Locsin understood and dropped the assault rifle to the ground below. He subtly looked down and gestured for two of his men to go to the other side of the building. Then he held up one hand, then the other, as he climbed up onto the roof.
“I just want to talk,” he said.
“No, you want to kill me,” Cabrillo said. “I have to say, the feeling’s mutual.”
Locsin began to slowly walk toward him. “I don’t want to kill you, Mr. Cabrillo. You’re already dead, but you just don’t realize it. You’re a multo, which in my culture is a spirit that has come back from the dead to finish unfinished business. Except I know how to banish you back to the underworld.”
“Please,” Cabrillo scoffed, “you’re a communist. You believe religion and individualism are plagues to be wiped out.”
Locsin smiled. “Well, at least one individual.”
Cabrillo must have heard the men below who had circled around because he turned and ducked just before bullets raked the roof’s edge.
Locsin used the distraction to sprint toward Cabrillo. Locsin hit him in the gut with his shoulder, and Cabrillo went down with a woof of air. The tube went skittering across the roof, teetering on the edge.
Cabrillo was fast, backhanding Locsin in the jaw. Pain or no pain, the blow was strong enough to knock Locsin over.
He shrugged it off and jumped to his feet. Cabrillo was already up in a defensive stance used by practitioners of the Israeli combat discipline Krav Maga. Locsin, however, was skilled in the Philippine national sport of Arnis, particularly the mano a mano, empty-handed component, which considers the hands and feet as weapons to be wielded.
They exchanged blows while they searched each other for weaknesses, though Locsin was feeling stronger by the minute even without food to refuel himself. Cabrillo would be an interesting sparring partner but not a real match.
Then Cabrillo jabbed with one hand while launching a haymaker with the other, which caught Locsin by surprise. The strike to the side of his head made his ears ring, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he spun in a roundhouse kick and smacked Cabrillo in the back.
He staggered to the side but came back almost immediately, and they traded punches. Locsin was enjoying this, and he was amazed at what a beating Cabrillo could take.
• • •
JUAN WASN’T GOING to last much longer, but he wasn’t going to give Locsin the satisfaction of seeing him falter. He just had to distract him long enough for Gomez to arrive.
Then he heard it, the throbbing pulse of helicopter rotors coming from the roof of the cavern.
He and Locsin took a moment to watch the MD 520N descend carefully through the hole. When it was clear, the chopper flew into the ebony depths of the cavern to pick up the Corporation team.
Locsin grinned wickedly at Juan. “Enough of this, Cabrillo. You’ve been a tough opponent, but—”
Juan didn’t wait for Locsin to finish his monologue. He sprinted for the tube with the Picasso and snatched it up. He could feel Locsin d
irectly behind him, trying to chase him down.
Juan whipped around, and Locsin grabbed for the tube.
They began a tug-of-war for it.
“What’s so important about this painting?” Juan asked as his fingers struggled to maintain their grip.
“It’s the key to everything,” Locsin answered cryptically. “I had to hide it from him. Now, give it to me.”
Juan maneuvered himself around so that he was facing the fires, which were beginning to die out. Then he pulled even harder on the tube. When he felt Locsin pull back with all his strength, Juan suddenly pushed instead.
The effect was similar to a master playing tug with his dog and abruptly releasing the toy. Locsin immediately lost his footing now that his center of gravity was pitching him backward. His feet stumbled, and since Juan had angled him right to the roof edge without him realizing it, one of Locsin’s feet hit nothing but air before he understood what was happening.
Naturally, his instinct was to grab for something more solid than a plastic tube, so he let go. But Juan kept pushing, and Locsin fell back, flailing as he fell.
At first, the men below were stunned to see their leader slam into the ground from three stories up. But they had momentarily forgotten about the extraordinary powers of Typhoon.
Locsin was dazed from the impact but recovered remarkably quickly. He pointed at Juan, staring down at them. Juan stepped back before more shots rang out.
As Juan watched the Oregon’s chopper lift off in the distance, he hoped he’d timed this right. Because he was all out of weapons, and Locsin would now be sending every man he had up to the roof.