Typhoon Fury

by Clive Cussler

  “I want to see the effects of his withdrawal in person. It will give me a lot of useful data for my analysis of the drug.”

  “It’ll be expensive to move him.”

  “I can cover the expense,” Polten said.

  “Very well,” Brekker said. “When can you be there?”

  “I’ll get the next flight out to Manila. My colleague and I will be there by tonight.”

  “You’re paying the bills, so whatever you say. We’ll see you there.”

  Brekker hung up and went back inside the shack.

  “No commercial flight for us this time, boys,” he announced. “We’re going to hire a charter so we can take Mr. Lynch with us.”

  “Can I have my Typhoon now?” Lynch pleaded.

  “Not until we get to Manila and verify your story about the warehouse. If the product is there, you’ll get as many pills as you want for helping us.”

  Although Lynch was still agitated, the thought of a huge supply of Typhoon pills soothed him. If he knew that he’d already taken his last dose, Brekker had no doubt Lynch would go wild with panic.

  But that’s why Brekker was so good at his job. His unflappable attitude not only got him results like it had just now, it also made him an expert liar.

  25

  THE PHILIPPINES

  Baylon Fire, one of the largest suppliers of fire trucks and firefighting equipment in Asia, sold its products to over a dozen countries, from India to South Korea. The privately owned company’s monstrous shipping warehouse by the Manila docks sat beside its main manufacturing plant and testing facility, where its fire engines were put through their paces on a proving ground that could simulate anything from a structure fire to a plane crash.

  Dozens of trucks of all types stretched to every corner of the building, from pumpers and ladder trucks to gigantic eight-wheeled airport firefighting vehicles, colored bright red or yellow, depending on the specifications of the country that had ordered them.

  When Locsin traveled through Manila, he wore a cap and sunglasses to disguise himself, since he was a wanted man. But inside the warehouse, which was now empty of people on his orders, he had nothing to worry about. For months, he had cultivated the loyalty of Baylon Fire’s fitness-conscious owner by getting him hooked on Typhoon. Getting him to clear out the warehouse for an hour this early in the morning was a simple matter.

  While he watched, Tagaan supervised a group of his men passing brick-sized white packets from a series of crates to the top of a scarlet red fire truck. The man on top of the truck systematically dropped each packet into the opening where water would normally fill the three-thousand-gallon tank.

  “How much longer will this take?” Locsin asked Tagaan. He was impatient to get back to the dig.

  Tagaan regarded the pallet holding the crates. “It looks like we’ve got about three hundred packets to go.”

  The setback at the chemical lab compound made this shipment even more important, which was why Locsin felt the need to oversee the loading himself. The extensive search for more Typhoon was burning through their cash hoard. In all, the packets of methamphetamine going into the fire truck had a street value of over fifty million dollars.

  “Good,” Locsin said. “When we’re done here, inform Lynch that we’ll be loading the truck onto the Magellan Sun tomorrow night. I want the money transferred to us as soon as it reaches Jakarta.”

  “Yes, comrade.”

  It was Tagaan, a marine engineer by training, who had come up with this smuggling method. The packets were designed so that not only were they watertight, but they would also float. No customs inspector would think to examine the interior of a sealed water tank inside a fire truck. When the truck reached its destination and received its clearance, it would be prepped for delivery to the customer at a secure facility where the tank would be filled. The packets would float to the top, and they would be removed by a large, four-pronged retriever snake like those used to pull cables from inside walls.

  That kind of ingenuity was the only reason Tagaan was still alive. The drive back to Manila had been a long and miserable trip, with Locsin browbeating his most trusted comrade the whole way for somehow leading Beth Anders and her friends to them. There was no other explanation for how they happened to show up at one of his most secret facilities.

  Negros Island hadn’t been raided, but he’d put his men there on high alert just in case.

  In fact, all of their operations from now on had to be strictly controlled and protected until they knew how they’d been compromised. The cargo being transferred from the Magellan Sun this evening was critical to their plans. Locsin couldn’t be there because he was focused on the important dig they had going on, but he could make Tagaan available.

  “I want you to fly down to Negros today,” Locsin said. “You’ll take charge of the unloading of the Magellan Sun.”

  “But the dig—”

  “Is going as planned. I’ll send for you if I need you.”

  Tagaan hesitated before nodding. He was just as anxious as Locsin was about their dwindling supply of Typhoon.

  “What’s the status of the Magellan Sun?” Locsin asked. “Is it on schedule?”

  Tagaan checked his phone. “The GPS tracker says that it will arrive at the rendezvous as expected tonight at midnight.” He handed the phone to Locsin. The dot on the map display indicated that the Magellan Sun had already entered the Sulu Sea west of Negros.

  “All right. You’ll have plenty of time to get down there.” Locsin liked being able to know where his specially modified cargo ship was at all times. With the kind of payload it was carrying, they couldn’t take any chances that it was being diverted, and the GPS tracker confirmed that the captain was staying the course.

  Locsin was about to give the phone back when he stopped, transfixed on the map showing where his ship was.

  An electronic tracker. That had to be the explanation for how the lab compound had been found.

  “What did you bring back from Thailand with you?” Locsin asked Tagaan.

  Tagaan cocked his head at Locsin, confused by the question, then shrugged. “It was a short trip. Just the briefcase holding the eagle finial. Beth Anders made off with the painting.”

  “Did she touch the finial?”

  “Yes. She inspected it before I brought out the painting.”

  “How long did she have it?”

  “Just a minute, while she examined it.”

  “And the other woman? Did she touch it?”

  “No. When I lost them after the gunfight, I went back to the club, put the finial inside the case, and got out of there with my surviving men.”

  Locsin knew the metal case was lined with a thin layer of lead, which meant it had to be opened at customs. But it would also shield any electronics inside as well.

  “Did you open the case when you stopped at the chemical lab on the way back?”

  Tagaan thought for a moment, then said, “Yes, I did. I gave the two pills to Ocampo as you instructed.” Those had been the last pills Ocampo had received for his research, and he got them only because the two men who’d died in Bangkok wouldn’t need them anymore.

  It also meant that the finial was exposed for a short time while the case was open. It had remained closed ever since it arrived back at their headquarters.

  A look of recognition dawned on Tagaan’s face. “That redhead placed a tracking device on the finial?”

  “A very small one.”

  As the enormity of his mistake became apparent, Tagaan reared back and kicked an empty crate so hard that it shattered.

  Locsin called one of his men at the headquarters and told him to retrieve the case from his room. He told the man to go to the most remote part of the cavern and open the case far from the opening in the roof so it wouldn’t be in the direct line of sight to any satellites overhead. He
was to inspect the finial and replace it in the case before reporting back.

  Ten minutes later, as the last packets were being loaded into the fire truck’s tank, Locsin’s phone rang.

  “Yes,” Locsin said as Tagaan listened intently to the speakerphone.

  “There was a small electronic chip inside the finial’s base,” the man replied breathlessly.

  “You didn’t remove it, did you?”

  “No, comrade leader.”

  “Good. Have the finial brought to me in Manila at once. Do not open the case again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, comrade leader. It will be there by this afternoon.”

  “Good. And send another ten men with it.” He hung up.

  Tagaan fumed as Locsin put the phone away. “I’m a disgrace.”

  “Spycraft isn’t your strength,” Locsin said, surprising himself about how calm he was about the setback. “Your other abilities are more valuable.”

  “You’re not going to destroy the tracking device?”

  Locsin shook his head. “It’s much more useful intact.”

  Tagaan looked at him, puzzled, until he realized what Locsin meant.

  “Do you still want me to supervise the unloading of the Magellan Sun?”

  “Yes, I can handle things here.” Locsin understood why he was so serene. It was because he was back to being on the offensive. When he was in control of the situation, it kept the anger at bay. “I want to find out who was helping Beth Anders. And now that we know there is a tracker on the finial, we have the perfect lure.”

  26

  After arriving in Manila and loading the PIG back onto the Oregon, Juan had the ship cast off and race down to its current anchorage five miles off the west coast of Negros Island in the central Philippines. The crew had spent the day planning and prepping for the midnight mission to intercept the Magellan Sun when it was scheduled to off-load its mysterious cargo. With only three hours until the anticipated arrival of their target, Mark Murphy was monitoring the radar in the op center and would inform Juan as soon as the ship appeared on the scope.

  He and Julia Huxley were in his quarters finishing a pre-mission dinner loaded with carbs. Although the cabin was situated in the center of the ship, what looked like a huge window dominated the far wall. Only close inspection revealed that it was actually a 4K display screen feed of the view from a high-definition camera up on deck. The sun had set long ago, but the reflection of the brilliant half-moon shimmered off the calm sea.

  The state-of-the-art TV was the only item to remain from Juan’s recent cabin renovation. He had grown tired of the modern design, so using his share of the generous budget all crew members received to decorate their homes at sea, he had it converted back to its previous style: retro classic forties based on Rick’s Café Américain from the movie Casablanca. The antique desk, dining table, chairs, and even the black handset telephone wouldn’t have been out of place in Bogie’s smoky office. Though he didn’t have room for Sam’s upright piano, the bedroom held a massive safe where he stored the ship’s working cash and his personal weapons. Other than the old-fashioned electronics, the only object that would have seemed unusual sat on his desk, a detailed model of Robert Fulton’s nineteenth-century hand-powered submarine that had been given to him as a gift by the French government after the successful completion of a past mission.

  “How did Beth take it when you told her and Raven that they couldn’t come with us?” Julia asked as she nibbled on the remainder of her pasta. She had met the women briefly when she stitched up Mel Ocampo’s wound. Instead of the scrubs the Navy-trained physician favored while on board, Julia was still wearing the peach blouse and black pants from her shore excursion. As usual, her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her soft, dark eyes conveyed both the intense focus and caring empathy of a first-rate doctor.

  “They weren’t happy about it,” Juan replied, taking a drink from his coffee mug. He would have preferred to savor a glass of “Sori Ginestra” Barolo, but because of tonight’s upcoming mission, he restricted himself to caffeine instead of alcohol.

  “She’s never been on the Oregon, has she?”

  Juan shook his head. “And I didn’t think participating in this operation was the proper introduction since we don’t know what we’ll face. I’ll show her around when we get back to Manila.”

  “I think she’ll like what we’ve done with the art she’s consulted on.”

  “I don’t know about that. She probably thinks we’ve got it displayed in some corporate headquarters in New York, not on a ship loaded with weaponry.”

  “After yesterday’s excitement, I think she might be more understanding.”

  Juan still couldn’t get the image of the gravely injured guard holding the knife to Beth’s throat out of his mind. That was one reason he’d asked Julia to join him for dinner, as she also served as the ship’s counselor. But his main reason was to pick her brain to see what she thought of Ocampo’s assessment of the Typhoon drug, and, so far, she hadn’t been able to poke any significant holes in his story.

  “I should have made sure that guard was dead,” he said. He often confided in her about things he couldn’t talk about with anyone else, like the fact that he continued to endure pain from phantom leg syndrome.

  “You couldn’t have known,” she said matter-of-factly. “I mean, it’s possible I might not have noticed. You said the guy wasn’t bleeding?”

  She knew Juan was no stranger to witnessing gunshot wounds. “There was blood, but it wasn’t flowing out like I’ve seen in the past.”

  “From where you said the shots were placed, I’d have expected him to be incapacitated at the very least, if not dead instantly. You know, Ocampo wasn’t wrong about dolphins surviving massive shark bites. I looked it up before dinner.”

  “So you think Typhoon really is this miracle drug?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘miracle.’ Steroids are powerful drugs based on hormones produced naturally by the human body. When we use the term, most people think of anabolic steroids taken by athletes to increase muscle mass, but I use them all the time in treatments for allergic reactions and to reduce severe inflammation. On the other hand, they can have serious harmful health effects if they’re used over a long period or in high doses.”

  “He said the pills are stamped with the image of a cyclone. Can steroids be taken in pill form?”

  “Corticosteroids are typically taken orally, while anabolic steroids are usually injected. But steroids can also be inhaled or applied topically as a cream or gel. But, there must be more to Typhoon than just steroids. It sounds like it’s a combination drug. I’ve never heard of anything like it. Ocampo really said the pills date from the 1940s?”

  “That’s what he claimed. Is it possible?”

  Julia shook her head in amazement at the thought. “I guess. Steroids were first discovered in the thirties in Germany, and the Japanese, who occupied the Philippines for the majority of World War Two, were notorious for conducting obscene medical experiments during those years.”

  “You mean their biological and chemical warfare group called Unit 731.”

  Julia nodded solemnly. “I could go into their wartime atrocities, but you wouldn’t be able to keep your meal down. They might’ve been trying to perfect a drug to make their soldiers stronger and more aggressive. In fact, a Japanese chemist was the first to synthesize methamphetamines, which were supplied to kamikaze pilots to make them fearless. They had such a huge stockpile left over after the war that it caused an addiction crisis in Japan until the use of it was outlawed in the fifties and the remaining supplies destroyed.”

  “It sounds like there is another stockpile still left over of this Typhoon drug.”

  Julia put her fork down and pushed her plate away. “If there is, you might run into more of these guys. And given what you told me, I have advice for you that goes aga
inst my nature as a doctor.”

  “What’s that?”

  She leaned toward Juan to emphasize her point. “I’m telling you this as a friend and colleague. If you have another battle against someone taking Typhoon, aim for the heart or head. It may be the only way to make sure he goes down for good.”

  A gentle knock at the door broke the sobering spell of her words.

  “Come in, Maurice,” Juan said.

  The Oregon’s chief steward had a knack for knowing within seconds when to make an entrance. As the only member of the crew older than Max, he carried himself with a regal sophistication from his days in Britain’s Royal Navy. Dressed in black tie and white jacket, with a spotless napkin draped over the arm and carrying a silver tray, Maurice was in his element in the luxurious surroundings of the Oregon’s hidden interior.

  “May I clear those away, Captain?” Unlike the rest of the crew, Maurice adhered to naval tradition instead of addressing Juan as “Chairman.”

  “Yes. Thanks, Maurice.”

  “I will indeed, sir. Would you care for anything else?”

  “Nothing for me right now. Maybe later. Hux?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got to get back to work.” Julia had a ritual of preparing the med bay before a mission in case it was needed. When she stood, her voluptuous five-foot-three figure provided a stark contrast with Maurice’s tall, thin frame.

  “Remember what I said, Juan,” she said before excusing herself.

  As Maurice cleared the dishes, he said, “I understand you are currently working with Ms. Anders. Will you please convey my gratitude for the magnificent art she has brought to our lives?”

  Juan suppressed an amused chuckle. He was always amazed at how well connected the steward was with shipboard scuttlebutt.

  “Happy to. I plan to invite her on board in the near future. If you’d like, you could give her a guided tour.”