Typhoon Fury (Oregon Files 12)

When they reached the rear passenger car, Linc hauled himself up, perching on the ledge while MacD joined him. Linc cut the line with his Ka-Bar knife. The sled skidded to a stop and receded behind them.

“After you,” he said.

MacD grinned. “Why, thank you, sir.”

He opened the door and picked up his spent grappling claw bolt as he went through.

Confident that Eric had successfully rigged the camera feed to show an empty car, they put down the backpacks and doffed their ghillie suits, revealing black tactical gear, including ballistic vests. Linc unzipped his bag and removed the weapons inside: four Glock semiautomatic pistols and four FN P90 submachine guns.

“How long do you think we have?” MacD asked as he removed two extra ballistic vests from his bag. He also took out the components of a handheld grenade launcher that had been dismantled for transpo

rt.

Linc checked his watch. “Given Eddie’s last position, I’d say we’ve only got five minutes before our visitors arrive.”

5

THE PHILIPPINES

For fifteen minutes, the squall’s choppy waves had kept the more stable prison transport out of range of the machine gun on the hijacked escort boat, which was getting pounded by the whitecaps. But now the storm was easing, flattening the rough seas.

Inspector Luis Navarro looked back nervously and saw the sleek boat beginning to gain on them. The machine gun wildly sprayed .30 caliber bullets in their direction. Some of them were connecting. His own men were conserving ammunition, holding fire until the escort boat got closer.

He prodded Captain Garcia. “Can’t you go faster?”

“What do you want me to do?” Garcia said. “This is our top speed.”

Navarro squinted at the horizon in the dwindling glow of dusk. He thought he could make out some lights in the distance. “Is that Dapitan City?”

“For what it’s worth. We’re still at least twenty miles out, and I don’t see any help on the way.”

“Locsin’s men on the escort boat must have radioed that we didn’t need any assistance.”

Garcia ducked instinctively as another round pinged off a metal fitting. “Those idiots! They could just as easily kill Locsin as any one of us.”

“I doubt it. With the amount of planning they’ve obviously done, they’d know the freezers in the hold that were converted into cells are lined with insulation thick enough to absorb the bullets’ impact. More likely, they’re trying to disable the engine.”

“Well, you better come up with an idea,” Garcia said, “because at this rate they’re going to catch up to us in another few minutes, whether or not they take out our engine.”

Navarro racked his brain for options. He was down to five men, plus himself and Garcia. He counted at least ten men on the other boat, and they had the heavier firepower of the machine gun. His men were equipped only with assault rifles.

“You know what we have to do, Inspector,” Garcia said. “Throw him overboard.”

“What?”

“Locsin. If they want him so bad, give him to them.”

“No.”

“But they’re going to—”

Navarro slammed his fist on the console. “I said no! We are not dishonoring ourselves and the National Police by giving up our prisoner. I’d rather die fighting.”

Garcia glared at him. “Unless you can think of something, you’ll get your wish.”

More bullets ricocheted off the wheelhouse. Navarro grimaced. Garcia was right. They weren’t going to last long under that kind of withering fire. As soon as the escort boat caught up and disabled the prison transport, they’d be boarded and wiped out.

He patted Garcia on his shoulder. “No matter what happens, keep going.”