Typhoon Fury Page 4

  When he checked Juan’s right ankle, he looked up in surprise and motioned for Juan to lift his pant leg, revealing a prosthetic limb attached just below the knee.

  “Courtesy of the communists,” Juan said, which was the truth. His missing leg was the result of a shell fired from a Chinese destroyer. “See? We have a common enemy.”

  The man said nothing. He just shrugged and nodded at his companion. They had passed inspection.

  The second man gestured for Juan and Eric to wait while the one who had frisked them left.

  Juan noticed that the train had now reached the rugged coastal portion of their route. As it snaked around the region’s mountains, the view out one side showed nothing but dense jungle while the opposite side was a scenic panorama of the ocean. Neither of the Ghost Dragons seemed to care about the vistas, which was just fine with Juan.

  The Ghost Dragons were keeping watch toward the front of the train’s exterior in case of an ambush, but their range would be limited to a few hundred yards on either side. It was doubtful they’d pay any attention to the decrepit tramp steamer a mile out to sea, just another of the hundreds that plied Vietnamese waters. At this distance, it wouldn’t seem odd that such a creaky old cargo ship could keep pace with the speed of a modern train.

  Despite its seemingly dilapidated state, Juan was proud to be captain of that ship. The Oregon was doing exactly what she was designed to do.

  Hide in plain sight.

  4

  Marion MacDougal “MacD” Lawless was only five feet away from Franklin Lincoln, but he was completely invisible. His ghillie suit, typically worn by snipers as camouflage, was custom-designed to blend into the Vietnamese jungle foliage. The color, density, and arrangement of artificial plant life on his outfit perfectly mimicked the bushes and ground cover where they lay only a dozen feet from the railroad tracks. Linc wore one just like it and could hardly make out his own arms stretched in front of him.

  A snake slithered across the barrel of Linc’s assault rifle, oblivious to the person only inches away. Linc had no idea if it was venomous, but he wasn’t about to rile it and find out.

  “I hate the jungle,” the former Navy SEAL muttered in his basso voice. The snake slinked past his hiding spot and into the trees.

  “At least we’re not lying on top of a fire ant nest,” MacD replied in his syrupy New Orleans drawl. “Ah did that once in Louisiana during a camping trip and Ah went to my junior prom looking like Ah had the measles.”

  Linc seriously doubted that bothered his date too much. If MacD hadn’t become an Army Ranger before joining the Corporation, his good-looking features could have earned him a great living in Hollywood.

  “The most dangerous animals we had in Detroit were rottweilers and pit bulls,” Linc said. He still had a scar on his right thigh where a guard dog had sunk its teeth into him while he was taking a shortcut home as a kid.

  MacD shifted slightly, just enough to rustle the suit and make himself visible for a fraction of a second. “Just between you and me, Ah would have taken Eddie’s spot in a heartbeat if Ah thought Ah wouldn’t be as out of place as the Pope at Mardi Gras.”

  “Stupid genetics,” Linc said. “Always messing things up for us.”

  Not only did neither of them speak Mandarin, Linc was an African-American who spent so much time in the Oregon’s weight room that he could have been a competitive bodybuilder, and MacD was a tall blond who couldn’t pass for a Taiwanese triad member no matter how much makeup and latex prosthetics were applied to his face.

  As the Corporation’s director of shore operations, Eddie Seng would normally be with Linc and MacD right now. But the two “gundogs,” as the Oregon’s former Special Forces operators were known, were on their own today.

  Linc felt a slight tremor in the ground. But unlike the suddenness of an earthquake, this shaking grew slowly and steadily stronger.

  “That’s got to be them,” MacD said.

  “Right on schedule.”

  Soon, the quaking was accompanied by the squeal of steel wheels grinding on the rails. In the distance Linc could see the engine swing around one bend in the track before disappearing again behind an outcropping. At the same time, the Oregon came into view, paralleling the train’s course. Whitecaps curled from its bow as it raced to keep up.

  “Did Eric take care of the cameras on the train?”

  Linc checked his satellite phone and smiled. “Stoney just sent me confirmation that he was able to intercept the wireless feeds. They’re now on a loop.”

  When Eric got on the train with Juan, his job was to record the cameras’ view of each of the unoccupied cars and rebroadcast that using a specially built transmitter embedded in his tablet. Now, no matter what was happening in the cars he’d already passed through, the triad would think they were still empty.

  When the engine reappeared, the ground’s vibration was matched by the throb of the diesel motor’s five thousand horsepower. Linc and MacD remained absolutely still as it went by. Linc had a good view of the engineer, who was focused on the track ahead. He gave no indication that he’d noticed anything unusual. Within a few more seconds, the dense jungle would be blocking his view rearward because of the curved section of track.

  “Get ready,” Linc said as the seventh passenger car passed. “It’s slowed just as expected because of the winding track. We’ll have less than twenty seconds once you fire.”

  “No sweat.” MacD adjusted his position and brought his crossbow to bear. Linc was the best sniper in the Corporation, but that was with a rifle. MacD was an expert with the crossbow from his days hunting deer in the Louisiana swamps.

  The final car passed them, and MacD fired. Amid the clacking of the train’s wheels, the bolt whizzed away in utter silence, trailing a fishing line designed to haul in thousand-pound marlins. The bolt cracked through the window of the car’s rear door, activating the spring-loaded grappling claws that secured it to the frame.

  “Nice shootin’, pardner,” Linc said as he leapt up from his hiding spot.

  They threw off the camouflage that covered a device that looked like a toboggan, with Teflon guide sleeves on each side of a shallow carbon-fiber tub. A thousand feet of fishing line continued to unravel as the train pulled it out of its reel. The other end was tied to the front of the sled.

  They lifted the lightweight but sturdy sled onto the tracks and placed the guides on the rails. With only a hundred feet of line left, they dived into the rigid tub. Just as they got their feet anchored against the back of the tub, the line went taut, yanking them backward as it matched the train’s speed.

  After the initial shock wore off, Linc activated the motorized reel. The Teflon guides thunked every time they hit a joint in the rail. The sled was working as expected.

  “It’d be nice if the marlins did this once in a while when I went fishing,” MacD said, watching the motor pull them toward the train.

  “Reeling themselves in?” Linc replied with a smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  When they reached the rear passenger car, Linc hauled himself up, perching on the ledge while MacD joined him. Linc cut the line with his Ka-Bar knife. The sled skidded to a stop and receded behind them.

  “After you,” he said.

  MacD grinned. “Why, thank you, sir.”

  He opened the door and picked up his spent grappling claw bolt as he went through.

  Confident that Eric had successfully rigged the camera feed to show an empty car, they put down the backpacks and doffed their ghillie suits, revealing black tactical gear, including ballistic vests. Linc unzipped his bag and removed the weapons inside: four Glock semiautomatic pistols and four FN P90 submachine guns.

  “How long do you think we have?” MacD asked as he removed two extra ballistic vests from his bag. He also took out the components of a handheld grenade launcher that had been dismantled for transport.

  Linc checked his watch. “Given Eddie’s last position, I’d say we’ve only got five minutes before our visitors arrive.”

  5

  THE PHILIPPINES

  For fifteen minutes, the squall’s choppy waves had kept the more stable prison transport out of range of the machine gun on the hijacked escort boat, which was getting pounded by the whitecaps. But now the storm was easing, flattening the rough seas.

  Inspector Luis Navarro looked back nervously and saw the sleek boat beginning to gain on them. The machine gun wildly sprayed .30 caliber bullets in their direction. Some of them were connecting. His own men were conserving ammunition, holding fire until the escort boat got closer.

  He prodded Captain Garcia. “Can’t you go faster?”

  “What do you want me to do?” Garcia said. “This is our top speed.”

  Navarro squinted at the horizon in the dwindling glow of dusk. He thought he could make out some lights in the distance. “Is that Dapitan City?”

  “For what it’s worth. We’re still at least twenty miles out, and I don’t see any help on the way.”

  “Locsin’s men on the escort boat must have radioed that we didn’t need any assistance.”

  Garcia ducked instinctively as another round pinged off a metal fitting. “Those idiots! They could just as easily kill Locsin as any one of us.”

  “I doubt it. With the amount of planning they’ve obviously done, they’d know the freezers in the hold that were converted into cells are lined with insulation thick enough to absorb the bullets’ impact. More likely, they’re trying to disable the engine.”

  “Well, you better come up with an idea,” Garcia said, “because at this rate they’re going to catch up to us in another few minutes, whether or not they take out our engine.”

  Navarro racked his brain for options. He was down to five men, plus himself and Garcia. He counted at least ten men on the other boat, and they had the heavier firepower of the machine gun. His men were equipped only with assault rifles.

  “You know what we have to do, Inspector,” Garcia said. “Throw him overboard.”

  “What?”

  “Locsin. If they want him so bad, give him to them.”

  “No.”

  “But they’re going to—”

  Navarro slammed his fist on the console. “I said no! We are not dishonoring ourselves and the National Police by giving up our prisoner. I’d rather die fighting.”

  Garcia glared at him. “Unless you can think of something, you’ll get your wish.”

  More bullets ricocheted off the wheelhouse. Navarro grimaced. Garcia was right. They weren’t going to last long under that kind of withering fire. As soon as the escort boat caught up and disabled the prison transport, they’d be boarded and wiped out.

  He patted Garcia on his shoulder. “No matter what happens, keep going.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to see how badly they want us to stop.”

  Navarro left Garcia looking confused and went out on deck, crouching as much as he could to avoid the hail of bullets. He spotted a length of heavy chain hanging next to an old fishing net hoist and took it with him.

  He went down to the hold. Torres was still lying on the floor, and the two guards cringed every time more bullets hit the hull. Sweat poured off their brows. Their lips were set tight in fear.

  Locsin looked at Navarro with a vicious gleam in his eyes.

  “Having some trouble up there?” he asked, grinning as he relished their predicament.

  “You two cover him,” Navarro ordered his men. They raised their rifles and pointed them at the prisoner.

  Navarro pulled out his cuffs. “Locsin, turn around and give me your hands behind your back. Put them both between the same bars.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll wait right here for now.” He closed his eyes. “Let me know when we reach Dapitan City. That is, of course, if we do.”

  Navarro drew his pistol. “The captain suggested that I dump you over the side. We all have a duty to uphold, but if you don’t follow my commands precisely, I will shoot you myself and accommodate the captain’s request. Now, what’s it going to be?”

  Locsin sighed and opened his eyes. Without a word, he stood, stepped up to the front of the cell, and turned, inserting his hands between the bars.

  Navarro turned to his men. “If he tries anything, don’t hesitate. Kill us both, if you have to. Understand?”

  The two officers were stunned into silence by the command.

  “Do you understand?” Navarro yelled.

  They nodded.

  Navarro carefully snapped the handcuffs around Locsin’s wrists. The prisoner didn’t resist.

  “Now step back.”

  Locsin complied. After putting aside his sidearm and knife, Navarro took the handcuffs on Torres’s belt, unlocked the cell, and went inside with the chain.

  He held it up to Locsin. “I’m going to wrap this around your waist. Don’t move.”

  Locsin regarded the chain with amusement and shrugged. Navarro wound it six times around his midsection and cinched it tight so that Locsin wouldn’t be able to squirm out of it. Then he snapped Torres’s cuffs on the chain to secure them.

  Navarro stepped out of the cell and took back his weapons. “We’re going up on deck. If you try to escape or attack any of my men, I will push you overboard and you’ll go straight to the bottom, thanks to that chain.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” Locsin said. “I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do.”

  “Come on, then,” Navarro said. Locsin sauntered out of the cell. Navarro grabbed Locsin’s meaty arm and put the pistol’s barrel against his head. “Lead the way. Slowly.”

  They went up the stairs together, one step at a time, with one officer in front of them and the other trailing.

  When they were up on deck, Navarro walked him to a point where he could see the escort boat, making sure to put Locsin between him and them. Just one officer remained alive up top. The other two were sprawled on the deck, rivulets of blood draining into the scuppers. The hijacked police vessel was less than a hundred yards away now, so he was confident they would realize his prisoner was no longer in the cell. If they tried to shoot Navarro, they’d have to go through their leader to get him.

  The chattering of the machine gun stopped, but the boat kept coming.

  Navarro pulled Locsin with him so that his back was against the hoist, Navarro peeking past Locsin’s ear. The prisoner reeked of body odor and a putrid smell akin to garlic oozing from his pores, but enduring the stink was preferable to dying. Not even the best marksman in the world would be confident of hitting him instead of his hostage.

  When the men on the escort boat saw that they didn’t have a shot, they came up behind the prison transport until they were only fifty feet away. Navarro made it clear that he had a gun against Locsin’s skull. The remaining three officers either had their rifles pointing at the escort boat or at Locsin. An opening in the railing was conveniently close by in case Navarro got the impulse to shove Locsin into the ocean.

  Navarro didn’t need to shout for the pursuers to back off. His threat was clear. If they attempted to board, Locsin would die before a single one of them could set a foot on the deck.

  “What are you going to do now?” Locsin asked. “Hold me here until we get into the harbor at Dapitan City?”

  “That’s the idea. Two squads of Special Action Force officers are waiting for your arrival.”

  “And you think my men won’t follow us all the way there?”

  Navarro chuckled drily. “It would be suicidal on their part, but I’d be happy for them to try.”

  “You’re right,” Locsin said. “They should probably just shoot you now.”

  “Shoot me?” Navarro said in disbelief at Locsin’s audacity. Even though the storm had passed, the boats were still heaving up and down on the lingering swells. “Without hitting you, too? Nobody is that good.”

  “Right again, Inspector. Nobody is that good.”

  Then, to Navarro’s complete shock, Locsin yelled at the top of his lungs.

  “Fire!”

  As one, his men blasted away, cutting down the three officers in a storm of bullets. At the same time, multiple shots tore into Locsin. He fell to the deck, stripping away Navarro’s protection. Navarro tried to dive for cover, but two bullets slammed into his midsection.

  Navarro could do nothing but lie there as the escort boat charged forward and bumped against the hull of the transport. As Locsin’s men leapt out, Navarro knew Garcia was already dead and that he would soon join him. His mind began to fog as he felt the life seeping out of his body.

  Locsin’s soldiers, like their leader, were muscled beyond even the fittest officers on the Special Action Force. Two of them lifted the slain communist leader up as easily as if he were a doll.

  Navarro got some small measure of satisfaction at seeing the dead man in his soldiers’ arms. Despite the colossal failure of the mission to bring Locsin to justice, at least he had prevented the rescue of his government’s greatest public enemy.

  Despite the grievous wounds, Navarro felt no pain, an indication of how far gone he was. He watched as the soldiers dragged Locsin’s corpse toward the escort boats, then suddenly stopped.

  Navarro thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw Locsin’s feet deliberately plant themselves on the deck. It was as if he were seeing a zombie reanimate after death.

  The soldier to either side stepped away. Locsin stood for a moment before turning slowly to face Navarro.

  Navarro couldn’t believe it. Locsin had ragged wound holes in his thigh, stomach, and shoulder. He shouldn’t be alive, let alone standing.

  Inhumanly, Locsin seemed to ignore the pain. He leaned down until he was eye to eye with Navarro, that sour garlic smell radiating off of him in waves.