted his knife. He focused on the cobra no less than two meters away, apparently oblivious to his presence. He flipped the knife with a snap of his wrist, and the large blade pierced the back of the cobra’s neck, pinning it to the ground beneath. The snake’s body coiled and uncoiled, flipping violently until Takishi stepped on the heel of the knife and severed the snake’s head.

  He felt his phone buzz as he retrieved his knife. He placed it back in the sheath and held the phone to his ear.

  “You fool, why did you have to attack the Americans?” Takishi shouted. Of course, he was speaking about the defense delegation at Manila’s airport. Talbosa looked over Cateel Bay, its tur-quoise hue calming the man who had been chasing this elusive band of Rangers and perhaps even Takishi’s Matt Garrett, if such a man even existed. Talbosa was nonplussed at Takishi’s ranting. He knew that he had deviated from the plan, which called for no attacks on Americans or any NATO allies.

  “This is my country, Takishi. Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do. We have suffered for nearly a century from the imperialism of the United States and your country as well. So don’t tell me how to run a revolution,” Talbosa said calmly into the satellite phone Takishi had provided him.

  “We had a deal,” Takishi said. “We produce the weapons for you, and you do not kill Americans.” Takishi spoke from the luxurious confines of a Japanese government Gulfstream executive jet set-tling into its final approach into Tokyo where he would shift venues to his Shin Meiwa. He needed to give Bob Stone the personal reassurance so that he did not deviate from their plan. He believed he had succeeded. The 48-hour diversion had set him back, yet the information gained had been invaluable, and useful. This was the tricky part for Takishi, transi-tioning from able co-conspirator with the Americans to Machiavellian statesman for his country.

  “No. The deal was that you make us weapons, and you get the free extraction of the many minerals in my Mindanao countryside,” Talbosa replied, his confidence bolstered by the physical separation. Really, what could Takishi do? He looked at the dead snake and thought: Sometimes the snake charmer gets bitten.

  “Consider me, then,” Takishi said, changing strategy, like a chameleon, “an emissary from Japan. On behalf of the Japanese prime minister, I respect-fully request that you set up a release point for all of the American soldiers and citizens. To include the government officials your men have taken hostage.”

  “What’s your interest in this?” Talbosa asked.

  In truth, Talbosa needed to establish his presence on Luzon before the NPA beat him to the seat of government. Though the Islamic Jihad recommended small cells fighting under a unified commander’s intent, he did not want to be politically outflanked by the NPA. He would soon be in Cateel, and determined at that moment that he might just kill Takishi after arriving in Manila. Doing so would enhance his already impeccable bona fides among the lower class throughout the Philippines.

  “We have an interest in maintaining strong ties with the United States for trading purposes, as you will need to do if you ever want to be anything other than a fourth-world country,” Takishi said.

  Talbosa knew that Takishi’s plan was in jeopardy. The loss of Abe had been a blow to the tank plant, and the Luzon faction’s capture of the Americans, while not part of the plan, certainly had Takishi bothered.

  “Are you so stupid that you cannot see victory?” Takishi asked.

  “We have already achieved victory!” Talbosa replied. “We have overrun the U.S. embassy. We own the Presidential Palace. No problems.”

  “You idiot, you have bitten the tail of a snake. Right now you have a Marine brigade coming down from Okinawa and carrier groups steaming from the Indian Ocean and Hawaii. Their infantry division in Hawaii is scheduled to fly to Guam tomorrow to establish an intermediate staging base. The head of the snake, my fine Filipino friend,” he said sarcastically, “is about to give you a fatal strike.”

  Talbosa leaned against a mahogany tree and sighed. “How do you know all of this?”

  “My ambassador was given their entire deployment plan. They’re prepared to throw every-thing they’ve got at you unless you cough up every American on these islands.”

  “Then they will leave us alone?”

  “Then they will leave you alone.”

  Talbosa cast his gaze upon Cateel Bay a kilometer and a half below him, its water sparkling like so many diamonds. They had achieved total strategic, operational, and tactical surprise in their attack. Of course, it would not have been possible without the Japanese-produced weapons. Talbosa firmly believed, though, that they did not owe the Japanese anything. He knew that the Luzon cell planned to kill, or had already killed, one of the American hostages for general purposes and were about done with the others. He felt he was making good progress in chasing down the invaders in Mindanao, and he had issued instructions to the Luzon cell to kill the American soldiers at Subic Bay.

  You told me to kill Matt Garrett, he wanted to say, but didn’t. He sensed that Garrett was at the core of the illusory nature of his prey. And so he remained on the front lines, determined to protect his people of Mindanao and to kill the American spy before relocating to command all of the Philippines.

  Talbosa felt an adrenaline rush, then sighed. Their struggle had always been difficult. They had often taken two steps back for every step forward. As much as he wanted to take revenge on the Americans, he decided that Takishi’s advice was solid. No, the cause must come before revenge. He would not let his petty emotions stand in the way of freedom for his people. He had to start thinking like a strategic leader, a president, as opposed to an operational military commander.

  “Okay, Takishi. I will inform my men that Subic Bay Naval Base is off-limits. The Americans have forty-eight hours to depart. But tell them that I only want noncombat aircraft to come get their people. I am doing this in an exchange for our right to determine our own form of government. If we want to be part of Bin Laden’s caliphate, so be it. If I see combat troops or planes, we will shoot them from the sky.”

  “Of course,” Takishi said. “I will pass on the message for you. My plane should be arriving shortly in Cateel to escort you to Manila, so that you can assume the presidency.”

  “Thank you,” Talbosa said.

  “And Talbosa, you should talk to your men at Fort Magsaysay. They have succeeded where you failed.”

  “How’s that?”

  “They’ve got Matt Garrett locked in a cell.”

  CHAPTER 57

  Abe was glad that Major Ramsey’s team had finally broken contact with the insurgents. It was dark, and they had been on the move for a full night and an entire day, each man taking a turn carrying Jones’s body. Abe was glad to contribute and demonstrate strength and character by carrying the dead man once, albeit briefly.

  Abe’s heart went out to the American men. They were strong and rugged, but he knew they all had families as he did. They were all only doing what their country had asked them to do. He watched their stark faces as they faded into and out of his sight in the moonlit night, silently stalking through the high-mountain rain forest. Their painted faces, streaked with black and green camouflage, reminded him of the Indian warriors he had read about in American history. The men stepped lightly, seeming never to touch the ground.
Large green leaves would brush against their faces, leaving the moisture from the dew and rain across their brows. Each man held a weapon, pointed outward. He was impressed at their professionalism and quietly yearned for their, and his, safety. One day he would write a poem about the contrast in their compassion and their duty.

  He could sense that the men were scared, but they dared not reveal fear. He was reassured by their compassion for one another and the fact that their leader, Major Ramsey, had brought him into the fold. He sensed that they still did not entirely believe his story about the weapons. To them, it did not compute. To him, it made perfect sense.

  Over the past five days he had become drawn to Major Ramsey. Abe found himself respecting the commander’s authority and command presence. In his society, it was natural to be drawn to the source of power and obey. He had noticed in Ramsey an ability to remain calm even in the most dangerous situations. To Abe, the more confusing the situation, the more stressful, the more dynamic, the more the major would retreat into his inner sanctum and draw from a deep reservoir of knowledge and power and control.

  Like adding ballast to a listing ship/the man in green/leads his men/they the arrow/and he the tip.

  He patted his empty pockets for a pen to jot down the thought, then hoped he could remember it.

  He had no ideological differences with the men. In fact, he had found himself to be quite similar in character to his captors, who were beginning to accept him. After fixing their radio, a quite simple task, they identified with him. He was of use to a team consisting entirely of useful people. He had been a burden but had become an asset.

  In the growing darkness, Abe looked down at his jungle fatigues with the crazy black, green, and brown patterns interwoven in the fabric. He was beginning to be like them, he thought. As they walked, he carefully chose his steps through the dense underbrush to avoid the dreaded black palm plants and any poisonous snakes that might be lurking, as was usually the case. He stepped first with his heel, rolled his foot gently to the side away from the arch, then pushed quietly with his toes.

  He still did not carry a weapon but could taste the excitement as they moved like an invisibly connected team through the jungle. Each man knew where the others were, always looking in a full circle. Turning slowly halfway, then back again. Lifting an arm to quietly push a branch aside. Letting the insects fly about his face. He was learning the discipline of martial arts that he had eschewed as a young man in Japan. So many of his friends had trained in the jujitsu and karate skills, but he had chosen piano lessons and engineering at an early age.

  That night, as he moved in synch with the soldiers through the lush green highlands, he felt something instinctual that had never been there before. He had the taste of copper in his mouth. His heart beat fast, but in control. He wanted to be a part of the team.

  He watched as Major Ramsey halted the patrol in the darkness. They had doubled back on their trail and were about six and a half kilometers northwest of Cateel. Their initial path was only two hundred meters below the slope they occupied. A rare clearing in the forest connected their current position to the previously traveled path. Abe watched as Ramsey gave instructions to Benson, who quickly went about the business of implementing them. Ramsey then slipped his rucksack off his shoulders, grimacing as he did so, and set up the tactical satellite radio.

  “Bravo six, this is Bushmaster six, over,” Chuck whispered into the radio. The sun had fallen behind the mountains to his rear. He faced east, peering between two mahogany trees into the clearing. Slipping on his night-vision goggles, he saw Benson directing his men into different positions and tacking what looked like fishing line ankle high to trees near the other side of the clearing. They worked quickly and professionally, knowing exactly what to do, despite their hunger and fatigue. Three days ago they had officially run out of food. Most of the men had conserved their MREs, however, and had lasted up until that point only through Eddie’s expert foraging.

  “Bushmaster six, this is Bravo six romeo, over,” a voice responded. Ramsey sighed with relief. His connection to civilization was intact.

  “This is Bushmaster six, get me your zero-six, over.” The romeo, the radio operator at the other end, told him to wait. Ramsey looked at Abe, who was watching his team prepare their position. He had gained respect for the man over the past five days. Abe had so willingly given them the information about the weapons-production plants that he believed the man to be telling the truth as he knew it. Abe’s help with the radio had been instrumental both in contacting the outside world and maintaining faltering morale in his team.

  “This is Bravo six,” Captain Garrett’s voice came back, “good to hear from you. We’ve been trying to contact you.”

  “This is Bushmaster six. Yeah. We have some enemy hot on our trail. We lost another man,” Ramsey said.

  “Christ. Chuck, this is Zachary,” he responded. They were emotionally connected, Garrett and Ramsey, two West Point classmates finally recognizing each other in the midst of an impossible situation. It was only natural that they forgo proper radio procedures and share a moment of friendship. It was lonely at the top, and sometimes leaders needed reassurance.

  “I know. I’m glad it’s you down here. Any luck with that helicopter?” Chuck asked, hopefully.

  “He’s on the way. He departed our area about an hour ago and will try to island hop and steal gas until he can reach you. We’ve moved. Like I said before, this whole place is under attack by Abu Sayyaf. We can still hear fighting down in Olongapo. I know you’re sucking, man,” Zachary said.

  “Okay,” Chuck said, hopeful. “Any way to predict when he’ll be here?”

  “Couple of days at the worst. If he’s lucky, about twenty-four hours.”

  “Okay. I think we can hold out. Zachary …”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I don’t have a chance later … thanks. I know you could use that Black Hawk. You didn’t have to send it.”

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days, and we’ll drink a San Miguel and go chase bar girls,” Zachary said, Slick looking at him with a smile, hopeful that he could go too.

  “Listen, I’ve got some important intelligence that you need to get to your higher. I can’t seem to get bird sixty-five right now, so you have to relay this information, over.”

  “Send it,” Zachary said.

  “We have captured a Japanese engineer who has been working in a weapons-production plant on the island of Mindanao for the past six months, break,” Chuck said, taking a moment to spit some smokeless tobacco from his bearded lips.

  “We found him jogging in an orange running suit. He said that there are four production facilities on Mindanao. Three produce tanks and helicopters and the other produces small arms and ammunition, over.”

  A long moment of silence ensued. He assumed the commander was copying.

  “You gotta be shittin’ me,” Zachary responded.

  “I kid you not. What I need to know is, were there any tanks or helicopters in the Abu Sayyaf attack this morning?”

  “None that I saw. We captured about ten enemy, and they all had new M4s and M16s. Hell, we just got those M4s a couple of years ago ourselves,” Zachary responded.

  “Yeah. I know what you’re talking about. Listen, I’ve got about a battalion of insurgents hot on my ass. Just get that information to your higher headquarters. Then we won’t have died in vain over here. Gotta run, out,” Ramsey said without emotion.

  CHAPTER 58

  Subic Bay, Luzon Island, Philippines

  Zachary dropped the hand holding the radio handset into his lap and stared into the darkness. His company position was facing west on the slope of the rain forest just north of Subic Bay. The hopelessness of Ramsey’s situation perversely gave him optimism. His father had always told him never to feel sorry for himself, because somewhere somebody had it worse than he did.

  Immediately, Zachary called the Twenty-fifth Infantry Division (Light) headquarters in Schofield Barracks,
Hawaii. He had Slick angle the small SCAMP dish between a saddle in the mountains behind them. He had positive contact with bird 65.

  He contacted the headquarters and passed the message to a tired young lieutenant pulling shift duty in the early-morning hours. The International Date Line separated Hawaii and the Philippines, but in reality the time difference was only six hours. For Zachary in the Philippines, it was 2200 hours, yet for the lieutenant in the division operations center, a rather monotonous duty, it was 0400 hours of the same day. The old joke was that someone could fly from Manila to Hawaii and get there before they left.

  The lieutenant assured Zachary that he had the message. Zach had asked him to repeat the message, but the lieutenant would not respond. Zachary presumed that he had raced to the division commander with the information.

  However, in typical fashion, he had scribbled some shorthand notes, something about finding some old Japanese weapons on a Philippine island. He relayed the message to Captain Garrett’s battalion operations center, which was busy preparing for a massive deployment to Guam to begin establishing an intermediate staging base for possible combat operations. The officers and enlisted men of the unit would periodically gather around the television sets in the dayrooms and watch cable news, listening for the latest updates.

  Japan had intervened, and it seemed that they were going to be able to get Captain Garrett’s company and all of the other Americans out of the Philippines. The only issue remaining concerned fighting the insurgents. The president had not committed himself yet, stating only that he would take whatever action was necessary to protect American lives.

  The young private on radio watch in the battalion headquarters took the message from the sleepy division lieutenant. He found the message interesting and took it immediately to Lieutenant Colonel Buck, who was in his office stuffing a sleeping bag in his rucksack.