Dangerous Grounds

by Don Keith

  “Damn!” Wilson roared. “What the hell happened?” He stepped back for a second and then asked, “Any other signal from the sub?”

  It was a forlorn hope, but after tracking Corpus for as long as they had, maybe they had learned some other weakness in the nuke sub, some distinctive noise that would give her away.

  “No sir. Not a thing. The screens are blank except for some merch traffic to the west. What do you want us to do?”

  “Follow the track, close in to five thousand yards from her expected position. Let’s just hope we lost the signal because of acoustics and we can reacquire.”

  Wilson looked at the geographic display on Simonson’s screen. The sub’s track had been arrow straight since they made a minor course correction as they passed north of Luzon.

  “Brian, project the Corpus track ahead,” Wilson ordered. “Where does it lead?”

  Simonson tweaked a dial on his computer. The display moved out so that most of the Western Pacific appeared.

  The green trace headed arrow-straight for the entrance into Tokyo Wan.

  Manju Shehab was livid. His eyes bulged from his red face and spit flew from his lips as he talked. How could such a thing happen? Were all his men so stupid?

  “Erinque!” he yelled at Tagaytai, the tall, heavyset terrorist who had been sitting in the sonar room. “How long has this child made you look stupid?”

  Tagaytai shook his head.

  “Manju, I am a simple Muslim fisherman. I don’t know all these computers and sonars and things. If Allah had wanted me to know sonars he would have made me a dolphin.”

  “You fool!” Shehab raged. “I may feed you to the dolphins! Are you sure the signal is gone?”

  The pair of pirates stood in the control room, blocking the door into sonar. The WQC control panel hung in shreds above Neil Campbell’s head. The young midshipman lay with his head down on the sonar desk, as if he might be asleep at his station, but there was a thin trickle of blood oozing from his lips.

  “The panel is finished,” Tagaytai said. “I destroyed it as soon as you saw the signal and alerted me. One burst from my AK-47 was all it took to silence it.”

  Shehab was still not placated.

  “You are lucky that I saw the transmit light on the control room monitor before some American found us. Then we would all have to answer to Sabul u Nurizam in the next life. You had better pray that we are still all alone out here in the ocean.”

  He grabbed the young midshipman by the back of his collar and flung him out sprawling onto the control room deck.

  “Bring him around, then take him down with the rest of the crew. Kill him as an example to those who would be brave and spoil Allah’s mission,” Manju Shehab ordered.

  Tagaytai started to protest.

  “But he is only a child. He has no beard. He has never known a woman…”

  “Silence! Do as I say, or you will be made an example yourself of what happens to the stupid.”

  Tagaytai had no choice. He grabbed the young man by the neck and slapped his face until he regained some semblance of consciousness.

  The terrorist shoved the stumbling young midshipman down the ladder to the mess decks. Most of the crew, those not actually operating the sub under the watchful eyes of the pirates, sat huddled there.

  Jim Ward jumped up and started to rush toward his friend as he fell into the compartment. One of the terrorists shoved him roughly back into his seat.

  Campbell started to rise. The big terrorist who had followed him down the ladder brutally shoved the young sailor back down to the deck. Campbell was kneeling there facing his friends as Tagaytai pulled the heavy sword from its scabbard and raised it over his head.

  The sailors’ eyes widened in horror. Surely the pirate was not going to do what it looked like he was.

  Without hesitation, the big man swung the sword’s blade downward with an awful whoosh.

  The first stoke didn’t do the job. Campbell screamed in terrible agony.

  Mercifully, the second stroke came quickly and finished it.

  35

  The heat blasted Bill Beaman in the face as he stepped through the airport terminal’s sliding glass doors. It shimmered up off the blacktop, giving the city an eerie, out-of-focus look, and seemingly hot enough to melt the tires of the hundred or so taxis lurking in the noontime sun. The noxious yellow-gray exhaust smoke hung in the torpid air, as if to choke out all life, but from the looks of the throng milling all about, there was no danger of that.

  Mumbai Airport writhed with bustling travelers, businessmen plying India’s burgeoning tech trade, tourists off to see eastern India’s holy sites, an assortment dressed in all the garbs of the vast sub-continent. The sidewalk was crowded with people clamoring onto wheezing buses or vigorously attempting to flag one of the taxis for the long ride into the city.

  Beaman glanced around, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, although he admitted to himself that a tall, blond American dressed in an Aloha shirt kind of stuck out, even in this varied mob. The shirt was the only thing the Navy Exchange in Yokosuka had in his size. The next time he packed for a deployment, Beaman vowed, he would put in at least one set of civvies. A man never knew.

  “Any sign of our wheels?” Chief Johnston asked as he walked up to where Beaman stood on the curb. The chief shielded his eyes from the sun’s yellow glare as he looked down the traffic entrance ramp.

  “Nope,” Beaman replied. “Not yet. Embassy said that they had a driver and car laid on for us. They knew the flight times.”

  Exasperation gave Beaman’s voice a sharp edge.

  “Take it easy, Commander,” Johnston chuckled. “Remember, you’re here for a vacation.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Beaman grumbled in a low voice so that only Johnston would hear. “Just a little sightseeing while we look for a stray nuke. Jason have the bags yet?”

  Johnston grinned and poked his thumb back over his shoulder.

  “Not yet. He’s fighting his way through that horde for our underwear. You gotta admit, flying in first class was better than jumpin’ out of a C-17 at forty-thousand feet.”

  Beaman was just about to form some kind of smart-ass reply when a gray Mercedes S430 screeched to a halt directly in front of where they stood. Its diplomatic plates left no doubt that their ride had arrived.

  The trunk popped open. Then a striking twenty-something blonde, nicely filling a cream linen business suit and bright paisley blouse, stepped out of the driver’s side door.

  “Mister Beaman, I presume.” Her voice carried the lilt of northeastern finishing schools and an Ivy League education. “I’m Heather Jones. From the American consulate. Please get in. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Her smile was dazzling but there was no doubt that she meant what she said. Before Beaman could even say a word, Jason Hall walked out of the terminal door, lugging three small suitcases. They all watched as he waddled over to the car, plopped the cases in the trunk, tugged open the car door, and jumped into the rear seat. Johnston followed him in, leaving only the front seat for Beaman.

  Beaman tried, rather unsuccessfully, not to notice the length of nicely exposed thigh as Heather Jones deftly threaded the big car through the madhouse that substituted for a traffic pattern in this town.

  “Our gear…?” he began.

  “Don’t worry, Commander.” She treated him to another smile that seemed brighter than the mid-day sun. “I already had it picked up by embassy courier. Your equipment will be in the consulate before you are. Diplomatic pouches are so much easier to get through airports, don’t you think?”

  Beaman swallowed hard and nodded dumbly. His mind whirled in a jumble. He wasn’t quite sure if it was the jet lag, the lack of sleep, or the ravishingly beautiful woman next to him, but something, for the moment, was preventing the battle-hardened SEAL from thinking clearly.

  “We don’t have much time,” Jones continued, apparently oblivious to the tongue-tied navy man sitting beside her. “The Evenin
g Princess is scheduled to dock at first light tomorrow. The Ambassador asked for me to pass a message from Dr. Kinnowitz. I’m to tell you that it would be better if you could intercept the ship at sea. There is a motor launch waiting at the pier. We will leave for there as soon as we do a quick briefing and retrieve your equipment from the consulate.”

  Beaman finally found his voice.

  “What is this ‘we’ I hear?” he choked. “This isn’t going to be a moonlight pleasure cruise. We’re not taking any civilians.”

  Heather Jones glanced over at Beaman, just the traces of a smile turning up the corners of her full lips, then looked back out the windshield at the chaos ahead of them.

  “Oh, I may not be able to keep up with you big, strong SEALs,” she cooed. “But I think I can handle this boat ride. After all I have handled everything that Langley could dish out.” She paused for just a second and then added, “I forgot to mention. I’m the Agency station chief here.”

  “They lost the WQC signal.” Marc Lucerno reported. “All message traffic is onboard. The only message is from Higgins.”

  Commander Don Chapman pulled his eye away from Topeka’s periscope eyepiece and glanced over his shoulder.

  “And what else did it say?”

  “Their skipper still thinks that Corpus is headed this way. Based on her projected track, he thinks she is headed for Tokyo Wan. We’re to set up a barrier and make sure she doesn’t get through.”

  Don Chapman slapped the black scope handles up and reached up into the overhead to operate the large, red scope hoist ring. As the silver barrel slid silently down into the scope well, he ordered, “Lower all masts and antennas, make your depth four-five-zero feet. Mister Lucerno, deploy both towed arrays. Let me know when you are ready to conduct a barrier search.”

  Topeka carried two different very sensitive sonar towed arrays, a TB-16 fat line array and a TB-23 thin line array. Both were long strings of hydrophones towed far behind the submarine, a distance at which they were separated from the tiny bit of noise that Topeka made as she slid through the depths. One, the TB-16 array, was normally stowed in a long tube that extended almost the entire length of the sub. It was the less sensitive of the two, but it also allowed the sub to go faster and still be able to hear. The TB-23 array was stored on a large reel in one of the after ballast tanks. When it was deployed, it gave the sub commander a much more sensitive sonar sensor, but to use it he had to go slower and stay in deeper water.

  “Yes, sir,” Lucerno replied. “Changing course to zero-nine-zero for the first leg of the barrier.”

  Chapman stepped aft to the navigation plot and bent over the large-scale chart taped to the plotting table. He looked up at Marc Lucerno and quietly ordered, “Load warshot Mark 48 ADCAP torpedoes in tubes one, two, three, and four. Make tubes one and two ready in all respects. Set submerged tactics into the fire control system.”

  Topeka was ready to do whatever she had to.

  Sui Kia Shun stared sadly at his family home. He was safely concealed in the jungle overgrowth at the edge of his gardens. From there, he could see men moving about his castle, obviously searching for something. Probably stealing his priceless art collection or trying to carry off the drugs.

  It was time to make the impertinent bastards pay. No one could embarrass Sui Kia Shun in this manner and expect to live. He would kill every one of the interlopers and personally tear the living heart out of their leader.

  He glanced around and saw that all his men were in place. The time had arrived for revenge. Sui lifted the heavy AK-47 and took careful aim at someone just emerging from the main door. He gently squeezed and released the trigger in a well-practiced three-shot burst. The man collapsed backwards as if he had been hit in the chest with an axe handle.

  Sui’s well-aimed shot signaled the beginning of the battle. His men, arranged in a loose arc blocking the invaders’ most likely avenue of retreat, down the mountain, poured a fusillade into the compound. At first, the only responses were the pained screams from the unfortunate few caught out in the open and wounded in the initial round. That quickly changed as the group in the castle recovered from their surprise and regrouped. Within seconds, carefully aimed fire was pouring back from the windows and battlements at Sui and his men.

  A rocket-propelled grenade arced across the field, landing with a loud blast somewhere on the lanai. Another flew across, exploding against the ancient stone wall, tearing out a large chunk of granite.

  A heavy machine gun, probably one of his old Browning 50-caliber weapons from the sound of the thunderous roar, opened up from one of the higher windows. The raiders had found the castle armory, hidden away in the tall tower.

  The steady stream of 50-caliber bullets tore out huge swaths of jungle as the hidden gunner sprayed his deadly fire back and forth across the edge of the vegetation cover.

  Sui watched his men being methodically chewed up by the deadly fire. He aimed a long burst at the window, but that only had the effect of a momentary pause. A brace of RPG’s bracketed the window, but still the firing continued.

  Sui figured he was down to fewer than a dozen men. He would have to retreat and regroup, call in more men and heavier weapons. But by the time that could be accomplished, the people violating his castle would be finished with their work and gone. Gone with the vital load of product, the only thing that could save his empire.

  He raised his arm to signal the withdrawal when he saw one last RPG arc up and, amazingly, fly neatly through the window. There was a moment of absolute silence. The world stood still for an instant. Then a tremendous flash filled the window, followed almost immediately by a thunderous rolling roar of an explosion. All the ordnance in the tower was going off, set off by the fire. Flames licked the castle wall and poured out, first from the gunner’s window, then rapidly spreading. The ancient wood was tinder dry. It burned like it had been soaked in gasoline.

  Sui stood, staring, appalled. His ancestral home was being destroyed by his own hand. But at least now he had a chance to save the heroin.

  Still the firing continued, now only small caliber weapons, but from a dozen or more positions. Whoever was inside the castle was determined to fight to the end.

  Sui Kia Shun vowed once more to grant them that fate.

  The distant rumble of gunfire stopped Tom Kincaid in his tracks. Somebody back up the mountain was using a lot of ordnance. The heavy ripping thunder of AK-47s on full automatic interrupted short high-pitched bursts of M-16 fire. Occasionally an exploding RPG punctuated the gunfire.

  “Benny!” he shouted. “Somebody back there is having a serious disagreement. Let’s get back up there and see what’s going on. Sam, keep your guys here and make sure we have a way out.”

  He unslung his M-16 and charged back up the narrow jungle road they had just traversed. Benito Luna shook his head but followed the JDIA agent anyway, backtracking the way they had come. Sam Liu Chi and his small group of troops sat by the side of the road; getting some much needed rest after the firefight and march down the mountain.

  As the pair moved further up the mountain, they could hear the firefight grow more and more intense. By the time the castle was back in sight, a full-blown battle was underway. They had already noted that the charges set to destroy the heroin had not yet gone off.

  Kincaid moved off the road, into the jungle growth. Benito Luna followed him as the big cop moved up the slope. The two disappeared into the deep green.

  “We need to get higher up, above the castle, so we can see what’s going on,” Kincaid murmured as they moved higher. An hour later, the pair emerged on a rock ledge, high above the castle. Kincaid scooted out to where he could look down, almost directly onto the stone courtyard. Flames shot from the upper floors of the main structure. Smoke billowed up in a column towering a thousand feet above the ancient building.

  Kincaid pulled his binoculars from his backpack and scanned the scene. Then he spied something odd. Something out of place.

  He could see one
group of about twenty people just visible under the overhanging roof of the near side of the castle. They didn’t seem to be participating in the firefight. Instead, it looked like they were unarmed and under the guard of a couple of armed men. Kincaid concentrated his attention on them. They looked most like a group of tourists, accidentally caught up in this mountaintop battle, not soldiers or paramilitary drug troops.

  Then, even from this distance and through the smoke, something looked familiar about one of the captives. It was a woman, slightly separated from the group, a foot or so to the left. He called up a stronger power on his binoculars and focused carefully on her. She seemed frightened, of course, but somehow she also maintained a brave dignity as she appeared to be trying to comfort some of the others.

  Then Kincaid almost dropped his binoculars.

  Impossible! He knew this woman. He was staring down at Ellen Ward, the wife of his old friend, Jon Ward.

  “Jesus!” was all he could manage to say.

  36

  “Mistress, we must retreat.” Sun Rey’s face was crosshatched with sweat and soot. He reeked of gunpowder and smoke. He bled from a nasty gash over his left eye. He pleaded with Lee Dawn Shun to allow them to pull back and regroup. “Most of my men are dead or wounded. We cannot hope to out-fight your father’s men now.”

  Sun Rey and Lee Dawn Shun huddled behind the meager protection of an upturned table. The old dining room served as a makeshift command post. Long, wispy tendrils of smoke seeped in from the tower wing and the room still rocked with the occasional explosion as some other piece of stored ordnance blew up. Their breath came in labored gasps from the combination of adrenaline and the acrid smoke. Just then, a long burst of gunfire came through a window and shredded the wood paneling just inches above their heads, showering the pair with splinters of teak.