by Don Keith
“You what?” Yon Hun Glo exploded. “You are a stupid, pompous fool! Were it not for the gold, we would simply leave you and your swampy islands to the Americans. And I assure you, you would be rotting in Guantanamo before the week was out.” Yon sat back, took a deep breath, and tried to regain control of his temper. Tofuwanga appeared stunned. No one had ever spoken to him in such a way. “Now, where is this ship being held and where is her crew? Perhaps we can still salvage something from this disaster. And you best hope we do, or you may still be allowed to roast in your own juices.”
King Tofuwanga, his voice now trembling, told the admiral that the Deep Ocean Explorer and her crew were being held on Vava’u, an island located two hundred miles to the north.
Yon Hun Glo listened, then stood, turned on his heels, and, without another word, stormed out of the king’s office in the Royal Palace. Once in his vehicle’s back seat, before the car was even out of the palace’s gate, he was on his cell phone, making arrangements for Chinese Marines to hasten to the out-of-the-way island of Vava’u. Once there, they were to guard the American research ship and take charge of the ship’s crew.
And if anyone—anyone at all—came near either, he was to be eliminated as a possible threat to the Chinese people and the Party.
Ψ
Jim Ward decided that his wounds were now more annoying and uncomfortable than painful. He had recovered from enough injuries already in his line of work to be aware that this was a good sign, that he was on the mend. Shortly after the Gulfstream landed at Taipei’s downtown Songshan Airport, an ambulance whisked him, Li Min Zhou, and his new personal physician to the swank Mandarin Oriental Hotel. Zhou quickly left, explaining she had work to do, and the doc departed shortly after getting Ward settled and hooked up to far more monitoring equipment than the SEAL felt he needed.
He found his suite to be an impressive cross between a hospital intensive care unit and Kubla Khan’s Xanadu. Hospital medical equipment and blinking monitors vied with glossy lacquerware and polished marble. However, it was the views of the city and surrounding mountains from the big windows of his penthouse that really drew his attention. He asked one of his two personal male nurses to kindly move his bed a foot or so in order for him to gaze out the window. The way the sun lit the scene, the view could just as easily have been a fine Oriental frieze.
The SEAL had also been wounded and hospitalized enough in his career to realize that such luxurious and personalized treatment for a "grunt” like him was most unusual. For some reason, he was one highly valued patient. He decided to enjoy it while he could, before he learned what he would ultimately have to do to deserve such attention.
Ward was finishing up a fine pork chop with generous applesauce—almost the equal of the way his mom made it—when he heard a quiet knock at the door. The great teak double doors swung open and Li Min Zhou slipped in.
“How do you like your new digs?” she asked. “Better than Changi General?”
“Truth is, I’m worried about what somebody’s going to expect in return for all this.”
“You’ll earn it.” Li Min Zhou smiled. “You’ll earn it, I’m sure.”
She took a seat on the tufted leather couch, placing an attaché case on the chrome-and-glass coffee table, then waved the nurses out of the room. Jim Ward’s sixth sense had already alerted him that those nurses likely had duties other than merely monitoring his blood pressure and O2 levels. They had not gotten those muscles slinging bedpans.
Once they were gone and had quietly closed the doors behind them, Li Min Zhou opened the case and extracted some files. Ward swallowed the last bite of pork chop, put down his knife and fork, and leaned back on his pillows. Clearly, a meeting had just begun.
“I brought you a little light reading to pass the time while you are lounging in the lap of luxury,” she said as she handed the files over to Ward. “This will give you some background and details on what is happening in China. All facts have been verified by some very diligent, resourceful, highly placed...and loyal...people. This information may give you some grasp of what that might mean for our two countries.”
Ward quickly scanned the first few pages.
“Interesting. This implies President Tan Yong is going to use the Dongsha incident as a ploy to keep our interest directed that way while he really makes a move to grab the gold in Tonga. Regardless of how that plays out, this is one hell of a dangerous game. The devious bastard could set the whole world on fire, you know.”
Li Min Zhou nodded.
“Most really high-stakes games are dangerous. But not to belabor the point, this is Asia. There are layers upon layers here. Tan Yong is using Yon Ba Deng’s plot to take down Soo Be Xian as a foil. But what the president is really doing is usurping Yon Ba Deng’s move to grab the Tongan gold. This will have the effect of keeping the Americans busy doing their duty, keeping their promises, rushing to Taiwan’s aid while the Chinese abscond with the gold. But where Tan Yong sees Dongsha as merely a diversion, the Taiwanese see it as a threat to their very existence. And they are going to fight all out to protect it. Tan Yong does not want a shooting war. He wants an economic war. He knows he has the best opportunity, the resources, and the groundwork it takes to win that kind of conflict. But now that the shooting has started, it is in danger of spinning into something the Chinese communists might not be able to stop. Primarily because there are those in positions of power who do not want it to stop, for many varying reasons.”
“And we’re going to be in the middle of it regardless.”
“Yes. But I am convinced we are not too late. At least not yet. We need the Americans to continue to be diverted to Dongsha. To make the show of force way out there in the Pacific, as is already underway. But to have other units come in and stop the shooting. To do so quickly and decisively. It is a matter of national survival for Taiwan. And it could well avert a horribly greater war.”
Ward shook his head. The twists and turns were giving him a roaring headache. He stared out across the Keelung River toward Mount Qixing, standing blue-green and peaceful in the distance. For a moment, he wished he could get out of the bed, put on his running shoes, walk away from all the intrigue, and hike up that beautiful mountainside.
“So where do we fit into this little multiplayer game of three-dimensional chess?” the SEAL finally asked. Then he had another thought. “Zhou, tell me something. Are you asking me to keep all this secret from the US, including from my father? If that’s the case, then why did you bring me here and share so much with me? Why did you not tell me that before you let me see all this?”
She sat there, looking at him for a long moment. Ward stared back, unable to ignore just how absolutely beautiful she was.
“Just the opposite, Jim,” she finally told him. “We have you set up in this little pleasure palace so that we can feed you the straight, hot skinny, as you Americans so colorfully put it. Then you will be able to pass it along, backchannel, to your father. Some of it he will know already. We are not the only ones with big ears in key positions. Some of it will confirm what he suspects. Some of it can benefit from your perspective. All of it will be valuable in planning how he and the US can help unravel this tangle and possibly eliminate this particular threat. At least until the next one.”
Ward rubbed his forehead. The headache had not subsided with her explanation. It had ratcheted up to a new level.
“But except for my genetic attachment to the head of US Naval Intelligence, I’m thinking I’m in no way qualified for relaying spy stuff. You spooks do that all the time. I mostly just shoot people and blow stuff up.”
Li paused, seemingly looking for the right words. When she spoke again, she was pointedly deliberate.
“We’ve seen threats and bluster and even shots fired plenty of times before. But we’ve never been this close to open conflict between the world’s top two superpowers. Plus, there are others—North Korea, Russia, Iran, and more terrorist organizations than you can imagine—just waiting
to take advantage and rush in and fill the vacuum if this all escalates to full-scale war. Especially if it gets nuclear, which is a real possibility if some have their way. The gold. That’s driving a lot of it this time. But this pot has been simmering for a long, long time, and it’s finally about to boil over. Despite the monstrous potential events that could occur, subtle delivery of data, the nature of any armed response, and other aspects will be crucial in containing this whole thing. Your dad has the ears of the Joint Chiefs and they go directly to the president. You have a unique understanding of warfare and what the data from the field really means. We trust our people in the most important places in China and Taiwan. We trust TJ Dillon. We trust you. We trust your dad and anyone he trusts, and that obviously includes you. We don’t trust much of anybody else. We know each of you will do the right and best thing to make this all a back-page story in USA Today. Not the end of the world as we know it. Even if there is several trillion dollars' worth of gold down there in that trench.”
She sat back, as if exhausted. He looked at her for a long moment.
“Okay,” Ward finally responded. “I hope I can justify that faith.”
“You get healed up and read and take note of everything that you pass to your father. Don’t hesitate to state your opinion or thoughts. TJ Dillon and I will do all the work while you lie here and relax and grow back together. We may well need to call on your other considerable and unique skills before this is all over.”
Ward studied the big slice of chocolate cheesecake on his dinner tray.
“Something tells me you’re not going to share any details on that part at this point,” he told her.
“Hell, Frog Man, I don’t even know yet how that’s going to play out!” She smiled. The last of the day’s sun streaming through the hotel window seemed dim in comparison. “And speaking of work, we’re off to Beijing to be sure we benefit from Soo Be Xian’s imminent fall from grace.”
“Beijing?”
“Don’t enjoy too much of that cheesecake, tough guy. You may need your wind before all this becomes nothing more than a thick classified file in a triple-locked cabinet drawer somewhere.”
Ψ
Colonel Stanton Readly sat in a jump-seat in the back of the lead Osprey aircraft, call sign Mike Hotel One, and scanned the dark compartment. Twenty of his Marines were crammed into it. In the dim light, he could not see their eyes, but he knew they were nervous. Nervous but ready. Trained, briefed, and willing to do whatever was necessary to successfully complete their assigned mission.
Sergeant Major Fernando Ramirez, the battalion’s senior enlisted Marine, saw the colonel sizing up his guys and gave him a thumbs-up. Ramirez was a grizzled, combat-hardened Leatherneck. He knew the team was ready to rock and roll. They would do their best or die trying.
Readly looked through the small porthole in the starboard side access door. He could just make out the second Osprey, dubbed Mike Hotel Two. It was flying a hundred feet astern of his own aircraft with twenty-two more shooters aboard. Somewhere out there—somewhere below and behind them where he was unable to see—and if all went according to plan, there were two CH-53K “King Stallion” helicopters. They were Mike Hotel Three and Four and would be following them to their destination. However, they were mostly empty, carrying only a few passengers, a couple of corpsmen, just in case someone needed immediate medical care, and a pair of shooters, there to provide security. Their task would be to carry passengers out, once they were freed.
Readly ran through each step of the plan in his mind for the ten-thousandth time. But he knew only too well that so many things could and likely would alter the scheme on the fly. The Ospreys would split up, then simultaneously land and launch their teams on their respective attacks. One would hit the little island’s public pier where the Deep Ocean Explorer was docked. The other would head to the courthouse and city jail, where they expected to find and safely extract the hostages. Or what the Tongans called “criminal prisoners.” The intention was to strike fast, employing overwhelming force, to minimize casualties. The team at the exploration vessel was to board her, take out any guards, and guide the ship safely out of port. Meanwhile, the King Stallion choppers were to swoop in to transport the hostages off the island and back to Pago Pago.
Good plan. What might really happen was anybody’s guess. But surprise and quickness were their primary advantages. That and what they expected to be a small, ill-equipped, and poorly trained group of defenders.
The colonel opened his laptop computer and made a final check of the latest intel updates. The plane’s NOTM system (Network on the Move) gave him an onboard Wi-Fi that connected by SATCOM directly back to the Portland. That meant he had access to the latest updates right up to the second he stepped off the aircraft. Thankfully, there were no last-second changes so far.
“Colonel, ten minutes out.” The pilot’s voice crackled in his earbuds. The Wi-Fi also connected the plane’s crew communication system seamlessly to his intra-squad combat radio’s throat mike and earbuds. The pilot added, “Dropping down to the deck.”
The two Ospreys zoomed down to just above the surface of the sea. Readly could see the wavetops through the small round window. Just then, the aircraft’s crew chief lowered the rear cargo ramp and swung the GAU-21 .50 caliber machine gun into position. That would provide the Osprey a nasty little tail stinger. But one they hoped they would not have to employ.
The aircraft suddenly lurched upward to clear the high coral cliffs at the water’s edge and then roared at near treetop level across the heavily forested tabletop plateau. They would fly past Lupepau’u Airport and then follow Tu’i Road down to the island’s courthouse and jail building while their twin turned toward the pier and the research ship.
The pilot’s voice was again on the intercom. “Colonel, some kind of military aircraft on the taxiway at the airport. I’m linking the FLIR image to your laptop. This bad boy must’ve just arrived. He wasn’t on the pre-flight intel brief.”
The picture popped up immediately on Readly’s computer. He studied the screen intently. The FLIR—forward-looking infrared camera—provided him a surprisingly good, high-resolution image of an aircraft parked near the tiny airport’s runway, a short distance from the small terminal building. He could not identify the exact model, but it was clearly a four-engine turboprop. Almost certainly a military transport. That was confirmed by the presence of half a dozen armed men guarding the plane. The Tongan military did not own such a plane. Nor any plane at all, for that matter.
Readly knew it had to be Chinese. That was the only possible answer. Especially with all those Chinese marines on Niue, only four hundred klicks to the east. Its presence and the likelihood of Chinese marines being on the island had just cranked up the difficulty level of this operation astronomically. The pilot was correct. The pre-mission intel imagery was only a couple of hours old. That plane did not appear anywhere on it.
But Readly’s mission had not changed. Difficult or not, he would go ahead and try to free the hostages and secure the research vessel.
“Guys, listen up,” he spoke into his throat mike. “It looks like we may have some Chinese party crashers down there. Based on a transport we are seeing on the runway, there could be as many as a hundred shooters on the ground. Stay alert and keep your heads on a swivel. If something shoots at you, kill it.”
The colonel did briefly consider canceling the rescue mission or changing the plan to concentrate all four aircraft on the hostage rescue. He rejected the idea of aborting the mission out of hand. They were, by now, only seconds out from their destinations. It was far too late to change plans.
“Colonel!” There was urgency in the Osprey pilot’s voice. “Troops on the road, one klick out from the LZ and heading that way. You’re going to have company quick. I can try to keep ’em occupied while you grab the hostages.”
As he spoke, his bird flared out, its two huge engines rotating upward, and shifted to hover mode. Then Mike Hotel Two roared p
ast them, still flying horizontally, headed to the waterfront. As Readly watched the other aircraft zoom away, his Osprey kicked up a dust storm as it settled down smoothly into the dirt parking lot beside the courthouse. The bird’s wheels had not even touched the ground yet when Ramirez yelled, “Follow me, world-beaters!” and jumped off the rear ramp.
The Marines roared “Hoorah!” in unison as they charged down the ramp and sprinted across the parking lot. Several set up a hasty perimeter while the rest crashed through the flimsy structure’s wooden door. The bird was already starting to climb as Readly jumped off the ramp and ran toward the building. Just before he ducked into the wooden courthouse, he heard the unmistakable rumble of the Osprey’s .50 caliber machine gun as it opened up on the Chinese parade headed his way.
Inside, Master Sergeant Ramirez stood guard over a pair of wide-eyed local constables. They were already disarmed and zip-tied to chairs.
Ramirez pointed down a narrow corridor. “Hostages are down there. We may have a diplomatic problem that requires your leadership, sir.”
Readly could not tell if Ramirez was smiling or not. The colonel dashed down the hallway toward the cell blocks at the far end. Then he saw the released hostages hurrying back toward him, directed by several of the Marines. Behind them, two more Marines were frog-marching a rather well-dressed Tongan, someone who clearly was not one of the hostages. And the gentleman did not appear to be cooperating with his escorts.
“Who’s this dude?” Readly asked.
“He was interrogating the hostages when we showed up, sir,” the squad leader answered. “And he didn’t exactly appreciate it when we informed him we were here to bail them out of his little jail. He started spoutin’ a lot of legal gibberish. We decided we’d introduce him to you, Colonel.”
The Tongan struggled to get loose, to no avail.
“I demand to be released,” he was ranting. “Do you know who I am? I am Ahio Evaipomama and I personally represent His Majesty’s Ministry of Justice and the Office of the Lord Chancellor. I demand that I be released and that these prisoners be returned to my custody. They are under indictment for violating Tongan...”