“Did you see that?” he asked.
“Looks as if they are taking someone with them.”
“Get our security team on the circuit and tell them to stand by. Then call Combat and tell them that helicopter they told us to ignore is kidnapping someone.”
“Now, you’re talking.”
Taleb looked at his watch. “We got three minutes before they have to launch,” he said to Norton.
They glanced at their teammates, who were hustling Kiang up the stairwell.
The two hurried down two decks to the main deck of Reg-ulus, opened the watertight hatch, and hurried along the passageway. At Kiang’s stateroom, Taleb grabbed the knob and turned. The door opened. Three people stood there with weapons pointing at them. Behind him, Norton had her weapon pointed into the stateroom.
“Looks as if it’s a standoff,” Taleb said.
“Drop your weapon!” Montague commanded, shifting her open-leg stance to the right, increasing slightly the space between her and Gainer. Zeichner eased to the left, putting the table between him and the two in the doorway. His shoulder nearly touched the starboard bulkhead.
“We can’t and we don’t have much time,” Taleb said. He nodded at the table. “We need the radio and the electric razor. The rest of this stuff, NCIS can have.”
“NCIS already has it,” Zeichner said. “Who are you? You’re not military or else you wouldn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter who we are, we need those two items.” “Well, you aren’t getting them,” Zeichner said. “If you want them that bad, then answer some questions.”
Norton leaned closer. “One minute,” she whispered.
“Mr. Zeichner—”
“I know you,” Gainer interrupted. “You’re the sailor who was in the crow’s nest. You and Zheng have the same General Quarters stations. You and him are—”
Taleb slammed the door shut. “Let’s go!”
The two raced down the passageway, barely reaching the watertight hatch before Montague and Gainer burst into the passageway, one with a weapon pointed right and the other looking to the left.
“There they are!” Gainer shouted. “Halt or I’ll shoot!”
Taleb and Norton leaped through the hatch. Taleb slammed the hatch, looked around for something to wedge against it.
“Not enough time,” Norton said, grabbing him by the sleeve. “Let’s go.”
The two started up the ladder, running, glancing over their backs.
“Here they come,” Norton said, seeing the two younger agents emerge carefully onto the main deck.
The two reached the stairwell. Taleb opened the door, held it until Norton was through. “Run,” he said.
Up the stairs they ran, their metal-toed military shoes clanging on the metal rungs as the four stories of steps led upward.
“Stop or I’ll shoot,” came a masculine shout from below.
Taleb knew they could see them, but the maze of metal steps and railings created a place where if either fired, the ricochet effect could just as easily kill the person who fired.
They passed the third story. Taleb was surprised to feel his breathing starting to intensify. It had to be these months at sea instead of ashore, where he could jog and work out. He could have done it here, but when you’re undercover and on assignment, your whole attention is on the mission.
Bright light came from above. Norton had reached the watertight hatch. Taleb was a few seconds behind her. He heard the helicopter revving up for takeoff. They’d leave him if they had to. This wasn’t hostile territory, but they would just as soon take him with them to avoid later explanations.
He pulled himself up the last few steps.
A gunshot rang out behind him. A sharp lightning of pain raced through his shoulder. He saw the deck racing toward his face as his eyes shut. The pain was overwhelming. He knew he had been shot. Why would they shoot him? He always knew his missions ran risks. He had never expected to be shot by someone on his side. Hands grabbed him beneath the arms and just before he faded into unconsciousness, he felt the familiar lift of the helicopter as it rose into the air.
Gainer emerged onto the deck first. The helicopter was already off to the port side at sea level.
“Who were they?” Montague asked as he ran up beside him, gasping for breath.
“I think they were comrades of Dr. Zheng,” he said softly.
A few minutes later, Zeichner emerged from the hatch. While he recovered his breath, Gainer and Montague brought him up to speed on what happened.
Zeichner looked at Gainer. “I think you may have shot someone on our side. There is a possibility you may have missed.”
Gainer pointed at the deck. “Blood,” he said.
Montague nodded across the deck at a bunch of sailors running toward them, their weapons at port arms. “I hope they’re friendly.”
In seconds, the sailors had them surrounded with their weapons.
“Put those weapons down!” Zeichner shouted between gasps for breath. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and held aloft the NCIS badge. “We’re NCIS.”
A Taiwanese fishing vessel pulled alongside the body in the water. Two fishermen lifted the body onto the deck, dropping it when it vomited up water. The bright blue eyes blinked several times as Andrew fought to breathe. He glanced at the Oriental features surrounding him. God was merciful, he thought. Hundreds of sharks swimming around him and not one had touched him. Some brushed against him, but throughout the ordeal, Andrew had put his faith in God. He was prepared for whatever God had to offer, and this rescue was God’s way of saying Andrew’s mission was here, on earth. He pushed himself off the slick wooden deck; the odor of fish swept over him. At a distance, the massive bulk of Sea Base filled the horizon.
Andrew fell back onto the deck. He touched his head. Inside there were the codes needed to warn his father of what Taleb had said. Money and passports would wait for him at whatever airport he could reach. He smiled and drifted off to sleep.
The fishermen shrugged. A couple of them pulled Andrew off to the side so he would be out of the way for the rest of the day until they returned to their small village. Then the elders would decide what to do.
“Captain, radio sent this, sir,” said the second-class petty officer, handing a metal clipboard to Garcia.
Garcia mumbled thanks and flipped open the top cover. A red-striped cover sheet with the words “Top Secret” embossed across it covered the message. He lifted the cover sheet and read it. Then he read it again, before dropping the metal top of the clipboard down. He handed it back to the sailor, who handed Garcia a pen and had him initial that he had read the document. Security was something taken seriously by those who handled classified material.
When the sailor left, Stapler walked over. “What was it, Skipper? Something about the helicopter?”
Garcia smiled. “Nope, Stan. Good news this time. The talks have produced a breakthrough. The Chinese have informed our State Department that this was a major exercise for homeland defense and will be finished by tomorrow.”
“So, they’re not going to invade Taiwan?”
Garcia shook his head. “Not this time.”
“You think they ever will?”
He nodded. “Ever read the history of the Arab-Israeli War of 1973—some call it the Yom Kippur War?”
Stapler shook his head. “Wasn’t even born back then.” “Neither was I, but the Egyptians were led by a man named Anwar al-Sadat. For three years leading up to 1973, the Egyptians used to have a ‘crossing the Suez Canal’ exercise. In the third or fourth year, whichever it was, the exercise turned into a real operation. The Egyptians were nearly at the Israeli border before the Israelis recovered enough to force them back.” “You saying one day what they say is an exercise will turn real?”