practiced ease as a sailor in dungarees caught the line tossed by a man standing in the bows. The diesels throttled back to a low, rumbling idle, and the mike boat bumped gently against the float.
The ladder between the float and the fantail twenty feet above had wheels which allowed its lower end to roll freely with the movements of the water.
Waves generated by passing boats in Sattahip Bay set the wheels to squeaking madly from time to time, the sound interspersed with the hollow thump of the tires secured to the floating pier as bumpers colliding with Jefferson's hull.
Tombstone trotted up the nearly vertical ladder and swung onto the fantail.
He saluted the colors, then turned and saluted the officer of the deck.
'Request permission to come aboard.'
'Granted,' the OOD replied, returning the salute. 'Welcome aboard, sir.'
The head of a line of men in civilian clothing and orange life jackets stood nearby, the line itself extending back into the long passageway which connected the fantail with the hangar deck. A chief was addressing them in fatherly tones, warning them that the district known as Klong Toey, famous as a rough waterfront strip in Bangkok, was strictly off-limits to all Navy personnel. Tombstone started to move past them and into the passageway when someone called him.
'Stoney! Hey, Tombstone!'
He turned and saw Fred Garrison. The aviator had been off to one side of the fantail deck, apparently chatting with the camo-clad Marine at the.50 caliber machine gun which was mounted on the railing as a security measure when the Jefferson was in port. 'Army!' Tombstone said, using Garrison's running name. 'How's it going?'
Garrison removed his aviator's sunglasses and jerked his head toward the passageway. 'C'mon inside, Skipper. I gotta talk to you.'
Past the machine shops, the passageway opened into the hangar deck. A number of Jefferson's boats and small craft were stored on cradles at the aft end of the tWO-acre cavern. Garrison led Tombstone to an out-of- the-way corner of clear deck space next to the Captain's launch.
'I had to talk to you before you heard it on the bush,' he said. The bush telegraph was slang for the unofficial lines of shipboard rumor and information and was widely regarded as faster and more authoritative than official channels.
'What is it?' Tombstone didn't like the expression on Garrison's face.
That look, mingled worry and sadness, generally meant bad news.
'It's Batman and Malibu,' Garrison said. 'They're down. Shot down by MiGs.'
Tombstone's eyes widened. 'Oh, God! Were there chutes?'
He shrugged. 'Price and Zig-Zag made it back and trapped a few hours ago. They're still getting debriefed. The word is that the Batman and Malibu were out of sight when they went in. No sign of chutes, no SAR radio contact… but that could just mean they were too far away.' He hesitated before adding, 'There's a hold on SAR ops up there. Something about problems coordinating with the Thais. I'm sorry, Tombstone. But I thought you'd want to hear it straight.'
'Yeah.' Tombstone nodded. 'Yeah, thanks.'
Batman and Malibu down… attacked while flying the mission Tombstone was supposed to have been on.
'You okay, Skipper?' Army was watching him closely.
'I'm fine.' Tombstone kept his voice level. 'No problem. Where's CAG?'
'Ashore.'
'What? Where, Sattahip?'
'Better than that. Bangkok. With the admiral and most of both staffs.
They flew in by helo with their war paint on.'
Coordinating with the That military over what to do about the incident, no doubt. Would there be a rescue effort, he wondered, or were Batman and Malibu going to be left on their own?
Garrison seemed to sense the fire in Tombstone's eye. 'Look,' he added.
'I'm sure everything possible's being done for our guys…'
'Yeah,' Tombstone said. He turned to leave. 'Right. I'll grab CAG when he's back aboard.'
'Where you heading, Skipper?'
'Up to the ready room. After that I'll be in my quarters if you need me.'
He walked away without another word.
General Hsiao entered the warehouse as his chauffeur held the door wide.
The building was located in a run-down section of Bangkok's waterfront district, a dilapidated, rust-streaked collection of warehouses and storage sheds off At Narang Road. Hsiao strode down passageways formed by stacked crates and wooden pallets. A That shipping company, itself owned by Hsiao's agents, had bought the warehouse the year before, and it served well as headquarters and meeting place, out of the public eye.
His office was a plasterboard cubicle in the back, equipped with desk, telephone, and a single chair. It was illuminated by a single bulb hanging on its cord from the ceiling. A teenager armed with an AK-47 performed a crude approximation of snapping to attention as Hsiao opened the door and went inside.
'Phreng!' Hsiao called. 'Phreng, where are you?'
A dark-skinned That civilian with a jagged white scar down the left side of his face appeared in the doorway moments later. 'General Hsiao,' he said without expression, 'We were not expecting you to return so soon.'
Hsiao stared back at the man, assessing him. Phreng Kitikachom had been a minor gangster, one of Bangkok's medium-level providers of heroin and raw opium, until Hsiao had taken him into his growing organization ? Never much more than a petty thug, Phreng and the criminal contacts he maintained throughout the city nonetheless had proven useful as Hsiao assembled the intricacies of Sheng li. There were times when Hsiao needed such contacts, times such as this, which was why he'd kept Phreng on the payroll.
'Things are moving more quickly than we anticipated,' Hsiao said. 'It appears that the Americans will soon be involved.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I need several American sailors, men off the carrier now at Sattahip.
Bangkok should be full of them tonight… especially Patpong.'
'Yes, sir.' There was the faintest tug at the corner of the That's mouth. 'My girls have been busy already.'
'Yes.' Among his other enterprises, Hsiao knew, Phreng ran a string of girls in the sex and sin district called Patpong. He shifted to English, which Phreng understood. 'Perhaps you can put them to good use tonight. I need two or three men from that carrier. They should work in radar, in flight operations, or in the carrier's air traffic control center.' He pronounced the words carefully, and made Phreng repeat them back before shifting back to That. 'Tell your people, quickly.'
'There is urgency in this, sir?'
Hsiao nodded. 'There is. I am not sure what the Americans' reaction to the loss of one of their planes will be. It is possible that they will recall their people in Bangkok back to the ship. We must capture the men I need before that happens.'
'It will be done, sir. Where do you want them?'
'Here. We will use the rooms downstairs. Go, now.'
Phreng gave a perfunctory wai and departed.
Hsiao thought for a moment. It was late, well past normal office hours, but Sword might well be at his desk despite the hour. With things about to break at U Feng, the agent would be working to prepare things for his role in the coming drama. Hsiao picked up the phone. Dialing a number, he asked to be connected with a particular extension. 'Is Den Phitsanuk there, please?'
he asked when a familiar voice answered.
There was a long silence. 'Den is visiting family in Chiang Mai,' the man at the other end replied. Question and response were code phrases, identifying each speaker to the other and verifying that there were no eavesdroppers on either end.
