The Model A Ford Roadster he had bought in his senior year cost him $225. It had yellow spoke wheels, a top that came down, and a rumble seat, a 1931 Model A. When he bought the car, his grades went down but he stayed on the tennis team and graduated. Not until the second half of his senior year did he think about going on to school. His parents couldn’t afford to pay college tuition or buy books.
A small private college in his home town suggested he might want to play on its tennis team. They had no scholarships, but they could help him get a job on campus to pay the tuition: $225 for the first semester. He sold the Model A to get the money.
The senator looked outside the small Chinese house and saw something new. A military guard with a submachine gun slung over his shoulder, stood just beyond the small gate in front of the house. He guessed there would be one at the back door as well.
Damn fine mess I’ve got us in this time. Not so bad for me, but Lydia and Darla. God damn it to hell!
Lydia Highlander watched her husband. She had inherited her English father’s fine coloring, a peaches and cream complexion that was flawless at fifty-two years. The Chinese heritage showed in her almond eyes that slanted delightfully, and in the flat bridge of her nose. Her sleek absolutely black hair hadn’t been cut for two years. It flowed around her shoulders and down her back. She touched her husband’s arm.
“Greg, it will be all right. They wouldn’t dare hurt you. We must figure out how to get you back home.”
“How to get all of us back. I won’t go and leave you two here.” He paused, then shrugged. “There’s only one way now. You know about the heart stimulator machine I brought with us?”
“Yes. I knew it wasn’t that. What is it?”
“I’ll show you.” He took one of their unpacked suitcases and opened it. The maze of wires, dials and readouts built into a metal box looked medically complicated and professional. He moved the unit to a small table and unscrewed a plate on the back. From the metal case he pulled out a long rectangular, metal object.
“It’s called the SATCOM for satellite radio communications.” He took a small dish antenna from inside the box and spread open the dish part into a circle. He set it on a small tripod by the window and moved it around a little.
“Should work there.” He hooked it to the radio. “With the proper frequency I can call up any phone number in the world, access the president or the chiefs of staff, my own office, the CIA, anyone.” He looked in a small notebook that had been in the fake metal box and pointed at a frequency.
“Yes, I think we’ll talk to the CIA. This is really their jurisdiction. First I have to make sure the antenna is tuned toward one of the satellites overhead that will relay the signal. There are supposed to be such satellites all around the world. They told me it would work.”
He moved the knobs then adjusted the dish antenna twice and waited each time. A moment later a beep came from the speaker on the radio. The radio itself was about five inches square and sixteen inches tall. It had a built-in round flexible antenna and a handset. The whole thing including batteries weighed only ten pounds.
“We have the satellite tuned in, now here’s hoping I did everything right.” The senator picked up the handset and pushed the send button.
“CIA, this is Senator Highlander calling from a small town in China. Looking for some help. Do you receive me?”
He turned the set to receive and listened but the speaker remained ominously silent. He tried the same words again, and then a third time. Then a voice came through faintly.
“Senator Highlander. Your signal is weak. Increase your power to eighteen watts. What do you need?”
“CIA, moving to eighteen watts. We’ve been put under house arrest here in China. Armed guards at the front and back doors. We need to get out of here. We’re at Dushan, a small village about twenty miles north of Zhanjiang which is on the south coast of China. We’re about three miles from the South China Sea. Can you help us? I have a lot of information about this country. She’s on a wartime footing.”
“Senator, understand your problem. Will take it up immediately. Keep your SATCOM on burst sending so China can’t pick up your signal. It’s all encrypted in the set. Will contact you in two hours and every two hours after that. Have the set turned on.”
“Thank God. We’ll be waiting.”
Darla, his sixteen-year-old daughter, had been in the next room, but came in when she heard the radio speaker. She stood wide eyed watching the exchange.
“Is it dangerous here, Daddy?”
“It could be. I’m trying to get us out of China.”
Darla’s eyes went wider. Their slant was less than that of her mother’s but apparent and her nose was more rounded. Her skin was not as perfect as her mothers. She wore shorts and a T-shirt, her soft dark hair kept cut short for easy care. “Not much ice skating here, huh, Daddy?”
“Not that we’ve seen. Now, how is our food supply? We could be here for several more days. Do I need to go out and get something from that small market and store we saw when we came in?”
The senator looked at his wife. He was maintaining a steady calm on the outside. Even as he asked about food he was thinking about a story he had read on Chinese prisons, and detention camps. He shivered as he remembered the pictures of what China did to some of its own people. Now those visions kept slamming into his mind.
The clock in the equipment room of Third Platoon, SEAL Team Seven, showed 0730. The sixteen SEALs had been called out early to get the news.
“We’ve got work to do,” Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock told his men. “We move out from North Island Naval Air Station at twelve hundred. We go fully loaded with weapons, double ammo, and anything else you can think of that we might need on a hot firefight. I’m not sure which direction we’re traveling, but Commander Masciareli asked me if Kenneth Ching was fit for duty.”
“China? We’re heading for China?” Jaybird Sterling, machinist mate second class, asked.
“Speculation,” Senior Chief Boatswain’s Mate Will Dobler snapped. “You heard what the man said. Let’s get cracking. We’ve got an hour to get our gear ready to travel. Double loads of ammo in your drag bag. Uniform of the day will be desert cammies. Take one change of clothes. We’ll work out weapons assignments now.” He looked at Murdock. “Commander, what mix do you want?”
“We don’t have the slightest idea what we’re going to be getting into. Let’s take two of the EARs, five of the Bull Pups, and the rest standard. We’ll leave the fifty here this time. The Bull Pups can do the same job. Check for ammo supply on the Pups.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Dobler said. “Move it you swabbies. We’ve got an airplane to catch.”
Murdock put his gear in order, then inspected the men at 0830. Speculation about where they would be going was running wild.
“Not a clue,” Murdock told them again. “Orders came through channels from our beloved commander, that’s all I know.”
“Seems kind of lonely without Don Stroh giving us a call on the SATCOM,” Bill Bradford, quartermaster’s mate first class, said. “He still gonna be sticking his big nose in here from time to time?”
“I’m sure he will,” Murdock said. “The through-channels flap will be hot for a while, then calm down. He says he’s free to talk to us after we get an assignment.”
They had special chow at 1000, then another inspection and lined up to board two six-by trucks for transport to North Island, only two miles away. They were early. Their bird was being turn-around serviced. It was a Gulfstream II (VC11). The troops grinned. It was a fancy business jet the military used for VIPs or for fast moves of small groups of men.