19
“It’s hard to believe Admiral Earp is dead,” Max said. It was after dinner, and Tom, June, and he had finished packing their gear before meeting in Max and Tom’s room at the Navy Lodge.
“Dead?!” Tom exclaimed.
“I contacted his aide to see if there was any way we could stay here. His aide said the admiral went for a swim at the base pool, but the pool staff say he slipped and fell in the shower.”
“Slipped and fell?” Tom asked incredulously.
“NCIS is investigating for foul play,” Max said.
“Dude is dead,” Tom said. “Don’t know what can be fouler than that.”
Disappointment permeated the air.
June’s countenance drooped. “Is there any way we can get Admiral Bolton to let us review the pool’s surveillance video?” she asked.
Max shook his head. “He still wants us out of here. We’re officially persona non grata.”
“What about the spy we nabbed? Any intel on him?” Tom asked.
“NCIS confirmed what June told us earlier. The spy worked for China’s Ministry of State Security. And an NCIS lab tech found something even more interesting.”
“What?” Tom and June asked.
“Traces of rubber, glass, and polonium-210 in the spy’s system,” Max said. “They think the rubber was hidden in his mouth like a fake tooth, and inside was a thin glass container containing the polonium-210—radioactive isotopes. The lab tech thinks that after Tom and I captured the spy, he bit down on the tooth and swallowed the radioactive poison. They determined the cause of death to be heart failure—caused by acute radiation syndrome.”
“A suicide pill,” Tom said.
“Exactly,” Max said.
“What a crappy way to die,” Tom said.
Max’s phone rumbled. With all the bad news they’d received, he dreaded hearing more trouble. It was Young, and he took the call. “What’s up?” he asked.
“The Chinese spy you captured,” Young said. “His phone sent and received encrypted text messages to and from both Beijing and Honolulu. We’re working on pinpointing the locations and deciphering the messages. Just thought I’d let you know.”
“Thanks, Young.”
“Bye.” He ended the call.
Max told Tom and June the news.
“I understand Beijing but Honolulu? That’s new,” Tom said.
June sat up straight with astonishment. “Oh, my.”
Max and Tom looked at her.
She cleared her throat. “The four documents in the Autumn Wind folder were titled Horizontal, Pearl, Five, and Country.”
Tom scratched his head. “And?”
“When written in Chinese, the first character in ‘Yokosuka’ can be translated into English as ‘horizontal,’” she said.
“So Horizontal was the clue for the location, Yokosuka,” Max said.
Now Tom was sitting up straight in his chair, too. “Wait, then Pearl must be—”
“Pearl Harbor,” Max said, finishing his sentence.
June nodded.
“Admiral Earp’s boss, the commander of the US Pacific Fleet, is stationed in Pearl Harbor,” Max said. “What if Autumn Wind is an operation to take out the Navy leadership in the Pacific?”
“It’s looking like we should go to Hawaii,” June said. The disappointment in the air seemed to dissipate.
“Hoo-lah,” Tom said with gusto and a smile, in what sounded like a mix between the Army’s “hooah” and Hawaii’s “hula.”
“I hope we find out what the anthrax is for before Zhao uses it,” Max said. “If he really does have the anthrax.”
June lifted her hand slightly, and it wasn’t clear whether she was about to scratch herself or ask a question.
Max and Tom waited for her to speak.
“I don’t want to cause trouble or anything,” she said, “but if we operate in the US, won’t we be violating the National Security Act of 1947? The National Security Act forbids the Agency, in this case, Max and me, from operating in domestic law enforcement or internal security in the US. Similarly, even though Tom is working under contract for the Agency, he isn’t authorized to operate on American soil either. Operating in Hawaii or any other state would be illegal.”
“Basically CIA is authorized to operate outside of the US,” Tom said, “but inside the US is the FBI’s job.”
Max nodded in agreement. “You’re both right. I’ll ask Willy to request special permission from Washington for us to operate on US soil as part of homeland defense. And I’ll coordinate with the FBI’s Honolulu Division.”
“We should contact US Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor and let them know we’d like to pay them a visit,” Tom said.
“Let’s do it,” Max said. “Admiral Bolton wants us off this base—tout de suite.”
They stayed in a hotel out in town until the following evening, when Washington granted their team permission to operate on US soil. From Japan, the foursome flew aboard an Agency jet for seven and a half hours to Hawaii. Although they departed Japan in the evening, because they crossed the International Date Line, they touched down at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam the morning of the same day, as if traveling backwards in time.
Max believed strongly that they would stop Zhao. More than once Dad told him that believing strongly in accomplishing the mission increased one’s chance of success. Strong beliefs increased effort, focus, and persistence. Without that belief, the mission was doomed. With it, success wasn’t guaranteed, but the chances for success increased exponentially.
Their plane rolled to a stop on the military side of a runway shared between Hickam Field and Honolulu International Airport. On the tarmac, an Asian man sporting sunglasses and an aloha shirt stood next to a black Jeep Grand Cherokee, a midsized SUV with black tinted windows. His appearance, vehicle, and promptness matched the information supplied by the Bureau. “That’s our FBI agent,” Max said.
Max, Tom, and June exited the plane and greeted the agent, who introduced himself with a handshake: “David Akaka.” Around his neck was a gold necklace with the top half of a gold crucifix exposed.
“Max Wayne. With me are Tom Wayne and June Lee. Akaka … Is that name Hawaiian?” Max asked.
“It is,” Agent Akaka said. “In the 1700s, my ancestors emigrated from Guangdong, China, to work the sugarcane fields here, and they changed their names to Akaka so they could fit in better.”
“So your family goes way back in Hawaii,” Max said.
“We do,” Agent Akaka said.
Agent Akaka pointed to Max’s bags. “So I understand that you’re going with me, and NCIS is picking up your colleagues.”
“Yes,” Max said. “Tom and June are going to talk with the Navy’s Pacific Fleet commander while you and I investigate that phone call the Chinese spy made here to Honolulu.”
“Looks like NCIS is late,” Tom said.
A gray Chevrolet Tahoe SUV, carrying a surfboard on top, roared onto the edge of the runway and screeched to a stop near them. Tom, June, and Agent Akaka put their hands on their pistols.
Max’s hand remained at his side, and he said, “That’s our NCIS agent.”
“You sure?” Tom asked, dropping his hand to his side. June and Agent Akaka lowered their hands to their sides more slowly.
Max nodded.
“Who is this guy?” Tom asked.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Max said.
A gigabig Hawaiian guy wearing Maui Jim sunglasses, a dark gray Quicksilver T-shirt, and khaki cargo shorts exited the vehicle. His hair was wet, his T-shirt was damp in spots as if he’d just showered, and he didn’t seem to give a shit that people had their hands on their pistols a moment ago. He stretched out both arms with a lei in one hand, and his voice boomed: “Aloha!”
Max shook his head and chuckled.
“Bane,” Tom said with a smile.
“Is his name Bane?” June asked.
“No, that’s his call sign,” Tom said. “Like
the supervillain who broke Batman’s back. But this Bane is on our side.”
“His real name is Nainoa Aikau,” Max said. “We were Teammates on the task force in western Iraq. His older brother was in the Teams there, too. People say they look and act like twins, but I’ve never met his brother.” Max turned to Bane and teased, “You didn’t have to dress up for us.”
Bane strolled closer and placed a lei around June’s neck and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She broke a killer smile. Then he hugged Max so hard that it felt like he might bust a rib.
“Where’s my lei?” Max kidded him.
“I’ll give you a kiss,” Bane said, leaning toward him.
Max backed away and smiled. “Maybe next time. You’re late.”
“Busy morning, brah. Pipeline surf was tubular, breakfast, picked up the lei, and got bogged down in Honolulu traffic.”
Next, he hugged Tom. “It’s good to see you again, brah.”
Tom smiled. “It’s been a while.”
Bane turned to Max and said, “I’ll take your brother, June, and their gear to the Navy Lodge and help them get a vehicle.” As at Yokosuka, the US Navy had hotels called the Navy Lodge on bases in Hawaii and throughout the world. “Will I see you while you’re in town?”
“Hope so,” Max said.
“You better,” Bane said. “I haven’t seen you since we were runnin’ and gunnin’ in Iraq.”
Max grinned. “Same game, different stadium.”
Bane’s eyes beamed. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Will do, brother,” Max said.
While Bane helped Tom and June load their luggage into his SUV, Max and Agent Akaka took their seats in the Jeep.
Agent Akaka started the engine and said, “Looks like you and the NCIS agent have some history together.”
Max put on his seat belt. “We were in the same squadron, same boat crew. You know him?”
“First time.” Agent Akaka strapped on his seat belt, too. “I’ve got a Honolulu location for that Chinese spy’s phone call.”
“You ready to check it out?” Max asked.
“Just say the word.”
“Let’s roll.”
After Bane took Tom and June to the Navy Lodge and loaned them a black Chevy Suburban SUV, the pair took off to brief the admiral. Tom navigated from the front passenger seat while June drove. “The Seventh Fleet commander in Yokosuka, Japan, Admiral Earp, was a three-star vice admiral,” Tom said, “but his boss, who we’re about to visit, Admiral Gilliam, is a four-star full admiral.”
“So Gilliam’s rank is equal to a four-star general, a full general, in the Army,” June said.
“Yes,” Tom said.
The parking lot near the entrance to Admiral Gilliam’s building was full, so June had to find a spot in an adjacent lot. After parking and stepping out of the vehicle, they scanned the area for suspicious activities or possible dangers as they walked across the asphalt.
Inside the admiral’s building, a confusing array of staff members clustered and came and went in a rhythm that appeared chaotic, but the staffers seemed accustomed to the busy environment, so Tom put on the façade of being accustomed to it, too. An aide recognized them and introduced himself before leading them to his boss’s office and introducing them to the admiral.
“Please, have a seat,” Admiral Gilliam said. “I have another meeting that came up, so I can only talk for a few minutes.”
“We’ll make it swift, sir,” Tom began. “We think the commander of Seventh Fleet, Admiral Earp, was assassinated by a rogue Chinese operative named Zhao Ye. And we’re concerned you might be next.”
“I have been briefed on your ideas about a possible operation called Autumn Wind, and I am sorry to hear about Admiral Earp’s unfortunate passing,” Admiral Gilliam said. “He was a good man. But I run things differently here.”
“You run things differently, sir?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Admiral Gilliam explained. “I installed new sections of chain-link fence to replace the sections that were too low or too old. My guards carry loaded weapons as they patrol the perimeter at unpredictable time intervals, and I have motion sensor alarms near our sensitive areas. Our power and communications lines are well protected. We give security briefs to every sailor, particularly in regard to their personal and vehicle IDs, Internet passwords, safe combinations, and operational schedules. Even my parking spot is under surveillance 24/7.”
“Could we look at your surveillance video, sir?” Tom asked.
He nodded to his aide. “My aide will show you.” Then Admiral Gilliam took out his keys, aimed at the parking lot outside his window, and pressed the remote. A white sedan’s light flashed. “You see, I started my car engine by remote. If there was a bomb rigged to the ignition, it would have already exploded. And it cools off the interior before I enter the vehicle.” He smiled and gave a wink. “Now if you will please excuse me, I am running late for my next meeting.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tom said. “May we talk to you again if we discover new information about possible threats?”
“Certainly.”
The aide led Tom and June to a security room, where he introduced them to the security officer before excusing himself. The officer helped them review the morning’s surveillance video on one monitor at high speed. “We record video surveillance 24/7, but we don’t have enough manpower to watch it live 24/7,” the officer said. On a second monitor, they watched a live feed as Admiral Gilliam walked through the parking lot toward his car.
The morning surveillance displayed a figure that approached the admiral’s vehicle and got inside, but the video was running too fast to make out the details.
“Back up! Play that back!” Tom raised his voice. He fidgeted while they waited for the tech to rewind the video. A woman with long black hair streaming down the back of her flowery dress walked through the parking lot, stopped at the admiral’s car, and opened the driver’s door.
June pointed to the screen and said anxiously, “The woman getting in Admiral Gilliam’s car—that isn’t a woman. That’s Zhao.”
“What the hell?” the security officer asked.
“Call the admiral now and stop him!” June shouted at the security guard.
The security officer hurriedly made a phone call.
“Stop the admiral!” Tom blurted out, and he ran out of the room. June dashed out with him.
In the hall, two sailors walked side by side toward him, and he plowed between them, knocking their shoulders hard. “Hey!” one of them shouted. Then came a civilian, who Tom dodged. He turned into the front office area and saw through the window. The admiral approached his vehicle. Tom ran through the front office area, where an officer stood staring down at his cell phone and fiddling with it. Tom ran over him, laying him out flat on the ground. The collision slowed Tom’s momentum, and someone let out a gasp. Heads turned to look at him.
“Admiral Gilliam!” Tom shouted.
Before he could reach the door, the admiral sat down in his car. Boom! Light flashed like lightning from inside the car, and the air rumbled like thunder, vibrating the office window. A bowling ball–sized object flew from inside Admiral Gilliam’s car through the windshield and bounced off another car before landing somewhere in the parking lot. A woman in the office let out a shriek.
Tom and June dashed out of the building and ran through the parking lot to help him, but when they reached his smoking vehicle, there was nothing they could do. Admiral Gilliam’s burned body was headless.
20
After leaving the airport at Hickam Field, Agent Akaka drove Max fifteen minutes southeast to help him trace the source of the dead Chinese spy’s text messages between Yokosuka and Honolulu. “We were able to track the transmission to a street, and I cross-checked that street with other reports,” he said. “The address I’m taking you to was investigated before but dropped for lack of evidence. It belongs to a Chinese-American named Shawn Lok.”
“What inve
stigation was that?” Max asked.
“Espionage related. The details are classified, so the investigating agents asked me not to divulge more than that.”
“I understand. I really appreciate your help.”
“We’ve got more agents checking out other addresses.” Agent Akaka drove twelve klicks to Waikiki, where high-rise buildings blocked their views of the ocean. After finding a parking spot, he led Max inside a condominium building and onto an elevator. “I’ll open the door to the suspect’s condo, and you can enter first and begin the search,” Akaka said. “Be careful. We think no one is home, but we might be surprised.”
Max nodded. “Roger.”
Their elevator stopped at the eighth floor, and the pair stepped out. Max pulled out his Glock 19 compact 9mm pistol and held it down by his side, keeping it partially concealed from any passersby. The duo walked the hall until Agent Akaka stopped in front of one of the doors. In Iraq, Max heard of another unit preparing to search a house when an occupant opened the door and shot the first man in the face. Max took a deep breath, long and slow. Then he exhaled, long and slow.
Agent Akaka pulled out a pair of tools and worked on the door. He was picking it. Max wanted to ask if the FBI was teaching lock picking at their basic training in Quantico, but he maintained noise discipline so as to not to alert anyone who might be inside the condo.
The door opened; Max aimed his pistol inside and entered. Shoot, move, and communicate were keys to survival. He sensed that Agent Akaka was close behind. If Akaka was a double agent, he was in a good position to pop Max in the back of the head, but it was too late to worry about that now. Max had to focus on his area of responsibility in front of him, or someone might whack both of them.
Max aimed his pistol around until he faced a looming object—a refrigerator. Beside the refrigerator was a sink and counter with a toaster on it. Agent Akaka peeled off to Max’s left and searched a bathroom. It was a small studio-sized condo. Stepping off the vinyl kitchen floor and onto the thin carpet of the next area, Max entered a living room that doubled as a bedroom, complete with a foldaway couch that was unfolded with the bed unmade. Movement flashed to Max’s left, but it wasn’t Agent Akaka, and Max quickly aimed. Then he realized it was his own reflection in a mirror. He let out a sigh.
Autumn Assassins: [#3] A Special Operations Group Thriller Page 14