Juan heard Max say, “Northwest of you and enjoying a lovely sail through typhoon-roiled waters.”
“What about Tagaan?” Juan asked.
“We’re just about to reach the coastal road where we think his truck will make an appearance. The only question is whether he got there first.”
69
Although the winds were calm in the eye of Typhoon Hidalgo, the Oregon bucked like a bronco through the heavy seas in the narrow strait between Negros and Panay islands. Max, whose hands clenched the arms of the Kirk Chair in the op center, would have been shocked if any other ships were foolish enough to be out in these kinds of swells, and Linda confirmed that they were alone. The few roads they could see were deserted, as would be every building still standing along the shore if the residents valued their lives.
Max could see on the map that they were almost in visual range of the shoreline highway that had been used the day before by Locsin’s truck. They were taking a chance that Tagaan hadn’t chosen a different route, but it seemed likely he would be heading away from the eye wall, not toward it.
The road hugged the shore for only two miles, so they had a brief window for the intercept. If they missed Tagaan before he turned inland, they’d never find him again.
When they came around the next point, the highway came into view. The palms lining it were eerily still compared to the looming storm clouds behind them.
The big screen showed a single truck speeding along the road away from the direction of the cavern. It matched the description Juan had given them and was already halfway to the curve taking the road away from the shore.
“Murph, ready the cannon to fire,” Max said.
Murph worked his weapons control panel and said, “Cannon coming online.”
The hull plates covering the 120mm smoothbore cannon at the bow of the Oregon slid aside.
“Steady as she goes, Eric,” Max said.
“Steady, aye,” Eric replied from the helm as the Oregon slammed into another deep trough between waves.
“Your definition of steady needs work,” Murph cracked. He would need to time his shot like an archer on horseback at full gallop. “Ready.”
Max leaned forward. “Fire at will.”
• • •
TAGAAN HAD TO slow considerably when he was in the jungle to go around fallen branches, but now that he was on the highway and had it all to himself, he could more easily stay ahead of the storm. He knew of a concrete parking garage in Bacolod where he could outlast the rest of Hidalgo and plan his next steps. If he was lucky, he’d be there long before the edge of the eye wall reached him.
The stump of his leg still stung, but the bleeding had stopped. That was another thing he’d take care of in the city.
Now that he could pay less attention to the road, he had been able to open the cardboard sheets holding the pressed flower. As he looked at the secret ingredient of Typhoon, he considered how he could search for more of it. Finally, he would be the one with all the power.
But something about it wasn’t right. It was a white orchid, all right, but he didn’t remember the yellow petal in the center when he’d seen it on the fishing boat. The scrawled name was there, but it read Ceratostylis incognita. He thought the second word should be something more like inviolable.
Before he could make sense of it, the sugarcane field to his left exploded, throwing dirt high into the air.
Tagaan jerked the steering wheel in surprise but stayed on the road. Was someone bombing him? But surely no one was idiotic enough to fly in this weather. Then he glanced in the passenger-side mirror and saw the Oregon plunging through whitecaps.
A flash erupted from her bow. It was followed seconds later by a towering geyser of water erupting from the waves offshore.
The gunner now had him bracketed. Tagaan stamped the pedal to the floor. If he could get inland, he’d be out of visual range of the gun and home free.
When he saw another flash, he slammed on the brakes. A shell blasted a crater in the road where he would have been if he’d kept up the same speed. He swerved around it and accelerated back to full speed.
He could see the curve ahead. At this firing rate, they had two more shots at best.
Another flash. This time, he didn’t let up on the gas.
But the gunner hadn’t aimed at the truck at all. A hundred feet in front of the truck, he landed the shell right at the base of a palm tree next to the road. Severed from its newly created stump, the tree fell across the road, blocking the truck’s path. Tagaan stood on the brakes, but it was too late. The truck struck the tree, catapulted over the trunk, and flipped onto the driver’s side.
Tagaan’s front teeth were knocked out when his face smashed into the steering wheel, and he tasted blood as he tried to push himself out of the seat. Then he realized that the immobile truck was now an easy target.
He looked up to the passenger-side mirror and saw the Oregon relentlessly coming toward him.
From the bow, he saw one more flash.
• • •
THE SCREEN in the op center was zoomed in on the truck lying in the road. One second it was there, the next it was gone, blasted into a million pieces by the exploding shell.
“Say good-bye to Typhoon,” Max said with a smile. He turned to Murph. “That was genius taking out the tree to stop him.”
“The guy was getting on my nerves,” Murph said with a shrug as he closed up the plates over the cannon. “Pretty good shot, though, right?”
“You did miss him three times,” Eric reminded him.
“Fourth time’s the charm is therefore my new motto.”
“Right,” Max said, chuckling. “Put it on a T-shirt. Now, let’s get our people back before we run out of maneuvering room in the actual typhoon.”
• • •
HIDALGO’S COURSE was taking the eye over Panay Island, so Gomez had to get the helicopter back inside the Oregon as soon as possible. As they hovered over the ship, he told Juan and the others that the landing might be a little dicey.
They had to wait until the pitching deck came to them. As the skids touched the Oregon, Gomez shut down the engine, and the helicopter dived into the next trough along with the ship. Eddie and Linc jumped out and lashed the chopper to the tie-downs as the helicopter was lowered on the elevator platform.
“That was some gutsy flying,” Juan said to Gomez.
“All in a day’s work,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Thanks for keeping me from dying,” Raven said as she hopped off Juan’s lap.
He nearly replied, “My pleasure,” but thought that wouldn’t come out right. “Happy to” was almost as bad. He just said, “Of course.” A soft snicker came from his right, and Beth put a hand to her mouth.
Juan got out and was met by Max and Julia Huxley as the deck closed above them.
“You look like you need a thorough checkup,” Julia said to Juan.
“I’ll be okay,” he said and nodded to Beth. “There’s your patient.”
When Julia saw the bloody bullet wound in Beth’s side, she called for the waiting stretcher. Juan helped Beth out and onto the gurney.
“Take care of the paintings,” she said with a beatific smile. She didn’t seem to be feeling any pain. But when she saw Maurice suddenly appear next to Juan to deliver his traditional celebratory cigar, she barked, “Absolutely no smoking around the paintings!”
Juan handed it back and said, “Please leave it in my cabin, Maurice.”
“Along with a full breakfast and a Bloody Mary,” Maurice said and glided away.
“Satisfied?” Juan asked Beth, who relaxed again. “I promise you will get as much time as you want with them once you’ve recovered.”
Beth clapped her hands in glee, ignoring the injury. “I can’t wait.” Then she took Raven’s hand. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“Believe me,” Beth said, “with the reward we’re going to get from those paintings, I can afford it.”
Raven turned to Juan and got so close to his ear that he could feel her breath on his neck. “I’ll go with her. From what I understand about the effects of Typhoon, she’s going to have a rough few days as she goes through withdrawal.” She didn’t add that Beth might die if she had become fully addicted to the stuff.
Juan nodded, and Raven kept hold of Beth’s hand as Julia and the med techs wheeled her to the medical bay.
He looked at Max and grinned. “I’m glad you got Tagaan. I wasn’t looking forward to another mission to find him. I think I need about twelve hours of shut-eye.”
“We all do,” Max said. “Eric has the Oregon headed to a harbor on Panay, where we can ride out the rest of the storm. The ship will rock you to sleep.”
Juan handed a couple of the tubes of paintings to Max and took the rest himself.
“Before I turn in, I want to see what we’ve got here.”
They went to the boardroom, where Juan opened the tube marked Picasso. He carefully pulled the paintings out and unrolled them on the conference table.
“Wow,” Max said when he saw the masterpieces lying there. “I can’t wait to hear what the reward is for returning these.” The top one was a Rembrandt that Juan recalled from the Gardner Museum heist. The one below it was signed by Gauguin.
“I know how we’re going pay for repairs to the Oregon,” Juan said.
“And maybe a few upgrades?” Max asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“Not a bad idea.”
The third painting was a small cubist oil instantly identifiable as a Picasso.
“Beth said this one is available for purchase since it was stolen from an auction.”
“Picassos always make a good investment.” The Corporation already had one in its possession, currently in a bank vault in Monaco. “This one might look good on the walls in here.”
As Juan lifted it up for Max to get a better look, he suddenly understood why Locsin had wanted it back so badly.
He nodded appreciatively and grinned at Max. “I’ll take it.”
EPILOGUE
ONE WEEK LATER
GUAM
Juan found Max in the starboard ballast tank, which also doubled as an Olympic-length lap pool. Juan’s preferred method of exercise was swimming in its dual lanes, but he hadn’t been able to use it since the Kuyog blew a hole in the side of the ship, which was why they were now docked at a maintenance depot.
The hull had since been patched up on the outside, appearing as slipshod as possible of course. On the inside, Max was inspecting the welds, making sure that the new armor plating was seamless.
“When can I go back to doing laps?” Juan asked, his voice echoing off the marble-clad flooring. A week’s worth of algae had been scrubbed away, revealing the gleaming surface.
“When I’m sure that all the damage has been repaired,” Max said. “Should take another hour. Then, remember, we head out for beer and nachos at eighteen hundred.”
“Should I invite Hux?” Juan teased.
Max shot him a look that would melt steel. “Don’t you dare.”
“I was about to talk to Raven. Do you want to be in on the conversation?”
“No, it’s your call. A good one, by the way. You can tell me how it goes at the bar.”
“I’ll meet you on deck.”
Juan left Max muttering to himself and went up to the boardroom, where Raven was waiting.
He took a seat next to her as she put down the Jane Austen book she was reading.
“Persuasion,” Juan said, reading the title. “I haven’t read that one.”
“Everyone thinks I’d want to watch war movies or read about military history,” Raven said. “It’s nice to get away from all that once in a while.”
“I’m glad you’ve been taking advantage of our library. It’s nice that you’ve stuck around during Beth’s recovery.”
“I’ve been there. A familiar face helps you get through it. Besides, the facilities on your ship are incredible, and my little apartment in San Diego isn’t much to look at.”
“You don’t have anyone back in the States?”
“My parents, but I don’t see them all that much.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t have a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It was, actually. But not for the reason you’re thinking.”
She tilted her head and gave him an amused look. “I’m listening.”
“Everyone in the Corporation, myself included, was very impressed by your skills and composure in the Philippines. You may not realize how difficult it is to find someone with your set of abilities.”
“Very difficult, I’d guess. They’re aren’t many women out there like me.”
Juan laughed. “At least you know your worth.”
She shrugged. “False modesty isn’t one of my flaws.”
“Then you’d fit right in with us. What do you think about joining the Corporation? As you can tell, it’s dirty work sometimes, but you’d be surrounded by people just like you, people who are the best at what they do.”
“I’m assuming the job isn’t open because someone retired.”
Juan’s eyes clouded with Mike Trono’s memory. “It’s also dangerous work, as you’ve seen.”
“Being a bodyguard is, too. And from what I’ve heard, the pay isn’t nearly as good as it is for your crew.”
“You’d be well compensated. We can talk numbers, if you’re interested.”
She paused. “Let me think about it.”
“Absolutely,” Juan said, rising from his chair. “Max tells me we’ll be ready to set sail in two days. We hope you’ll still be here when we cast off.”
Raven never took her piercing brown eyes off him as he left.
Juan smiled to himself as he walked to the medical bay, since he thought he already knew her answer. It would be fun having her around.
When he got there, he found Julia helping Beth from her bed into a wheelchair. She looked much better than she had while going through the depths of Typhoon withdrawal. Julia had told him it was touch-and-go for a while, especially with the added complication of the gunshot wound, but Beth hadn’t become fully addicted in the short time she’d taken the drug. Still, Julia had been tending to her round the clock to keep her from succumbing to its effects.
“You’re looking good,” Juan said. “Ready for our outing?”
“Are you kidding?” Beth said with a voice that remained weak. “I’ve been getting claustrophobic in here.”
“Not too long,” Julia warned him. “She’s still regaining her strength.”
“Just a spin around the block and we’ll be back,” Juan assured her.
As he pushed her into the corridor, Beth said, “Now, what’s this surprise you promised?”
“Boy, talk about impatience. You’ll see soon enough.”
“Sorry. I’m still getting over that drug they forced on me. I hope every single one of those pills was destroyed forever.”
“We think that’s the case,” Juan said. “NUMA is currently diving on the Pearsall, but most of the destroyer was wrecked in the blast created by Gerhard Brekker. If there was any still aboard, it’s gone now. The police are still excavating the entrance to the cavern, but I doubt there’s any left in there after that explosion.”
“What about the load in Tagaan’s truck?”
“Vaporized. And I don’t think Dr. Ocampo has any reason to keep trying to synthesize it. He and all the other scientists have been returned safely to their families, by the way.”
“That’s good to hear. I don’
t want anyone else to go through what I’ve experienced over the last week. And with Salvador Locsin dead, the last link to Typhoon is gone.”
Juan frowned. “No one told you?”
“Told me what?”
“I guess they didn’t want to bring it up when you were in recovery. They found Locsin pinned in the wreckage of his helicopter two days after it went down.”
Beth turned in her chair to look at Juan with concern. “He’s not dead?”
Juan shook his head. “Not yet, anyway.”
MANILA
Locsin writhed in agony, chained to a bed in a prison infirmary. He begged for death that wouldn’t come.
The doctors tried to pump him full of morphine and sedatives to ease his suffering, but nothing worked on his now skeletal body, his muscles atrophied beyond recognition. The medical staff didn’t know how long he’d survive, but they told him it wouldn’t be long. His body was literally consuming itself.
The dozen Special Action Force soldiers outside his room in full riot gear were woefully unnecessary. Locsin was in no condition to get out of bed, let alone make an escape, and this time no one was coming to spring him from captivity.
The pain was so unbearable that he went in and out of hallucinations. One minute he was thrashing against his shackles and screaming in a sweat-soaked bed, the next he was back in the cavern switching out the cardboard pieces holding the dried orchid with a fake using a flower he made Dolap acquire for him in Bacolod.
He could picture Tagaan’s face when he realized he’d been duped, that Locsin had hidden away the real name of the flower in a safe place so that only he knew where it was. Locsin had been right to do it, too. His right-hand man had betrayed him.
He’d heard that Tagaan had been killed in a mysterious explosion that consumed the entire supply of Typhoon. But he felt no satisfaction in that knowledge. He felt only envy at Tagaan’s quick death.
As his mind returned to the horror of the hospital bed, he realized there was something else besides the excruciating pain and overwhelming envy. There was hatred of Juan Cabrillo for putting him here. No, not hatred.
Typhoon Fury Page 37