Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (top ten ebook reader TXT) 📗

But it was also obvious that a business day at the palace did not typically begin so early in the morning. The king usually did not arise until noon. The guard was still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he jumped up and waved the vehicle through the gates with one hand while holding a big mug of coffee in the other. The driver steered the car into a large parking lot, climbed out, and opened Yon Hun Glo’s door.

Two military officers, one wearing the insignia of a Tongan Army Brigadier General and the other of a Tongan Maritime Force Commodore, were lounging in the shade while waiting by the palace’s main entrance. The pair snapped to attention and saluted as Yon Hun Glo emerged from his vehicle. He waved a perfunctory answering salute and charged past them, through the open door. The two officers rushed to catch up and guide the Chinese vice admiral to his meeting with their king.

After escorting Yon Hun Glo to King Tofuwanga’s private office, the pair disappeared. The massively overweight potentate was waiting behind a huge desk. He appeared to have just crawled from bed, his thinning hair unkempt and his necktie a bit off center. The monarch waved the admiral to sit in one of the upholstered high-back chairs arranged in front of the impressive teakwood desk.

“Admiral, may I offer you a coffee? Something stronger? Perhaps a pastry?” Tofuwanga asked.

“No, thank you. I have long since completed breakfast.”

“Very well. I trust that your journey was smooth and uneventful. I cannot imagine making such a long trip like that while stuffed into such a tiny submarine. I am afraid I am a bit...”

Yon Hun Glo waved aside the pleasantries. Instead, his already stern expression turned even darker.

“There is much for us to discuss and we have little time. First is the matter of the island of Niue. My government was most distressed when you took your ill-advised action there without even bothering to consult us. That is no way to treat allies.” Yon glared at the king, who appeared to be taken aback by the admiral’s sudden attack. “Fortunately for you, we had troops nearby. Otherwise, the Niue constabulary would likely have promptly expelled your puny force. And that does not even begin to consider the Americans and the New Zealand military and their potential response.”

King Tofuwanga leaned forward as much as his large belly would allow and started to protest. Yon Hun Glo raised his hand, palm forward, stopping him before he could utter a word.

“To this point, Your Majesty, this has been your one major indiscretion. Trust me when I tell you that you will not commit another. If so, you will find yourself immediately deposed. And perhaps worse. I am certain that we could find someone on this godforsaken island who can follow our orders precisely and not be tempted to ad lib.”

The king bristled at this obvious lese-majeste. No one was permitted to speak to him in this manner. Not without great peril.

“Admiral, my Tongan military, which I command myself, is quite adequate to defend our rights,” he thundered back. “And our decision to reclaim territory taken from us. Niue is our territory by historic right, and we have bravely and successfully protected what is Tongan. Only yesterday, we towed an American vessel into port that had dared to intrude into our sovereign waters. They were foolishly nosing around the gold fields, so we...”

The king stopped mid-sentence. It appeared the Chinese admiral was about to come over the teakwood table after him.

“You what?” Yon Hun Glo exploded. “You are a stupid, pompous fool! Were it not for the gold, we would simply leave you and your swampy islands to the Americans. And I assure you, you would be rotting in Guantanamo before the week was out.” Yon sat back, took a deep breath, and tried to regain control of his temper. Tofuwanga appeared stunned. No one had ever spoken to him in such a way. “Now, where is this ship being held and where is her crew? Perhaps we can still salvage something from this disaster. And you best hope we do, or you may still be allowed to roast in your own juices.”

King Tofuwanga, his voice now trembling, told the admiral that the Deep Ocean Explorer and her crew were being held on Vava’u, an island located two hundred miles to the north.

Yon Hun Glo listened, then stood, turned on his heels, and, without another word, stormed out of the king’s office in the Royal Palace. Once in his vehicle’s back seat, before the car was even out of the palace’s gate, he was on his cell phone, making arrangements for Chinese Marines to hasten to the out-of-the-way island of Vava’u. Once there, they were to guard the American research ship and take charge of the ship’s crew.

And if anyone—anyone at all—came near either, he was to be eliminated as a possible threat to the Chinese people and the Party.

Ψ

Jim Ward decided that his wounds were now more annoying and uncomfortable than painful. He had recovered from enough injuries already in his line of work to be aware that this was a good sign, that he was on the mend. Shortly after the Gulfstream landed at Taipei’s downtown Songshan Airport, an ambulance whisked him, Li Min Zhou, and his new personal physician to the swank Mandarin Oriental Hotel. Zhou quickly left, explaining she had work to do, and the doc departed shortly after getting Ward settled and hooked up to far more monitoring equipment than the SEAL felt he needed.

He found his suite to be an impressive cross between a hospital intensive care unit and Kubla Khan’s Xanadu. Hospital medical equipment and blinking monitors vied with glossy lacquerware and polished marble. However, it was the views of the city and surrounding mountains from the big windows of his penthouse that really drew his attention. He asked one of his two personal male nurses to kindly move