Section 8 (21 page)

Jolo Island

Vaughn looked up and could see the first stars. He tried to count the days back to the failed raid. He had to assume his brother-in-law's body was back in the States by now. Most likely even in the ground. A military funeral. And he hadn't been there for his sister or to pay his respects. He looked up at the shaft still blowing hot air out. The one who was responsible was in there.
"You all right?" Tai asked.
Vaughn was startled. He'd forgotten all about his partner. "I wish we hadn't lost our NVGs on the jump. They'd be real helpful in there."
Tai's dark eyes regarded him for several moments. "What were you really thinking about?"
"A military funeral."
"I don't think we'll get one with this outfit."
That brought a slight smile to Vaughn's lips. "Not for us. I plan on us getting out of this in one piece."
"That's a good plan," Tai said. "Let's hope everyone else is on the same sheet of music."
"What do you mean?"
Tai grabbed her ruck and slid the shoulder straps on. "Nothing."
"Ladies first," Vaughn said.
"Don't go bullshit on me now," Tai snapped.
In reply, Vaughn grabbed the edge of the tunnel and pulled himself up and in. It was about five feet wide, which meant they couldn't stand upright but wouldn't have to crawl. It was made of corrugated metal and sloped upward at about a twenty-degree angle.
Vaughn pulled his red lens flashlight off his combat vest and clicked it on. The light penetrated ahead as far as he could see, about twenty meters. And the tunnel showed no end at that distance. He felt Tai's presence behind him. She put her free hand on his shoulder and he began to move forward, crouching slightly.
He held the MP-5 in one hand and the flashlight in the other. Had he known he'd be without night vision goggles, he would have made sure to bolt a light to the side of the gun. He was glad that he had the red lens flashlight, or else they would literally be in the dark.
Vaughn tried to keep a pace count as they went up the tunnel but knew it had to be off because of the awkward way he was walking. He estimated they had gone over one hundred meters when the pipe changed angles and went level. The blow of warm air continued unabated as they moved onto the level part and faced their first decision. The large pipe split into two smaller ones, each about four feet in diameter.
"This keeps up, we're gonna be on our bellies," Tai whispered as Vaughn shined the light up each passage. Both went level and straight as far as he could see.
"Any preference?" he asked.
Instead of answering, Tai stuck her head in the left tube and cocked her head, listening as she sniffed. Then did the right tube.
"The air is warmer in this one," she said, pointing to the right.
"And?"
Tai smiled and shrugged. "I don't know what it means. I was just mentioning it."
"That's a lot of help," Vaughn muttered. "All right. This way." He led the way into the warmer tube. The only sound was their boots scraping along the metal and their breathing as they went farther into the mountain. After another fifty meters Vaughn paused. Tai bumped up against him and then also became still.
There was the slightest of sounds. Rhythmic.
"Air pump," Tai finally said.
Vaughn thought about the information he'd researched on underground bunkers. Where were the intake for the air handlers usually located? Above. That was good, he thought. It was always best to approach an objective with the higher terrain advantage, even if, as in this case, the terrain was inside a mountain. He continued forward, Tai close behind.
The sound of the air pump grew louder and the blow of air seemed stronger, though Vaughn figured that was just his imagination working overtime. He froze when he saw a metal grate at the far reach of the red light, immediately switching the light off.
He and Tai waited in the darkness, and gradually they began to see a faint light on the other side of the grate. Vaughn got down on his belly and crawled forward, careful not to make any sound. Tai was right behind him, her face scant inches from his boots.
The light grew stronger as he got closer to the grate. He arrived at it and peered through. All he could see was a gray plastic tube that curved down. Warm air blew on his face, pumped up into the tube. The light was dimly coming through the plastic. The sound of the air pump was loud now, right ahead of and below them.
Vaughn scooted as far to one side as he could, and Tai crawled up next to him. Their bodies were pressed together as they considered their situation. Vaughn looked at the grate. The metal strips were only about a quarter inch thick, spaced every three inches or so. He was sure it was designed more to keep animals from coming in than to prevent human entry. He reached out and tugged on it, and the entire thing gave about half an inch. He looked over at Tai and raised his eyebrows in question.
She nodded and grabbed her side of the grate. Together they pushed inward until the metal gave and then popped loose. Twisting, they slid it over their heads and farther down the tunnel.
"Hey," Tai hissed, pointing to the left. Engraved in the metal were Japanese characters and a series of numbers. "So this was built during the war by the Japanese."
"Looks like," Vaughn agreed. He pointed forward. "Take a look. I'll hold you."
Tai scooted forward as Vaughn moved back, wrapping his arms around her thighs. She moved farther into the plastic tube, and he had to exert more effort to keep her from tumbling forward. Finally he felt her pull back and helped her, bringing her back into the steel tube.
"There's a damn big fan at the bottom of that thing, about eight feet down from the curve," Tai reported. "We do
not
want to go into that."
Vaughn slid his knife out of its sheath. She nodded. He moved to the edge and put the tip of the knife against the plastic. Bearing down on it, he broke through the thin material and then began to cut. On the other side, Tai did the same. They met in the middle on the bottom, having severed the lower half of the plastic tube. Securing his knife back in the sheath, Vaughn grabbed the plastic and pushed it open. A dirty tile floor was about twelve feet below their position in a narrow space between the large machine holding the fan and the rock wall. The space was about two feet wide.
Vaughn moved forward but Tai grabbed his arm. "How do we get back in here?"
"If we need to leave this way," he said, "we crab up between the wall and the machine."
Tai nodded, and Vaughn edged out, swinging his feet down. His toes scrambled for purchase, one foot on the wall, one on the machine. He flexed his legs, pressing outward, then began his descent. Within seconds he was on the floor. He quickly scooted to the edge of the machine and looked, half expecting to see some sort of custodian or engineer. But the ten-by-twenty-meter cavern was empty. At the far end was a steel door.
Tai was right behind Vaughn, weapon at the ready. He nodded toward the door and they moved forward.

Okinawa

Sinclair walked into the latrine and heard the sound of vomiting from one of the stalls. He walked over and, given that Kasen and Orson were still in the planning room, knew that it was Hayes occupying the stall.
"You all right?" Sinclair asked.
The noise had stopped and now there was a strange silence.
"Hey?" Sinclair tapped on the door. "Hayes. You okay, man?"
There was no reply. Cursing, Sinclair pulled his knife out and slid it between the door and the jamb, releasing the latch. The door swung open, revealing Hayes passed out next to the toilet, bloody vomit everywhere.
"Goddamn," Sinclair muttered. He reached down and grabbed the man. He pulled him out of the stall and then into the operations room. "Hey, guys. We need a medic."
Orson and Kasen ran over as Sinclair put Hayes on one of the planning tables. Sinclair slapped his face a few times and Hayes's eyes flickered, then opened.
"What happened?" he muttered.
"Clean him up," Orson snapped.
Sinclair grabbed some paper towels and dabbed off the blood and vomit on Hayes's face while Kasen offered his canteen. Hayes weakly took the canteen as he sat up, his upper body wobbly. He took a swig, washed it around in his mouth, then spit to the side. Then he took a deep drink.
Orson was standing still, watching, hands on hips.
"We need a medic," Sinclair repeated.
Orson slowly nodded. "All right. I'll take care of it." He went over to the phone linking them to the ASTs and quietly spoke into it. "An ambulance is on the way," he said afterward.
Then he went to his laptop, typed in a message and transmitted it.

Hong Kong

Ruiz wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead as he stood in the warehouse. Behind him were three large wooden crates resting on pallets. They contained the rest of the Golden Lily treasure from the cave that was supposed to be auctioned this evening. He checked his watch once more. It was time, but where was—
He looked up as the small door set into the large sliding door for the warehouse opened. The Japanese woman walked in. She was dressed all in black: slacks, shirt, and leather coat. She was carrying a metal briefcase. She walked up to the small table set in front of Ruiz and put the case on it without a word. Then she gestured with one hand, indicating for him to open it.
Ruiz hesitated as he considered the possibility the case was rigged. But his greed overcame his fear and he flipped the two latches and swung the lid up. Stacks of cash along with a plane ticket were lying on top, and a Japanese passport.
"As promised," the woman said. "Only half the money. The other half will be given to you at the airfield after we ensure you have given us what we paid for and to make certain that you truly are gone. We don't want you having second thoughts."
A second thought was the last thing on Ruiz's mind as he checked the plane ticket and saw his picture in the passport along with a new name. "Is this real?" he asked, holding up the passport.
"Yes."
He stared at the cash. "Everything remaining is in the crates."
"I'm sure it is," the woman said. She was looking at him strangely, and he wondered what she was thinking.
His focus shifted back to the case and the money.
"Abayon," she said.
Ruiz was startled. "What?"
"Abayon. Why did he put these pieces out for auction? He's been sitting on them for over half a century."
Ruiz shrugged. "He wants to help fund other groups. He has so much there…" He paused, not sure how much he should say.
"He has the Golden Lily, of which this is only a taste," the woman said.
"You knew that," Ruiz said. "Or else you would not have sent the envoy."
"Who you killed."
Ruiz licked his lips. "Abayon did that. I wasn't even there."
"What else does Abayon have planned?"
"Nothing."
"You lie."
Ruiz took a step back from the table. "No. I have no idea. This was my job…" He indicated the crates. "Abayon is very good at keeping things compartmentalized. I only know what I needed to know to do this."
"That is too bad," the woman said. Her hands were on her hips, the long leather coat pulled back. For the first time Ruiz noted a sword hanging at her side. A samurai sword.
"We have a deal," Ruiz said, his throat tight.
"Yes, we do." The woman indicated the case. "Take it."
Ruiz tentatively stepped forward, snapped the case shut and picked it up. He held it at his side.
"Our deal is complete now, yes?" the woman asked.
Ruiz frowned. "Yes."
"Very good. I am a person of honor. I would never allow it to be said I do not fulfill my word."
"Well, that's good," Ruiz said. He glanced over his shoulder toward the back door. He froze as he saw a large black man with a wicked looking gun in his hand standing there. "What the hell?"
"The deal is done," the woman said.
The door behind her opened and another man walked in, short and muscular, with a submachine gun in his hands.
"Hey." Ruiz held up the briefcase. "I—"
"Made a deal," the woman said. She flipped aside the right side of her long leather coat and smoothly drew the sword. "Both of us kept our word. But now the deal is over."
"Wait!" Ruiz begged.
"For…?" The woman cocked her head.
"Abayon is up to something else," Ruiz said.
"We know that," the woman said. "That statement is of no help."
"A submarine. It involves a submarine."
The woman lowered the sword. "If everything is so compartmentalized, how do you know this?"
"I talked to one of the men who was to be part of her crew. They kept the submarine hidden, probably in one of the coves on Jolo, but they had to get men to operate her."
"What does Abayon plan to do with the submarine?"
"The man didn't know," Ruiz said. "He said it was an old submarine."
"That is not very specific."
"He was very drunk," Ruiz said. "He said it was a one-way mission. They were all volunteers who had agreed to give their lives."
"That is all?"
Ruiz nodded, a sheen of sweat on his forehead again.
"Good, then you will not mind giving your life either."
She gestured at the black man, and he drew a similar sword from a scabbard on his back.
"Take it," the woman said as the man came forward and laid it on the table.
Ruiz shook his head. "No. This is not—"
"Take it or they will shoot you," she said. "An honorable death is to be preferred over being shot down like a dog."
"But we made a deal," Ruiz whined. "And I told you all I know."
"And we completed the deal. And you told me all you know, so you are of no more use to me. Now you must go through me to get out of here."
"But why?" Ruiz was frozen.
"Pick it up." She tapped the table with the tip of her sword. "There really is no choice."
Ruiz's shoulders slumped. There was now a third armed man in the warehouse. With a trembling hand, Ruiz picked up the sword. He awkwardly held it in front of him, blade vertical, trying to protect his upper body.
The Japanese woman smiled coldly. She stepped around the table, her sword gripped in both hands, blade held low. Ruiz did the unexpected, charging forward, the blade swinging in a wide arc at the woman's head. Unexpected to the members of the team gathered around, but apparently not to the woman. She ducked under the swing and jabbed her sword into Ruiz's stomach, piercing right through and coming out his back. Just as quickly, she withdrew the blade and, as the first gasp of pain left his lips, gracefully spun, blade level and extended, and severed his head from his body.
Ruiz's lips were still open in the gasp as the head bounced off the concrete floor.
The woman pulled out a lace kerchief and wiped the blade clean, then slid it back in its scabbard.