Free Call to Duty by Richard Herman

a fishing boat here.” He unfolded a map and pointed to the old Gurkha camp on the Malaysian coast. “They were loaded on a seaplane and flown to near Bangkok. The plane landed on the water, just west of the resort at Pattya Beach and transferred to a power boat that was last seen headed for Bangkok.”
    “Was my daughter one of them?”
    “The descriptions of the three women matched that of the girls on the yacht,” Cox told him.
    “What about the young men?” Pontowski asked, concerned about all five.
    “They matched the descriptions of Richard Martel and Troy Spencer,” Cox said. “Mark Livingston is unaccounted for.”
    “Were they okay? Were they harmed?” Courtland asked.
    Cox looked at Pontowski, indicating there was some bad news. Pontowski nodded. “The women showed signs of possibly being raped.”
    Courtland stood up, his face flushed with anger, fists clenched. With a visible effort, he fought for control. “And so far you’ve done nothing.”
    “I’m doing what I can, Bill,” Pontowski reassured him.
    The look on Courtland’s face changed and he sat backdown, not about to apologize for his breach of etiquette. “What are the sources of your intelligence?” he asked.
    Again, Cox looked at Pontowski who nodded. “The British…”
    “The British?” Courtland interrupted. It was not a question. “What happened to the CIA?”
    “Sir,” Cox continued, apparently unruffled by the senator’s outburst, “a British Special Air Service squadron was training in the area and observed the transfer. They did attack the camp and try to save the hostages. Unfortunately, the transfer was made offshore and they had no way to stop it. They did manage to interrogate one of the terrorists left behind.”
    “Special Air Service?” Courtland asked. “Isn’t that the SAS? What did they discover?”
    “Yes, sir,” Cox answered, “it is. They reported the terrorist identified General Chiang Tse-kuan as being involved in some way. We do not have any specifics.”
    “Chiang!” the senator shouted. He fought for his self-control. “I told you this had to do with your antidrug campaign. There’s your proof. If Chiang has Heather—” He cut the thought off, his point made.
    “We don’t know that for sure,” Pontowski said. “But it does help us in our search. Leo, can we get custody of the terrorist?”
    “I’m afraid not, Mr. President. He died from his wounds.”
    A heavy silence came down in the room. “Mr. President,” Courtland finally said, his voice flat and mechanical, “I appreciate your concern and everything you’re doing. I haven’t told my wife yet because I wanted something more positive, more hopeful. But I can’t wait any longer. I’ll have to tell her something. Our only daughter…being held captive by one of the most vicious drug lords in the world…. My God!”
    “Bill, you know how these things develop. We need time to work the problem. At this point, we are not sure that Chiang has your daughter.”
    “For everyone’s sake,” Courtland said in a low voice, “I hope you do this one right.” Pontowski and Cox heard the threat in his words.
    “At this point, we need time,” Pontowski repeated.
    “The one thing my daughter doesn’t have,” Courtland interrupted.
    Pontowski’s mind raced as he sought a way to bring Courtland around but every political instinct he possessed told him they had reached a standoff. Courtland simply wasn’t going to be understanding. Nothing productive would come from this meeting. “Would you like to talk to the team? They’re in the Situation Room.”
    “Thank you. Perhaps later,” Courtland answered. There was no emotion in his voice. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. President, I need to get back to my wife.” The two men rose and went through the ritual of departure. Pontowski walked with him to his waiting car, still trying to show his concern. Finally, the senator was gone.
    “What do you think?” Pontowski asked Cox as