Mike Maden - Drone Command

“Anything broken?”

“No.”

“How about a belt?” The corpsman pulled a silver flask from his coat and held it up.

“Don’t tempt me.”

The corpsman pocketed the flask and pressed two fingers on Pearce’s inner wrist, feeling for a pulse, counting the beats while staring at his watch.

“How badly did they beat you?” Myers asked.

“I’ve had worse, believe me. I’m fine, really.”

“Heart rate is good,” the corpsman said. “They hit you with anything? Electric shock? Any wounds?”

“Just my ego. Honestly, I’m fine.”

The corpsman closed up his kit. “I’d like to get you to the base clinic for a full exam or even the local hospital if you’d prefer.”

“All I need is that shower. Maybe a steak, medium rare.” Pearce stood and stretched, working out the kinks.

“I’m filing a formal protest with my counterpart in Beijing first thing in the morning,” the ambassador said. “Lot of good it will do.”

“Does Lane know I’m back?” Pearce asked.

The ambassador nodded. “Called him the moment your plane landed.”

Pearce looked at Myers. “How’d you get me out of there?”

“Called a friend of yours. She was very persuasive.” Myers didn’t know the ambassador well. Even if she did, she didn’t want to admit to an official in the Lane administration that she’d instigated the kidnapping of a Chinese national on German territory by an Israeli secret agent. “I’ll fill in the details later.”

Myers turned to the corpsman and the ambassador. “I need a moment, please.” They both nodded and stepped away per their prior arrangement. When they were out of earshot, Myers took one of Pearce’s hands in hers.

“I’m okay, really,” Pearce said, smiling through the pain. Myers loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled up when he smiled like that.

“Troy, I’ve got some bad news.”

Pearce’s smile disappeared. “What?”

“It’s your friend, Kenji Yamada.”

The young Japanese medical examiner carefully pulled open the refrigerated stainless-steel drawer and stepped quietly back.

Pearce took a deep breath. He pulled back the crisp white sheet. His blood pressure plunged. It felt like the floor was falling out from beneath his feet.

His old friend Kenji Yamada lay there, his pale, bearded face oddly serene, his body butchered. Yamada’s corpse had been cleaned after the examination but not repaired. What remained of it was ghostly pale from blood loss, almost blue. Giant gashes had sliced him open across the chest and stomach. His left arm was practically severed just above the elbow, barely connected by a skein of milky white tendons, badly frayed. Most of the meat was missing from both thighs, exposing white shattered bone. After years in combat, Pearce had seen worse — some of it inflicted by him. But Kenji loved life and living things more than anyone else he’d ever known. Seeing his mangled corpse numbed Pearce to the quick.

“The cause of death appears to be a massive blow to the back of the head by a blunt object,” the examiner said in excellent but thickly accented English. “Perhaps a pipe or even a piece of heavy wood.”

“The other injuries?”

“In my estimation, the lacerations on the upper torso were caused by propeller blades. The same for the left arm, possibly.”

“And his legs?”

“Sharks.”

Pearce nodded. He’d seen enough.

The examiner replaced the sheet with ceremonious precision.

“My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“He was your friend, yes?”

“Yes.”

The young examiner nodded grimly. He slowly pushed the drawer shut. The metal glides whispered as the drawer disappeared into the wall. The door shut. The tiled room echoed with a heavy metal click as the locking mechanism engaged.

The medical examiner finally turned to Pearce, his dark eyes furious. “The Chinese must pay for this.”

Pearce nodded.

They would.

Pearce was greeted in the waiting room outside of the morgue by Myers, Ambassador Davis, and Tanaka.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Pearce,” the ambassador said.

“It was good of you to come at this time of night.” Pearce glanced at Tanaka. “Both of you.”

“All of Japan grieves with you, and for your friend Dr. Yamada.” Tanaka bowed slightly.

“Thank you. Kenji was a good man and a good friend.”

“My government is outraged,” Tanaka continued. “We consider the attack on Dr. Yamada as an attack upon us as well. He was a naturalized American citizen, but he was born on Japanese soil.”

“He loved America and Japan equally.”

Tanaka turned to the ambassador. “The United States must do something more than lodge a formal protest.”

“President Lane is meeting with his cabinet even as we speak.”

“If your government will not act to defend Japan, it must at least act to defend itself.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” the ambassador said. “I’m sure President Lane will be contacting Prime Minister Ito shortly.”

Tanaka’s phone vibrated. He checked it. “Please, you must excuse me.” He shook Pearce’s hand. “Again, my condolences.” He nodded to Myers and the ambassador then put his phone to his ear and listened to his message as he walked out of the room.

“I understand he has no living relatives?” the ambassador asked.

“He was never married and has no children. His parents passed away years ago. They’re buried in Hawaii.”

“We’ll make all the necessary arrangements to have him flown home,” the ambassador said. “I’ll contact your office for the particulars.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be waiting in the car,” the ambassador said.

After he cleared the room, Pearce asked Myers, “What do we know for sure?”

“Five dead, one survivor. One of the dead was a Japanese national. The survivor is adamant that it was a Chinese vessel. A fishing trawler. Recognized the flag.”

“Just like that other attack,” Pearce said. “I’m guessing this is all over the news?”

“Not yet. The government convinced the local news stations to spike the story for at least twenty-four hours for national security reasons. There’s no video and the lone survivor is at the hospital in a private room under protection. She’s agreed to not speak to anybody about what happened yet. She’s a brave girl.”

“How badly is she hurt?”

“Broken arm, exposure. And…”

“They raped her.”

“Yeah.”

Myers nodded grimly. “If the Chinese want a war with us, this should do it.”

Pearce frowned. “Yeah, it should.” He felt the old familiar rage welling up inside his gut. But something held it in check. Killing Americans in Japanese territorial waters right now would likely lead China into war with both countries. The Chinese would know that. Maybe their leadership had finally lost their minds. Decided now or never, like Tojo did when he lashed out at Pearl Harbor.

Or maybe they hadn’t. This wasn’t a sneak attack. It was an assassination. And then he remembered.

World War I had started that way, too .

Vice Chairman Feng had commandeered the security chief’s own office and threw him out, waiting for the phone call for news about his son. He paced the floor like a nervous cat, smoking furiously. The intercom rang. “It’s the Berlin embassy, sir.”