Dangerous Ground: The Team Book Five

by David M. Salkin

  The pilot came over the radio. “Two Chinese fighter jets just made contact with me. They are on patrol and made me identify myself.”

  “What did you say?” asked the minister, angrily.

  “I . . . I . . . I identified our aircraft, Minister! They can shoot us out of the sky!”

  The minister cursed. “This is international air space and international water. Ignore them if they contact you again.”

  “Yes, sir. The platform is just ahead.” The pilot wiped sweat off of his face. He was afraid of the interior minister, but more afraid of two Chinese fighter jets that had him radar locked.

  He landed without incident and walked back into the passenger area. “Shall I return to Lapangan Terbang, or wait for you here?”

  “Wait here,” said the minister, still annoyed at the pilot, like somehow it was his fault the Chinese had bullied them. The two assistants followed him down the steps.

  Chapter 59

  Oil Platform Sunrise

  “Bird inbound,” reported Hodges from up in the tower.

  The team moved to their assigned positions and waited. The royal helicopter was beautiful. Unlike their Sky Hawk, which was a beast, the royal helicopter was a sleek, elegant luxury helicopter. It set down on the oil platform gracefully and cut engines, the white rotors eventually coming to a stop. The pilot opened the rear passenger door and lowered the staircase. A tall, slim man in a dark suit walked down the stairs, followed by two other men, also in Western attire.

  They stood and waited to be formally greeted, already looking annoyed. Moose walked over and smiled. He extended his giant hand and said, “Welcome to the Sunrise, the boss is upstairs.”

  The minister looked at his beefy paw and didn’t extend his own hand. “And where is upstairs?” he asked in English.

  Moose faked a smile and said, “Follow me.” He walked straight to the elevator and the four of them got in. Moose pressed the button for the top floor and smiled again at the minister, who held his frown.

  “Have a nice flight?” asked Moose, maintaining his giant goofy smile, knowing he was annoying the shit out of the man in front of him wearing the three-thousand-dollar suit.

  The minister gave him the fakest smile of all time. “Of course.”

  The door opened and the four of them walked down the metal hallway to a conference room, where a table and chairs should have been waiting for them. Instead, there was only one chair in the center of the room. The large conference table had been hastily shoved to the back of the small room. The minister’s face showed his disapproval of the surroundings, and he began to voice his objections.

  It didn’t matter. When Carl stepped out from behind them with a sawed-off shotgun and placed it under the minister’s chin, the room became very silent.

  Apo gave a chin-chuck to Moose, who took each of the two assistants by the arm, squeezing hard enough to cause them to wince. Ripper appeared from the hallway with Jon right behind him.

  “Gentlemen, you’d be smart to follow me and you won’t get hurt,” said Ripper, turning back around to walk to another room.

  “What is the meaning of this?” exclaimed one of the men, in heavily accented English.

  “Your boss is a fucking terrorist. He can explain it to you later. For now, he’s going to have a chat with our friend. Trust me, you don’t want to be part of that. Now move,” snarled Moose as he shoved them forward. The group walked down the hall to another room.

  Inside the conference room, Carl held the shotgun under the minister’s chin and Apo closed the door. He then walked over to the lone chair and pushed it toward Abdul Ali.

  “Have a seat,” he said coldly.

  The minister’s eyes were wide with fear. “Do you have any idea what you are doing? I report directly to His Majesty the Sultan!”

  “No shit. He’s got some explaining to do, too. But we’ll start with you. Sit down, asshole!” Carl’s voice at the end of the shotgun was enough to make the man drop into the chair with a plop.

  Apo walked around in front of the minister. “You want to just tell us what the fuck you’re doing with ISIS, or would you prefer I beat it out of you?”

  “We,” said Carl.

  Apo glanced over at him quizzically.

  “We will beat the shit out of him, not just you.”

  Apo smiled. “My friend’s correct. We will beat the shit out of you.”

  The minister sneered at Apo. “You aren’t a Canadian oil company. Who are you?”

  “Your worst fuckin’ nightmare. I’m only going to ask you this one time nicely. What’s the mission your little group of terrorists are working on?”

  “I have no idea what—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Apo punched him square in the face, breaking his nose and sending him to the floor. Carl stepped over and yanked him back into the chair, slapping his face repeatedly on both sides to shake him up.

  “That’s as nice as he’s gonna ask, motherfucker,” growled Carl. “And he’s the nice one. If you piss me off, you’ll wish you hadn’t been born.”

  Abdul Ali was not a warrior. He wasn’t a hard man. He began crying and raised his hands. “Please, please . . .”

  “Please what?” asked Apo.

  “I’ll tell you, please don’t hurt me.”

  Carl pulled a knife out of his belt and unfolded it. “I can shave with this, it’s so damn sharp,” he said quietly. “I can also remove your ears and fingers with it. So don’t waste any more of our time. When he asks you a question, you answer it right the first time, or I’m going to start with your right hand.”

  “Why is ISIS in Brunei?” asked Apo.

  “They had made an arrangement with the sultan. We would allow them to operate their camp in exchange for a guarantee they wouldn’t attack Brunei.” The minister spoke softly, his eyes downcast in humiliation.

  “Well that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” said Apo. “Like ISIS honors a contract or something? You realize these animals are burning people alive, right? Beheading people. Torture. Slavery. You name it. But you think if they say they won’t attack you, then you’re all set? You insult my intelligence.” He smacked the man open-handed on his ear, almost knocking him off his chair again. Abdul’s ear was ringing and he began crying from the pain.

  “There’s more,” he stammered.

  “No shit. Get to it,” said Apo.

  “The Chinese have been extremely aggressive.”

  “You’re wasting my time.”

  “No, wait. Listen. These ISIS soldiers . . .”

  “Terrorists!” snapped Carl.

  “Yes, yes, the terrorists, they said they would attack China. They’d start organizing China’s Muslim population. Internal problems in China might slow their aggression in the South China Sea.”

  Apo leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Now we’re getting somewhere. So were they going to attack China?”

  Carl played with his knife.

  “Singapore. An economic disaster first. China after.”

  Apo and Carl looked at each other. Bruce had told them Singapore, and now Abdul had confirmed it.

  “Okay, Abdul. Tell us about Singapore. Everything. And you better hurry before my friend here gets bored and starts cutting off fingers.”

  Abdul leaned to the side and spit out a gob of blood. “There’s a ship in Kuala Belait. It probably left by now.”

  “And . . . ?” asked Carl, leaning forward with his knife.

  “They are traveling to Singapore by ship to attack the financial markets.”

  “What’s the name of the ship?” asked Apo.

  Abdul hesitated. Carl punched him in the face so fast Abdul never saw it coming. He flipped off the chair and landed on the floor, where Apo jumped down and grabbed him by his throat, giving it a quick squeeze. Abd
ul started coughing and pleading.

  “The name!” shouted Apo into the man’s bleeding face.

  “Ragam,” whispered the minister, defeated. “It’s a small freighter. The Ragam, out of Kuala Belait. There, that’s everything. Now let me go.”

  “Not quite. How many men are on the ship?” asked Apo, still straddling the man.

  “Only eight of the men made it to the ship. The ship’s crew, maybe another five or six. It’s a small freighter.”

  Apo stood up and told Abdul to sit back in the chair. He looked over at Carl, then back at Abdul. “Who was running the camp?”

  Abdul was about to say he didn’t know, then thought better of it. After a brief pause, he said, “I only spoke with two men. Mohammed and Hamdi. That’s all I know.”

  Apo nodded. “Very good. We met both of them. Good friends of yours?”

  “They aren’t friends of mine. I did what I was told by His Excellency.”

  “I think I heard something like this once before. Nineteen forty-five, maybe? ‘I was only following orders.’ It was bullshit then, too,” said Carl.

  “One does not question the sultan,” said the minister, his eyes down at the floor. His life was ruined.

  Apo picked up a walkie-talkie from the table. “Moose. Small freighter in Kuala Belait called the Ragam. Eight tangos plus the crew. May have already left.”

  Apo walked over to the minister. “Serious question for you, Abdul.”

  Abdul looked up at him, sniffling at the blood from his nose.

  “You want to live or die?”

  “I’ve told you everything I know!”

  “And I believe you. Now answer me. You want to live or die?”

  “I want to live,” he said so quietly they could hardly hear him.

  “Okay then. We’re going to let you live. You call your pilot with your phone and tell him to leave. Tell him to pick you and your friends up tomorrow at thirteen hundred hours. That gives us a day and a half to finish up and leave, and then you can go home. But here’s the thing. And it’s important that you understand. If you try and give him a distress code, or attempt to leave early, or fuck with me in any way, whatsoever, we will kill every single one of you. You understand?”

  Abdul stared at him. The concept of surviving this encounter had seemed remote indeed. “That’s it? I just have the helicopter come back tomorrow?”

  “Thirteen hundred hours. That’s it.”

  Abdul nodded. “My phone is in my jacket pocket.”

  Apo leaned in and reached inside the man’s jacket, taking out his phone. “I speak Chinese, Malay, and Arabic. If you fuck with me, you’re dead, right here, right now.”

  “I understand,” said Abdul. He dialed the pilot’s cell phone and explained they’d be staying over. The pilot was to go back to the airport and return the next afternoon at one. The pilot was surprised, but did as he was instructed.

  ***

  Up in the tower, Hodges noticed the helicopter’s rotors beginning to turn. He got on the radio. “Moose, it’s E! Bird’s starting up!”

  Moose called over to Apo on the walkie-talkie and Apo told him it was okay. The helicopter banked off for Brunei.

  Chapter 60

  Operation Lionfish

  Moose called in to Langley and updated the director. Director Holstrum then coordinated with PACCOM to arrange mission support through the Reagan and whatever else was needed, including special instructions for Carl. Pacific Command went to work immediately and within two hours, they formulated a plan and had drones in the air over Kuala Belait looking for a freighter call the Ragam.

  The team took their three prisoners and made them strip down to their underwear. Moose crushed all of their phones, then brought them to a room that had nothing more than a table and chairs.

  “Okay, ladies. Make yourselves at home until tomorrow. If you make me come back up here, for any reason, I will kill you all. Do you understand?”

  They nodded.

  “No, see, it doesn’t work that way. I want to hear you. Do you understand?” Moose barked.

  They all said yes.

  “Do you understand that I will kill you if you attempt to leave this room?”

  They all said yes.

  “Allowing you to live is very generous of us. Do not make me regret it. Your helicopter will come get you tomorrow, and you can forget this ever happened.”

  Moose looked at Abdul. “Well, except you. I’m not sure the sultan’s gonna let you forget this happened. Let me know how that works out for you,” he said with a wink.

  Moose slammed the door behind him and shoved a chair under the doorknob. They could break out of it if they tried hard enough, but it really wouldn’t matter. Even if they got out of the room, all communication equipment had been disabled and they were stuck until their helicopter arrived. There was no way off the rig, and swimming ten miles wasn’t a good option. Besides, they were terrified and would most likely just sit and wait for help.

  The team reassembled on the helipad and waited for their ride. The same Sea Hawk landed with the same pilot. Once they all loaded up and had their headphones on, the pilot came over the intercom.

  “Welcome back. We’d like to thank you for flying US Navy. Use your valuable air miles for free travel and rewards . . .”

  “Everybody’s a comedian,” said McCoy.

  After a minute passed, Jon spoke into his headset. “You know, when I was laying on the bottom of the ocean at six hundred feet in the dark, wondering if I was going to die, all your bad jokes kept me going. Just wanted to say thanks for that.”

  His friends smiled. Moose chimed in. “Don’t go getting all mushy on us, Jon. If you become a big pussy they’ll make you fly helicopters.”

  “Very nice,” said the pilot. “Want to get out here?”

  “We only tease the ones we love,” replied Moose. “And yeah, thank you to you, too. I think this is our third round-trip with you. Might be a new record.”

  “You’re welcome,” replied the pilot. “But just so you know, your baggage was three pounds over. There’s going to be an extra charge.”

  McCoy pushed Moose’s big arm. “His baggage? How about his fat ass? When Moose hauls ass, he’s gotta make three trips!”

  The men leaned back against the walls of the Sea Hawk and let the vibration lull them into a semi-sleep. They’d had a long week. A blink later, they were landing back on the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan.

  “Wake up, ladies. Please return your tray tables to their upright and locked positions,” said their pilot.

  The team hopped down out of the helicopter and were greeted by a commander. The man was speaking loudly over the rotors and aircraft engines on the flight deck. The flight deck of a United States aircraft carrier was a dangerous, loud, and exciting place.

  “Welcome back to the Reagan. Pat Coburn, commander, special operations. I guess it’s about time we met in person. Just off the horn with PACCOM. You’ve been a busy bunch. Follow me to the briefing room and I’ll give you your new orders. This is priority.”

  The team hustled after Commander Coburn, running up a few flights of metal stairs and down several hallways to a small conference room. The ship was immense. The men placed their weapons and duffle bags on the side of the room and sat down around a large table. A petty officer was at a computer waiting on the commander.

  “Gentlemen, this is Petty Officer Christine Hart. She’s my S-2. Okay, Christine, hit it,” said Commander Coburn.

  The intelligence officer started typing and images taken from drones appeared on the white screen at the end of the table. A small freighter with the name Ragam painted on the bow and stern was out to sea with several men visible in the rear of the ship. The camera images zoomed in and showed each of the men. All eight standing together in the open area at the stern of the freighter were Mi
ddle Eastern, bearded men who looked to be between the ages of twenty and thirty. Every single one of them was smoking. They were also wearing vests with bulky pockets protruding from the fronts. Only two crewmen were visible, who looked to be Asian, most likely local seamen from Brunei.

  “Don’t they know smoking is bad for them?” asked McCoy.

  “So is being to blown to shit,” replied Jon.

  “Reminds me of those new dolls that came out last Christmas,” said McCoy. “Talking dolls from all over the world, each with a saying in their own language. No one knows what the Pakistani dolls say, though everyone’s afraid to pull the string.”

  “This product has zero reviews,” said Jon.

  “You finished now?” asked Moose, trying not to smile.

  Ripper stared at the name and squinted. “For a second, I thought that boat said ‘Reagan’ on the stern. Is Ragam Bruneian for Reagan?” he asked sarcastically.

  The commander avoided eye contact, fighting his own smile. “The Ragam is registered to Brunei. Her current position is about quarter way to Singapore, just past the Sembuni Reefs. There’s a small series of islands further west, and then open ocean between them and Singapore. Any action taken has to happen between Pulau and Singapore in international water. Based on her speed, you have about six hours to decide how you want to take this down, assuming they want to enter the port in Singapore at night. It’ll be dark in another hour. PACCOM has also instructed me to give you the option of declining, and simply alerting the Singapore authorities. They have a decent navy and can probably handle this themselves.”

  “We lost two friends on this mission. Their asses belong to us,” said Moose quietly.

  Commander Coburn nodded. “I was told that would be your reaction. I was actually the one who asked about just letting Singapore deal with it. We’ve been busy playing cat-and-mouse with the Chinese, but I understand your personal reasons for wanting to see this through. I’ve been fully briefed on your mission. Excellent work all around, gentlemen. I should also inform you that the two nuclear warheads have been made safe and disposed of.”