Ahead of him came the Air Force crew led by the tall baldheaded chief master sergeant. They surged by him, none of the uniformed personnel acknowledging his presence. His stomach tightened as he waited for them to ask why he was in the passageway during General Quarters, but no one did.
Instead, they were talking to each other as they passed him. He listened to a shorter sergeant arguing with the taller chief master sergeant. The chatter told him they had been ordered belowdecks. They didn’t like it; they had aircraft out there, and what if one of the aircraft had an emergency and had to land. What would it do without the ground crew there to secure it? The chief master sergeant was leading them toward the Fast Sealift Ship Antares.
Zheng slowed his pace, turning to watch them until they disappeared. Then, he quickened his pace, wanting to get into his stateroom and away from any other encounters. Ahead was the ship Pollux; then he’d hang a left through the connecting passageway and be at the Regulus, his ship. About another ten to fifteen minutes and he’d be in his stateroom. He wondered why that third agent, Angela Montague, had been sent? He had gathered enough information to know he was a suspect, but since the search of his stateroom months ago, Zeichner and Gainer had not returned. Maybe the work of the colonel had sidetracked their investigation?
Twenty minutes later, he stepped onto the deck of the Regulus. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. The reflection of his face in the glass of a nearby hatch showed hair glistening with perspiration. He hated the feel of being in sweat-stained clothing, but the thought of his time in the cell in what seemed years ago erased the uncomfortable feeling. There were worse things than heat, sweat, and odor.
Zheng looked both ways. The main deck was empty. Jamming his soaking handkerchief into his back pocket, he started along the edge of the deck, head down, watching for things that could trip him, reaching out every now and then to touch the top safety line.
Reaching the forward forecastle, he grabbed the lever to open the watertight hatch.
Two sets of hands slammed him against the hatch. Fear sent adrenaline racing through his body. He pushed, kicking backward.
“Now, Dr. Zheng, why would you want to do that?”
A hand pushed his face against the hatch. The hot metal burned his cheek as he twisted his face to the side. The face of the sailor from the crow’s nest came into view.
“Hi there, Doc. Remember me? Didn’t see you at your battle station today.” The face disappeared.
“Doc, put your hands behind your back.”
He fought to free himself. A third hand slammed his face against the hatch again.
“Don’t give us a hard time,” a female voice commanded.
He looked down and caught a glimpse of a small bird tattooed on the woman’s right ankle, just below the camouflaged trousers. Visions of the park in San Antonio rushed through his mind, of a similar tattoo on the ankle of a sunbather. Small nipples that had made the white shirt tent and had drawn his attention every day when he visited the park, waiting for the colonel. She had been there when the colonel finally showed. He had no idea what her face looked like, but the tattoo told all. He relaxed, hoping they would relax. Better to go over the side than endure the shame of interrogation by a country he loved.
“That’s better, Dr. Zheng.”
Plastic handcuffs tightened on his wrists. Even if he wanted to fight now, he couldn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut. Not right now, but someday in the near future, he saw his parents standing before an open hole as the colonel, laughing, pulled the trigger that would send them both tumbling lifeless into an unmarked grave. Remorse filled his being and what little strength he had gave way to great weakness.
He always knew it could end like this, but deep inside was a hope that one day the colonel would disappear; his parents would be freed; and he could return to the normal life of work, sleep, and eat.
He was an American. He loved his country. It was to protect his parents he did this, but in protecting them he had brought great shame upon himself and his family. In the days to come, an opportunity would present itself and in that space of a moment, he would do the honorable thing. An honorable thing he probably should have done earlier.
“Okay, Doctor, don’t pull that relax crap on me. I’ve seen it before and if you try anything, I have this shock thing here that will send you into unimaginable pain…”
He grunted in reply. There was nothing that could compare to his time in the colonel’s cell. Nothing was unimaginable as the pain suffered in it.
“… and render you unconscious. Then, we’d have to drag you topside, bumping your head along the way. It’d just make it harder on you and us.”
For a faction of a second, he thought of baiting them into doing it, but what if they broke his arm or leg? He needed his body whole for when the opportunity presented itself.
“Now, turn around. There are two of us.”
“Captain, we have a helicopter approaching,” Stapler said. “And it’s not responding to our transmissions.”
“I know.”
“It’s what we’ve been waiting for?”
Garcia shrugged. “I expect so. We aren’t to ask questions. Tell the Air Traffic Controller to stop interrogating it.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The dark, unmarked helicopter landed on the far side of Sea Base.
Jacobs watched from the quarterdeck area on the aft starboard side, wondering where it came from and why there were no markings.
“What do you think, Showdernitzel?” he asked.
“What do I think?” she asked back, placing spread fingers on her chest. “You’re asking me what I think?”
“Showdernitzel, one of these days I’m going to take you across my lap.…”
“Master Chief, don’t try to turn me on.…”
“Oh, shut up,” Jacobs said, walking away. Try to be nice, just once. He lifted his hand, shading his eyes, as he watched several figures in gray uniforms leap from the helicopter, weapons cradled in their arms.
“Showdernitzel! Ask Combat about that helicopter,” he shouted, recalling the experience last month in the Sea of Japan with the North Korean Y-8 transport that tried to land troops on Sea Base. A slight chill went up his spine. He shook his head. No way this could happen twice in one person’s history. He squinted. It was an American helicopter, not one of those old Soviet has-beens.
Two people across the deck opened the watertight hatch leading down to the Pollux and disappeared. Two others remained near the open side door of the helicopter.
“Master Chief, Combat said to ignore them.”
“What type of helicopter is that?” he asked.
Showdernitzel lifted her hand to shade her eyes. She shrugged. “Damn, Master Chief, if you don’t know, how in the hell can you expect me to know?”
“You are one smart-ass, you know.”
“I know; that’s why you love me so.”
“Don’t bet on it. It’s an awful big helicopter.”
“Then it’s most likely a BOH,” she answered.
“BOH?”
“Yeah, Big Old Helicopter.” She laughed.
“Showdernitzel, go check on our security guards.”
“I did. That Jolson who flew in today is missing. He never returned from his twenty-minute break to use the head. Went down below and never returned. When I get my hands around his arrogant neck, I’m going to break it.”
As they watched, the two uniformed men emerged through the watertight door. They were holding someone between them. In less than five seconds, the captive was bundled from the hatch to the helicopter and tossed inside.