“Can we use their jet fuel?” Danny asked the pilot.
“We can use standard jet fuel, if that’s what it is,” said the pilot.
Danny clicked into the Dreamland circuit, asking Liu if he knew what sort of fuel he’d pumped into the plane. Liu had no idea. He then switched and spoke by satellite to Dreamland Command, where Major Catsman promised to get a fuel expert on the double.
“If I can smell it, I can tell if it’s okay,” said the chopper pilot while they waited.
“You sure?”
“Look, jet fuel’s jet fuel, right?”
Danny looked around the airport. The only terrorists who had been nearby were either dead or hunkered over by the civilian side of the facility. If he could refuel here, he could fly the helicopters down to the Malaysian base.
Just one helicopter. He didn’t want to leave the platform unprotected.
“Whiplash Commander, this is Dreamland Command.”
“Freah”
“Danny, I have the man who tuned the Quick Bird engines on the line here, speaking from his quarters.”
“Bottom line it, Major.”
“Bottom line is you’ll blow the warranty if you use commercial jet fuel — yeah, it’ll work.”
“Thanks”
Chapter 87
Dazhou Ti tightened the grip on the pistol as he strode across the dock to the wooden plank that had been thrown over to the side of the ship by his boarding party. He could feel the beat of his blood pulsing in his head, everything a rush. One of his men stepped across the deck as he came onto the ship, saluting smartly.
“The captain is in the bridge,” said the sailor.
Dazhou nodded and continued through the hatch into the ship’s superstructure, aware that he was being watched, aware that his course now was set and irrevocable. He went up to the bridge, where his men held the captain and another officer at gunpoint.
“You are with us, or you will die,” Dazhou told the captain, pointing his pistol at the man.
The ship’s captain had served under Dazhou two years before on the Perkasa, a coastal patrol ship. Until this moment he might even have considered himself a friend, though Dazhou had not included him in the inner circle of navy personnel who had worked with him on the Barracuda.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said the captain.
Dazhou pressed the pistol against his cheek. “I would think it would be clear enough.”
“I am with you, of course, Captain,” said the man. “But your aim — I don’t understand.”
“We are going to assist the forces that have taken over Brunei,” said Dazhou. “There is an American force attempting to help them. We will attack them, and then we will find other targets.”
“But the government has decreed that we honor our treaty obligations.”
“You are very brave,” said Dazhou.
Then he pulled the trigger.
As the captain’s body fell to the ground, blood coursing from his skull, Dazhou turned to the other officer. The man stood in shock; he did not appear to be breathing.
“Where is the ship’s intercom?” Dazhou asked.
Without saying a word, the man went to a panel at the side and held up a microphone. Dazhou took it.
“This is Captain Dazhou Ti. I have been commanded by God to take over this ship to join in a holy war against the western devils who rule Brunei through the bastard sultan and his family. It is a holy war and the rewards of those who truly believe will be eternal and guaranteed. Any who do not wish to join us may leave the ship in five minutes. After that, we will set out.”
Allowing some to leave was a calculated risk. The ship’s complement was fifty-one; it could be operated with less, but most of the twenty-three sailors Dazhou had brought with him were not familiar with the ship and it would be difficult to operate it if everyone aboard deserted. On the other hand, the appeal to faith — and a religion that Dazhou himself did not share — put the argument to join him in its starkest, most obvious terms.
He handed the microphone back to the other officer. “You too may leave,” he told him.
“I am a believer. I stay”
Dazhou nodded, then turned back around. Blood still poured from the captain’s head.
“Throw him overboard,” he told his men. “Then report to the second officer. We have much to do”
Chapter 88
Dog crouched on his knee behind the tree, watching as something moved about thirty feet ahead through the brush. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the terrorist, but he could not actually see the man. He had the rifle wedged against a shoulder. He cocked his head down so he could see through the scope; the sweat on his palm made the M4 feel oily and he pressed his fingers tighter.
A white rag appeared in the middle of the scope.
Was the man surrendering?
He raised his head, saw only a blur. He was only twenty feet away at most. He had a rifle in his hand.
The white was the shirt he was wearing.
Dog put his head down again, his eye on the scope.
He’d lost his target!
Dog pushed the barrel to his right but couldn’t find his enemy. He brought the weapon down, scanning to his right — something moved dead ahead of him. He saw a white swatch, then a face, pushed his shoulder against the weapon and fired.
The gun popped in his hands, the recoil easier than he thought. He swung right, saw something much further away but hesitated, not sure exactly what it was. Finally he saw a rifle with a banana clip against a white background through the leaves and fired. This time he saw that he had hit what he was aiming at; it furled backward, falling to the ground.
Something cracked behind him. Dog swung around, nearly losing his balance. A white shirt loomed in front of him.
He fired point blank into the man’s stomach. The bullets didn’t seem to affect the terrorist at first. He continued fumbling with the AK47 in his hands, having trouble making it shoot. Dog fired again, still at point blank range.
A bulletproof vest!
Dog started to aim higher, but just then the terrorist began to dance — it was the only way to describe what Dog saw, a kind of macabre shake and jump, a turn to the left and then to the right, as if the man were trying belatedly to duck away from Dog’s gunfire. He shook his shoulders, and then the gun dropped from his hands and he fell off to the side, confusion on his face.
Dog started to stand. As he did a shout made him lose his balance and he toppled forward, just in time to hear three short bursts of automatic rifle fire. To his right. Lang burst through the leaves and stood over him, firing again. Dog pushed himself back to his knees but Lang held him down, crouched over and scouting the nearby jungle.
“All right,” said the soldier, tugging him to follow. Dog stumbled and then started to run, moving sideways as well as frontward as they tracked toward the road. His feet sloshed in a wet spot and he nearly fell, but somehow he managed to keep his balance until he reached the road’s shoulder. His elbow and shoulder broke his fall and he rolled onto his stomach.
“It’s all right, we’re clear,” said the soldier from his haunches a few feet away. “Cross the road. We’ll move down the ditch there. There’s a little cover.”
Dog glanced to his left, then scrambled over the macadam and got into the vegetation. He started to relax, then realized he should be covering Lang’s crossing. He got up and watched as the soldier made his way across the roadway very deliberately.
It wasn’t that he went slowly, just that he was under control. Unlike Dog, he’d have been able to react and fire if anything had appeared.