Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (dark books to read TXT) 📕

coral channels that led to Neiafu’s public wharf. From there, the Tongan Marines had herded the crew on foot, marching them down the crushed-coral Kovana Road to the combined courthouse and city jail. Since then, no one had even visited the prisoners, much less attempted to interrogate them. There was no offer of legal counsel or an opportunity to communicate with the US Embassy in Fiji. It was as if they were totally forgotten.

“I know it was like five a.m. on a Saturday in LA when I sent out the message about what was going on,” Bix complained. “But you would think someone would have gotten the word by now.”

Smith leaned on the bars separating the cells, mostly watching for the little man who brought them meals in the form of cold microwave dinners stacked on a little pushcart. And who refused to engage in any conversation whatsoever.

“Maybe they have, Bill,” Smith said. “There’s no way for us to know what might be going on out there. At least until the cavalry arrives to bust us out. That could take a bit. They have to find out where we are first. Jump through some diplomatic hoops, I imagine. Then put a plan together. We need to have patience.”

Bix gave a half smile.

“I’d feel better if our hosts didn’t know about that geyser of money down there. That kind of thing could make otherwise sane people...” Bix stopped and looked at the two drunks in the cell across the way. They both seemed lost in deep sleep, though, in an effort to outlast their hangovers. “Well, providing they leave our vessel tied up down on the wharf, finding us should be the easy part. I left the AIS energized so she will show up on any AIS receiver that is looking.”

The AIS—or Automatic Identification System—consisted of automatic transceivers carried on ships that constantly broadcast their position, course, and speed. The information was captured by other AIS receivers to aid in collision avoidance or search-and-rescue at sea.

While the two were talking, they heard footsteps entering the cell block. Finally, undercooked Salisbury steaks and half-frozen mashed potatoes, but at least it was sustenance.

However, it was not the little jailer with dinner. It was a young man dressed in a dark blue tupenu, the Tongan knee-length wraparound sarong, and a light blue, button-down, short-sleeved shirt. He was obviously attired for business.

The man stopped in front of Rex Smith’s cell and introduced himself. Clearly, he was aware of who their prisoners were, though no one had requested identification from them.

“Doctor Smith, I am Ahio Evaipomama. I am from His Majesty’s Ministry of Justice and represent the Lord Chancellor’s Office.” The man’s clipped British accent and official brusqueness screamed “bureaucrat,” even if his demeanor was calm and cordial enough. “You and your crew have been charged under Tongan statutes with violation of Tongan sovereign territory, attempted theft of Tongan natural resources, violation of the Customs and Excise Management Act of 2020, violation of the Minerals Act of 1949, and possibly other statutes. We are still researching the extent of your numerous crimes against the people of our nation.”

Smith frowned as he listened. This was obviously all a set-up, a ruse to take his ship. At best, they were going to hold the ship and crew for what amounted to a ransom. At worst, they would stop at nothing to stake their claim on what Smith and his crew had discovered in the deep water out there.

“I demand to see the US ambassador,” Smith told him. “You can’t hold us here like this on such trumped-up...”

“Oh, Dr. Smith, we most certainly can. And we will. We are a very long way from the US and in a very out-of-the-way part of the world. And we have long and painful experiences with colonialism perpetrated by the US and European powers. Our government, on behalf of our people, has vowed to no longer tolerate such.” Ahio Evaipomama paused and smiled quite insincerely. “As you likely are aware, the US Embassy is on Fiji. It will take some time to notify them through the proper channels and then for a representative to journey here. In the meantime, I suggest that you make yourselves comfortable.” He glanced around the cell block before adding, “Or at least as comfortable as the accommodations allow.”

“And how about the female members of our crew?” Smith asked.

“Be assured they are being well cared for. Or at least as well as any other felons would be as they await justice.”

With that, the Tongan bureaucrat turned on his heels and briskly left the cell block.

Ψ

Yon Hun Glo stood in the back corner of Wushiwu’s control room and watched as Captain Liu Zhang surfaced the submarine. It was only one of the things he missed about no longer being in direct command of such a wondrous vessel. Even now, proud as he was of his lofty position in PLAN’s submarine service, he had to resist the impulse to take charge of the boat, to correct the captain when he did not do things precisely as Yon would have, to reprimand a crewmember who did not perform his duties as Yon believed he should.

The long trek from Hainan to Tongatapu was almost over. The lang qun now steamed in a slow circle a couple of miles to the north and east of ‘Eueiki Island, waiting for darkness. Yon Hun Glo knew that transiting the narrow Avi Piha channel at night would be dangerous, but it was well worth the risk. He was convinced that they had managed to make the entire voyage without the American Navy being any the wiser. To risk being seen by one of their satellites during the last couple of miles of the transit would be foolish.

The sun was an hour below the western horizon when four black monsters slowly emerged from the watery deep. They formed a line astern with Wushiwu in the lead as they steamed past the coral bluffs of little ‘Eueiki Island.