Genuinely curious, I asked, “And you’re here because…”
For an instant, Mohammed stoic expression wavered. He doesn’t know why he’s here, I thought.
Mohammed finally answered, “If Colonel Douglas says this is a good fight, I believe him. He has always done right by me and so I will help him with this adventure.”
With a tone suggesting the opposite, I responded, “I understand.”
Douglas gestured to the next man, a short, muscular, clean-shaven American. This is Jed Tompkins, a bomb expert I found who is recently retired from SEAL Team Six.”
I asked, “Why aren't you still with the SEALs?”
“Got tired of prowling around Afghanistan looking for Hajjis. Ain't interested in doing that forever. I joined up with your outfit cuz the colonel said I'd see some real action.”
Taleb stirred a bit when Jed said “Hajjis”, but he evidently decided not to raise the issue. I moved on to the lanky young kid sitting at the table. “And you are?”
“Nigel Grant. Last week, I was SAS. I served in the same squadron as Chris Brook here.” He gestured to the short man sitting next to him. “Our squadron commander told us we'd be going on leave to join a special detachment under Colonel Douglas.”
Douglas grinned. “I had trouble finding other volunteers, so I talked to some SAS friends. I still have some connections in Hereford. Anyway, these boys are the best shooters in the SAS.”
I asked, “And you both volunteered for this?”
They looked at each other. “Well, yes sir. I mean, we didn't know it would be this exactly, but the squadron commander said it would be dangerous. We figured it probably had something to do with China. I mean, we knew the UK is still officially neutral, but—”
My phone went off. I fished the device out of my pocket and saw that it was Ralph Cheng calling. I held up a finger to the men in the room and answered. “Caught me at a bad time, Ralph.”
“We have to move up your departure time to as soon as possible. Are your men and equipment ready?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Bring everything to the Channel Island in one hour.”
“Will do.”
The line clicked off. I looked at my phone for a few seconds.
Douglas asked, “Who was that?”
“Our ride to China. We'll have to continue our discussion en route. It’s show time.”
In anticipation of the arrival of the group, I had bought a plain old white van from a dealer in the city. The sole purpose of the van was to pick up members of the group from the airport, ferry them to the hotel, and then bring all of us over to the port when the time came to catch our transport. Douglas drove that van now on its final leg, though I wondered at the time if I might see it again after the war. Awful waste to use the thing for just one week.
I looked out across the harbor. It had looked so beautiful a week earlier, an elegant metropolis surrounding a light blue bay. Now there were white caps kicked up by the thunderstorm that was pounding the city in the dark of night.
Darwin’s harbor stabs south from the Timor Sea on Australia’s northern coastline. The city itself perches on the northeastern side of the harbor. The harbor extends another five miles inland from the city, where the most remote section of the port facilities resides. The least accessible of those facilities was on Channel Island, a kilometer wide islet just off the mainland.
A bridge about 200 feet long connected the mainland to the island. A gate blocked the entrance to the bridge, complete with a small guard shack staffed by two uniformed Australian policemen. From the driver’s seat, I did the talking. “We’re plumbers, here to see Mr. Baker.”
“What business do you have with Mr. Baker, sir?”
I completed the code sequence. “He needs us to take out an old pipe.”
“Go on through then, sir. Follow the road to its end.”
The gate rose and we passed through. When we had passed the shack, Douglas said, “Awfully fit-looking policemen they’ve got at this out of the way dock.”
We continued on down the road, the silence in the car broken only by the patter of raindrops on the roof. The island itself teemed with forklifts, shipping containers, and muscular men bearing no visible military insignia or markings to identify them as anything other than ordinary dock workers.
Finally, the road ended at a pier where a medium-sized container ship was taking on cargo. The job looked to be almost finished, containers stacked neatly on its broad deck. Douglas pulled the car over near a group of men huddled under umbrellas. I rolled down my window and one of them came over and leaned down to speak to me.
“Right on time for once, Ding.”
“My equipment get here already?”
“Yeah, your team from Merlin Printing came by yesterday with a couple truckloads of stuff. They set up some giant-ass printer in one of the warehouses on the island. I took the liberty of having our military liaison print out some of our latest stuff so that you'll have some of the best stuff to use right when you get to China. Everything you're taking with you is on board already. The ship is going to sail in thirty minutes, they just have to load one more container.”
“Let me guess…”
I could feel Ralph’s smile in the darkness and rain. “Yep, it’s steerage for your men. They'll be locked in a shipping container, and they don’t come out until they’re in China. But you, my friend, get a first class ride.”
My face reddened. “I'll ride with my men.”
“This isn’t up to you or me. Special order from President Duan. Nobody gets to know how we get your team into China except you. We need you to know how because you’re going to need to have a rough idea of our resupply capabilities. Needless to say, we will be severely displeased if you tell anyone, including your men.”
“Got it.” I had hoped to learn more about the men during the trip, but it appeared I had no choice.
“Oh and one more thing. Your men are going to have some extra company in the containers. Lieutenant Fei, your intel liaison, is coming along too.”
Ralph gestured over and one of the other men came over, a tall, thin twenty-something who looked like he might be fifteen years old. The young man said in good English, “Hey, Mr. Cortez, nice to meet you.”
Volodya’s mocking voice answered from the back. “Are you the team’s girlfriend or something?”
All of the others, including Douglas, laughed. In a group of burly, fit, hard men, a geeky tech guy was never going to have an easy time. Fei didn’t answer, just stood there awkwardly.
I said, “Welcome to the team. I’m sure you’ll have a fun day with my men in the containers.”
Fei bobbed his head. “Yes, sir.” He moved back to the small group of men holding umbrellas.
Ralph said, “Enough of this introduction crap. It’s time to mount up.” The Taiwanese ambassador to Australia pointed to a container sitting on the pier beside the ship. “Hope you boys brought something to read.”
None of the men groaned; they had all experienced far worse in their professional lives. Volodya said, “Is it too late to ask for a ‘no shipping containers’ clause in my contract?”
Douglas answered, “Sure,we’ll negotiate it on the way over, now get in the bloody box!”
I briefly saw that the container was outfitted with a portable chemical toilet, food, water, and a portable light. That made me feel less guilty for condemning my men to motion-sickness hell.
When the men had all filed in and taken up seats on the floor, I said, “See you all in China.”
Douglas answered, “That you will, sir. Be sure to tip our drivers.”
With that, a Taiwanese crew member closed and bolted the container door.