South China Sea
August 26
As the illumination quickly faded, Peter rushed to the window, craning his head as he followed the missile into the heavens until it became a tiny dot of light. He crossed to Captain Rei, grabbing him by the collar. “How do we stop it?”
“You can’t.”
“There has to be a way!”
“Once the missile is fired, it is out of my control. America will lose another warship, and another and another, until your government capitulates.”
“Robert,” Peter said. “Do you see any equipment here that looks like it might be used to launch a missile?”
From where he was standing near the center of the bridge, Robert could see all of the instrument consoles. “No, nothing. This is all standard equipment for navigation, steering, and communication.”
“Then there has to be another room, a control center. And Captain Rei is going to take us there.” Peter shoved the man forward. He stumbled until he regained his balance, hobbling forward with Peter’s Glock inches from his back.
The procession headed down an internal stairway, Diesel healing close by Peter’s side. After passing two decks, they followed a corridor on the third. Captain Rei removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. It swung open to reveal a compartment crammed with sophisticated-looking instruments and consoles. Four men were seated at their stations, engrossed in the post-launch activities and not paying attention to the party that had just entered. The space was illuminated in a red glow from overhead lights. A large electronic display showed a white triangle moving across a regional map extending from Malaysia north to the Korean peninsula. “You’re tracking the missile?” Peter said.
At the sound of the foreign voice, one man turned and stood. “Captain?” It was First Officer Chang. A sidearm was holstered on his hip.
Peter swung his gun. “Don’t even think about it.”
Chang raised his hands, noticing the two additional armed intruders, including one blocking the doorway and holding a submachine gun.
“How do we stop it? There must be a self-destruct,” Peter demanded.
Chang stared back in silence, looking to his captain for direction. “No, there is no way to destroy the missile,” Rei said. “I already told you.”
Peter stared at the tracking display, the white triangle advancing across the screen. But what was the target?
“That’s it,” he said. “You have to enter a launch sequence that includes the presumed target location. But hitting a ship—let alone a moving ship—would require a very sophisticated guidance system. That’s how you are able to track the missile—you’re sending and receiving data. You’re steering it to the target.”
Both Chang and Rei remained silent. Time was on their side, and in a matter of minutes the warhead would strike.
“Shut down the guidance system,” Peter ordered Rei.
“No.”
Peter positioned the Glock inches from Rei’s face. “Shut it down!”
“You have already lost. The era of American world dominance is over.”
“Shut it down or I put a bullet in your head.”
“Go ahead. It makes no difference. In a few minutes, the warhead will destroy another ship from your Seventh Fleet. I won’t shut down the guidance system.”
Chang lunged for the gun in Peter’s hand, attempting to lock it in his grip. Diesel, who had been standing in silence to Peter’s side, leapt into action. The canine clamped its jaws around Chang’s forearm. He cried out in pain but still held a firm grip on Peter’s gun hand.
Diesel’s weight dragged the combatant’s arms down, moving the muzzle away from Rei. The canine increased his bite force as blood flowed over his tongue and lips, at the same time pushing backwards with his hind legs.
Peter lurched forward but checked his momentum and tugged against Chang’s arms. It was no use, like trying to pull a seventy-pound anchor buried within mud. He swung his left fist, connecting with Chang’s nose.
The explosion of a gunshot sounded very close, startling Peter. At first, he thought it was he who had discharged his weapon, but then Chang slumped to the deck, a hand over his stomach.
Robert redirected his gun at Rei. The other controllers remained seated, each not wanting to be the next victim.
“You can kill all of us,” Rei said, “and it won’t stop the destruction of your ship. My death, and that of my crew, will only serve to embolden others to follow.”
Glancing up to the projection again, Peter saw the map had zoomed in on a portion of ocean just to the west of the Philippine island of Luzon. The white marker indicating the warhead was moving directly to a cluster of five blue triangles. The blue symbols were arranged such that four were at the corners of a square, and the fifth—the largest—was positioned in the middle of the arrangement. They were all pointed south.
Peter spoke over his shoulder. “Robert, what does that look like to you?” The former Navy man stepped forward, never allowing his pistol to waver from Rei’s chest.
“That’s a carrier strike group.”
“Yeah, that was my thought, too. Then this warhead will be aimed for the biggest ship, the carrier.”
Not willing to waste any more time, Peter said, “Get the C4. We have to blow this room. Hurry!”
The co-pilot trained his MP5 on their captives while Robert prepared the plastic explosive and detonators. Since it appeared there were four main instrument consoles, plus what had to be an electrical panel supplying power to the equipment, he used his knife to slice the 1.25-pound block into five sections. Quickly, he molded each chunk of explosive around a length of yellow-and-black primacord. As Robert completed the preparation of each charge, he handed them off to Peter, who placed the explosives against each console in a fashion he hoped would do the most damage. The final charge was placed on top of the electrical panel where three large conduits entered the metal box. Robert taped the ends of all five lengths of primacord together with a radio-controlled detonator.
“Ready,” he said after arming the detonator.
Peter grabbed Rei roughly. “Tell your men to get out.” Seeing what was planned, the three crewmembers wasted no time in hustling out of the control room.
“Let’s go,” Peter said, and he shoved Captain Rei out the doorway, followed by Diesel, Eu-meh, the co-pilot, and Robert taking up the rear. They hurried up the ladder, and only seconds after leaving the compartment, Robert depressed a button on the radio link.
The deep, thunderous boom was felt as much as heard. The superstructure shuddered, and Eu-meh lost her footing momentarily. With his free hand under her arm, Peter helped her to her feet. It was time to get off the Royal Seeker; they had outstayed their welcome.
Rushing up the ladder, they emerged on the helipad. Peter blinked his eyes, unable to believe his senses.
The landing pad was empty.