Authors: Robert Doherty
CHAPTER 18
Jolo Island
Abayon kissed Fatima's hand. Then he reached up and wiped away the tears on each of her cheeks. "You will do well."
"I will miss you," she said.
The last of the trucks carrying the treasure rumbled down the narrow jungle trail toward the dock where an old freighter waited for them. They had rehearsed abandoning the Hono Mountain facility many times, and the execution had gone off flawlessly. Abayon was in his chair, between the two large doors that had sealed this cave off so many years ago. A jeep waited for Fatima, the last to leave. When she was gone, he would be alone.
"It is all for the people," Abayon said.
Fatima nodded, at a loss for words.
"Go now," Abayon said, wheeling his chair back. She hesitated, then turned and headed to the jeep. Abayon hit the control that shut the doors. Protesting on rusty hinges, they slowly swung shut with a resounding clang.
Abayon slowly turned his chair and began heading farther into the complex. He could feel the presence of ghosts all around. Japanese and Filipino. And others. This mountain had been the hub of much death and destruction. He knew the recent raid had been the signal he'd been both dreading and looking forward to.
Abayon wound his way through the complex until he reached the stone balcony from which he had watched the raid. He rolled out onto it and looked to the west, where the sun was setting. This night would bring much change. He looked down at the red button on the handle of the wheelchair and sighed.
Pacific Ocean
The
Jahre Viking
was cruising smoothly less than forty miles southwest of Oahu. It was en route to Long Beach where it would off-load its cargo of oil. The captain of the large tanker was surprised when a United States Navy destroyer appeared off his starboard bow, bearing down at almost maximum speed.
The radio crackled with an order from the captain of the destroyer to prepare to be boarded. Since they were in international waters, the captain of the
Jahre Viking
did not have to comply with the request. But the tone of the American officer's command left little doubt about the extreme seriousness of the demand.
Having nothing to hide, the
Viking
's captain acceded, and within minutes a helicopter from the destroyer landed on the huge tanker's helipad. A squad of armed Marines jumped off. The chopper immediately lifted and went back to the destroyer, staying long enough to fill up with troops before returning. And then again and again, until the captain estimated he had half the destroyer's crew on his ship, searching.
One of those who came over was the Navy captain, and he was escorted to the bridge. The American apologized but said the search was over an issue of grave concern to all human beings regarding a recent event at an island in the middle of the Pacific. He also admitted that American satellites had tracked the
Jahre Viking
ever since leaving Indonesia and knew it had stayed on course, but orders were orders and they were taking no chances.
The search took an hour, and then the Americans left, the destroyer leaving at flank speed to find another ship to search.
* * *
Moreno's sonar man had heard the American destroyer approach and then listened to it run alongside for over an hour. Then he heard it move away. Moreno watched both the clock and his chart, waiting until the American would be out of range.
Finally, he could wait no longer. "One quarter ahead." For the first time since they'd mated with the tanker, the submarine's engines began to turn the ship's screws. Satisfied he had power, Moreno issued the next order. "Cut power to the magnets."
The instant the power was cut, Moreno ordered the sub to dive, to get clear of the
Jahre Viking
's screws. The submarine descended as the tanker passed by overhead. When it hit the wake caused by the massive screws, the submarine vibrated violently for half a minute, then slowly settled.
"Course five-five degrees," Moreno ordered. "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 news 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."