Thorpe's Candle

ISLAND OF BLOOD

After refueling at a secluded airfield outside Caracas, the small, unmarked cargo plane transported Captain Rees and his Rangers along with Gates across the Venezuelan border into Colombia. Skirting the eastern foothills of the Andes, the plane landed on an abandoned jungle airstrip ten kilometers north of Lake Guatavita near the small town of Sesquile.

Dressed in camouflage and using night-vision goggles, Gates and the ten-man Ranger infiltration team slipped silently through the thick forest. They avoided the few remote farms and villages along the trail leading to the lake.

Gates wondered if the real enemy was the jungle itself. Waves of insects, like tiny kamikaze pilots, buzzed around him as the group moved through the night under a moonless sky. Maintaining a steady pace, the men rarely paused to rest.

Amplified by his night-vision goggles, the jungle took on a strange alien-like appearance. Gates remembered what he didn’t like about this place from the last time he was here ten years ago searching for Indian artifacts. The days were hot, the nights heavy and oppressive, and the bugs were everywhere. Welcome back, he thought, feeling the sweat forming rivulets down his spine.

He wondered about Skyler. Was he still on the sub or somewhere in Colombia? Maybe even already at The Keep? He would do anything to help him — a friend he treasured with his own life. He tried not to think of the worst.

Gates watched Rees and the small group move silently along the jungle path. Even though they had butted heads at the start, Rees was obviously a professional with only one thing on his mind — the success of the mission. Although Rees kept a watchful eye on Gates, little was said between them since the mission started. Rees’orders to everyone were straightforward and clear-cut. His team members displayed a genuine respect for the captain and carried out his commands without hesitation. They were trained well and eager for action.

The soldier in the lead held up his arm and formed a tight fist. The group froze, their weapons ready. Then the soldier flicked on a small spotlight and aimed it at a point a few dozen meters ahead. Its beam reflected back two laser-red dots. Gates held his breath, waiting. But it took only an instant for the predator to realize it was outmatched. With a blink, the two dots disappeared as the jaguar bounded away into the night.

Giving the big cat a moment to distance itself, the lead soldier made a quick gesture and the group moved on. Gates knew that predators of the four-legged kind would be the least of their problems.

It was just past midnight when they came to the valley entrance leading to The Keep.

General Cho stood on the bridge of the Sunan as the freighter passed through the Cristobal breakwater. He watched Limon Bay disappear into the setting sun. They had made the nine-hour journey through the Panama Canal without attracting attention. The harbor pilot had received $10,000 in advance to ask no questions.

As the sky darkened, the General watched his commando unit emerge from below. They wandered out onto the decks to take in the fresh sea air, after being cooped up in secret cargo compartments since the ship approached the western coast of Panama. Soon, they would start their final preparation for the assault on the lab. Before heading below decks for dinner, the General glanced up into the star-filled sky one last time.

Four hundred kilometers overhead the photo surveillance satellite aimed its infrared high-resolution camera and recorded a series of digital images. A few seconds later, the Korean general’s face appeared on a video monitor in the image analysis section of the National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland.

“Pablo Escandoza has declared war on the United States,” Buck Stone said.

The President looked at the Secretary of Defense and then around the conference table at the directors of the DoD, CIA, NSA, and FBI, their assistants, and General Mitchell Greer, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The two-dozen members of the National Crisis Team met deep below the main levels of the White House in the Crisis Command Center.

“How many were on the Orlando?” the President asked.

“One hundred and twenty-nine including thirteen officers,” Stone replied.

“Survivors?”

Stone stared back with a bleak expression.

The Secretary of the Navy glanced up from his notes before continuing to write on a legal pad. “A second vessel was also destroyed,” said Lancaster.

“We believe it was a commercial vessel of some sort, not military,” Stone said.

“Where is the sub now, Tom?”

“Mr. President,” Lancaster said, “I’m afraid we’ve lost the target.”

The President removed his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. “This has gone way beyond a simple matter of dealing with a Colombian drug lord and his cocaine smuggling operation. We’ve lost the lives of over a hundred patriots and one of our most advanced warships. National security is at stake. Appropriate action must be taken.”

“Mr. President,” White House Chief of Staff, Nathan Templeton said. “Before any firm decisions are made, we must address the question of the North Korean involvement.” He nodded to Allen Grant.

A wall-mounted video monitor displayed an overhead view of a ship underway in the open waters of the Caribbean. The President could see a few dozen men standing around an exposed area of the ship’s forward deck.

The director of the CIA pointed a remote control at the monitor and the image changed to a fuzzy shot of a man’s face looking up into the camera. “That is General Cho Dal-Yun,” Grant said. “General Cho commands the First Shock Army of North Korea. He is also personal confidant and adviser to the General Secretary. Cho is the primary contact between the General Secretary and Pablo Escandoza.”

Grant aimed the remote again and the monitor changed to an infrared image of the ship. The enhanced photo showed figures of the men on the deck.

“When was this taken, Allen?” The President saw that they all wore military uniforms and carried weapons.

“Six hours ago, Mr. President. The vessel is the Sunan, a freighter registered in Thailand to a shipping company with strong connections to North Korea. The Sunan passed through the Panama Canal just before sunset and headed north into the Caribbean Sea.”

“Away from Colombia?”

“Yes, sir,” Grant said.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does, sir, if they’ve moved the korium lab to someplace offshore,” said Buck Stone.

“Any predictions on its next port of call?” the President asked.

“Nothing definite,” Grant said and clicked the remote again. A map appeared showing a series of islands in the shape of a crescent moon. “But we can assume that if Escandoza has moved the lab, it would be to someplace remote — an island with little or no population or shipping traffic. The best choice is this archipelago lying about 700 kilometers northwest of the Colombian mainland. It happens to be Colombia’s territory and is made up of two main groups of islands. The southern one is the largest and is called Isla de San Andres. And the northern one is Isla de Providencia. There are several other islands in the group scattered over a large area. Most are volcanic in origin and are covered with mountains, thick rain forests, and rocky beaches. They’ve supported inhabitants down through the centuries but most are currently unpopulated. We believe one of them is the destination of the Sunan and the possible location of the korium lab.”

“Why do you think they would move the lab?”

“Probably to throw off the Koreans, Mr. President,” Grant said. “Looks like it didn’t work.”

“Plus,” Thomas Lancaster added, “they need a place to dock the sub and unload the korium. A place that’s isolated, private, and almost invisible.”

The President tapped a pencil on his notepad. “Is the Nimitz and her support group still off the North Korean coast?”

“No, sir,” Lancaster said. “She moved off station three days ago.”

“Then turn her around. Bring her back. Start some maneuvers to send an obvious signal to North Korea. If they want trouble, we’ll be glad to oblige. In the meantime, aim every surveillance resource we’ve got at that island. If a coconut drops, I want to know before it hits the ground. And this matter of the Korean freighter with Cho on board. Alert the Fourth Fleet commander. Have his closest warships steam at full speed to intercept the Sunan. Stop and board. If they resist, put her on the bottom.”

“North Korea will raise holy hell, sir,” Grant said.

“Do I look like I care?”

“What about informing our allies, sir?” Templeton asked.

“Let them know we intend to take appropriate action to put a stop to this madman.” The President turned to General Mitchell Greer. “What about the insertion team?”

“Yes, sir. They’re on the ground now — their last report stated that they had made entry into the underground portion of Escandoza’s stronghold and found it deserted. No personnel and no lab equipment. Looks like the drug lord and the technicians made a quick exit. We have to assume they were tipped off.”

“Or they had already planned on moving long before we got there.”

Greer nodded.

“The OceanQuest man? The one that liked beer. He’s with them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what about Matt Skyler?”

“Still no word, sir,” Greer said.

He turned to Grant. “Allen, which one of the islands would you pick as the best choice for the lab?”

“This one, sir.” Grant aimed a laser pointer at the map.

“Contact the insertion team immediately. Fill them in on the latest intelligence. Get them a fast extraction and point them in the direction of that island.” As everyone started to rise, he asked, “What is it called?”

“Isla de Sangre, sir — Island of Blood.”