Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  Robert handed to Peter a set of headphones with integral microphone so they could speak to the pilot and each other over the engine noise. “Do you have reliable coordinates for the target?”

  “Roger,” the pilot said. Peter could hear the conversation with remarkable clarity over the headset. “We have a live tracking feed. Apparently the Americans have a submarine shadowing the target.”

  Although Peter was pretty sure that was not the true source of information, he decided not to correct the pilot. “What is your ETA?”

  Having just plotted their course, the co-pilot answered, “The target is moving slowly, under ten knots. Based on her current heading, south toward Malaysia, we will intercept in fifty-three minutes if they do not change course.”

  Robert issued his orders. “When you are seventy miles out, drop to the deck, skim the waves. Does this bird have any defensive measures?”

  “Only radar threat receivers and flares.”

  “Better than nothing,” Robert said. “Make your final run for the target fast, staying on the deck as long as possible. Then pop up and land on the helipad. It’ll be forward above the superstructure.”

  “Roger that,” the pilot answered. “Are we expecting any resistance?”

  “If the ship has been modified to fire ballistic missiles, I’m guessing they’ll not want to be boarded.”

  “We should be able to get a quick look on the way in,” Peter said, and then added, “This one?” He nodded toward the copilot.

  “Loyal to Eu-meh. While you were sleeping I received their personnel records.”

  Peter nodded. “We go in fast and hard, understand? If any crewmembers have weapons, shoot to kill. Don’t hesitate. You hesitate and you die.”

  Robert appraised Peter. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”

  “Thought you read my file,” Peter said.

  “What there is of it. The interesting stuff is heavily redacted. Even using the Sultan’s connections to MI6 proved to be of little use.”

  “Well, Robert, what can I say? Trouble has a habit of finding me, and in large doses.” He paused for a moment. “I figure we take control of the bridge and then one of us goes down to the well deck to gather up evidence of a missile launch, assuming that’s why the ship disappeared in the first place.”

  “Gotta be it.”

  “You don’t think it could have been taken by pirates?”

  Robert shook his head, and Eu-meh chimed in. “If pirates had captured the Royal Seeker, they would have issued a ransom demand within twenty-four hours.”

  Peter leaned his head back against the padding and closed his eyes. He murmured, “When all possibilities have been eliminated, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

  “I see you are a scholar of literature,” Eu-meh said. “Maybe there are lessons to learn from the great detective.”

  “You lost me,” Robert complained.

  “Peter was quoting Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes.”

  “You see,” Peter opened his eyes and glared at Robert. “If all possibilities can be eliminated, whatever is left, regardless of how unlikely that may be, must be true. In this case, it would seem we have considered the most likely reasons for the Royal Seeker to go missing—piracy, lost at sea, mechanical or electrical failure—and yet none of these reasons stands up to scrutiny. So, we are left with only one working hypothesis. And that is, the ship is a floating missile launch facility. Crazy.” Peter shook his head. “But that is the logic of Sherlock Holmes.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Robert asked. “I mean, those missiles have to be stopped.”

  “You’re assuming we successfully land on the helipad without being blown out of the air on final approach.”

  “That’s the plan.” If Robert was apprehensive, he hid it well.

  “One of the crew needs to guard the helicopter. That leaves three of us to take control of the ship.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “It’s going to be heavily defended. You said so yourself.”

  “Once we secure the bridge, we have the advantage. We radio for help.”

  “Radio who? We don’t even know if the U.S. Navy has ships in the area. Honestly, I’d be surprised if they did given the extreme tensions with China at the moment. And we certainly can’t call the Brunei military. We don’t know who to trust.”

  “What about my daughter? I don’t give a damn about missiles—we have to find my daughter!”

  “Well, you should care,” Peter said. “Because if those missiles aren’t stopped, there’s going to be a big war right in your front yard.”

  Robert shifted his gaze from Eu-meh back to Peter. “She’s right. One of use has to search the ship and rescue Jade.”

  “If she’s there,” Peter said. He didn’t voice the remainder of his thought—most likely, she has already been killed and the body disposed of.

  Eu-meh pursed her lips. “I will never give up hope.” Her voice trembled as she fought back tears. “I will find my daughter and bring her home, or I will die trying.”

  Peter leaned forward against his seat belt, his outstretched hand grasping Eu-meh’s. “If Jade is on that ship, we will find her, I promise.”

  “And how do you plan to do that if we’re holding down the bridge?” Robert asked.

  “We get the captain and make him talk.”

  Chapter 25

  Air Space Over South China Sea

  August 26

  The Airbus H160 corporate helicopter raced north at 175 knots. The pilot was glad he was carrying an extra 150 gallons of fuel—at five meters elevation and flying at maximum speed, the engines were consuming fuel at an alarming rate. It was a dangerous flight, the sea and night sky merging into one featureless body of blackness. The pilots flew by instrument, aided by their night-vision goggles, as close as they dared to the wave tops.

  “We were just picked up, being painted by radar,” the copilot reported. “Standard marine S-band.” He glanced at his own radar return showing the ship dead ahead. “Looks like the target has found us. She’s stationary, must’ve cut her engines. Distance… seven nautical miles and closing.”

  Robert and Peter heard the entire conversation. “Remember, stay on the deck until the last moment,” Robert said.

  “Roger that,” came the reply from the pilot.

  The seconds seemed to stretch out to minutes. No one spoke, save for the copilot calling out the distance.

  “Four nautical miles…”

  “Three…”

  “Two…”

  Peter felt his pulse quickening.

  “One…”

  Abruptly the aircraft pulled up, shoving Peter into his seat cushion. He gripped the armrests as they banked to the side. The pilot’s voice came through the headsets. “She’s off the left side. Going around the stern and then we’ll land on the helipad. Keep a sharp eye open for missiles and RPGs.”

  Peter craned his neck, trying to get a good view of the target. The Royal Seeker was barely visible. The only lights were shining through windows in the super structure.

  “Do you have a spotlight?” Peter asked.

  After a moment of hesitation, the co-pilot replied. “Yes—but why?”

  “As you circle the aft of the vessel, shine the spotlight on the derrick extending upwards from the middle of the ship.”

  “They’ll know we’re coming in,” Robert objected.

  “They already know!”

  After traveling the last thirty minutes with the cabin blacked out, the white-light beam appeared all the more brilliant. The circle of illumination danced over the upper hull, and then found the derrick, jittering over the steel framework before settling on the center of the towers—and the green rocket motor enshrined within.

  Peter pressed his face against the window. Odd, I don’t see a single person. No one is on deck. The helicopter flared and settled on its landing gear. The pilot kept the engines idling while Peter threw
open the door and jumped on the helipad, his Glock pointed forward, an extension of his arm.

  At the corner of the landing apron was the ladder, which looked very much like a steep stairway. Peter motioned with his arm for Robert to follow; Diesel was already at his master’s side. Suddenly a crewmember’s head and upper body appeared at the top of the ladder. He was raising a rifle, but Peter already had his sights on him. The Glock barked twice, and the crewmember fell backwards, the clanking of the rifle falling against the steel steps and landing on the deck below obscured by the whine of the aircraft turbines.

  Peter rushed forward and descended the steep steps as fast as he dared. At the first landing, the ladder switched back in a zig-zag fashion. There was a weathertight door to enter the superstructure and, hopefully, the bridge. Looking beyond the railing, Peter saw the three towers grouped around the unmistakable shape of a rocket, faintly illuminated by a crescent moon. It appeared stubby, a result of the girth of the first-stage motor and the relatively short overall height. He pressed his back against the bulkhead and looked over his shoulder. Robert was rushing down the steps.

  “Could be more gunmen on the other side of this door,” Peter said.

  Robert answered with a nod and then holstered his pistol so he could yank the door open with both hands.

  Peter knelt low, ready to thrust his gun hand into the opening and squeeze off several shots. He looked up. “Ready.”

  Bracing his feet, Robert drew in a breath and turned the latch, then forcibly pulled the door, his momentum throwing his back against the bulkhead and out of the way.

  Brrrppp! Automatic gunfire and a stream of bullets shot harmlessly through the open hatch.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Three bullets left the Glock in rapid succession, followed by the muffled sound of dead weight falling on the deck. Peter cautiously peeked around the corner. The passageway was clear. He rose to his feet and looked back up the ladder, expecting to see the third man from Eu-meh’s personal guard. The co-pilot was standing there, having just carried Diesel down the ladder, but to Peter’s dismay, so was his boss.

  “You’re supposed to be in the helicopter,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Eu-meh straightened her back and returned an icy stare. “I came here for Jade.”

  “You’re as stubborn as my father,” Peter groused.

  “Good. Then you know you can’t change my mind.” She took a step forward, but Peter extended his arm, blocking her advance.

  “We’ll go first. You stay in the middle.” Peter pointed at the co-pilot. He was cradling the MP5. “Take the rear and make certain no one comes up behind us.”

  Entering single file, Peter advanced down the passageway. When he reached the prone gunman, it was apparent from the bloody patch in the center of his chest that the man was dead. Peter picked up his weapon—an Uzi—and handed it to Robert.

  Another five paces and the passageway ended at another door. Diesel lowered his head, flexing his shoulder muscles, a menacing, guttural growl emanating from behind his bared teeth. His eyes were locked on the door. “This should be the bridge,” Robert said.

  Peter attempted to turn the latch, but it was locked.

  Robert placed the muzzle of the Uzi very close to the latch. Turning toward Eu-meh he said, “Cover your ears and turn away. This will be loud.” Peter and the co-pilot followed the advice.

  Brrrppp! The stream of bullets shredded the latching mechanism and doorframe, emptying the magazine. Tossing it aside, Robert grabbed his pistol and with one hand pushed the door open. Inside, the compartment was filled with a blue-white glow emanating from instrument lights and LCD screens. One entire wall was filled with windows looking forward. On the opposite side, a row of windows provided an unobstructed view across the derricks toward the aft of the ship.

  Robert and Peter rushed in. Several men were standing at their stations, staring at the opening and the men charging through. Their facial features appeared ghoulish from the soft lighting shining upwards from the consoles.

  “Who’s in charge?” Peter said. He counted five faces. Most expressed fear, but one face was defiant.

  Robert repeated the question in Mandarin, and Peter noticed the defiant man straightened his posture. He took a half step forward, away from the console he’d been studying.

  “I am Captain Rei,” he answered in reasonably good English. “I am in command of this vessel. Who are you? And what—” He stopped, eyes wide as he saw Eu-meh step from behind Robert’s bulk.

  “You know who I am,” Eu-meh said with disgust.

  Captain Rei averted his eyes downward.

  “Hands up!” Peter ordered. Rei hesitated at first, and then complied. He was only ten feet from Peter, who closed the distance in three paces. “The rest of you—hands on your heads and against the wall. Now!” The other four seamen quickly moved until they were shoulder to shoulder. Robert passed zip ties to the co-pilot, with instructions to bind their hands.

  “So it’s true,” Peter said, referencing the deadly weapon pointed skyward from the middle of the ship. “Who are you working for? China? North Korea?”

  “You’re too late,” Rei said, his voice surprisingly calm.

  “No matter. I’ll bet the list of U.S. intelligence officers who will grill you is exceptionally long. And given the number of servicemen and women you’ve murdered, my guess is they won’t be very civilized about it, either.”

  “Where is my daughter?” Eu-meh demanded.

  The captain’s face contorted into a bitter mask. “You are a disgrace to your people. You’ve sold your honor and loyalty for a life of luxury! Your daughter—” he spat on the deck, “she’s soft and weak, just as you are.”

  “Where is she!” Robert placed a hand on her shoulder, restraining her forward motion.

  “I have nothing more to say.”

  Peter lowered the pistol until the barrel was pointed at Rei’s feet. “The way I see it, I can put a 9mm bullet in your foot, maybe your ankle too. And if you still don’t want to answer the lady’s questions, I’ll move on to your knee caps—both of them.” Peter scrunched his lips and shrugged. “We can play this game for quite some time. I’ve got plenty of bullets, and it will take hours for you to bleed out.”

  To demonstrate his resolve, Peter squeezed the trigger. Rei jumped, but the bullet just missed the toe of his shoe, instead puncturing the linoleum-covered steel deck.

  Beads of sweat dappled the captain’s forehead, some combining to form rivulets that slowly traced a squiggly line past his temples and onto his cheeks.

  “Where are you holding my daughter?” Eu-meh seemed undisturbed by the threat of torture taking place before her eyes. But then again, she’d already crossed the bridge of civility when her daughter had been kidnapped, convincing herself that she could kill without remorse whoever had taken her child.

  Hands still on his head, Rei moved his head from side to side. “She’s not here.”

  “Then where is she?” Peter yelled, and then in a calmer voice, “Or the next round is through your foot.”

  Peter stared daggers at Rei. The captain read his resolve, and answered, “She’s not on this ship. Some men came and transported her to another location. I don’t know where.”

  “You’re not being helpful,” Peter said. He edged closer, his steel-grey eyes hard and cold as stone. Rei moved his mouth to speak.

  “I… I don’t know where.”

  Boom! Rei screamed in pain.

  Peter turned to the side, facing Robert. A waft of gun smoke drifted lazily from the barrel of his pistol.

  The bullet cut off his little toe. Blood was seeping out the jagged hole in his black leather shoe.

  “Why did you do that?” Peter said.

  “You’re talking too much, wasting time.”

  Rei was losing it. “I swear! I don’t know where Jade is!”

  “Then who took her off this ship?” Peter said, just inches from the captain’s face. “And when were they here?”
/>
  “The guards! Two days ago.”

  “Captain Rei. You are trying my patience. More importantly, you are testing Robert’s resolve. If you don’t provide helpful information, I’ve no doubt he will adjust his aim for your ankle.”

  Rei’s face was terror-filled. “No, no. That’s all I know. Four men. They wore the uniform of the palace guard. One had a bandage over his ear. They swore me and my crew to secrecy. Said they would kill any man who even whispered that the Sultan’s niece had been on this ship.”

  “Sooner or later we all die,” Peter said.

  “That’s all I know, I swear!”

  “Liar!” Eu-meh shouted. “You’re holding something back. Why would the palace guard be involved? They’d never hurt any member of the Sultan’s family. You’re lying!”

  Captain Rei had shifted his weight to the side, favoring the injured foot. His back was against the console. He’d lowered his hands to help support his weight. “No, not everyone.”

  Peter pressed his pistol against Rei’s thigh. “Speak clearly man, or I promise you the next bullet will shatter your femur.”

  “I heard them talking. One of the guards said their orders came from the Director of Security.”

  “My nephew? No, that’s impossible,” Eu-meh’s voice faded.

  Peter considered the accusation. He knew that a man would say anything to end torture. The question was how far a man could be pushed before breaking. Had Captain Rei spoken the truth, or was he making this up to avoid more pain and disfigurement?

  “It makes sense,” Peter finally concluded.

  Robert nodded agreement. “The palace guard with the bandage on the side of his head, the same one you hacked with the steak knife in London. And the guards we had the shootout with.”

  Just then, the ship shuddered and a light, as bright as the sun, flooded in through the aft-facing windows. Everyone raised an arm to shield their eyes as they reflexively turned toward the source. The murderous roar of the main rocket engine made Peter’s chest vibrate and he felt the steel deck shaking beneath his feet.

  Trailing a cloud of rust-colored smoke, the missile lifted and sailed clear of the towers on a trajectory that would take it miles above the Earth.