Typhoon Fury (Oregon Files 12)

“If the opportunity arises, I will make it happen. But we don’t know where he or his ship is.”

“You said earlier that the captain of the Magellan Sun called you before she was sunk and told you that the reason he knew about the intruders was because he happened to be reviewing his computerized navigation char

ts at the time they were being downloaded.”

“That’s correct. He said if he hadn’t been looking at them at that exact moment, he never would have known they were hacked, let alone that intruders were on board.”

“Then I know where Cabrillo is headed next,” Locsin said. “The Magellan Sun stopped at Corregidor multiple times over the last few weeks to drop off equipment. The navigation logs had to be what they were looking for when they boarded the ship. They’re coming here.”

The pump boat was now passing Malinta Hill in the middle of the island’s tail, an area called Bottomside, where the stronghold’s extensive tunnel system had been turned into one of the Philippines’s most popular tourist attractions.

“You don’t have much time before they arrive,” Tagaan said.

“You said the ship had to be bigger than the Magellan Sun.”

“I think so, though there was no frame of reference in the dark for me to be sure.”

“Then it can’t make more than fifteen knots. That gives us at least fourteen hours.”

“It seemed to be going very fast for a ship its size.”

“Twenty knots, then,” Locsin said with a shrug. “That still won’t put them here until nightfall. By then, we should have broken through and made off with whatever is inside the tunnel.”

Locsin couldn’t take anything sizable with him on the small pump boat, which was why he had an alternative way off the island ready to go at a moment’s notice.

“What about this Brekker who came after you last night?” Tagaan asked. “Do you think he’s dead?”

“I doubt it,” Locsin said. “His wreck didn’t look bad enough to kill him.”

“Do you think he was right about the World War Two ship carrying more Typhoon pills?”

“If he was, then he has a head start on us, and we don’t know where he’s going. Unless we find out the name of the ship, it will be impossible to find Brekker. Be ready with the Kuyogs, just in case we run into Juan Cabrillo again. Get them loaded into the trucks for quick transport. I will contact you when we are successful here.”

“Yes, comrade.”

Locsin hung up as they pulled up to Corregidor’s north side and tied up at the pier beside the Lorcha Dock, where Douglas MacArthur had made his departure in 1942, abandoning the Philippines to the vicious Japanese invaders. A high-speed catamaran from Manila was unloading a mix of Filipino, Asian, and American tourists next to them, where they were being herded into tranvías, open-sided trams that were the main form of transportation on the island.

He made his way through the throngs of eager tourists and joined his men at the van that had been unloaded earlier in the week at the Magellan Sun, along with two Bobcats and other digging equipment, as well as any weapons they might need in the event the police caught on to their scheme.

He donned his yellow work vest and helmet and climbed into the passenger seat of the van. They set off for the south side of Malinta Hill, where the tunnel dig was located, passing a souvenir shop and a bronze statue of MacArthur, smiling and waving, upon his return three years after his escape to Australia. When Locsin got control of the nation, one of his first acts would be to tear down that smug symbol of American colonization.

The thought made him smile, and, for the first time, his rage was at bay. He felt even better when he imagined his swarm of attack drones sinking Juan Cabrillo’s precious ship.

41

MANILA

When one of the Oregon’s two lifeboats reached the Manila dock at noon, Juan met Raven at the gangway. With bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothes, she looked like she’d gotten even less sleep than he had. As soon as she was aboard, the lifeboat cast off and headed back to the Oregon, anchored south of Corregidor in Manila Bay.

“Has there been any ransom demand?” she asked without preamble, her ebony hair blowing in the breeze.

Juan shook his head. “Locsin’s group hasn’t even publicly acknowledged that they have Beth, and they have no way to contact us directly. We found out that Gerhard Brekker is a South African mercenary, but we don’t know how or why he’s involved in all this. It sounds like he thinks that this unnamed shipwreck he mentioned might contain more Typhoon, although if it’s been under the ocean for seventy years, the cargo is likely to have been destroyed long ago. And the fire truck with the meth on board is in police custody, so you hurt Locsin’s smuggling operation badly.”

“What about the helicopter he used to escape with Beth?”

“There’s no way to track it.”

“It’s my fault that she was taken,” Raven said, her hands tightly balled into fists. “I have to get her back.”