Target Lock

Task Force Commander’s Quarters, USS Evans F. Carlson 0330 Hours, Zone Time: August 24, 2008

Admiral Elliot MacIntyre paced the length of the office cabin and back, a path he’d repeated a good hundred times or more already that night. He had come to this cabin to think. This had seemed the place for it. As Amanda Garrett was at the center of this conflict, it seemed right to do his own planning here in the space marked with her lingering aura.

A hundred times also he mentally replayed his conversation with Harconan, those carefully guarded words that implied so much but gave away so little.

Harconan had her. There was no question. Just as there was no doubt he had the INDASAT. They knew where. Even in captivity Amanda had managed to point an arrow dead on at the enemy complex. But the fix on Amanda, on the satellite, and on the proof Harconan had stolen them both, was transitory. Within days, if not hours, it would melt away, leaving them nothing once more. If Harconan was to be stopped, it had to be done now.

MacIntyre had the assets in place to do the job. Also, Harconan could have no idea his security had been breached. The raid itself would provide all the evidence needed to justify the attack and to convict the raja samudra in the eyes of Indonesia and the world.

There was one problem, a problem that should, by rights, be insignificant if not flatly irrelevant to the equation: the life of a single hostage American naval officer. The life of Amanda Lee Garrett.

Harconan’s implication was clear. Take any further action against the Bugis cartel and Amanda’s life was forfeit. Oddly enough, the probable intent of his threat wasn’t to directly shield himself or his cartel; it was merely to force the Sea Fighter Task Force out of his waters so he could move his INDASAT prize safely. Harconan himself had no idea that it served as a double-edged dagger.

MacIntyre paused in his pacing. Why the hell not simply back off? With the departure point known, it would be easy enough to use satellite and drone recon to track the ship carrying the INDASAT to whatever destination Harconan intended. Try for the takeout later, under more controlled circumstances.

MacIntyre grimaced. Nice sophistry, Eddie Mac. Let somebody else make the blood call. The only problem is, we have all of the pieces now! We can end it now! We can move in and take incontrovertible evidence while it’s aboard one of Harconan’s own ships. Let this strike window close, and this tactical setup might never come together again.

All that was required was for MacIntyre to say Amanda Lee Garrett had to take her chances like any other member of the United States Armed Forces.

And, to his despair, he found that he couldn’t.

He imagined Amanda standing before him. He could visualize the stark fury in her eyes at even the suggestion the task force back off for her sake. He could hear the angered scorn in her voice and feel the sting of the enraged slap that, difference in rank or not, would have been delivered.

His fists clenched. God damn you, Amanda, I’m not holding back for your sake! I’m holding back for mine! Because I’m an old fool who’s performed the cardinal sin of falling in love with you and I can’t make myself throw your life away!

MacIntyre stood rigid with the biting self-confession.

He loved Amanda Garrett. He’d loved her for some time now, all without a touch of her hand or a solitary kiss or the slightest hint of reciprocation on her part.

He acknowledged all of the clumsy attempts at self-rationalization, the childish anger he had felt when he had seen Amanda with Harconan. His recall of feelings he’d thought lost forever with the death of his wife…

What did the name Amanda mean? Worthy of being loved, wasn’t that it? He had never expected to find anyone like that in his world again. He had told himself he was content with his children and his duty and that was all he needed.

He looked around at the picture of the amber-haired little girl and the toy boat on the cabin bulkhead. That little girl had grown up and had shown him he was a liar.

And suddenly, with the confession, there also came clarity of thought, as if a pressure had been released, allowing a subtle distortion to snap out of his worldview.

He loved Amanda Garrett. Live with it. Work with it. Stop mully-gutsing over the fact, accept it, and get on with your job.

In his mind, Amanda still stood before him, only now she smiled, that wry, knowing smile MacIntyre had come to know and treasure. If I’m giving you problems, Elliot, imagine what I’m doing to Harconan, the poor devil.

MacIntyre’s fists unclenched.

Deliberately, MacIntyre recalled the way Harconan had studied Amanda the times he had seen them together. He considered the ways Harconan had used to gather her in — the way he was keeping her near him now. He imagined how any man might feel having lain beside her even for a single night.

His eyes narrowed and he smiled back at Amanda’s specter, as understanding came.

Execution, my ass! You aren’t a hostage, my dear. You’re a prize!

Turning, MacIntyre crossed to the pitcher of ice water on the cabin sideboard and drank two glasses with deliberate relish. Refreshed, he sank into the chair behind the desk. He started to boot up the computer terminal, then impatiently passed on the notion. Rummaging through a drawer, he found an unused notebook and a pen. Flipping the notebook open, he began to jot down the initial parameters of an operations plan.

MacIntyre grinned as he wrote. He wouldn’t be throwing Amanda’s life away, merely his own career. He found that a trade worth making.

Twenty pages of the notebook had been filled when a light knock sounded on the door. MacIntyre glanced up and found a sunrise flaming in the cabin portholes.

“Enter.”

Christine Rendino entered the office space. Her eyes were reddened with crying and shadowed with sleeplessness, but the new wash khakis she wore were pressed and immaculate, as was the parade rest she assumed as she stood before the desk. For one of the few times MacIntyre could remember, she looked every inch the naval officer.

“Sir,” she said crisply, “request permission to speak freely with the Admiral.”

MacIntyre set his pen aside and nodded. “Granted, Commander.”

Christine moistened her lips. “Sir, I’d like to talk to you about the operations group coming up this morning. There’s a factor that might be a little hard to go into in the open planning session.”

“What factor is that, Chris?”

“It relates to Captain Garrett’s hostage status and how it must not be taken into consideration except as a subject for a rescue operation. I have reason to believe her life may not be as much at risk as Harconan is claiming. However, I also believe that any negotiated release will also be impossible.”

Christine’s stiff-spine discipline began to weaken with the growing intensity of her words. “Admiral, we have to get her out before Harconan can do a vanishing act with her. Once he gets her off New Guinea and out into the ten thousand hiding places he has in the archipelago, we’re never going see her again. For… various reasons, he’s not going to let her go — ever.”

“And that’s your professional assessment, Commander?”

Christine took an unsteady breath. “Yes, sir, it is. My assessment is that Harconan does not intend to release Amanda. For Harconan, there are personal factors involved beyond Amanda’s hostage value. Her life, as she has known it, is going to end if we don’t get her our of there. What happens to her next, whatever you want to call it — captivity, slavery, a forced, bonded relationship, hell, marriage, I don’t know — is not going to be in any kind of her best interests.”

MacIntyre tilted his chair back, studying the intel. “Chris, I think I understand the grounds for your assessment. It so happens I agree with them fully and I’ve already taken them into consideration. There’s just one final question I need answered before we proceed beyond this point. I need it answered by Amanda’s closest friend, and I need to ask it as someone who isn’t her commanding officer.”

Christine smiled faintly. “Understood, Admiral, sir.”

“Think about this one carefully, Chris. What about the possibility that Amanda might want her life, as she and we have known it, to end. Is there any chance she might not want us to get her out?”

Christine looked startled “You mean, like she’s turned? That she might actually want to stay with Harconan?”

“As the saying goes, ‘Could she have been seduced by the dark side of the Force?’ It has to be asked, Chris. And I have to ask it of you.”

The intel looked away. MacIntyre said nothing, giving her a chance to work on it. When she turned back, her mouth was set. “Admiral, for as long as I’ve known Amanda Garrett, the job and her people have always come first and she’s put herself second — her wants, her needs, what’s best for her, all secondary. The thing is, that’s been the way she’s wanted it. Makara Harconan could offer her an awful lot. But it would all be for her and to hell with the rest of the world. Amanda doesn’t work that way. She never has. She never could.”

MacIntyre smiled. “We concur again, Chris. I just wanted to make sure.”

“We’re going in after her, sir? We’re going to get her out?”

“Too damn right we are.” MacIntyre tapped his notepad. “We’re going to collect Amanda and that damn satellite both. And, as your generation puts it, we are going to kick some serious pirate butt while we’re about it.”

Christine looked away again, but only for a few seconds. When she looked back, her eyes were wet. “Sir, can I ask you to do something very irregular for a junior officer.”

“Why not?” MacIntyre mused. “Compared to what we’re going to do, it couldn’t be all that strange.”

“Then stand up a second, sir.”

MacIntyre did, puzzled. Christine circled the desk and slipped her arms around his neck, locking him up in a fierce hug, brushing away a tear on the front of his shirt.

MacIntyre patted her lightly on the back as he would his daughter. “It’s all right, Chris. I understand. Go give the mess steward a call and order us a breakfast. A big one.”

The meal was delivered and eaten at the desk while the intel and the admiral started walking through yet another tactical assessment.

“Beyond our knowledge of the existence of Crab’s Claw, Harconan’s infatuation with Amanda is possibly our one greatest advantage,” MacIntyre commented, finishing a last piece of toast.

“How’s that work, sir?” Christine inquired.

“It means we’re guaranteed a window of opportunity. While Harconan may be holding Amanda prisoner, we likely don’t have a sword-of Damocles scenario. She’s probably not going to be sitting there wired to five pounds of Semtex. No doubt Harconan will be quite willing to use her as a shield and a bargaining chip for his own survival, but her death is not going to be ordered casually or automatically in the advent of an attack. I’ll give him that much. We can exploit this if we can get a large enough force inside his base fast enough.”

“Fa’ sure, that’s going to be the trick, Admiral,” Christine said, setting aside her coffee cup. “The Japanese knew what they were doing when they dug in at Crab Claw. I’ve been networking with the unit tactical groups all night, and so far no one’s been able to come up with a valid concept for a fast entry.”

“I have.” MacIntyre ran a blunt fingertip along the curving reach of water between the blades of the claw. “The frontal assault through the inlet.”

“Uh, sir, even Steamer Lane is real iffy on that one, and usually he’s sure his Sea Fighters can beat the world. To make that frontal assault work, we’d have to stand off and really rake the place to suppress the defenses. Everyone agrees that would be too slow for a hostage takedown. Amanda would have a kris at her throat by the time we could get in there.”

“Not necessarily. I think we can make this thing work. We just have to invoke one of Amanda’s pet doctrines. We have to turn our enemy’s advantages back against him.”

MacIntyre rose from behind the desk and paced out into the office space, his thumbs hooked into the corners of his pants pockets. “For example, the Japanese fortifications. Now, the safe assumption is that Harconan’s core personnel, the INDASAT, and Amanda are all underground in the sub pen’s tunnel and bunker complex, right?”

Christine considered for a moment. “Yeah, I’d say so. That would give them both maximum concealment and the most livable environment for a non-New Guinea native.”

“Thus they’re going to be safe under several dozen feet of concrete and lava rock, pretty much permitting us to go crazy topside on the surface of the peninsula. We might have to worry about something on the scale of a Daisy Cutter, but anything the task force can throw shouldn’t affect the deep tunnels. Once we get our assault team inside the sub pen, we’ll be able to isolate the landward entrances with gun and air power, preventing reinforcement from the surface reaching the complex.”

“Yes, sir, that would work, but that still leaves us with the problem of getting inside in the first place. That’s the hard part.”

“As I said, not necessarily.” MacIntyre looked back at the intel, an odd smile on his face. “It just requires a degree of… unconventional thinking.”

Christine hesitated. “Sir, I’ve been here before with Amanda, and yeah, you’re scaring the hell out of me too. How unconventional are we talking about?”

“Saint-Nazaire, Chris. The Campbeltown and Saint-Nazaire.”

Christine applied her eidetic memory, flicking back through military history for a match for the names. When she came up with them, her eyes widened. “Oh, shit, sir. Oh, holy shit!”

MacIntyre shrugged. “It should work.”

“Yeah, but… where are we going to get a spare destroyer from? I mean… you weren’t going to use the Duke, were you?”

“Oh, no, I never considered that.” MacIntyre strolled across to one of the cabin ports and peered astern toward the Indonesian frigate doggedly trudging in the wake of the task force. “I thought that instead we might… borrow one.”

“Oh, my god…!” Christine clapped her hands over her mouth, muffling her exclamation.

Maclntyre’s grin had grown, a bold, reckless, and somehow youthful cast coming to it, vastly different than anything Christine Rendino had ever seen before. “That’s how we also turn Harconan’s Indonesian navy contacts back on him,” he continued. “As we move in on Crab’s Claw, our erstwhile shadower will be transmitting a series of false position reports that indicate we’re buying the hostage package and that the task force is getting the hell out of Dodge. That ought to work. Shouldn’t it?”

When Christine lowered her hands, she was grinning as well. “Yes, Admiral, sir, it should work just fine, and afterwards they are gonna throw our asses in Leavenworth for the next three hundred years.” She put emphasis on the our.

“Very likely, Chris,” MacIntyre acknowledged, shoving his hands all the way into his pockets. “But if Amanda’s there to testify at our court martial, won’t it be worth it?”

For the second time in his career, Eddie Mac MacIntyre earned himself a fierce hug around the neck from a junior officer.