Drone Command (24 page)

MOSSAD SAFE HOUSE

BERLIN, GERMANY

16 MAY 2017

T
amar's spine tingled. How did he know her gender? She'd read up on the vice chairman. His ruthless climb to the top of the Party hierarchy was well documented, but she hadn't anticipated a cold-blooded sociopath with near psychic abilities.

She took a deep breath. It didn't really matter. She owed Troy Pearce everything. He was the only man she trusted as much as she had her beloved Udi, who had been brutally murdered a few years before in an operation to stop the Iranian Quds Force in Mexico.

When Margaret Myers called her in panicked desperation about Troy's kidnapping, Tamar was only too glad to help in any way she could. So was Mossad, Israel's feared security service. Pearce had been a great friend to her and Udi over the years, as well as to Israel, providing valuable assistance when called upon. Pearce's CIA service in Iraq had earned him serious street cred within Israel's intelligence and counterterror community. They were all glad to throw in to help out an old friend who never asked for favors, especially when the request came from the former president of the United States, another staunch ally of the Jewish people. Tamar welcomed the chance to pay back a few of her debts to Troy. Tonight's gambit was a high-risk ploy and neither she nor Mossad were confident it would work with the elder Feng, but they all agreed it was worth the gamble because Pearce's life hung in the balance.

“Nice try, Feng. Let's see how cool you are after your baby boy here is bled out like a pig.”

Feng laughed. “A minor cut. A little blood. I think you're gutless.”

“Feng, Feng, Feng. Words have consequences. Haven't you learned that yet?”

Tamar reached over to young Feng and grabbed his scrotum in her gloved hand. She laid the knife blade at the base of the sac. Blood from his chest cut now spilled all over his face. He screamed.

Tamar raised the blade high.

“STOP! You win!” Feng shouted. Jianli was his only son. The Feng family name and fortune would pass through him. Vice Chairman Feng's only sense of eternity was the family bloodline. If his son should die or, worse, be castrated, the family line would perish and so would a hundred generations of his family name. Pearce wasn't worth it. He would have to find some other way to get his vengeance for his nephew Zhao. He never really cared for the arrogant and insufferable young fool anyway.

Tamar kept the blade held high. “Make the call now. Release Pearce immediately. I want him on a plane within the hour, heading for Japan. When I receive confirmation that he's arrived safely, I'll release your son. Until then—”

Tamar swung the blade hard. The rope split. Young Feng hit the floor with a howl.

“I'll be sure nothing else happens to your son.”

She cut the transmission, silently breathing a sigh of relief.

Young Feng whimpered, curled up at her feet.

She kicked him in the ribs to get him to shut up.

He did.

A door opened. Another masked figure stepped in. Tossed Feng's clothes onto the floor.

“Get dressed and be ready to move,” the blonde said.

Now they had to wait for the vice chairman's confirmation.

Tamar prayed the Chinese hadn't somehow managed to track their location. If they did and sent a team to snatch the boy, Pearce was dead.

And so were they.

EAST CHINA SEA

SOUTHWEST OF NAGASAKI

16 MAY 2017

T
he big fish flapped lethargically in the bottom of the net as Yamada spilled him out onto the deck. He reached down and pressed his finger against the smooth rubbery skin and flipped a switch. The robo-fish stopped flapping. Yamada and his team used a wide variety of sensors to detect, measure, and, in some cases, retrieve radioactive elements in the water, including the autonomous robo-fish. His research mission was to determine the range and extent of contamination resulting from the Fukushima disaster. So far, the tip that had sent him and his crew out here hadn't panned out, which was strange, because his anonymous sources had proven utterly reliable before.

Yamada lifted the four-foot-long robo-fish and hauled it belowdecks for processing in their miniature lab. Its software was programmed for autonomous swimming, diving to specific depths at regular intervals, and recording data as it went. The young woman running his onboard IT department would handle the data download and analysis. Part of the robo-fish's skin provided data collection—a kind of flypaper for chemical elements, including cesium-137. Samples would be drawn and analyzed by another grad student when they got back to the mainland. But for now, Yamada would subject it to a simple scan to see if any radioactivity could be detected. He wanded the robo-fish's entire body with a handheld Geiger counter. Nothing. He began to think the whole trip out this way was a wild-goose chase. Maybe the bad guys had fed him a false lead to get him away from the real evidence he had been gathering earlier.

“Kenji, report to the bridge.” The voice on the loudspeaker was urgent—one of his grad students was piloting the boat today.

Yamada dashed up the ladder and made his way to the enclosed cabin above the main deck.

“What's wrong?”

The bearded young man pointed to the northeast. A fishing trawler. “Been tracking him on our radar scope. Getting awfully close.”

The rusted trawler ran a parallel course. Looked like it would pass by, but with little room to spare. Their research ship was dead in the water, waiting to retrieve several other submersible sensors, including two more robo-fish.

“Did you raise him on the radio? Try to waive him off?”

“He's not doing anything illegal, technically. I thought I'd call you first.”

Yamada grabbed a pair of high-powered binoculars. Adjusted the furled focus ring. He scanned the vessel. Booms, drums, winches. “Definitely a fishing trawler.” His glass stopped on the big red flag with the five golden stars on the fantail.

Yamada lowered the binoculars, frowning. They were out of the shipping lanes. Hadn't seen much of any traffic the last few days.

“It's a Chinese vessel, isn't it?” the pilot asked.

Yamada nodded.

“You think we're in any danger?” They had all heard about the Chinese trawler attack on the Japanese dive boat several days earlier. Yamada made sure to keep his American flag flying at all times.

“Has he altered course at all?”

“Not since I've been tracking him.”

Yamada scratched his head, an old nervous habit. If they moved too far off their current location, it would take them a lot more time to retrieve the other submersibles, even with their autonomous homing capabilities. If they held their position, they would be all packed up and heading back to Nagasaki for the night in less than an hour. “We'll stay put. We aren't in any danger unless that trawler changes course.”

Twenty minutes later, it did.

NAGASAKI AIRPORT

NAGASAKI, JAPAN

16 MAY 2017

F
loodlights bathed the tarmac where Feng's Gulfstream taxied to a stop. The stars overhead were hidden by a bank of low clouds.

Myers's hair whipped in the brisk ocean breeze that chilled her to the bone. The cabin door opened and the stairs deployed. Her heart skipped a beat when Pearce finally emerged in the doorway. As soon as he stepped onto the tarmac, the stairs behind him were lifted and the door shut. A moment later, the turbines whined as the plane began to taxi away.

Pearce's broad frame was only a shadow as he crossed the asphalt. It took everything in her not to run to him because that was the kind of thing only silly women did in bad Hollywood movies. The American ambassador, Henry Davis, was with her, along with a navy corpsman stationed at the American embassy.

Troy emerged out of the shadows into the light of the hangar. Myers gasped. His unshaven face was badly bruised. One of his sleep-deprived eyes was red and blackened. Dried blood stained his collar. The horrible memory of Pearce's head wound in Algeria flooded over her.

Bad movie or not, she ran to him.

“Troy—”

She wanted to gather him up in her arms and hug him, but she was afraid to touch him. She gently laid her hands on his shoulders.

He smiled. “Hey.”

She stood back. “What did they do to you?”

“A couple of love taps. No big deal.” He lisped a little. His lower lip was swollen.

“No big deal? You look like you walked into a wall,” Myers said.

“You should see the other guy.” Pearce laughed. Winced again. Didn't want to tell Myers the other guy was actually a middle-aged woman who used his head for a punching bag.

Myers and the navy corpsman steered him toward a bench near the hangar wall. The corpsman broke out his medical kit.

“Can I get you anything?” the ambassador asked. “What do you need?”

“A shower and a change of clothes for a start. I'm kind of ripe.”

The corpsman flashed a light in both of Pearce's eyes.

“How's your head? Headache? Dizzy?”

“No.” Pearce lied. His head hurt like hell, but he'd be damned if he was going to spend the night in a navy hospital.

“Anything broken?”

“No.”

“How about a belt?” The corpsman pulled a silver flask from his coat and held it up.

“Don't tempt me.”

The corpsman pocketed the flask and pressed two fingers on Pearce's inner wrist, feeling for a pulse, counting the beats while staring at his watch.

“How badly did they beat you?” Myers asked.

“I've had worse, believe me. I'm fine, really.”

“Heart rate is good,” the corpsman said. “They hit you with anything? Electric shock? Any wounds?”

“Just my ego. Honestly, I'm fine.”

The corpsman closed up his kit. “I'd like to get you to the base clinic for a full exam or even the local hospital if you'd prefer.”

“All I need is that shower. Maybe a steak, medium rare.” Pearce stood and stretched, working out the kinks.

“I'm filing a formal protest with my counterpart in Beijing first thing in the morning,” the ambassador said. “Lot of good it will do.”

“Does Lane know I'm back?” Pearce asked.

The ambassador nodded. “Called him the moment your plane landed.”

Pearce looked at Myers. “How'd you get me out of there?”

“Called a friend of yours. She was very persuasive.” Myers didn't know the ambassador well. Even if she did, she didn't want to admit to an official in the Lane administration that she'd instigated the kidnapping of a Chinese national on German territory by an Israeli secret agent. “I'll fill in the details later.”

Myers turned to the corpsman and the ambassador. “I need a moment, please.” They both nodded and stepped away per their prior arrangement. When they were out of earshot, Myers took one of Pearce's hands in hers.

“I'm okay, really,” Pearce said, smiling through the pain. Myers loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled up when he smiled like that.

“Troy, I've got some bad news.”

Pearce's smile disappeared. “What?”

“It's your friend, Kenji Yamada.”

CITY MORGUE

NAGASAKI, JAPAN

16 MAY 2017

T
he young Japanese medical examiner carefully pulled open the refrigerated stainless-steel drawer and stepped quietly back.

Pearce took a deep breath. He pulled back the crisp white sheet. His blood pressure plunged. It felt like the floor was falling out from beneath his feet.

His old friend Kenji Yamada lay there, his pale, bearded face oddly serene, his body butchered. Yamada's corpse had been cleaned after the examination but not repaired. What remained of it was ghostly pale from blood loss, almost blue. Giant gashes had sliced him open across the chest and stomach. His left arm was practically severed just above the elbow, barely connected by a skein of milky white tendons, badly frayed. Most of the meat was missing from both thighs, exposing white shattered bone. After years in combat, Pearce had seen worse—some of it inflicted by him. But Kenji loved life and living things more than anyone else he'd ever known. Seeing his mangled corpse numbed Pearce to the quick.

“The cause of death appears to be a massive blow to the back of the head by a blunt object,” the examiner said in excellent but thickly accented English. “Perhaps a pipe or even a piece of heavy wood.”

“The other injuries?”

“In my estimation, the lacerations on the upper torso were caused by propeller blades. The same for the left arm, possibly.”

“And his legs?”

“Sharks.”

Pearce nodded. He'd seen enough.

The examiner replaced the sheet with ceremonious precision.

“My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“He was your friend, yes?”

“Yes.”

The young examiner nodded grimly. He slowly pushed the drawer shut. The metal glides whispered as the drawer disappeared into the wall. The door shut. The tiled room echoed with a heavy metal
click
as the locking mechanism engaged.

The medical examiner finally turned to Pearce, his dark eyes furious. “The Chinese must pay for this.”

Pearce nodded.

They would.

—

P
earce was greeted in the waiting room outside of the morgue by Myers, Ambassador Davis, and Tanaka.

“I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Pearce,” the ambassador said.

“It was good of you to come at this time of night.” Pearce glanced at Tanaka. “Both of you.”

“All of Japan grieves with you, and for your friend Dr. Yamada.” Tanaka bowed slightly.

“Thank you. Kenji was a good man and a good friend.”

“My government is outraged,” Tanaka continued. “We consider the attack on Dr. Yamada as an attack upon us as well. He was a naturalized American citizen, but he was born on Japanese soil.”

“He loved America and Japan equally.”

Tanaka turned to the ambassador. “The United States must do something more than lodge a formal protest.”

“President Lane is meeting with his cabinet even as we speak.”

“If your government will not act to defend Japan, it must at least act to defend itself.”

“I'm inclined to agree,” the ambassador said. “I'm sure President Lane will be contacting Prime Minister Ito shortly.”

Tanaka's phone vibrated. He checked it. “Please, you must excuse me.” He shook Pearce's hand. “Again, my condolences.” He nodded to Myers and the ambassador then put his phone to his ear and listened to his message as he walked out of the room.

“I understand he has no living relatives?” the ambassador asked.

“He was never married and has no children. His parents passed away years ago. They're buried in Hawaii.”

“We'll make all the necessary arrangements to have him flown home,” the ambassador said. “I'll contact your office for the particulars.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll be waiting in the car,” the ambassador said.

After he cleared the room, Pearce asked Myers, “What do we know for sure?”

“Five dead, one survivor. One of the dead was a Japanese national. The survivor is adamant that it was a Chinese vessel. A fishing trawler. Recognized the flag.”

“Just like that other attack,” Pearce said. “I'm guessing this is all over the news?”

“Not yet. The government convinced the local news stations to spike the story for at least twenty-four hours for national security reasons. There's no video and the lone survivor is at the hospital in a private room under protection. She's agreed to not speak to anybody about what happened yet. She's a brave girl.”

“How badly is she hurt?”

“Broken arm, exposure. And . . .”

“They raped her.”

“Yeah.”

Myers nodded grimly. “If the Chinese want a war with us, this should do it.”

Pearce frowned. “Yeah, it should.” He felt the old familiar rage welling up inside his gut. But something held it in check. Killing Americans in Japanese territorial waters right now would likely lead China into war with both countries. The Chinese would know that. Maybe their leadership had finally lost their minds. Decided now or never, like Tojo did when he lashed out at Pearl Harbor.

Or maybe they hadn't. This wasn't a sneak attack. It was an assassination. And then he remembered.

World War I had started that way, too
.