Covert Commando: A Sam Harper Military Thriller Read online

  "On a buckin' bronco with the rope down to it's last thread." Schnier let out a growl, but then shook his head. Stomped past Michelle. Out the door to get a warning order off to his men.

  Michelle gave me a stare-down. "I mean it. Back in sixteen hours. Don't go playing hero again."

  "When have I ever let you down?"

  I mean, a couple hours on the train. Couple more on the ferry. A while tracking through the jungle. Should be able to get there and back with plenty of time remaining, right?

  Now to download a better map of Lubang Island. Could spend the train ride reviewing likely terrain features.

  Terrorist camp, here I come.

  * * *

  Typical female driving.

  Pahk banged his hand on the PLAN Houbei class missile boat's console. A wave of salt water sprayed across the forward-looking windows.

  Would the PLAN's lady pilot bounce the boat all the way to Lubang? The type 22 was supposed to be a wave piercing stealth design, but surely its camouflage worked better at slower speeds!

  Besides, he needed to read his tablet computer. Her small craft piloting didn't help.

  Pahk scrolled through his messages with one gloved hand. Grabbed onto the boat's console to steady himself with the other.

  Publicly, the Philippine government took credit for driving off a terrorist attack with only minimal casualties. They pronounced the disarmed sergeant in critical condition a national hero.

  Privately, his contacts and Comment Crew's report on their internal security emails showed mass confusion. They didn't actually know who had interfered.

  Comment Crew was pursuing a theory, though. The Americans had various presences in the Philippines.

  What if western imperialists shot at Omar?

  That could change everything. Omar and his entire group, along with their link to Pahk, might quickly become a liability to the Chinese government.

  Liabilities to the Chinese government rarely lasted long. That went double for a man just trying to stay in their good graces long enough to establish a new home for his mother and sister after being disgraced in Korea.

  Unless he could use Comment Crew's information to turn the tables. Flip things on the Americans.

  Set a trap.

  The idea appealed to his own special forces background.

  Pahk replied with a request to analyze every American special operations sniper-capable unit in the region and verify their current location.

  Some group would be missing soldiers. That would tell them who was behind the attack on Omar and what to expect next.

  Knowing your opponent is half the battle, after all.

  * * *

  Larrikowal took a deep breath. Straightened up outside the steel door to the Mayor's Command Center. Smiled at the Philippine National Police (PNP) guard in a powder blue uniform stationed at the entrance.

  CCTV cameras covered all of Manila's streets, mostly hanging from traffic signals. Every public space around the government buildings had them, including public transit.

  Now Larrikowal just needed the images they recorded. The facial recognition records near his crime scenes.

  Normally he'd email a request to the Department of the Interior and Local Government (DILG) and they'd pull the requested video locations and times from their Chinese-financed equipment for him.

  Nothing in the bureaucracy processed fast, but his Special Action Force (SAF) had enough pull to get top priority. They worked cases such as hostage rescue, critical incident response, and attempted political assassinations, after all.

  Not this time.

  They'd refused his request. Not just a delay. Outright refusal!

  Couldn't possibly be a bureaucrat looking for a bribe, could they? From the SAF?

  That would go too far.

  He stared at the guard. "I need to see the camera coordinator."

  A PNP junior sergeant, the guard took in the Captain's rank and his SAF uniform and nodded. Pulled the door open for him.

  Larrikowal strode through the doorway, into a semi-circular room oriented around a giant screen no one watched. It displayed monitoring from the Public Safety Answering Point (all calls answered within four minutes), the DILG (something about utility truck response times), the PNP (a map of current incident locations), the Bureau of Fire Protection (Just a scattering of red dots to indicate flames), and the Bureau of Jail Management (All prison systems nominal).

  Useful for touring politicians, the inhabitants of the room used the two monitors on their desks and ignored the big screen.

  He made his way over to where the bureaucrat who ran the CCTV network sat, conveniently next to a PNP lieutenant designated to coordinate with others in the command center in the event of an actual city-wide emergency.

  The older, ashen-faced man who controlled the camera systems stood as he approached, as if to not be intimidated by Larrikowal's five foot eight inch height. "Captain."

  "So, you know why I'm here. I'm investigating the incident earlier in which assassins critically wounded a PNP. Why don't I already have all relevant video footage available for my team?"

  The PNP lieutenant cocked his head, as if this was the first he'd heard of the denial.

  Mr. CCTV gulped. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's out of my hands. Policy from the Interior Secretary. With the Supreme Court's recent privacy ruling, our privacy department must review all police requests for video. Any which worry them regarding the legalities will need a court order instead of just a request."

  "But we've only requested footage of public spaces? How can there be privacy concerns?"

  "This is the first time I've seen a request denied by them." The bureaucrat shrugged. "You must get an order from the Metropolitan Trial Court before we can release any footage."

  "Well, who's in charge of the privacy department?"

  "Because of the number of requests, they're more like contractors following policy and procedures. We outsource the work to a company the Interior Secretary personally selected."

  Meaning a company who'd paid him off for the lucrative contract. Maybe even another of his Chinese buddies, wrangling their way into the country via investments in key infrastructure functions, like the CCTV network.

  "Where do I need the order delivered?" He'd need to contact the city prosecutor's office. Maybe he could get one of his staff to follow-up on it.

  "They can send it here."

  Larrikowal turned to the PNP lieutenant. "I'll have my staff email you the order as soon as they obtain it. I expect you to hand deliver it to this… gentleman, as soon as it arrives, no matter the time of day."

  "Sir."

  Turning back to face the door, Larrikowal added, "And if you don't want me to arrest you, have the responsive videos ready to transfer to the SAF the moment you get that order. I want every possible camera angle from the nearby streets."

  The bureaucrat's neck and cheeks turned bright red. "I'll protest to the Secretary about this high-handed treatment."

  "You do that."

  Great. All he needed was to make more enemies in the bureaucracy, but this time they'd gone too far.

  Almost as if someone purposefully attempted to delay his investigation.

  Naw.

  He couldn't let paranoia set in. The normal bureaucratic screw-ups were enough to drive an officer mad.

  Chapter Seven: Tracking Behavior

  I needed a better disguise to ride this bus.

  An average Filipino male is four inches over five feet tall. I'm eight inches taller than that.

  Unless they dye their hair, and none of the dozens of men around me on the bus rumbling down the Calatagan-Lian Highway were citified enough to color it, it's brown.

  Not blonde. Not even my dishwater blonde.

  So even in a tourist disguise, complete with oversized baróng shirt to hide the SIG Sauer M17 tucked into a concealment holster under the waistband of my cargo shorts, I stood out in the crowd.

  The bus I rode stopped in front of
Elvan's Bakery. A ramshackle collection of corrugated aluminum panels converted into walls and ceiling.

  They sold small loaves of bread and little juice bottles. Political advertisements plastered the shop's walls.

  Even way out on the western coast, Presidential politics attracted supporters and detractors.

  After a half-a-mile jog down Talisay road, a glorified alley past beach resorts, I reached a hundred-meter long creaking wooden pier with a pair of sailboats anchored inside the bay it created.

  The only ship tied up to the pier in the setting sun was a flat two-story ferry. An outrigger ship with an elevated deck for observation and control.

  Suitable for light ocean work, they tied tires to the front and back to allow it to bump safely up against the dock while loading and unloading.

  Center of the floating dock supported a combination ticket seller and customs shed. A lone security camera viewed the pier itself from atop that shed.

  Not exactly the height of vigilance.

  I ignored the local's stares at the obvious tourist. Waited in line to speak with the clerk working the shed.

  He spoke the Filipino version of Tagalog to everyone else, but tried out his English on me. "Ferry 27 US. Show passport?"

  "How long does the trip take?"

  "Four-hour trip."

  I winced. An enormous chunk of my 16 hours.

  Held out my sat phone, with a zoomed-in photo of the terrorists from the train security camera displayed. "I'm supposed to meet some friends of mine. Have you seen them?"

  He stared at me. Didn't glance at the phone. "You want ticket? Show passport."

  Covert, I needed to avoid any official records of my passport, if possible.

  "Perhaps if I find my friends?"

  He gestured me away angrily. Told the next in line to approach his counter.

  Maybe I should've bribed him, but at least I had one alternative for confirming the terrorist's visit. A bribe would've cemented my request in his mind.

  I walked around to the back of the shed for privacy. Pretended to stare alternately at the anchored boats and my sat phone.

  Stayed out of sight of the ferry and it's mingling passengers.

  Searched for wireless networks. Found the one the shed's camera was on. Cloned the MAC address of its gateway router. Pretended to be the server it was authorized to talk to.

  Dug through its on-board video storage; good for a week. Rolled back to just after the terrorist's train would've dropped them off locally.

  Scanned forward at 4x speed. Watched the crowds ebb and flow across the pier.

  Found the woman's distinctive veil and headscarf. Made it easy to locate Omar nearby.

  Holding her arm. Tugging her along.

  Bingo. Confirmation they'd taken the ferry, rather than hole up locally.

  Even better, which ferry, the early one to Bayan ng Lubang, essential to tracking them on the other side.

  Sent the video I'd found to my MI platoon. Added a note to pass it on to Schnier. It'd reach them over the encrypted network eventually.

  After deleting the camera's video, I tucked my water-resistant/shockproof phone away in a carry pouch. Now, how to get across the water myself without leaving a trace?

  The ferry would depart soon.

  Could find a local to pay off. Get them to buy me a ticket under their passport.

  They'd remember that for sure, though. The tourist who paid extra to not use their passport.

  The type of stories men tell when bored fishing, or at a bar.

  No, that wouldn't work.

  All alone. No one currently in sight. Everyone busy getting ready to push the ferry off the other side of the dock, or gawking at those departing.

  I took three long, deep breaths to store oxygen.

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  Lowered myself into the water beside the dock. A final deep breath to hold.

  Ducked under.

  Warm, clear water streamed past as I swam below the customs shed, under the dock, beneath the ferry.

  Surfaced. Gasped. Hoped the sound went unnoticed.

  Ducked under to swim along the hull.

  Poked my head up below the shadow of the outrigger where it's painted wooden beams met the hull.

  Reached up. Got a grip on a beam. Chose a spot where they'd turned a smaller boat, more like a large canoe, upside-down and laid it across the outrigger beams for storage.

  Pulled myself up onto the outrigger's arm.

  Nestling inside the canoe would hide me until I could decide to either ride the whole four hours concealed, or else sneak over to the deck itself and hope no-one noticed the giant blonde tourist suddenly appearing.

  I really needed a better disguise.

  * * *

  Raven hiked from beneath the jungle canopy to where their dirt trail opened up on a circular rock pond.

  Her favorite part of this bad trip.

  Omar followed her steps toward the thirty-foot waterfall. It splashed down a cliff's edge into the pool.

  Too far out of the way for tourists, the locals periodically came to pick the water lilies, really hyacinths, which covered about a third of the pond with ponderous green leaves.

  Her sociology professor would've been proud of her botanical knowledge, but she needed to become as bold as their tall purple flowers.

  The locals dried the leaves to weave into baskets, matting, rope, or even paper. They'd visit with carts once a month. Swim and harvest a fresh supply of the fast-growing plants.

  Otherwise, everyone knew to leave the waterfall and pool alone.

  Omar passed her on the trail as she gawked. Couldn't help it. This place remained beautiful to her.

  Despite the horrors it hid.

  "Come on." He didn't stop to wait for her.

  She trailed after him. Head held high beneath her head covering and veil.

  The path turned from dirt to rock as they reached the basin's edge. They followed it around the outside curve.

  Another trail worn into the rock continued farther up the mountain's face, but they turned off to the side.

  Climbed across stepping stones behind the waterfall to a cave entrance. Water carved the gap decades before. Out of sight, beyond the crashing flood, they approached a steel door wedged between rock.

  Omar gestured at the door. "You know the story?"

  She did, but also that explaining it improved his mood. "Tell me, wise master."

  "This door, this camp, remains from the Japanese occupation."

  She nodded.

  "During the last World War," he cleared his throat, "a small group of Japanese soldiers, led by an intelligence officer, Hiroo Onoda, were ordered to surrender under no circumstances.

  "They destroyed the airstrip. The pier. Hid in these mountains. Harassed the locals. Didn't believe it when told the war was over by their enemies. Thought it a trick."

  "How long?"

  He spit into the waterfall. One of his nasty habits. "Never captured. A retired Japanese Major, Onoda's commanding officer, returned to properly relieve Onoda of duty in 1974. They fought for 29 years in this jungle."

  "A long time."

  "I keep Onoda's sword to remind us to persevere despite our enemy's claims. If we remain true to Allah, we can easily remain even longer, but we won't need to with our allies."

  He wiped sweat off his brow. Pounded on the steel door. Waited for the guard to open it.

  She needed to cool it. As much as he lived as a rebel terrorist, Omar was the establishment here in their camp. She couldn't let her hang-ups about him stop her from surviving.

  Prevent her from ensuring all the women here lived.

  Really wished she knew how to accomplish that.

  * * *

  Larrikowal leaned back in his desk and stared at the over-sized SAF badge hung on his office wall. An upright scimitar with wings for cross-guards and the motto By Skill And Virtue, We Triumph.

  When he'd completed the Commando Course a
nd gotten his black SAF beret, he never imagined he'd be here behind a desk as a Captain.

  At least he still got out of the office regularly as the scene commander and for their high-profile assignments. Wasn't a pure desk-jockey just yet, no matter how much Sheila would prefer that role for him.

  His computer chimed with a new message.

  Court order delivered, his team worked the video feeds. Searched for anyone suspicious near the crime scenes.

  Found video of two tall military age white men. One blonde, the other red-haired. Military short hair.

  Conspicuous. Carried black luggage. Waited to cross the street.

  Just outside the skyscraper. Timed just before the assault team arrived.

  The men who'd fired at the assassins?

  His team submitted a follow-up request for more video. For tracking them to their source and destination. Using facial recognition to follow them anywhere they'd been in the country. Identify any vehicles they'd used.

  The SAF would find them.

  Chapter Eight: Tracking Enemies

  My outrigger ferry rammed itself to a stop by planting its bow into the sand next to Tilik Seaport.

  Apparently, they didn't believe in docks on Lubang island ferry runs, despite the nearby perfectly good concrete pier run by the port authority.

  Maybe they charged extra for its use?

  A seawall rose above the beach to protect a ramshackle collection of homes from errant storm waves. Each home also contributed a glass-shard-topped security wall around its yard for additional protection from seaside invaders.

  Four locals dragged a boarding ramp on puffy sand-tires across the beach. Labor must be cheap.

  The legal passengers crowded forward to be the first to depart.

  A pair of customs officers in light-blue uniforms followed the ramp. One checked paperwork as each local descended from the boat while the other supervised the procedure.

  Could tell he was in charge by the way he ignored the work and by the relative size of his belly.

  I'd need another path.

  Easing my way from under the canoe lashed to the outrigger beams, I lowered myself like a jungle cat into the water.

  Warm. Comfortable. A home away from home.

  The supervising official must've caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He pointed.