Wong had been right. Politics. It was his nation’s curse. Take away just half of the government infighting and Red Island would have been unnecessary because China would already control all of the Pacific basin.
Well, Liu thought with a touch of pride, thanks to me and despite themselves, the government’s going to get their wish anyway.
“Merrcerrrr, Merrcerrrr.” The voice dragged him back from the deepest sleep he’d enjoyed for weeks.
Mercer opened his eyes. Hovering in front of him was a face as wrinkled and gray as a balled-up piece of newsprint. Harry. “Ugh!” he groaned. “Waking to you makes my nightmares seem pleasant.”
“It’s five-thirty, Romeo. Shag your ass.”
Mercer remembered he hadn’t gone to bed alone and felt across the sheets. Lauren was gone.
“She’s already in the bathroom,” Harry informed him. “Judging by how rested she looked, you couldn’t have been much.”
“Not only are you a depraved bastard, but I suspect you’re deprived as well.” Mercer swung his legs out of the bed. He was surprised that other than a twinge of apprehension deep in his gut, he was feeling reasonably well. “Besides,” he added to stifle Harry’s leer, “nothing happened.”
Harry tossed a bundle of dark clothes into his lap. “Compliments of Foch. This is a spare uniform from the guy injured yesterday picking up Maria.”
“How is he? Do you know?”
“The driver’s still in the pokey. He managed to call Foch’s room late last night. The guy who was hit is going to be all right.”
“You’ve seen Foch. How long have you been awake?”
Harry rubbed the stubble on his chin. “When you’re as handsome as I am you don’t need much beauty rest.”
“Funny.” Mercer drew on the black fatigue pants and T-shirt.
“I woke up at five, went down to their room and heard they were all awake. When I came back up, Lauren was in the bathroom. Seems you’re the only one who wants to sleep through the fun.”
“I would if I could.” The clothes fit well enough so Mercer laced up his boots and followed Harry into the sitting room. A coffee service waited on a credenza. The aromatic steam was strong enough to start reviving Mercer even before he started on his first cup. “Any word about the Special Forces guys?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know if Lauren’s called her father yet.”
She entered from the bathroom, dressed in clothes that matched Mercer’s. “Morning, boys. Who do I thank for the fatigues?”
“Me,” Harry answered quickly. “Sewed ’em myself.”
“You got the length right, but if you really think I have a thirty-six-inch waist I’m going to hurt you.”
Mercer suspected that she wouldn’t give any acknowledgment to how they’d spent the night even though they hadn’t so much as kissed. He was wrong. She stepped to him and pressed her lips to his. “How’d you sleep?”
He smiled into her eyes. “Never better.”
“Me too.”
“Break it up,” Harry growled. “You’re going to make me gag.”
When Bruneseau, Foch, and the four remaining Legionnaires entered the suite, Mercer was on his third cup of coffee and Roddy had already arrived with Miguel. The boy understood something important was about to happen and wanted to be with his two heroes for as long as possible. Considering his recent loss, neither man begrudged his clinging presence. It was a little after six in the morning. The Mario diCastorelli would be entering the canal in less than an hour, while the Special Forces were still more than two hours out.
The twinge in Mercer’s gut tightened a degree.
Sitting around the coffee table eating breakfast, he led them through their plan once again. Lauren would drive the van to pick up the American commandos. She would take them straight to the Balboa Yacht Club where Mercer, Roddy, and the Legionnaires would be waiting with the boat. No amount of argument could keep Harry White from also joining them at the marina. It was then up to the Special Forces to assault the Mario diCastorelli. If they failed, however, Mercer wanted to be ready to lead an attack of his own. He had no illusions about taking on a potential force that had just defeated an elite American unit, but he figured the initial raid would sorely deplete the number of defenders on the ship and give them a chance.
The faces confronting him were grim and set. Everyone knew and accepted the risks. The French wanted a chance to avenge the comrades felled by Liu Yousheng and Hatcherly Consolidated. Roddy was defending his very home, hoping to keep it from slipping back into the kind of tyranny not seen since Noriega’s day. Lauren had a sworn duty to defend the United States and never in her career had her mission been clearer. If they failed, America would face a Cold War-style nuclear confrontation with an adversary possessing a frightening strategic advantage.
What about Harry? Mercer wondered. Why did he want to be a part of this? Like so many of his generation, Harry hadn’t waited for the draft. He’d signed up to do his part during World War II and rightly placed himself among those called the Greatest Generation. It could be that he thought this fight was worth the same kind of sacrifice. Or maybe, Mercer chuckled to himself, the stubborn fool had never backed away from anything in his life and was too set in his ways to stop now.
And his own reason for accepting the risks? Mercer knew it was a combination of them all—with one more addition. He made no distinction between the carbon dioxide gas that had wiped out Gary’s camp and the squad of soldiers Liu had dispatched to the river to kill them. To him the Chinese were as responsible for those deaths as the geologic anomaly. Mercer looked at Miguel. For no reason other than greed and ambition, this innocent had been orphaned by Liu Yousheng. It was a burden the boy would carry for the rest of his life.
Mercer had always been haunted by the idea that the terrorists who murdered his parents had probably been congratulated for their barbarity. In a thousand dreams he’d seen them celebrating the ambush that had cost him everything and gained them nothing. It made him hate the killers all the more, a deep and primal emotion that he’d carry to his grave. He wasn’t sure if punishing Liu would give Miguel any comfort as he grew into adulthood, but Mercer understood too well how the boy’s soul could be corroded if the Chinese mastermind succeeded.
“I think we’re set,” Lauren said when the briefing was over. “When I talked to my father this morning he said the commandos made their flight okay. They managed to bring extra communications gear so we can all stay in contact during the assault.”
“What about your missile cruiser?” Foch asked.
“The destroyer USS McCampbell is already within Tomahawk range and will be able to bring her VGAS cannon to bear in another two hours. They will keep the ship out of Panama’s territorial waters but will be overflying an experimental spotter drone based on the Predator aircraft.”
“If Liu has moved SAM batteries here to protect his nuclear rockets, your drone won’t last five minutes,” Rene Bruneseau interjected.
Lauren gave him a smug look. “The spotter drone has the radar cross-section of a hummingbird. No worries.”
One of the Legion soldiers leaned forward. Named Rabidoux, he was the dark-complected son of an Algerian mother and a French father. He more than any of them had been stunned that Rene was a fellow Muslim. “I have been on NATO exercises with the American Green Berets. We won’t need the destroyer, its gun or missiles. I think we won’t even need us.”
Mercer nodded to him. “Hope you’re right.” He looked at the Timex Harry had lent him. “It’s seven o’clock now. I know it won’t take us that long to get into position, but I suggest we get going.”