The Jungle (Oregon Files 8)

“Yup. The Brazilian company has a division in Indonesia that operates a ship-breaking yard. No financial figures for the deals have been disclosed, but I think what Croissard did was to sell Vantage Partners for significantly less than he funded it for as a way to buy the breaker yard and all the ships they’re under contract to dismantle.”

“Is one of them a heavy-lift ship?”

“Give me a second, my hacking into their computer system’s almost complete.” Even as he said it, his eyes glued to the iPad, he started grinning. “Got it. They’re taking apart three ships right now. Two commercial fishermen and a bulk carrier. The next job is the MV Hercules, a heavy-lift FLO-FLO that’s being dismantled as part of its owner’s bankruptcy deal. Says here she arrived under her own steam, so she’s still in working order.”

“Bingo,” Cabrillo shouted in triumph. “That’s how they’re moving the rig. Croissard bought himself a heavy-lifter.”

“This brings up the next question,” Eric said. “Why? Why move the rig at all?”

“It’s not because Linda’s aboard,” Juan replied, “so there’s something else on it Croissard doesn’t want found.”

“It has to be something pretty big,” Murph pointed out. “Otherwise they would just take it off the rig and go.”

Cabrillo stayed silent, thinking. Why? wasn’t the question that interested him. He wanted to know where Croissard was taking the rig. He tapped at the integrated keyboard built into the arm of his chair and called up a map of the South China Sea. There were the big Indonesian islands of Java, Sumatra, and Borneo, where Brunei was located, and literally thousands of others, most of which were uninhabited. Any one of those would make a perfect hiding spot. The problem was the volume of shipping passing through the region. A vessel as unusual as the Hercules, laden with an oil platform, was sure to be noticed and reported.

Just as in his first meeting with Croissard in Singapore, Juan felt like he was missing something. Maybe Eric’s question was more pertinent after all. Why risk moving the rig? Murph had said that there was something aboard it the Swiss financier didn’t want found. But you can’t really hide an entire platform. Not easily anyway.

And then Cabrillo saw it. He typed at the keyboard again, and the water of the South China Sea seemed to evaporate off the map projected on the big video screen. Less than a hundred miles from Brunei the continental shelf fell away sharply into the Palawan Trough, a fifteen-thousand-foot chasm that split the seafloor like an ax stroke.

“That’s where they’re heading,” he said. “They’re going to deep-six the rig with Linda aboard her. Navigator, plot us a course to a point on the trough’s rim closest to the rig’s last-known location.”

Eric Stone, who was the ship’s chief helmsman, took over the navigation workstation and made the calculations himself. It took the Oregon a few degrees more northward on their northwesterly heading. They would be cutting a corner on the busy sea-lanes, but as the ship’s bow came about, Stone was calculating the speeds and relative positions of all the vessels near enough to show on their broad-range radar.

“If we increase to thirty-five knots, we’ll thread right through them,” he announced.

“Do it, and once we’re clear of all traffic, put the hammer down.”

* * *

DAWN FOUND CABRILLO up in the wheelhouse, a big mug of black coffee in hand. The seas remained calm, and fortunately free of shipping. The water was a green as deep as the finest emerald, while the rising sun, diffused through distant clouds, smeared the horizon in a red blush. Somewhere along the line, probably during their slower passage through the Straits of Malacca, a large gull had landed on the starboard wing bridge. He was still there, but with the ship traveling so fast he’d hunkered down behind a wall plate to shelter himself from the ungodly wind.

Cabrillo continued to use the sling for his broken collarbone. Because of it, he wouldn’t be joining the raid on the J-61. He would have to confine himself to being a spotter in their MD 520N chopper, which was being preflighted down in the hangar under the number 5 cargo hatch. They would be in position to launch in another thirty minutes.

He hated sending his people into danger when he wasn’t there to lead them, so his passive role in this operation was especially maddening. Once the Hercules had been sighted, Gomez Adams would return to the Oregon to pick up the combat team, leaving Juan to sit on the sidelines. Linc, Eddie, and the other gundogs were more than capable of taking down whoever Croissard had guarding Linda.

The central elevator whispered open behind him in an alcove at the rear of the pilothouse. The crew knew that when the Chairman was up here alone, it was best to leave him that way, so he was mildly irritated at the interruption. He turned and the reprimand died on his lips. Instead, he smiled. MacD Lawless wheeled himself off the elevator. It was clear that he was struggling, but also just as clear that he was determined to make it on his own.

“Ah’d forgotten what a pain it is getting into and out of elevators in these damned contraptions.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Cabrillo said. “After the Chinese blew off my leg, I was in one for three months before I could walk on a prosthetic.”

“Ah thought some fresh air would do me some good, but Ah was warned to stay clear of the main deck.”

“Unless you like that windblown look, it’s good advice. We’re making better than forty knots.”

Lawless couldn’t hide his astonishment. Because he was in a wheelchair, he could only see the sky through the bridge windows. Cabrillo got up from his seat and crossed to the portside flying bridge door. It was a sliding door, so that it could be opened or closed no matter the conditions. As soon as it was slid back just a couple of inches, hurricane-force winds howled through the gap, rustling the old chart held to the table with equally out-of-date books on navigation. Though it was early morning, the air was hot and heavy with humidity, but at the pounding velocity with which it blew into the bridge it still felt refreshing.

Cabrillo opened the door comp

letely and stood back so MacD could maneuver his chair out onto the flying bridge. His hair whipped around his head, and he had to raise his voice to be heard over the gale. “This is incredible. Ah had no idea a ship this big could move so fast.”

“There isn’t another like her on the high seas,” Juan told him pridefully.

Lawless spent a minute staring out to sea, his face unreadable, and then he backed himself inside once again. Cabrillo closed the door.

“Ah should get goin’ on to medical,” Lawless said with some reluctance. “Doc Huxley doesn’t know Ah’m AWOL. Good luck today.” He held out a hand.

Juan kept his arms at his side. “Sorry, but we kind of have a superstition about that. Never wish someone luck before a mission.”