Dangerous Grounds

by Don Keith

  Hill wedged his hand into the tiny crevice and pulled himself up enough to jam a toe into the notch. Gradually he began inching his way upward. He would study the cliff face above him, reach up and wedge a hand in some slight crack in the rock, pull a foot up, and then jam it in securely. He repeated the move over and over again, each time gaining a few precious inches of altitude. The SEAL's shoulders ached from the strain and his feet and hands were bruised by the unyielding rock, but he made steady progress while his teammates below hid any sign of their arrival.

  The crack slowly widened as Hill got higher and higher on the granite wall. Finally he was able to wedge his back against one side and duck walk up. Then it opened out enough that he could scurry up the last few feet. He looked around carefully. There was no sign of human life. He tied off a rope for the team to use to climb up after him and tossed it down. Only then did he collapse, gasping for air.

  Ten minutes later the team was together again at the top. Johnston quickly set up the secure satellite radio and reported to Ward and Beaman that the team was safely ashore and ready to proceed with their mission.

  Walker pulled a map from his pack and went over the plan with everyone for the last time.

  "Chief Johnston and Broughton, head down to the il Yin site. Hill and Cantrell, you go down to the Won Ton site. Martinelli, Dumkowski, and I will go to the Nison site. Get as far as you can before sunrise, then hole up for the day. Be in place tomorrow night for the surveillance. Whoever finds the weapons, stay in place for the Tomahawk strike the next night. The rest will move in to cover the exit route. The strike team will verify destruction and then exfiltrate. Meet here again after the strike for the ride home. Questions?"

  There were none, of course. At least none that could be answered yet. They had been over the plan a thousand times already, back in the comfort of the sub. No one could tell them what they might find out there in that hostile country. Nor what their chances were of getting back to this spot safely after raining hellfire on the nuclear torpedo storage site.

  No matter. They had a job to do. The SEALs shouldered their gear and disappeared into the night.

  Captain Jon Ward stood and stretched and tried to stifle a yawn. It had been a long, tense night, watching and waiting while the SEAL team methodically made its way ashore. The Global Hawk UAV images, displayed on the large panel screen in the Seventh Fleet Command Center, kept him up to date with everything that was happening out there. Nothing seemed to be moving on the arc of coastline where the men were headed. It was like the stretch of granite and scrub pine had been abandoned by man. The only motion the high-flying bird detected was the slow crawl of the two small boats toward the coast. Then Walker called in to report everything was going according to plan, that they were up the cliff and ready to break into three teams. After that, even the SEALs dropped out of view.

  "Come on," Ward called out to Bill Beaman. The SEAL was still staring intently at the screen, trying to see anything that might be the movement of his guys. "If they’re as good as you claim they are, you won’t see anything but foxes mating out there. It’s time two old war-horses were in the rack."

  "Careful who you call old," Beaman retorted. He, too, stood and stretched. "I still should be out there, Jon. It’s mighty hard sitting here, watching someone else have all the fun. Still, I got to admit it's been a long night."

  His stomach growled loudly then, as if on cue. Ward laughed.

  "Wonder if the O-club can rustle up some eggs. I think both of us may be as hungry as we are tired."

  Manju Shehab cautiously guided the outboard-powered canoe up the narrow, twisting passage, winding deliberately through the seemingly impenetrable mangrove swamp. Mosquitoes buzzed in massive clouds, darkening the cloying, humid air. The saltwater-loving trees sent their fingerlike roots in all directions, creating a maze of interlocking tentacles. Unwary people occasionally wandered in here and were never seen again. Local natives maintained that hungry ghosts inhabited this swamp. The spirits were supposed to have a special taste for human livers.

  Shehab smiled at the thought. The superstition was very useful to him and his cause. It kept curious natives away from this part of Palawan Island. His men were free to use its torturous passages to hide their base camp and to bring in the occasional small freighter while they relieved it of its cargo. The mangrove canopy served to hide them from the prying eyes of the government's aircraft and the spy satellites of other countries.

  "How much farther?" Sabul u Nurizam asked from the small canoe’s forward seat. The terrorist cleric seemed totally oblivious to the swarming insects or the syrupy heat.

  "Another kilometer or so, Mullah," Shehab answered. "You will see. This place is perfect for what you ordered."

  Nurizam idly waved a hand and was again lost in thought.

  Shehab was worried. The mullah was much quieter on this trip than normal. There must be many things weighing on the great man's mind. Usually when they were alone like this, Sabul seemed to relax, joking and laughing, telling stories and kidding Shehab about their many adventures together. But today he sat passively, not saying anything, as if a dark cloud followed him.

  They motored around a bend and through a narrow slot, barely wide enough for the canoe to squeeze through without scraping. Then the passage opened onto a channel that was at least twenty meters wide. The broader water headed inland for about seventy meters before disappearing around a bend. Shehab steered the canoe out into the center of the channel and pointed it toward where the channel twisted away to the left.

  "Mullah, this channel is ten meters deep all the way from the ocean. It is perfect for your needs."

  Nurizam nodded but didn't say anything.

  Rounding the bend, they stared at a natural wonder. The channel headed straight into a huge lava tube. It was a cave that rivaled the World War II submarine pens in Brest, the perfect place for what Nurizam had in mind.

  "I told you," Shehab said proudly. "It is perfect. No one could possibly find us in here."

  Nurizam nodded.

  "Allah has provided. It will do nicely.” Then, as the canoe eased into the shade of the lava rock, Nurizam turned to his lieutenant, a scowl darkening his face. “But now, Shehab, we must discuss your little treachery. It seems that you have chosen to disobey my orders."

  Shehab swallowed hard and managed to splutter a reply.

  "But, but, master. I have…"

  Nurizam waved him to silence.

  "Do not add lying to your transgressions. You have always been my most loyal servant and most valiant warrior. Explain to me why you have done this thing."

  Shehab could not think of an answer. He stared mutely at his leader, the fear twisting his sweaty face.

  "Was it not my order to you to destroy all the heroin on that ship?"

  “Yes,” Shehab croaked, nodding abjectly as he avoided looking at Nurizam.

  "Have I specifically ordered that we will not deal in drugs, especially with our faithful?" Again Shehab nodded. "And yet I hear that my most trusted general is trying to deal ten kilos on the streets of Manila like a common outlaw. I am deeply ashamed and disappointed."

  "My master, I beg your forgiveness for my sins,” Shehab answered weakly. “I know I have done wrong, but for a good reason. I was only trying to help our cause. The money grows thin and there are many things we require in order to support our jihad against the infidels."

  Nurizam nodded solemnly.

  " I realize this. That is the only reason you are still amongst the living. If I thought that you were using the dirty money from the drugs to enrich yourself, you would already be a martyr. Instead, I have a mission for you."

  Shehab drew a deep breath. He had somehow escaped with his life. Nurizam had chosen to forgive him.

  “Of course, master. Anything you command.”

  "I want you to go to Zamboango. It seems that our patron has a task that requires your attention."

  Shehab carefully pulled the canoe alongside a rou
gh pier just inside the mouth of the lava tube. He hopped up on the rickety structure and tied the vessel to it. Nurizam climbed up and promptly marched outside, stepping into the shade-dappled sunshine. Shehab hurried to catch up.

  "What is this task?" he asked breathlessly.

  Nurizam chuckled quietly and his lieutenant finally relaxed. He had been spared. How he could ever have thought Nurizam would not learn of his drug selling?

  "The irony is almost too rich," the cleric chortled. "It seems that our friend Colonel Ortega is holding a pair of American JDIA agents at his headquarters. They were investigating Sui Kia Shun's drug shipments through Basilan Island and got a little too close for comfort. Ortega, of course, grabbed them."

  Shehab nodded. He knew most of this already. Colonel Ortega and many of the other members of the police had been on Shun's payroll for years. Actually, this particular cop was on anyone's payroll, so long as they bothered to offer cash and any semblance of discretion. Shehab had used him a few times, paying through intermediaries, when it suited the revolution. Still, he didn't quite understand what Nurizam was driving at.

  "Our patron believes that these two drug agents would be indirectly useful to our cause if they were back on the street once again instead of in Colonel Ortega’s jail. That is your job. You will go to Zamboango and break them out of jail. In exchange for that service, Lee Dawn Shun will forward the last payment to the Koreans for our weapons."

  “I will have it accomplished at once,” Shehab said.

  Nurizam gazed out at the jungle. He took a deep breath before continuing.

  "One more thing and this is very important. You will make the breakout very messy. I want many bodies and for much blood to flow in the gutter."

  Nurizam fell silent. He turned quickly and charged up the narrow path leading around the mountain. Shehab followed, running to keep up. It was more than ten kilometers along this old trail back to the base camp. Most of the way was over sharp lava rock and through thorny acacia brush. The sun beat down on the pair, the stifling heat only occasionally relieved by the slightest of breezes that found its way through the dense undergrowth.

  After several minutes, Nurizam stopped abruptly and spoke again. Shehab hustled to stand beside him so he could hear his leader’s words.

  "You will divert all the government's attention to Mindanao and away from anything that we might do here. I want everyone to think that we are mounting a major offensive there. You will be a martyr to the cause. Then we will strike with our master stroke."

  With that, the mullah was off again and was soon swallowed up by the jungle

  The battered old fishing boat chugged out of Najin, heading north across the Sea of Japan toward the rich fishing grounds up by the Kurile Islands. The old wooden ship, draped with nets and glass floats, blended in perfectly with a thousand other boats out of Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and even Russian villages. No one paid any attention as it swung south again, along the Japanese coast then toward the Tsushima Straits and the Yellow Sea. It was just one more fishing boat. A maritime family trying to scrape a meager existence from the sea.

  Even if the boat had been stopped, it would have taken a very careful search to discern how it was different from all the others.

  It would be most difficult to find the hidden compartment that had been constructed under the fish hold. A hold that had been filled with several tons of fish carcasses.

  Inside that secret compartment, beneath the layers of fish, rested the boat’s true cargo: the ominous gray-green shapes of two Soviet type 53-68 nuclear torpedoes.

  18

  Brian Walker slowly, cautiously raised his head hardly more than an inch, just enough to see over the chunk of rough granite. He clutched his M-4 carbine tightly as he stared down the slope that stretched away below his hiding spot. His night vision goggles easily pierced the darkness, but there was little to see. The stretch of narrow roadway that wound down the slope was barely visible through the scrub pines and stunted brush clinging tenaciously to the rocky soil. Nothing moved to disturb the quiet scene.

  It was time to move. His tiny group needed to traverse five miles of enemy territory before the sun rose. Martinelli and Dumkowski were depending on him to lead them into the North Korean compound, see what was there, and get them back safely. Walker shivered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Thoughts raced through his mind, questions that he didn’t want to ask himself. His thinking was jumbled by the fear that twisted his gut. Did he have what it took to get through this? Would he clutch? He simply had no way of knowing until the time came.

  Martinelli silently slithered up next to him and touched his elbow.

  "Come on, Cowboy,” he whispered. “High time we got truckin’."

  Walker shook his head, attempting to clear the spider webs of doubt. He winked, gave the big Italian a wry grin, and answered, "You're right. Let's get a move on."

  The three men rose from their hiding place and moved, low and fast, toward the darkened highway.

  Walker immediately felt better once they were doing something besides hiding behind the rocks. Maybe it would be all right after all.

  The coastal road remained empty. Evidently the North Korean's didn't have much need to use it at night. Still, the SEALs moved along the berm alongside the road, never straying out onto the pavement where they could more easily be seen. That meant they moved a little slower, but they would be able to dive into the brush for cover much more quickly if some vehicle should suddenly appear

  It was midnight by the time Walker reached the dirt road that branched from the highway and then wound up the mountain valley to the northwest. It was precisely where their intelligence said it would be. Clinging to the steep rocky slope, the road was little more than a path, barely wide enough for a truck. A stream, hidden in the darkness below them, sent a thunderous roar of rushing water bouncing and echoing off the granite.

  With a nod from Walker, the three SEALs followed the rough trail as it climbed up the slope away from the main roadway. Dumkowski moved into the lead, his M-4 pointing the way. Walker followed ten meters behind, staying in the shadows and carefully matching Dumkowski's footsteps. Martinelli followed ten meters back, cautiously guarding their rear and making sure they left behind no sign of their passage.

  They could only hope their intelligence was right about there being no listening devices here, no detection sensors. If the intel was wrong, a pack of DPRK troops could be moving their way already.

  They had barely covered a hundred meters when Dumkowski stopped abruptly and bent down to look at something on the ground. He waved Walker up to squat next to him.

  "Lieutenant, somebody’s been this way. These are truck tracks. Looks like several pretty heavy ones. See how deep they have sunk in. The impressions have softened quite a bit. I'm guessing these are a couple of weeks old."

  Walker nodded and grunted.

  "Well, at least someone is using this goat trail. Let's get up there and see what for."

  The road carried them higher and higher up the flank of the mountain. The SEALs trudged along, keeping a fast pace as they ascended. Wherever this track led, they had to get inside the Nison site and check it out before dawn. There wasn't time to waste sightseeing or worrying about whether or not their presence was still a secret.

  They were in a precarious spot. The road was bordered on the right by a near-vertical wall of weathered granite. On the left, the mountain fell straight down into the black abyss below. A few hundred yards further up the slope the road turned back. Still, they were hemmed in by rock on one side and space on the other. Walker searched in vain for any place his little team could hide if they encountered someone else using this little road. If they got caught out here, there would be no choice but to fight. If it was military, there would no doubt be a short, vicious battle, one they would likely lose. Any troops out here tonight would outnumber and out-gun his three-man team. And even if it was some farmer with a wagonload of rutabagas, all surprise would be lost. T
he mission would go up in flames. The SEALs were vividly aware that they were the trespassers here, no matter the worth of their mission. Even if they survived, their presence would lead to ugly consequences. And they would never be able to prove the North Koreans had what they had come to destroy.

  Walker shivered involuntarily as a cold trickle of sweat traced the length of his spine.

  The road finally emptied onto a small, flat shelf high up on the mountain. A tall, rusty, chain link fence, topped with coils of concertina wire, surrounded the little level area that had been scraped out of the mountainside. Within the fence, Walker could see the dark, brooding shapes of several single-story metal buildings. No light was visible anywhere up here. The whole place felt empty, deserted.

  Walker knew that was not necessarily the case.

  Dumkowski moved off to the left, making a slow clockwise circuit of the enclosure, looking for signs of life or security devices. Walker lost sight of him almost immediately as the SEAL disappeared into the shadows. Martinelli slipped off to the right, working counterclockwise around the fence.

  Suddenly, the team leader was alone. His teammates were gone. He slid back into the shadows, crouching low at the edge of the plateau. Nothing to do but wait and watch while the two experienced warriors scouted the area.

  He stared intently at the metal shacks on the other side of the fence, trying to make out anything that would give him a clue to whether this place held what they sought. Or did they hide a company of DPRK security troops waiting in ambush? Were the nukes inside, guarded by a horde of Koreans who had been ordered to annihilate anyone who tried to steal them?

  Wait. Was that movement?

  Walker swore he saw motion in the shadows. He glanced away and then back. Nothing changed. His imagination must be working overtime.