A third man opened the car door. “Mr. Stans, you’re more than welcome to join Mr. Deng and General Pontowski.” Stans couldn’t believe his good luck and followed Pontowski inside.
Gus was waiting for them on the veranda. “Ah,” he said, standing to greet them. “Mr. Stans, I presume. Your reputation precedes you.” He turned to the two beautiful young women with him. “May I introduce LeeAnn and Cari?” The introductions made, the girls left. Gus came right to the point. “How may I help you?”
“First,” Pontowski said, “the AVG is not getting tasking, and we’re sitting on our thumbs at Alpha while the PLA’s coming straight at us. Use us or we’re going home.”
Gus nodded in acknowledgment. “Ah, yes. The air-task order. That is a problem. Shall we say there are certain factions here who are reluctant to use the AVG for fear of making the situation worse.”
“How can we make it worse?”
“These same factions,” Gus explained, “are hoping for a negotiated settlement.”
“The PLA will negotiate,” Stans said, “when you surrender.”
“Quite so,” Gus said. “I hope to convince these gentlemen that they are misguided.”
“Also,” Pontowski continued, “Kamigami and Sun have a plan to attack the bridges at Bahau.”
“I’ve seen Victor’s message,” Gus said. He smiled at their surprise. “Nothing of significance happens in Singapore without my knowing. I believe a mortar attack will clear the bridges, and it does solve your problem with your ROE. But it also puts the mortar teams at some risk.” He hesitated. “I assume your aircraft can destroy the bridges.”
“In a heartbeat,” Pontowski promised. “But we need clearance from SEAC to launch.”
“The word of your plan will reach the proper ears.” Gus’s face was impassive. “I assume you haven’t solved your problem with fuel supplies at Alpha and that you want to increase your air base defense posture.”
“That’s correct,” Pontowski said, wondering where he got his information. The answer was obvious. “Can I assume that Kamigami and Sun are operating under your personal direction?”
“You may assume that. Perhaps we can discuss your problems over a light supper?” Without waiting for an answer, Gus smiled at the two girls, who were waiting to escort them inside. “Tell me about this man you call ‘the Rock.’”
It was dark when Stans drove Pontowski back to the embassy. “Nieces, my ass,” the CIA agent said under his breath.
“They are beautiful,” Pontowski said.
“Damn good thing you didn’t take him up on the offer to spend the night. One of them would have been waiting for you in bed. That would have put you in his pocket.”
“I figured that one out on my own,” Pontowski said.
A siren started to wail, and Stans pulled over to the side of the road. Two flashes lit the sky, and two dull booms rolled over them in quick succession. Then another flash was followed by another boom. A streak of light reached up from the ground and headed into the sky, only to end in a bright flash and falling debris. “A Patriot missile got that one,” Pontowski said. A much louder explosion rolled over them, shaking the car. “That was way too big for a missile.”
“More like a truck bomb,” Stans muttered. He got out of the car and studied the sky. “Damn. Nothin’s gonna move here for a while. We better walk.” Pontowski got out and followed him down a side street. But it was obvious that Stans was not headed for the embassy. They came to another main road, and Stans pointed to a raging inferno two blocks away. “That was SEAC headquarters.” He snorted. “Gus just blew away the pro-PLA faction in SEAC. That leaves the Young Turks in charge.”
“I’ve met some of them,” Pontowski said. “They want to fight, but will the politicians let them?”
Stans gave him a long look. “That’s always a question.”
Twenty-seven
Tel wanted to warn the lieutenant that they were moving too fast and they had plenty of time. He checked his GPS and confirmed what he already knew. They were in mortar range of the bridge and needed to use the remaining hours of darkness before sunrise to site the mortars and find an LUP, a lying-up point. But the lieutenant pushed ahead, leading the five men past a dark kampong. Tel paused and listened. He had grown up in a very similar kampong and recognized all the signs. It was deserted. He stepped behind a low fence used to corral pigs and relieved himself. A single shot rang out, and loud shouts split the night air. He fell to the ground, and the six mortar shells he was carrying dug into his back.
He slipped out of the shoulder straps, shedding his heavy load, and listened. Sharp commands in Chinese drifted back to him. A shadow moved toward him, and he drew his knife. Then he recognized the corporal whom he was following. “Over here,” he said in a low voice.
The corporal fell down beside him. “The lieutenant walked right into them,” he said.
“How many?” Tel asked. The man held up three fingers. A guard post. Tel made a mental wager that they did not have a radio or telephone. So was the single shot a warning? In the distance he heard the sharp crack of another rifle shot. Or were they dealing with trigger-happy guards afraid of the night? It was time to find out. He checked his MP5, ensuring that the silencer was tightly screwed on. He motioned the corporal to stay where he was, and slipped into the night, moving exactly as Kamigami had taught him. He circled the guard post and listened to the three soldiers decide what to do with their bag.
He inched closer until he could see. The lieutenant was lying on the ground in a pool of blood, and the other three were sitting on the ground, their hands tied behind their backs. One of the soldiers rummaged through their bergens and passed out various items. From the way the two other men grabbed the food bars, it was obvious they hadn’t eaten in some time. The oldest soldier started to argue with the youngest, a teenager, telling him to report back to their sergeant and ask what to do with their three prisoners and the dead lieutenant. The teenager refused to leave until he had finished eating. A kick finally sent him on his way.
Tel followed him, astounded at how easy it was. He slipped up behind the teenager and slit his throat. He held his face down in the soft earth, muffling any gurgling sounds as his life drained away. Tel moved quickly, returning to the guard post. The two soldiers were standing over their prisoners, sharing a pack of cigarettes. Tel shook his head in disgust at their disregard of basic security. He lifted his MP5 and thumbed the select lever to single-shot, then squeezed off two quick rounds. The incredibly smooth bolt action made a light clattering sound, not much louder than the two pops from the silencer. The soldiers fell to the ground. One rolled over on his side, and Tel was on him in a flash, jabbing his knife in an upward motion under the sternum. The man shuddered once and lay still.
Tel moved fast and cut the men free. One of the sergeants started to say something, but Tel cut him off, issuing orders and taking command. Within minutes they had hidden the three bodies and repacked their equipment. Tel scoured the ground until he found the two spent shells and all other traces of their presence were erased. Then he led the team back to the abandoned kampong to join up with the corporal he had left behind. One of the sergeants wanted to abort the mission and leave immediately while they could still move under cover of darkness. “Do you need a lieutenant to fire a mortar?” Tel asked, ending the debate. “We’ve got work to do.”
Again he issued orders, sighting the two mortar tubes and camouflaging their position. Then he selected a tree and climbed into its branches with a radio. It was a good choice. He could see the river and both spans of the bridge. He settled in to wait as the first glow of light split the eastern horizon. He checked his watch — exactly twelve hours to go. He fell asleep.