Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei
August 25
As night descended across the city, exertion and lack of rest finally caught up with Peter. He stretched his frame along a wall, using the sleeping bag as a pillow. Mercifully, he fell into a dreamless sleep, the first in many days. Diesel lay against his legs, snoring rhythmically.
“It’s time,” Robert said, one hand nudging Peter’s shoulder.
He sat upright and rubbed a hand across his face. “Right.”
Groggily, Peter rose and crossed to the table. Spread across the surface were the tools they would carry on this mission: pistols, spare magazines and ammunition, explosives and detonators, flash-bangs, bottles of water, rope, medical kit, knives, sturdy nylon zip ties, and two backpacks. Robert handed one of the packs to Peter. “The magazines are loaded. I stripped and cleaned the Glock while you were sleeping. Take a box of extra ammo, two of the flash-bangs, the first aid kit, and a couple bottles of water. Which knife do you want?”
Peter pointed to a folding three-inch blade and then filled his pack. Cinching the top closed, he slipped his arms through the straps and followed Robert out the door. This time, they exited through the front entrance to the building. After walking two blocks, Robert flagged down a taxi and they rode to the international airport.
With Diesel, they would draw too much unwanted attention within the departure terminal, so instead Robert pointed along the road. A blue sign marked the way to a long-term parking lot.
The expansive paved lot was in sore need of repair and maintenance. Cracks and potholes were abundant. This was the low-price parking lot, and unlike the modern parking garage, there was no roof to shelter the cars from the torrential tropical rain that alternated with blistering sun. Still, most of the slots were occupied. The few lights high overhead on posts provided minimal illumination. “This way,” Robert said.
They crossed the lot in silence, exiting onto an unlit service road. He followed Robert single file along the side of the macadam. Before long, they turned to the side and crossed through grass and low bushes. Peter recognized the open expanse before them as the golf course. In the dim light, he could just barely make out the flag marking the cup.
Still wanting to avoid attention, they stood off the green by ten yards, each man squatting low in the bushes. There they waited for thirty minutes, surrounded by sounds of distant automobile traffic, insects chirping and clicking, and one commercial airplane landing on the long runway. Peter shifted his body and leaned against the trunk of a palm tree, taking the strain off his knees. He popped two more acetaminophen tablets. And then he heard helicopter blades, whipping the still night air, quickly growing in intensity.
The swirling air was gentle at first but grew quite strong as the helicopter closed on the flat green. Peter was surprised at how the aircraft still sounded distant. Clearly some sort of noise attenuation was engineered into the turbine engines and the rotors.
Only at the last second did the pilot turn on the landing lights to accurately gauge the distance to solid ground. The sleek machine slowed and gently touched the manicured green. The door was pulled open, and Peter and Robert dashed from the cover of their hiding spot with their heads low. Diesel leapt into the passenger compartment a step head of Peter.
The helicopter lifted into the air even before the door was closed. Peter took the nearest seat, and was surprised to see Eu-meh Lim occupying one of the beige leather chairs. He cast a questioning look toward Robert.
“She insisted,” he said. “I tried to talk her into staying behind.”
“I have every right to board the Royal Seeker,” Eu-meh said defiantly. “They could be holding my daughter there.”
“It’s likely to be dangerous,” Peter replied.
Eu-meh gave a mirthless smile. “I’ve been in a car randomly riding around Brunei for the past several hours. All because Robert said my life could be in danger if I was at my office, or my apartment. So, it seems I’m in danger wherever I go.”
“The crew are likely to be armed.”
“Mr. Savage. This is my daughter we are talking about. My only child. Surely, you cannot expect me to find a safe hole to hide in until she is returned.”
If the situation were different and it was Peter’s family, he knew what he’d do—what he had done before when Ethan was kidnapped, or Joanna was being held hostage. “No, I suppose not.”
Peter took stock of the cabin. It was furnished as a luxury corporate aircraft with leather upholstery, wood panels, and gold trim. Other than Eu-meh and Robert, there were the two crew members: the pilot and copilot. He noticed an MP5 submachine gun—a dependable piece of German engineering—secured next to the co-pilot’s seat.
Robert handed to Peter a set of headphones with integral microphone so they could speak to the pilot and each other over the engine noise. “Do you have reliable coordinates for the target?”
“Roger,” the pilot said. Peter could hear the conversation with remarkable clarity over the headset. “We have a live tracking feed. Apparently the Americans have a submarine shadowing the target.”
Although Peter was pretty sure that was not the true source of information, he decided not to correct the pilot. “What is your ETA?”
Having just plotted their course, the co-pilot answered, “The target is moving slowly, under ten knots. Based on her current heading, south toward Malaysia, we will intercept in fifty-three minutes if they do not change course.”
Robert issued his orders. “When you are seventy miles out, drop to the deck, skim the waves. Does this bird have any defensive measures?”
“Only radar threat receivers and flares.”
“Better than nothing,” Robert said. “Make your final run for the target fast, staying on the deck as long as possible. Then pop up and land on the helipad. It’ll be forward above the superstructure.”
“Roger that,” the pilot answered. “Are we expecting any resistance?”
“If the ship has been modified to fire ballistic missiles, I’m guessing they’ll not want to be boarded.”
“We should be able to get a quick look on the way in,” Peter said, and then added, “This one?” He nodded toward the copilot.
“Loyal to Eu-meh. While you were sleeping I received their personnel records.”
Peter nodded. “We go in fast and hard, understand? If any crewmembers have weapons, shoot to kill. Don’t hesitate. You hesitate and you die.”
Robert appraised Peter. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“Thought you read my file,” Peter said.
“What there is of it. The interesting stuff is heavily redacted. Even using the Sultan’s connections to MI6 proved to be of little use.”
“Well, Robert, what can I say? Trouble has a habit of finding me, and in large doses.” He paused for a moment. “I figure we take control of the bridge and then one of us goes down to the well deck to gather up evidence of a missile launch, assuming that’s why the ship disappeared in the first place.”
“Gotta be it.”
“You don’t think it could have been taken by pirates?”
Robert shook his head, and Eu-meh chimed in. “If pirates had captured the Royal Seeker, they would have issued a ransom demand within twenty-four hours.”
Peter leaned his head back against the padding and closed his eyes. He murmured, “When all possibilities have been eliminated, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“I see you are a scholar of literature,” Eu-meh said. “Maybe there are lessons to learn from the great detective.”
“You lost me,” Robert complained.
“Peter was quoting Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes.”
“You see,” Peter opened his eyes and glared at Robert. “If all possibilities can be eliminated, whatever is left, regardless of how unlikely that may be, must be true. In this case, it would seem we have considered the most likely reasons for the Royal Seeker to go missing—piracy, lost at sea, mechanical or electrical failure—and yet none of these reasons stands up to scrutiny. So, we are left with only one working hypothesis. And that is, the ship is a floating missile launch facility. Crazy.” Peter shook his head. “But that is the logic of Sherlock Holmes.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Robert asked. “I mean, those missiles have to be stopped.”
“You’re assuming we successfully land on the helipad without being blown out of the air on final approach.”
“That’s the plan.” If Robert was apprehensive, he hid it well.
“One of the crew needs to guard the helicopter. That leaves three of us to take control of the ship.”
“Yeah, so?”
“It’s going to be heavily defended. You said so yourself.”
“Once we secure the bridge, we have the advantage. We radio for help.”
“Radio who? We don’t even know if the U.S. Navy has ships in the area. Honestly, I’d be surprised if they did given the extreme tensions with China at the moment. And we certainly can’t call the Brunei military. We don’t know who to trust.”
“What about my daughter? I don’t give a damn about missiles—we have to find my daughter!”
“Well, you should care,” Peter said. “Because if those missiles aren’t stopped, there’s going to be a big war right in your front yard.”
Robert shifted his gaze from Eu-meh back to Peter. “She’s right. One of use has to search the ship and rescue Jade.”
“If she’s there,” Peter said. He didn’t voice the remainder of his thought—most likely, she has already been killed and the body disposed of.
Eu-meh pursed her lips. “I will never give up hope.” Her voice trembled as she fought back tears. “I will find my daughter and bring her home, or I will die trying.”
Peter leaned forward against his seat belt, his outstretched hand grasping Eu-meh’s. “If Jade is on that ship, we will find her, I promise.”
“And how do you plan to do that if we’re holding down the bridge?” Robert asked.
“We get the captain and make him talk.”