"Half ahead. Bring us up to just below the surface."
The nose of the old submarine turned to the northwest, directly toward Oahu and Honolulu.
Jolo Island
Vaughn checked out the small redoubt Tai had built for herself next to the open spot on the top of Hono Mountain. She had two logs stacked, facing the clear area, with enough space between them for her to get a clear field of fire. She'd covered the logs with vegetation so that unless someone walked right on top of her location, she wouldn't be spotted.
He checked his watch.
"They should be five minutes out."
Tai nodded in the dark.
"Time to get ready."
She checked her FM radio, hitting the transmit button.
"You set?"
Vaughn heard her in his left ear. He nodded and transmitted himself.
"Roger. You got me."
"Roger."
Vaughn tapped the radio.
"This isn't going to do me much good once I'm inside the mountain."
"It will give us a couple of seconds to react once you're back up top."
She paused before she climbed behind the logs and stuck her hand out.
"Good luck."
Vaughn shook her hand.
"You too."
He wasn't sure what else to say because he still wasn't sure if he trusted her. He walked into the center of the open area and pulled out his infrared strobe. He wasn't sure he trusted any of those who would be parachuting in either. It was a hell of a situation. He had always been able to count on his teammates in combat situations, and now he was getting ready to conduct a mission where he wasn't sure of anything.
He checked his watch once more. Two minutes.
He turned the strobe on.
* * *
The Combat Talon was coming just above the wave tops. The back ramp was already down, and the four members of the team were clustered just near the edge in a line, the two outermost with a solid grip on the hydraulic arm holding the ramp in place.
That grip tightened as the nose of the Talon abruptly went up and the pilots headed straight for the top of
Hono Mountain. The four jumpers also had night vision goggles on and static line parachutes strapped to their backs. They didn't have reserve parachutes because at the altitude they were jumping, if their main didn't open, there would be no time to deploy a reserve.
"One minute!" the crew chief yelled to the team, holding up a single finger.
* * *
Vaughn had to assume the IR strobe was working, because without his own night vision goggles, he couldn't see anything. He cocked his head as he heard the familiar sound of turboprop engines. He almost ducked as the Talon roared by low overhead, barely one hundred feet above the top of the mountain. He stared up and saw four parachutes pop open, halfway between him and where the plane had gone by. The jumpers hit the ground scant seconds later, three of them in the clearing, the fourth in the trees along the edge, not far from where Tai was hidden.
"I've got four jumpers," he transmitted to Tai.
"Over."
"Roger. I see them. Out."
Vaughn ran over to the closest jumper, who was trying to get to his feet.
"Goddamn," Sinclair cursed.
"That was low."
Vaughn helped him shrug off his harness.
"Good to see you guys."
"Not sure I can say the same," Sinclair said as one of the other jumpers came up.
"Let's go," Orson growled.
"No time for bullshitting."
The three gathered up the next jumper. Vaughn peered at the man in the dark but didn't recognize him. Orson wasn't making introductions.
"Where's the rest of the stick? Hayes? Kasen?"
"Hayes didn't accompany us."
Vaughn pointed.
"Someone went just off the edge into the trees."
He took the lead to make sure they didn't walk right across Tai's position. They scrambled to the edge of the mountain and immediately saw a parachute in a tree about thirty feet down. While Orson and the fresh face remained topside anchoring a rope, Sinclair and Vaughn carefully made their way down to the jumper dangling at the bottom of the risers. Vaughn immediately knew something was wrong, because the body dangled motionless. He reached out and grabbed a handful of risers, pulling the jumper closer to them. Sinclair cut the body free and they grabbed hold, keeping it from sliding down the mountain. Vaughn could tell by the way the man's head rolled that his neck was broken. He pulled the night vision goggles off the body and recognized Kasen.
"Fuck," Sinclair hissed, checking for pulse and finding none. They jammed the body against a tree growing out of the side of the mountain and Sinclair headed back up, using the rope to climb. Vaughn slid Kasen's goggles on and followed, glad he now had night vision capability.
Orson took the news of Kasen's demise exactly as Vaughn had expected – with no reaction. Orson turned to him.
"Where's the way in?"
Vaughn led the way to the air shaft, the other three following. They tied the rope off and threw it down into the shaft as insurance.
"You lead," Orson ordered Vaughn. He turned to Sinclair.
"You stay up here and get the Fulton gear ready. We might be coming out hot, so make sure you have the Talon on the horn to pick us up within two minutes."
Vaughn climbed into the tube and began heading down toward where he'd last seen Abayon.
Over the Pacific
The second team was spread out in the rear of another Combat Talon. It was following the same track as the one the first team had used, except at a much higher altitude, over 30,000 feet.
From Hong Kong to Okinawa to cross-loading onto this plane, the team had had little time for rest, so they used this opportunity to rack out. That is, until the loadmaster woke the team leader and told him they were one hour out from drop.
It was time to rig.
Oahu
Foster was catching a nap on a cot in his office, and Royce had the entire Sim-Center to himself. He had the locations of both Talons on the display board. The first one was in a holding pattern twenty miles off of Jolo. The second was on a beeline for the island.
So far, so good.
Royce shifted the data flowing to the display, bringing up the SOSUS information once more. Once more all the submarines in the Pacific were displayed. And all were tagged except the one between Taiwan and mainland China.
Royce blinked as a dot suddenly appeared southwest of Oahu. It was green but not tagged. It flashed for several seconds and then disappeared from the screen.
Perplexed, he picked up his satphone and dialed his contact at fleet headquarters. He wasted no time on preamble, knowing that his contact would know his voice.
"What's the story with that brief contact that was displayed on SOSUS southwest of Oahu?"
There was a short pause.
"Wait one."
Another pause.
"The hydrophones picked up what was thought to be a submarine, but on checking was determined to most likely be a fishing trawler."
"I don't understand."
"Well, the contact just appeared out of nothing, which is weird, so it appears to be a glitch in the system. Also the sound is at very shallow depth. And the sound is a diesel engine and nobody uses those anymore in subs. We figure it's a fishing trawler that took on a heavy load and settled much lower in the water to trigger SOSUS. Why? Is there something I should know? We're focused on Johnston. We figure someone flew in and out of there, but Space Command has nothing for us."
"Nothing," Royce lied.
"I just was wondering. I'm checking on another operation. Out."
He shut the phone off.
That son of a bitch Abayon. Royce saw the pieces falling in place. He was going to try to re-create Pearl Harbor with the ZX. From the deck of the submarine, which he had probably bought from the dead boatyard in some third world country and rebuilt.
The only positive n
ews was that from the brief location he'd had, Royce figured it would take six or seven hours for the sub to get close enough to Oahu to be able to disperse the nerve agent, which he assumed they would do from a sprayer on the deck of the sub. Probably park the damn thing right off of Diamond Head and let loose on Honolulu. That would get Abayon plenty of attention.
Royce reached for the satphone to call fleet headquarters to warn them, then remembered the message from the Organization. This was to be kept in house. And it was his responsibility.
Instead of dialing fleet headquarters, Royce turned to the laptop and typed in orders to be transmitted to the Combat Talon that would recover his Australian team off of Jolo Island.
Jolo Island
Vaughn looked in the grate where they had seen Abayon and silently cursed when he saw the room was dark and empty. Still, he had to assume that wherever Abayon was bedded down for the night had to be close to his office. He used the crowbar he'd radioed the team to bring in to pry open the grate. Then he dropped into the office, MP-5 at the ready, infrared light on, revealing a clear desktop. Vaughn heard the others come in behind him and felt someone press against his side.
"Where is he?" Orson whispered hoarsely.
Vaughn pointed with the muzzle of his weapon toward the door.
"Somewhere through there."
Orson grunted, whether in disgust or for some other reason, Vaughn wasn't sure. He edged forward toward the door, sensing the rest of the team behind him. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.
* * *
Sinclair opened the canister containing the Fulton equipment. In-out. He liked it. That's what this mission was shaping up to. He opened the top of a long tube as he turned the valve on a helium canister. A blimp-shaped balloon slowly slithered out of the tube. As it inflated, the blimp became eight feet long and four feet in diameter, connected at the bottom to the climbers' 12mm rope, which he clipped to a snap link on the blimp. Holding on to keep it from rising, he turned on the small infrared strobe attached to the top of the blimp, making sure through his night vision goggles that it was working, then let go.
As the helium rushed in, the blimp rose into the night sky. Sinclair paid out the rope through his hand so there were no snags. It finally came to a stop with the blimp over three hundred feet above his head.
He tied that rope off to another snap link on the waistband of his harness, then reached into his vest and pulled out an FM radio headset, settling it on his head. It was already set to the right frequency.
Sinclair spoke into the voice-activated mouthpiece.
"Condor, this is Charlie One-two. Over."
The reply was instantaneous.
"Charlie One-two, this is Condor. Over."
"The balloon is up," Sinclair said.
"I will inform you when to begin your run. Over."
"Roger that. We'll be there. Over."
* * *
On board the second Combat Talon en route to Jolo Island, the Australian team leader heard the radio traffic and nodded. Everything was going smoothly. He cinched down the straps on his parachute harness one last time, then checked his submachine gun to make sure there was a round in the chamber.
He signaled to the loadmaster that they were ready. Each team member switched over to his personal oxygen, and the cargo bay began to depressurize.
* * *
Vaughn moved down the tunnel, the stock of the weapon tight to his shoulder. He felt as if he were walking into the belly of the beast, but so far they had yet to encounter any opposition. He had opened three doors off the tunnel, and all the rooms were empty.
He reached a fourth and paused as the other members of the team deployed around him. He still had no idea who the new member of the team was, or where Hayes had gone, but they had all been trained the same way so they were functioning well tactically.
The others covered him as he pushed open the door. Another tunnel beckoned. And at the end of it Vaughn could see the glow of moonlight and something else. A bright red dot. He realized it was someone smoking. Not a cigarette, but something larger. A cigar, he could tell by the odor wafting in.
Vaughn moved forward, the others behind him. He exited the far end of the tunnel onto a level area cut into the side of the mountain. And there was Rogelio Abayon, seated in a wheelchair, smoking a cigar. Now that he was outdoors, Vaughn pressed the transmit button, but didn't say anything.
"I've been waiting for you," Abayon said as the three team members circled him, weapons at the ready.
Orson stepped past Vaughn and placed the muzzle of his submachine gun on the old man's chest.
"I hope the wait was worth it. Where is everyone else?"
"Long gone," Abayon said.
"I would like to know something before you kill me."
Vaughn looked from the old man to his team leader. The contrast was striking. Abayon was a frail figure in a wheelchair, peering up in the darkness at the forms around him, a cigar held in one hand that was shaking ever so slightly. Orson was in black, his face covered by the night vision goggles, the weapon in his hand not shaking at all. Vaughn released the transmit button, knowing Tai would hear the break in static. He was rewarded a second later by her voice in his ear.
"I copied all that. I assume you're on the outside. Probably where the video was shot from. The Fulton rig is ready on top of the mountain. Let me hear what's going on."
There was the burst of static as she let go of the transmit.
Vaughn pulled up his goggles, turning them off, trying to control his shock at what Tai had just told him. He pulled the flashlight off his web gear and turned it on, causing Orson to curse and the other team members to quickly rip off their goggles.
"What the hell are you doing?" Orson demanded, the muzzle still on Abayon but his dark eyes on
Vaughn.
"Let's get this over with," Vaughn said.
"He has something he wants to say. Let him say it, then let's get out of here."
"I have a question," Abayon said.
"Not a speech to make. There is no one else here, so you do not need to be afraid we'll be interrupted."
"Where did everyone go?" Vaughn asked. Abayon smiled.
"That is a foolish question."
Orson poked the old man with the barrel of his weapon.
"The Golden Lily? Is it still here?"
"No."
"That was a mistake," Orson snapped. Vaughn felt the energy drain out of him. The adrenaline high that had kept him going was depleted, and Orson's question confirmed Tai's suspicions.
"Where did you move it to?" Orson demanded.
"That is another foolish question."
"I can make you talk," Orson threatened.
"No, you cannot."
Abayon raised his right hand from the arm of his wheelchair, revealing a red button.
"If my hand falls on this, numerous explosives will detonate throughout the complex. We will all die."
* * *
Tai watched Sinclair check his watch from her hide position. Then she watched him die as a burst of red tracers came out of the sky and hit him. Sinclair tumbled to the ground, his dead weight still holding the Fulton blimp in place.
A parachutist holding a submachine gun landed less than ten feet from the body, quickly followed by three others. Tai took a deep breath, her finger on the trigger, but she didn't fire. She could hear the conversation taking place below her on the side of the mountain and knew this had yet to run its course.
She noted the group discard their parachutes and then take up positions watching the vent. She had no doubt what they were waiting for. She cocked her head to listen to what was happening with Vaughn and waited for her chance to transmit to him what had just happened.
* * *
"Who do you work for?" Abayon asked.
"The U.S. government," Orson said.
"That is not true," Abayon said.
"That might have been what you were told, but someone else is pulling the
strings."
"Listen you – " Orson began, but Abayon's hand wavered over the button, silencing him.
"You do not even know," Abayon said, almost to himself.
"That is not surprising. I have spent over six decades fighting whoever it is you work for, and I don't know who they are either."
Vaughn could see a vein bulging on the side of Orson's face. He remained still and let go of the transmit button, and Tai's voice immediately crackled in his ear.
"Take them out. All of them. We've been betrayed. Sinclair is dead. There are four men who just parachuted in, waiting in ambush at the top of the vent."
There was the brief burst of static. Vaughn felt numb. He was back on Jolo Island and things were going as wrong as they possibly could once more. That thought shocked him out of his stupor because for the first time it occurred to him that his Delta Force team might have been betrayed. Had this all been one long, elaborate setup? He shifted the muzzle of the MP-5 and pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. The rounds hit Orson right where the vein was pulsing, taking most of his head off as they plowed through. Vaughn shifted and fired twice at the new man, again double-tapping him in the head. Then he shifted his attention to Abayon, whose hand still hovered over the red button but whose face showed surprise.
"Who are you?" Abayon asked.
"The raid to free the hostages," Vaughn said.
"You filmed it from here?" Abayon nodded.
"And you knew it was coming?" Abayon nodded once more.
"How?"
"One of my men received a tip from someone we knew to be a CIA informant."
"I led that raid," Vaughn said. Comprehension flooded Abayon's face.
"So you were betrayed also."
Vaughn didn't lower the muzzle of his MP-5.
"There's a team waiting up top to ambush me when I try to leave."
Abayon sighed.
"So I assume you do not know who is the puppet master either."
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