Typhoon Fury

by Clive Cussler

  The dive team had to surface twice more, during the tedious search, to exchange air tanks. By the afternoon, the clear skies were growing ominous as the first tendrils of clouds from Typhoon Hidalgo approached from the east. The gray overcast didn’t deter the fishing boat in the distance, one of several they’d seen the past couple of days, and a ferry lumbered by, a few miles away, making one of its last trips before the storm arrived. If Brekker didn’t find anything before sundown, they’d have to withdraw and seek calm waters out of the storm’s way.

  However, on the next dive they struck gold.

  The most forward cargo room was one of the two boatswain’s lockers. Brekker forced the hatch open to find that it had been cleared of the tackle and rigging that would normally be stowed there. The room would have been easily isolated from the rest of the ship so that the crew wouldn’t be able to see what was inside.

  If any cardboard boxes containing files had been in the room, they had rotted away long ago.

  But the real prize was still there.

  Twenty orange plastic barrels the size of beer kegs were grouped along the bulkhead, although any ropes lashing them in place had crumbled away. Unlike contemporary Tupperware, these barrels were opaque, so it was impossible to see what was inside until they got them to the surface. One of them had overturned, and the lid popped off. If it had contained Typhoon pills, they had dissolved in the water.

  But judging by the weight of the other barrels, they definitely held something. Brekker instructed his men to attach one of the neutral buoyancy floats that they had brought along to the barrel closest to the hatch. Once it was secured to the barrel, Brekker filled the float with air from his tank using his octopus regulator. When the barrel was floating, Brekker took it in tow and swam toward the exit hole. His men stayed behind to retrieve two more barrels.

  When they reached the surface, the watchman on board the yacht hauled the barrels aboard with the minicrane usually used to transfer Jet Skis in and out of the water.

  Brekker got out of the water and took off his gear while the men toweled off the three barrels. As soon as they were dry, Brekker carefully pried open the lid of the first one. It came off with a pop just like a tub of Tupperware straight out of the fridge.

  The top of the barrel was filled with cotton batting, as white as the day it was vacuum-sealed inside. Brekker tore it away to reveal thousands of pills etched with the Typhoon logo. All of them were intact and looked as if they’d been packed away yesterday.

  Brekker’s men slapped each other on the back and let out a whoop. One of them said with awe, “How many do you think are in there?”

  Brekker thought about the large bottle that held the vitamin supplements he took daily. “I’d estimate there are roughly a hundred thousand pills in here.”

  A cheer went up from the five men. With nearly two million of the pills to be brought up and sold to the highest bidder, they all knew they’d be very rich very soon.

  “Should we still plant the explosives?” one of them asked.

  Brekker nodded and looked at the acoustic trigger that would be used as an underwater detonator. It would send out an audio pulse that could be detected by the receiver miles away, allowing them to retreat to a safe distance before setting off the explosion.

  “If anyone ever comes looking for the Pearsall,” Brekker said, “we don’t want them to know we took the barrels. Put most of the bricks in the ammo magazine. It should tear the entire ship apart.”

  • • •

  LOCSIN WATCHED the yacht with a telescope while his men continued working the nets on the fishing boat as if they were hauling in a catch. From this distance, the image was fuzzy, but he could tell they had pulled something from the water. He had never seen Gerhard Brekker during the fight in the fire truck warehouse, but he could see which man was ordering the others around. Locsin recognized a fellow leader when he saw him.

  After returning to Negros Island, his translator had skimmed the Japanese files and found nothing in the papers relating to a formula for Typhoon. It was mostly notations and data about the experiments that the Japanese had performed on Filipino captives who they’d been using for drug tests. If it hadn’t been for the discovery of the Pearsall’s location, the dig on Corregidor would have been a complete bust.

  He handed the telescope to Tagaan, who watched the activity on the yacht and asked, “Should we take them now?”

  Locsin shook his head. “Not until we think they’re finished. We might as well let Mr. Brekker do all the work.”

  “What about Juan Cabrillo’s ship? Do you think they’re really coming?”

  Locsin grinned. “I know they are. Are you ready for them?”

  “Fifty Kuyog drones are prepped and operational.”

  “And the bait?”

  Tagaan nodded.

  “Excellent,” Locsin said, taking back the telescope and surveying the horizon. “Now all we need is a target.”

  51

  Brekker surfaced with his men and another three barrels to haul aboard the yacht. It had been a long day, but they were almost done. Two more trips down and they’d be able to get out of there with all their loot. Brekker was already considering who would buy the treasure and how much he should charge. The Americans, Chinese, and Russians had the most money, but he wasn’t counting out the Saudis or Iranians. All he knew was that Salvador Locsin had his chance and he blew it. Besides, with the meth shipment in police custody, Locsin didn’t have the funds to pay for it.

  Brekker threw his fins over the railing and climbed up the ladder to supervise hauling up the barrels. When he looked over, he froze, stupefied by the sight of Locsin and his men standing over the dead body of the watchman Brekker had left on board.

  Five assault rifles were trained on him. He slowly finished getting out of the water. Locsin’s fishing boat had been circling two hundred yards away to avoid being seen as Brekker’s team surfaced. With their return, it now headed toward the yacht.

  Locsin smirked at him. “Right now, you’re wondering how I found you here.” He obviously relished echoing the same line Brekker had used on him at the Manila fire truck warehouse. “The Americans left a record of the Pearsall at Corregidor.”

  “You killed my man.”

  “You and I both understand the need for force to make a point. We appreciate you bringing up the barrels of Typhoon for us. How many are left down there?”

  “None,” Brekker said, fighting back the bile in his throat. “This is all of them.” He looked at the three of his men who were left. All of them were eyeing their captors for a chance to attack, but it would be a useless effort.

  “I think you’re lying,” Locsin said. “The information we found said there were twenty barrels on board. I only see fifteen.”

  “Then why don’t you go down and take a look for yourselves?”

  “Because you’re already dressed for the occasion. I may even let you live if you dive down and get the rest of them.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Then you die right here, right now. I may be a communist, Mr. Brekker, but I drive a hard bargain.”

  Brekker looked at his men and nodded. They would go back down to the wreck. In fact, it would be necessary for what he was planning.

  “I need a fresh oxygen tank,” he said.

  Locsin waved his hand toward the equipment. “Of course. But remember that the water is crystal clear. We will be watching you.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  He walked over and began the process of exchanging his old tank for a new one. At the same time, Locsin’s men began transferring the barrels of Typhoon from the yacht to the fishing boat.

  The acoustic detonator was still lying where Brekker had left it. As he picked up the tank, he palmed the small electronic transmitter, which was wirelessly linked to the yacht’s sonar array. One push of
the button would activate an underwater pulse that would set off the bombs they’d already planted on the destroyer below them. The bombs still aboard the yacht wouldn’t be activated because they weren’t yet in the water, but there were more than enough on the Pearsall to cause the ammo in the magazine to explode, taking both the yacht and the fishing boat with it.

  But Brekker wasn’t suicidal. He had something else in mind.

  He shrugged into the tank harness and took his mask and snorkel. He climbed back down the ladder, and just before he sank into the water, he shoved the small detonator onto a ledge behind the ladder. He couldn’t get the electronics in the transmitter wet because they would short out.

  Accompanied by his men, he descended to the Pearsall and had them round up three more barrels. Meanwhile, Brekker went to the destroyer’s ammo magazine and removed one of the bombs they’d placed amongst the piles of five-inch high-explosive shells.

  When the barrels were ready, they went back up. Locsin was so eager to get more of the Typhoon pills that he barely looked at Brekker, who carried the bomb in a net cinched closed with a nylon rope. As he took hold of the dive ladder to climb aboard, he quickly knotted the bomb to the lowest rung.

  While climbing the ladder, he snatched the acoustic detonator and held it high for Locsin to see.

  “If you shoot me,” Brekker said, “I will set off the bomb I just brought up and we will all die.”

  He pointed to the bomb dangling next to him. He knew that he needed Locsin to believe his threat. Merely claiming that there were bombs in the wreck below wouldn’t have been convincing enough.

  When they didn’t lower their weapons, Brekker yelled, “I mean it!”

  Locsin peered over the railing, saw the bomb, then said to his men, “Put down your guns and let him up.”

  Brekker slowly climbed up to the deck, watching for any sign they would try to kill him. He wasn’t bluffing. He knew Locsin had no intention of letting him and his men live. If he was going to die, he might as well take them all with him.

  All of the barrels except the ones they’d just brought up had been moved to the fishing boat. Brekker dropped the oxygen tank to the deck, eyeing Locsin warily as he did so.

  “Now what?” Locsin said. “We have the guns and you have the bomb. Is there a solution where we don’t all blow up or get shot?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” Brekker said, who had thought of a way out of the standoff during the dive. He pointed at a chest holding the remainder of the explosives they hadn’t planted on the Pearsall. “We’re going to take a bomb out of there and tie it to your fishing boat.”

  “Why? So you can blow us up as soon as we’re out of range of your yacht?”

  “No. There’s also a backup detonator in the chest and it’s also connected to the yacht’s sonar system, which will send out a pulse at the push of the button. The sound wave will be received by any of these bombs that are underwater within three miles and activate the trigger mechanism. So as your boat leaves, we’ll each have a detonator and a bomb ready to explode. If you press the button, we both blow up. If I press the button, we both blow up. If neither of us presses it, we both come out of this alive.”

  Brekker edged over to the chest and opened it. Locsin watched intently as Brekker bent down and removed a bomb and the second detonator.

  “Which one do you want?” he asked Locsin.

  “How do I know either of them work?”

  “You want proof? If I push this button, that bomb lashed to the ladder will explode, and we’ll all be dead a split second after you got that proof. So, what will it be?”

  Locsin looked at both of them before answering. “I’ll take the detonator you came out of the water with.”

  “That’s exactly what I would have chosen.”

  Brekker tossed the bomb and detonator to Locsin, who handed the bomb to one of his men and told him to hang it in the water from the stern railing of the fishing boat.

  “When we’re five hundred yards apart,” Brekker said, “we’ll simultaneously lift our bombs out of the water, which will neutralize them. Fair?”

  Locsin nodded. “Fair.”

  “Oh, and one more thing before you go. I want six of those barrels you already took.”

  “What?”

  “It’s our compensation for all the work we’ve done. If you want them later, you can always pay us market value.”

  Locsin hesitated, no doubt sick at the idea.

  “My men and I are willing to die,” Brekker said. “Are you?”

  Finally, Locsin said, “We are, but not over this. I’ll give you four since there are two more below. If that’s not satisfactory, you can kill us all.”

  Brekker smiled. “You negotiate like a capitalist, Comrade Locsin. I accept your terms.”

  “We’ll be watching. If you or any of your men try to remove your bomb before we reach the agreed-to distance, I’ll detonate it.”

  “And I will do the same.”

  As promised, Locsin’s men moved four of the barrels back to the yacht. Brekker’s team hauled up the three that were still in the water.

  Before he got onto the fishing boat, Locsin nodded at the horizon behind Brekker. “We need to get out of here now, and you may not want to stick around to get those other two barrels.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  “Because that ship rushing toward us knows what we found here today, and they won’t like that you’ve taken the cargo.”

  Without fully turning around in case it was a trick, he glanced sideways and saw a merchant ship coming their way at high speed, far faster than he would expect for a vessel her size.

  “Who is that? The Philippine Navy?”

  Locsin shook his head as he climbed into the fishing boat. “Remember that Juan Cabrillo person you said you didn’t care about, back at the fire truck warehouse? You should care about him now, because I’d bet that’s his ship. A friend of his told me the name when she was in a daze from a gunshot wound. It’s called the Oregon.”

  52

  Juan leaned forward in his chair in the Oregon’s op center as he watched the yacht and fishing boat separate on the big screen. They had been butted up against each other right where NUMA had reported the sunken Pearsall’s position to be. A densely forested islet, no more than a mile across, was visible in the background under dark clouds rolling toward the late-afternoon sun. The fishing boat stopped for a short time a quarter mile from the yacht, then continued toward the north end of the islet.

  Juan turned to Max. “Salvador Locsin doesn’t seem to be the type to rent a fancy yacht like that.”

  “Not very communistic,” Max replied. “He must be on the fishing boat.”

  “Do you think they made the deal they were talking about in the warehouse?” asked Raven, who was standing next to Max.

  Juan looked back at the screen and shook his head. “It seems unlikely, after the fight they had, but it does look like it, doesn’t it? And the destroyer hasn’t been blown up like Gerhard Brekker threatened to do, so either they’ve brought up all of the barrels of Typhoon or they were destroyed when it sank.”

  “Maybe they just haven’t found them yet, and we’ve scared them off,” Max said. “Look, there goes the yacht.”

  Juan frowned. The yacht was making full speed toward the fishing boat, which was already halfway to the islet.

  “I don’t get it,” Juan said. “Why is he taking off after the fishing boat?”

  “Buyer’s remorse?” Raven said.

  “Whatever the reason,” Eric Stone said from his position at the helm, “they’ll catch up with the fishing boat before we do.”

  “How long until we close on them?” Juan asked.

  “Ten minutes to the yacht. By that time, the fishing boat will be out of sight on the other side of the island.”

  �
�Do you think it’s the trap we’re expecting?” Max asked.

  “You read my mind,” Juan said. “Seems like a clear lure to me. Murph, how are you doing with the sensor analysis on those Kuyog drones?”

  Murph spun around in his seat at the weapons controls. “Eric and I came up with a beacon that might fool the sensor, but it’s a long shot. We can’t really test out the idea without a working Kuyog. Gomez is working on mounting the beacon on one of our aerial UAVs. In the meantime, I’ll be able to shoot any drones they send at us with the Gatling guns.”

  Juan didn’t ask if he was sure. Murph could have been a professional video gamer, so aiming the Gatling guns remotely was a snap for him, using either the radar or the targeting cameras mounted on the guns.

  Even if there were more Kuyogs than Murph could handle, the Oregon would be able to outrun them with her magnetohydrodynamic engines at full throttle. They’d never close the distance before their small fuel tanks ran out.

  “Our main target is the fishing boat,” Juan said, “and then we’ll board the yacht as well, just to be sure.” He had Hali radio down to the boat garage.

  “Linda here.”

  “Are you ready to launch?” Juan asked.

  “Eddie, Linc, and MacD are suited up with their dive gear in the RHIB. We’re just putting Little Geek on now. Set to go in two minutes.” Little Geek was their small remotely operated underwater vehicle, which Linda would be able to control from the rigid-hulled inflatable boat. Since Raven had told them about Brekker’s plan to booby-trap the wreckage, he didn’t want to send his people down there until he knew there were no explosives on it.

  “Good, but there’s a change of plans. Instead of diving on the destroyer, just do a quick inspection with Little Geek and then catch up with us in case we need you to board the yacht. We can always come back later and do a night dive on the wreck.”

  “Aye, Chairman,” Linda confirmed. “Conducting a boarding party with this trio will be no problem. We’ve got enough weapons aboard the RHIB to take down Godzilla.”