The Noble Mercenary

by Patrick John Donahoe

  “Alicia, what if we could focus our efforts on how to hack the Select’s hacks. In other words, let them do the work and we just hack whatever they learn.”

  “I like the way you think, hack the hackers. Saves us a lot of work. A small team of my analysts put together this report you might want to read. I asked Crackerjack to work with you the other twelve hours of her day if necessary. In the interim, here’s some reading.” Alicia handed Desiree a softbound spiral notebook.

  Desire found the notebook was full of acronyms and tri-letter indicators for a whole barrage of NSA tools used to intercept cable communications and internet traffic, including land lines, cell phones, email, web sites and addresses, all under the aegis of Whispering Smith. She was both amazed and concerned to be privy to so much spy craft. Maybe she would have to work for Alicia when she was done investigating the Select, or else be shot in some alley one dark night.

  Twenty Eight

  Kurt’s suspicion of Aloisia’s motives for accompanying him to Brazil faded into his subconscious with her generous lovemaking, her support for the clinic, and his minimal interaction with his father’s company, Tridente. She had not mentioned their requirement to meet with the research doctor who was continuing, supposedly, his father’s research into a fountain of youth elixir, and not deadly viruses. Kurt dreaded tomorrow morning when he would have to meet with the Board of Directors of Tridente and start assuming responsibility as acting CEO of the company. Acting was the operative word, since he had no real interest in the job.

  Kurt enjoyed doctoring the villagers, who had waited in line since before sunup for medical attention. He looked over at Aloisia, who, although she was a medical doctor in her own right, was taking care of all the mundane activities that would normally be done by a nurse, and a receptionist, and a medical records staffer. He thought, how could I have been so lucky to have her by my side. I’ve got to hire some help, at least some administrative help. Aloisia should be working more with the patients, for her benefit as well as theirs. I didn’t realize we would be so needed. Aloisia and I can’t handle the load by ourselves.

  That evening when they arrived home, Kurt received the dreaded voicemail from Doctor Ehrlich asking for Kurt to pay him a visit. Kurt called back, even though it was late, and left a reply voicemail informing Doctor Ehrlich he wouldn’t be available for four weeks, and to call back with a day and time that would be convenient four weeks hence. He had too much on his plate already, running the clinic and taking the reins at Tridente. He felt like he was back as an intern with no personal time left in his days. Putting off the visit by a month was arbitrary, but gave him some near term breathing room. If the Baron and Dr. Ehrlich had waited this long for Kurt’s review, they could wait a little longer. He doubted Dr. Ehrlich had developed a longevity serum, and was only wasting the Baron’s money.

  Twenty Nine

  Disguised in a pilfered housekeeper’s uniform and pushing a housekeeper’s cart, Serena stopped in front of room 712 in the Eurostar Book Hotel, which Jacques had vacated seconds before. Serena knelt down by the door and stood up with a stack of sheets on her left arm and Jacques’ conveniently dropped key card in her right hand. Knowing that her every movement could be under surveillance by hotel security, she tried to act as much like an actual housekeeper as possible. She opened the door with the key, entered the room, flipped the security hasp over, and let the door close on the hasp, blocking the door slightly open. The actual housekeeper could show up at any moment, so she needed to be in and out as quickly as possible.

  She went straight to the bathroom trashcan, and retrieved two crumpled pieces of paper from beneath several clumped together sheets of clean toilet paper, and a spent toothpaste tube. She uncrumpled one of the balled up sheets of lined paper and assured herself the handwritten notes were what she was looking for, then stuffed both sheets into the blouse of her uniform. For thoroughness, she checked the trashcan in the living area on the way out of the hotel room, and found it empty.

  Back in the hallway, she closed the hotel room door, and pushed the cart to the wall across from the elevator. Once inside the elevator she shed the housekeeper’s attire revealing the sleek little black dress beneath, then stuffed the uniform into a Gucci tote bag she had concealed in the apron of the uniform. She pulled the pin holding her hair in a bun and let her long luxurious hair fall to her shoulders.

  When she exited the elevator, she appeared to be an elegant beauty carrying a Gucci tote bag, on her way out for a day of expensive shopping. She nodded to the doorman, walked to the end of the block and down the stairs to the Metro stop. She rode the Number Five train to her hotel. Once inside her hotel room she flattened the two pages and read Jacques’ note written in block print.

  FLY TO SHANGHAI, BOARD YACHT RISING SUN, RENDEZVOUS W/UNKNOWN FREIGHTER, LAUNCH STEALTH DRONE AGAINST SEOUL FROM NORTH OF 38TH PARALLEL WITHIN NEXT 10 DAYS.

  Serena knew if Jacques had more details he would have provided them in his note. She had to get to South Korea, ASAP, and take Ian along to shoot down the drone. She called Ian on a throwaway cell phone knowing it could be being monitored as easily as any other phone. And maybe was more likely to be monitored, since throwaway phones were the choice of criminals and terrorists. Serena would have to ask Alicia if throwaway cell phones were a high priority for NSA’s snooping.

  “Ian.”

  “Yes, love.”

  “Osan Air Base, ASAP with flight gear.”

  ‘click’

  The shorter and more direct the communications between the four, the more serious they were. Ian would be on his way to Korea with only ten words. She next called Alicia’s private number using the NSA encrypted cell phone. Her encrypted call would be routed through a series of blind numbers, so the actual number would not show up on any records.

  “Alicia.”

  “Yes, Serena.”

  “Ian and I need to go to Osan Air Base in South Korea, ASAP. Your support is requested.”

  “Good luck.”

  ‘click’

  Serena was not looking forward to the long flight from Munich to South Korea, but she and Ian had to stop this drone.

  Serena arrived at the Osan Air Base Commander’s office before Ian.

  Ian and his Seal Team had just completed the extraction of a British spy from the terrorist group, Abu Sayyaf [Bearer of the Sword], which specialized in kidnapping for ransom. He flew directly to South Korea from Mindanao, Philippines. The rest of his team flew back to the US for some long overdue R&R.

  Ian dragged his digital camouflage patterned roll-along down the corridor to where Serena sat impatiently waiting to be called in to the Base Commander’s office.

  “Serena,” Ian called out.

  Serena looked up from her iPad, stood, and rushed toward Ian.

  Ian hugged her like a long lost friend, almost too long, always trying to keep his feelings for her under control, and upon releasing her, asked, “Been waiting long?”

  “I arrived half an hour ago, on commercial flights from Munich to Tokyo, then here. I’m beat. You look beat too. Have a seat,” she said. She sat back down on the bench and patted the bench suggesting he sit down beside her.

  Ian sat down hip to hip, always grateful for a chance to be near her. “I lucked out when a jet jockey had to bring an F-4 from the Philippines here for a VIP, and let me fly Radar Intercept Officer [RIO] for him.”

  “That was no fortunate happenstance, the VIP he brought the plane here for is you. He’ll be flying RIO for you on this mission.”

  Ian looked at Serena like he had seen her for the first time, and said, “You never cease to amaze me, Serena.”

  “That’s my job, amazing you, Ian,” and she smiled that smile that Ian loved at first sight 914 years ago.

  He grinned back at her, the love for her shining in his eyes. No one could keep him off balance the way she did.

  Her expression turning from friendship to seriousness, she said, “Before we go in and talk to the Bas
e and Flight Commanders, you need to know what this is all about.”

  “Fire aw--”

  “You have to shoot down a stealth drone attacking Seoul from North Korea,” Serena blurted out.

  Before Ian could respond, the door to the Base Commander’s office door opened, and an Air Force Colonel asked, “Serena Jones . . . Ian Smith?”

  “Yes sir,” Ian replied for both of them.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, but we were being given our instructions from the highest level to assist you with anything you need.” He held the door for them as they entered.

  Another Air Force Colonel seated in a chair next to the Base Commander’s desk stood and shook each of their hands. “I’m Colonel Kirk, the 51st Wing Flight Commander, and am very interested in what you have to tell us.”

  Serena noted that the Flight Commander looked like an older male model dressed in an Air Force Officer’s uniform. “Nice to meet you, sir, I’m Serena Jones and this is Ian Smith.”

  “Nice to meet both of you,” Colonel Kirk said and sat back down.

  Ian and Serena took their seats in the two chairs set before the Base Commander’s desk. Before the Base Commander sat down, he asked, “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

  “Water, please,” Ian replied. “It’s been a long journey.”

  “Same here, please,” added Serena.

  “My name is Colonel Evans, by the way,” he said, as he handed each of them a cool bottle of water from an apartment sized refrigerator behind his desk.

  Serena and Ian each uncapped their water bottles and drank half the contents down in a few hearty swallows.

  Colonel Evans settled back in his chair, and said, “I understand you’re on a critical mission, so let’s cut to the chase. What do we need to do?”

  Serena took the lead, as usual. She pulled a large nautical chart out of her handbag and laid it out on Colonel Evan’s desk. “We need P-3 surveillance flights over the area outlined in marker pen on this chart.”

  Colonel Kirk rolled his eyes, “That’s a pretty tall order. Besides, we don’t have P-3’s. The nearest P-3 base is at an ROK Navy facility in P’ohang.”

  “Two Japanese Defense Force P-3’s with American crews will arrive here tomorrow morning to aid us in our search. It’s already been arranged. They will operate out of here under your authority. The crews and both of you will be read into an SCI Program directing this operation.”

  Colonel Kirk and Colonel Evans exchanged looks of surprise. As the two Colonels studied the chart, Serena said, “The P-3 patrols have to appear to be normal patrols. We don’t want the target to realize they’re being tailed, getting spooked, and changing plans. I’ll narrow down the search area as much as I can. We have a 90% probability of certainty that our target will sail through the encircled area.

  A yacht, named the Rising Sun, is departing, or may have already departed Shanghai on its way to rendezvous with a freighter, where a personnel transfer will take place, probably at night, during a period when there is no satellite coverage, and/or when there is cloud cover. They intend to launch a drone from a freighter against South Korea.”

  “Why not stop and board the freighter?” Colonel Evans asked.

  “We don’t know which freighter it is, plus we have a larger strategy, and our own asset to protect.”

  “NSA?” asked Colonel Kirk, with a wink.

  “CIA? Miss Jones and Mister Smith?” added Colonel Evans sarcastically.

  Serena continued as though their remarks were unheard. “I’ll need to be aboard the P-3 flights until we’ve narrowed down the launch window for Ian.”

  “And what is your role in this operation, Mr. Smith?”

  “I’ll be flying the F-4 against the drone,” Ian replied.

  “I never cease to be amazed at the capabilities of our Navy Seals, but I never met one who was an F-4 pilot before. Didn’t you ride in here as the RIO today?” asked the Wing Commander.

  “Yes, sir. I’m a qualified and competent F-4 pilot. My credentials are under another name, which we can verify for you.”

  “Wheeuw!” Colonel Kirk exclaimed, looked at the Base Commander, then back at Ian with new found respect and awe.

  Thirty

  Two p-3 reconnaissance aircraft arrived at Osan Air Base the next morning before sunup.

  Desiree called Serena on her secure satellite phone while Serena was having breakfast. “Hello, Serena.”

  “Have you found any leads on the possible attack?”

  “Yes, I intercepted an encrypted, and very cryptic, email from the Baron to the Yacht Captain telling him to allow three passengers on board and take them wherever they want to go. I haven’t found much else. The Baron is maintaining close to the chest communications. His insight into all the internet hacking going on probably makes him so paranoid he is being monitored that he will never play his hand.”

  Serena strode into the hangar office and up to the officer seated at a desk talking on the telephone. She waited until he finished his call, said, “Hello, Lieutenant Commander Phillips, my name is Serena Jones,” and held out her hand.

  Phillips stood, shook hands with Serena, and said, “We’ve been expecting you, please have a seat.”

  Serena sat across from Phillips and waited for him to open the discussion.

  “Please fill me in on how we’re gonna support your mission.”

  “We believe a yacht is going to be involved in a launch of a weapons bearing drone off the coast of South Korea. We have an F-4 in place to shoot the drone down, but we need to narrow down the when, where and how of the launch. Non-invasive P-3 reconnaissance flights should provide us with the tracking data we need.”

  “Why not use surveillance drones?”

  “We need to look like we’re conducting normal coastal surveillance, so we don’t tip off the terrorists that we’re on to them. These aren’t uneducated fanatics strapping on vest bombs and strolling into a market place. These are sophisticated, methodical terrorists with incredible resources. We want to let them launch to protect our asset on the inside, but need to shoot it down before it does any damage.”

  “Sounds dicey.”

  “It is, but we’re confident we can handle it with the proper support.”

  “Every capability I have is at your disposal . . . Miss Jones?”

  “Yes, Miss Jones. When can we start?”

  “We can fly 12 hour sorties per plane, one after another if you’d like.”

  “I’d like. I plan to fly on every flight.”

  Phillips leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t recommend you do that. Once we know what you need, we can do whatever you want done.”

  “I appreciate what you can do, and what you’re willing to do. Once we find the yacht, I’ll stand down until it’s within 12 hours of what may be the launch point. Then, I’ll need to be back in the air. No disrespect to your capabilities.”

  “None taken. Some of us are driven by our jobs. I know I’m one of those.”

  “Thank you for your understanding.”

  On her walk back to the BOQ, Serena worried about the dangerous hand she was playing. Murphy’s Law, so many things could go wrong, and the terrorist attack could be successful. The loss of many lives would be on her conscience. What if Jacques’ drone flying skills exceeded Ian’s drone downing skills? If only Jacques could tell us a drone vulnerability Ian could exploit. There is a drone facility on the base. I’ll get Ian and we’ll ask them what they would suggest.

  Ian and Serena walked up to the hangar door of the Osan Base’s UAV operational hangar, and looked at the Predators, each one worth millions of dollars. Ian had experience with UAVs supporting his Seal operations over the past ten years, and had communicated with their controllers to improve UAV support, but had not received extensive training in their use. He was impressed by their size and look. The name Predator suggested a fierce machine to be feared when it was used against you, and they looked the part. Ian spotted a rack of Hellfire missiles, a
Predator’s most lethal weapons, being towed away from one of the birds.

  “Can I help you?” the Navy First Class on guard duty at the hangar door asked them, with his right hand poised over his sidearm.

  “Yes, we need to speak to whoever is in charge,” replied Serena.

  “Who should I say is inquiring?” the guard maintained his defensive posture.

  “I’m Serena Jones and this is Senior Chief Ian Smith. We’re here by special invitation of Colonel Kirk.”

  “Wait one, while I check,” The guard made a call, and said, “You may see Lieutenant Commander Barrows. His office is at the back of the hangar on the right. Have a good day.”

  “Thank you.” They walked to the back of the hangar, and Ian knocked on Lieutenant Commander Barrows’ open door.

  Barrows stood, and said, “Come on in.” He shook Ian’s hand, then Serena’s. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  They took the two chairs placed in front of Barrow’s desk. Whether the chairs had been there all along, or he had just placed them there was not obvious.

  “We need to learn about UAV vulnerability,” Serena stated, direct and to the point.

  “That’s a pretty sensitive subject around here, Ma’am.”

  “I may have to shoot down a terrorist drone with an F-4 and would like to get your insight and recommendations,” Ian stated, in a matter of fact voice.

  “I see. Well, all I know about are my Predators. The UAVs you passed on the way in are my babies. It’s hard for me to talk vulnerability.”

  “We understand, but we need advice,” continued Ian.

  “OK. Each of those UAVs, Predators, out there in the hangar cost millions of dollars. The American military has spent billions of dollars and many years developing them for counter-terrorism, and with some limitations have proven their worth many times over. We use our Predators to patrol the 38th parallel watching for any alarming enemy movements. The North Korean’s are always rattling their sabers like they’re on the brink of war. It’s a national past time. The North Korean’s have been in a state of war with the South since 1950, even though an armistice was signed, and the border between the two countries had been sealed for the past 64 years.”