Zhang nodded his head, wondering what other options there were; nobody ever rescued a hijacked ship once it was hidden. But instead of arguing, he simply nodded his head and accepted the situation.
‘Yes sir,’ he confirmed confidently. ‘We do not make deals with pirates.’
President Tsang smiled for the first time. ‘Exactly,’ he said, his eyes gleaming. ‘I’m glad we understand each other.’
In the corner of the room, Kang continued to watch the men carefully through his dark, hooded eyes — eyes which saw everything, yet revealed nothing. And inside, unknown to either Tsang or Zhang, he allowed himself to smile.
Everything was going exactly as he had predicted.
‘I’ve just spoken to President Tsang,’ Ellen Abrams, President of the United States of America, announced to her National Security Advisor John Eckhart.
Abrams sighed to herself, taking a sip of coffee from her China cup. It was only yesterday that the rise of the European right looked like America’s number one priority; now it had been swamped by international interest in this hijacking.
And that was if she ignored the mounting pressures of the re-election campaign; November was only a few months away, and she found her attention being constantly drawn away from key matters by her party strategists. It was a drain on her already sapped resources, but she accepted it as an unfortunate part of political life.
‘They’ve heard from the pirates?’ Eckhart asked.
Abrams nodded. ‘Yes, they’re asking for fifty million dollars for the return of the ship and crew.’
‘Cargo?’ Eckhart asked.
‘Cargo wasn’t mentioned specifically, but it’s a safe bet it can be written off. The pirates will sell it off as quickly as they can; it’s money in their pockets.’
‘We’ll get copies of the manifests to our people over there. We don’t have huge resources in Indonesia, but we might be able to rely on their government too. If any of the items show up, it might help us narrow down the search.’
‘Good idea,’ Abrams confirmed. ‘Do it right after this meeting.’
‘No problem.’ Eckhart took a sip of his own coffee, then looked back across the huge desk, made from the timbers of the British frigate HMS Resolute a century and a half ago. It dominated the Oval Office just as it had during the terms of the several presidents who had selected it before Abrams. ‘What’s China’s stance on paying them?’
‘The same as ours,’ Abrams said. ‘We don’t negotiate with terrorists, and we don’t negotiate with pirates. Feng has warned Zhang not to pay them off.’ Concern furrowed Abrams’ brow. ‘How soon can we find that ship?’
‘We’re doing all we can. The NRO has redirected all our satellites onto the area, and we’re flying surveillance drones over every little island in a thousand mile radius. But that’s a big area, and it’s going to take some time, especially if it’s tucked away under a precipice, or if it’s been camouflaged in some way.’
‘What sort of assets do we have on the ground?’
‘We’ve got the local CIA station in Jakarta looking into things, they’ve already started putting some money about to try and get some information. We’ve also got some specialists from the Special Activities Division arriving in Sumatra as we speak.’
‘Military options?’
‘Well, Pete will explain it better than I can at the NSC meeting later,’ Eckhart admitted. Major General Peter Olson was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the military adviser to the National Security Council. ‘But I do know that we’re rerouting two destroyers from a training exercise in the Indian Ocean, and that DEVGRU are on the move from Dam Neck to Subic Bay in case we need them.’
Abrams nodded. DEVGRU was the Naval Special Warfare Development Group, also known as SEAL Team Six; based out of Dam Neck, Virginia, it was America’s most elite special operations unit and had responsibility for maritime counterterrorist operations across the world. SEAL Team Four was already stationed at the US naval base at Subic Bay in the Philippines, and it made perfect sense for SEAL Team Six to use the facility to prepare themselves.
‘A Ranger battalion on exercise in Kenya is also heading into theatre to help support DEVGRU if a rescue attempt is authorized.’
‘Okay,’ Abrams said, hands bracing on her desk, ‘that should do it for now. Get your people moving, and we’ll see each other again at the NSC meeting in,’ — Abrams paused, checking her watch — ‘just over two hours. Let’s hope we get some good news in the meantime.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Eckhart replied with a grim smile. ‘Let’s hope and pray.’
Lieutenant Commander Jake Navarone stretched out his athletic frame in the canvas bucket seat, cramped after several hours spent aboard the C-17 Globemaster transport aircraft.
Navarone was one of the three troop commanders who made up Red Squadron, one of DEVGRU’s highly-trained assault teams. The whole of Red Squadron, codenamed the Red Indians, was on its way to Subic Bay in the Phillipines on the orders of Rear Admiral Scott Murphy, DEVGRU’s commanding officer; although Navarone knew that the operation would be ultimately coordinated by Lieutenant General Miley Cooper, the commander of the Joint Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg.
DEVGRU was, along with Delta Force, the tip of the US military’s spear. Known as Special Mission Groups, their operations were highly classified and were assigned by JSOC under conditions of absolute secrecy.
Murphy had briefed Red Squadron’s leader, Commander Ike Treyborne, on the mission; and Treyborne had in turn briefed his three troop commanders.
Their first port of call was Subic Bay, where they would acclimatize to the heat and humidity and begin rehearsing the skills necessary for re-taking a hijacked vessel. They’d been granted permission to use some of the Navy ships being worked on in the docks, and JSOC was doing its best to borrow a real container ship to practice on too.
Navarone found himself looking forward to the job, if it ever came; more often than not, an alert turned into a lot of training, rehearsing, and waiting for a green light which never came. Which wasn’t to say that he was unused to action; on the contrary, Navarone had led over sixty commando missions during his time in the SEALs, and been decorated for heroism on numerous occasions. He’d even been shot a couple of times in the line of duty, which resulted in scars he carried with him as permanent reminders that within an instant, even the best laid plans could turn into a total goat-fuck.
But for all the missions he’d been on over the years, he’d never actually taken part in rescuing a vessel at sea — one of the reasons for the creation of the US Navy SEALs in the first place. He therefore found himself getting more than usually excited about the prospect of engaging with the SEAL’s primary mission of maritime counterterrorism. Or at least maritime counter-piracy, which was pretty much the same thing, he told himself.
He looked around the compartment at his fellow SEALs, men forged by the toughest selection and training in existence to be the best of the best. He trusted each and every one of them with his life, and they trusted him with theirs.
He looked across to Ike Treyborne, who was sitting just across from him, and smiled.
Red Squadron’s commander knew the reason for the smile and returned it.