She found the cot and lay down upon it, thinking about home and those she loved until finally she fell asleep.
******
The sound of the steel lock disengaging awakened her. The light had been turned on and the door was opening. She sat up, pulling her knees up to her chest. A thickset man stood in the doorway, wearing a uniform like the man in the van. He looked at her for a moment and then around the room. Finally he stepped outside and motioned to someone in the hall.
A tiny woman shuffled into the room, pushing a wheeled bucket and mop.
Her stooped back spoke of a lifetime of labor, making her appear to be in her mid-sixties, but something about her suggested otherwise. Her white blouse and loose black pants momentarily sent a chill up Holly’s spine as she recalled Jimmy and Grace, who were dressed similarly. But there was nothing sinister about this tiny person; she had a quiet look of resignation as though she had chosen to placidly accept her lot in life. A pair of well-worn pink canvas shoes was the only thing about her that stood out.
The man grunted something in Chinese and then took a seat directly across the hall where he could see into the room. The woman looked up at Holly briefly, curiously, then began to mop the floor. When she had mopped her way into the corner where she was out of sight of the man, she looked again at Holly, as if searching her face for something.
Holly felt strangely drawn to her, like fellow prisoners whose shared misery forges a common bond. There was something else about her that was difficult to pinpoint, something that she held inside. When she had finished mopping, she sponged the sink and swabbed the toilet. Then she turned to leave, pausing to look at Holly once more. The guard made a guttural sound and the stooped lady turned and shuffled out. Once again the door was locked.
About an hour later, the door was opened again. A short Chinese man of medium height, dressed in white slacks and lab coat, carrying a clipboard and with a stethoscope around his neck walked in. He had a bland, officious air about him, but there was little energy in it, as though his zest for life had long ago drained away. He looked at her in a detached way, as if he could look at a woman or a door and feel the same.
“Where am I,” she asked, doing her best to not sound confrontational.
“Do not be afraid, you will not be harmed,” he intoned.
What, does everyone around here use the same script? she thought. She wanted to slap him and say: “Wake up, robo-doc, I’m here against my will, and I’m feeling like shoving that stethoscope right up your tight little Chinese ass.”
“I will not be able to answer your questions,” he said, which clearly meant not to bother asking any.
She knew her face must be red because her balled fists were. Struggling to restrain herself, she focused on learning whatever she could by observation and not making things any harder on her. He removed the stethoscope from around his neck and motioned for her to turn around. After holding it briefly against her back in several places, he returned it to his neck.
“In a little while, someone will bring you food. If you would like something to read, I can arrange that.”
“What I would like is to know where my husband is?” she said, her anger building. He simply turned and left, closing and locking the door behind him.
“Damn!” she said, banging her fist against the door.
4
The phone on the kitchen wall rang. “Hello. . . Hi Maggie, how are you?” Sally listened for several minutes. “Oh my, that doesn’t sound good. Have you called the embassy.”
“Not yet, I wanted to talk to you first, to see if you thought I was overreacting,” Maggie replied.
“No, of course I don’t. They said they’d call from their hotel when they got back from the cruise. I was kinda wondering too.”
“I already spoke to the hotel,” Maggie continued. “They haven’t been back there. The people there were very nice, but they said they didn’t know anything and suggested I wait a day or so.”
“No. Something must be wrong if they never showed up at the hotel. Oh my, I am starting to get worried now! This just doesn’t feel right. I’m going to call Jim . . . and Richard. Why don’t you two come over. I’ll order some pizza and we can put our heads together.
******
“Jim, will you get the door, honey, that must be the pizza man.”
The dining room table was cluttered with coffee cups, and a large map lay unfolded in its center. Between questions, Richard, Holly’s grandfather, was making notes on separate sheets of paper.
“The plates are by the pizza,” Sally called from the kitchen. “Help yourselves.” Sally Petersen, Holly’s mother, was nothing if not efficient, having grown up in a Navy family. Richard, her father, was organizing lists of tasks to be completed and assigning each as if he was still the officer in charge. Known in naval circles as Captain Richard. J. Davis, he had once commanded one of the Navy’s most powerful warships and was used to taking charge.
Retirement had not diminished the Captain’s intensity in the slightest, though he no longer commanded anything. In the incident with the Cubans and Iranians, his ship had been blown out from under him, which had led to his retirement, even though the orders of his superiors had been the cause. Nonetheless, the Navy and his country owed a great deal to the fact that his actions, though unauthorized, had saved the nation from a terrorist attack that would have dwarfed the twin towers. He was a man who preferred to go through channels, but as he had shown during the incident, he was willing and more than capable of making his own path through obstacles if there was no other way.
“Somebody needs to call the cruise outfit in Hong Kong later tonight when they’re likely to be open,” he said. “Here’s a copy of the itinerary with their phone number on it. Oh, and here’s a little miniature recorder that will come in handy. We should have a record of every word that’s said.”
“I’ll take care of it,” answered Jim. The Captain had often said of Jim that there weren’t many men whom he would have allowed to marry his daughter. Of course, that might have been partly due to the fact that Jim was a Navy Seal in those days, and he and Brett, Ray’s dad, also a Seal, along with the Captain and some very brave police officers had prevented a terrorist attack of unspeakable proportions.
“Sally, will you call the travel agent tomorrow and find out what they know about this cruise company they picked? Oh, and would you please stop at Best Buy in the morning as soon as they open and pick up three more of the miniature recorders like the one I just gave Jim. We should all have documentation on everything. But let’s not let anyone know they’re being recorded.”
“Roger, Wilco, Dad,” Sally answered without thinking, in the way she’d done when she was a child and an honorary sailor in her father’s personal navy. “Isn’t that illegal, though?”
“Depends on where you are calling from, I think,“ he replied, without explaining further. “I’ll call the State Department in the morning and find out what procedures they have for locating missing persons abroad, though frankly I’d be surprised if those people could find an outhouse in a parking lot.”
It was well past eleven when the families of Holly and Raymond Walker finally decided to call it a night. They each had a list of things to check out, and they had agreed to decide when to meet again once they had at least some preliminary answers.
5
March 10th 2013 – 0220 hrs – Spratly Islands – South China Sea
Steaming at a leisurely 12 knots, the elderly frigate was probably pushing more water than it was slicing through. Three hundred and six feet in length, it had begun life in 1943 as the destroyer USS Atherton.
After the war it was transferred to the Japan Self Defense Forces and in 1978 to the Philippine Navy where, following an extensive refit, it was named the BRP Rajah Humabon (PF-11) after the native chieftain of Cebu in the Philippines at the time of Ferdinand Magellan's arrival in the archipelago in 1521. Although it had undergone another minor refit in 1995, she was still one of o
ldest active duty warships in the world and was intended as a patrol craft, not a modern combatant. The officer of the deck, lieutenant Juan de la Cruz was nursing his third cup of coffee, struggling to stay awake when his radar man beckoned him over to the screen.
“Sir, there is a large craft approaching a group of Filipino fishing boats,” he said. “Looks like it could be that Chinese Frigate.”
Cruz felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. In February a Chinese Frigate had fired warning shots at a group of Filipino fishing boats in the Spratlys area. China had been expending enormous amounts of capital to increase the size of its littoral fleet and build a blue water navy in order to back up a claim that virtually the entire South China Sea, approximately 1.4 million square miles, is their sovereign territory. Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Jiang Yu had stated: “China enjoys indisputable sovereignty over the South China Sea and the islands.”
In as much as the area is also bordered by Taiwan, Malaysia, Brunei, Indonesia, Singapore, and Viet Nam and given that the region has proven oil reserves of 7.7 billion barrels with an estimate of 28 billion barrels in total and natural gas reserves of around 266 trillion cubic feet, China’s goal was obvious. That and the fact that more than 50% of the world’s annual merchant fleet tonnage passes through these waters ensured that not only the nations of Southeast Asia were intently following events here.
Traditionally, these nations have relied on the United States to ensure that vital sea lanes stay open. But recently, reports were filtering out of China that they were developing an anti-ship missile capable of destroying an aircraft carrier 900 miles away. That and their aggressive construction of large, powerful naval assets made it clear that they intended to control the South China Sea by force if necessary.
“Bring the ship about and make 16 knots for those fishing boats,” ordered Lieutenant Cruz. “And call the Captain to the bridge.” Three and a half minutes later, Captain Macario Santos was standing next to the lieutenant.
“What have you got?”
“We have a large contact closing on a group of fishing boats, Sir,” answered the lieutenant. “It looks like it may be the Chinese frigate that has been harassing our fisherman.”
“Any communications yet, Lieutenant?”
“No, Sir.”
“Close to within three thousand yards of those fishing boats,” the captain said. “Let’s see what our Chinese friend is up to.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Captain Santos was a career naval officer who had witnessed unimagined changes in his years at sea. Thirty years ago, when he was a midshipman, a typical patrol might include an encounter with smugglers attempting to make a transit to a quiet cove where they could unload. On rare occasions he might be required to assist in interdiction of pirates. But in those days no one dreamed that China would one day claim as its own, waters nearly 1200 miles from its mainland. Now, with their large and powerful surface fleet, it appeared they might soon enforce that preposterous claim.
“Oh, and Lieutenant,” the captain said in a tone that could not conceal his concern: “Contact headquarters and advise them that we may have a situation.”
Aboard one of a small fleet of fishing boats that were plying their trade barely seventy miles off the coast of Palawan, the largest island in the southern Philippines, the radio crackled.
“Attention Philippine fishing vessel! You have illegally entered waters belonging to the People’s Republic of China. You are ordered to withdraw immediately!”
To these hardy fishermen, the presence of a Chinese warship so close to their country was both an insult and a cause for concern. Their fathers and grandfathers had fished these waters for generations and not since Japan invaded the Philippines in WWII had peaceful fishermen been harassed like this. International law was clearly on their side, but the international community had thus far spoken only with words while the Chinese navy had spoken with guns. In one such incident in the Spratlys, more than seventy Vietnamese sailors were killed south of Chingua Reef. Only last week a Chinese fishing vessel rammed into a PetroVietnam ship’s survey cables.
Felipe Deserio, whose brother’s fishing boat had witnessed a Chinese 100mm shell throw up a geyser of water barely 200 meters off its bow, had turned and fled. That was in February. Now his brother’s family was experiencing the results of diminished catches, and although his brother would not say it, his eyes betrayed his feelings, feelings that some in his village thought it cowardly to back down, and had said so behind his back.
Felipe and his fellow fishermen had discussed this eventuality amongst themselves many times. Some had said it was better to be alive and hungry than to join the fish, while others felt that if no one stood up to the Chinese, their demands would only escalate. Some of the younger fishermen had spoken with bravado that it was better to resist than retreat with your tail between your legs. When he had asked them how they planned to resist, their silence betrayed the fact that knives and nets are a pathetic defense against naval guns and missiles.
Glancing down at his elderly radar scope, Felipe thought he detected another large blip, this one to the east and closing. As he peered intently into the scope, the possibility that it might be a Philippine naval vessel crept into his thoughts. But he suppressed the tiny kernel of hope that he felt germinating in his chest. The Philippine navy is a navy in name only. Its official name in Filipino is Hukbong Dagat ng Pilipinas, literally, ‘Sea Force of the Philippines.’ What force? he thought.
With only two truly capable ships in its ‘navy,’ it is little more than an insect on the hide of the elephant that is the People’s Republic of China.
Aboard BRP Rajah Humabon, the communications officer handed the message from headquarters to Captain Santos.
“You are to shadow the Chinese frigate, but do not engage –repeat, do not engage.” Santos smiled ruefully. Engage with what? he thought to himself. His elderly craft had nothing more powerful than older model 3” guns and would simply provide target practice for the modern Chinese ships which had anti-ship missiles in addition to their radar-guided guns.
“Lieutenant Cruz, maintain heading to the nearest fishing vessel.” The captain then toggled the switch that would allow the bridge to hear all communications on the current frequency. He was greeted by a loud burst of static, followed by a voice that was clearly coming from the Chinese warship.
“Philippine warship; you are entering waters of the People’s Republic of China. You are instructed to come about 180 degrees and withdraw. Do you copy?” The fact that the Chinese warship was so arrogant as to not even bother to identify itself in the accepted manner was not lost on captain Santos.
With a resolve tinged with trepidation, the captain replied: “Chinese warship, this is BRP Rajah Humabon of the Philippine Navy. We are currently in international waters.” Toggling off his microphone, he turned to his communications officer and said: “Contact headquarters. Advise them that we are being hailed and have been ordered to withdraw.” The look on the face of the communications officer clearly betrayed the fear that he struggled to conceal.
“Philippine warship, I repeat, you have entered waters of the People’s Republic of China. You are ordered to come about 180 degrees and withdraw. Do you copy?”
His anger rising, the Philippine captain swallowed bile as he stifled the urge to tell the Chinese voice to go to hell. “Unidentified Chinese warship, this is BRP Rajah Humabon (PF-11) of the Philippine Navy. I repeat, we are currently in international waters.”
Two minutes later, the scream of a 100mm shell followed by a geyser of seawater two hundred yards in front of the Philippine vessel announced the reply of the Chinese warship.
“Communications!” said the captain, careful not to betray fear in front of his officers. “Notify headquarters that they have fired across our bow!”
******
Admiral Francisco Victoriano had hurriedly dressed when the first call had reached Jose Andrada Naval Station in Manila. He was pulling
into the parking lot when news that the Chinese frigate had opened fire reached the base. The officer of the watch turned when he heard the admiral’s heavy footsteps behind him.
“Admiral,” he said. “The Chinese have fired a second shot across Captain Santos’ bow, Sir!”
“Get him on the radio, Lieutenant,” ordered the admiral.
“I can’t, Sir,” replied the lieutenant.
“Why the hell not?” bellowed the admiral.
“Because he doesn’t answer, Sir.”
6
March 10th 2013 – 0800 – Seahorse Shoal – Spratly Islands – So. China Sea
The search had begun before dawn when the Philippine Navy’s most recent acquisition, the former US Coast Guard Cutter Hamilton, now named Gregorio del Pilar (PF-15) left Cavite Naval Base. Ironically, though her young sailors had never seen combat in the South China Sea, their cutter had, having served off the coast of Viet Nam.
There was little conversation on the bridge as the cutter neared the last known position of the Rajah Humabon. Not only was her fate foremost in the minds of all aboard, but China’s role in what had happened and their next moves ensured tension throughout the ship. A naval patrol plane had reported that a Chinese frigate was approximately 150 kilometers north of Seahorse Shoal, which would put its guns far out of range but possibly not its missiles, though no one knew for sure since the Chinese had been updating their weapons systems at an alarming rate.
Two Peasants and a President Page 3