Robert Doherty - Section 8

The Department of Defense claimed that JACADS had fulfilled its mission, which begged the question as to why so many people were still stationed there and what exactly they were doing. If the U.S. military wasn't developing any more chemical weapons and JACADS had fulfilled its mission of destroying the stockpile, there seemed no point for the large contingent of personnel, all of whom had top secret security clearances.

Six kilometers south of Johnston Atoll, a submarine periscope pierced the surface, cutting a slow, smooth wake as the craft ran parallel to the atoll. Standing in the cramped control room, Moreno could see the lights on the island reflected and magnified through the scope's mirrors.

Satisfied, he ordered the scope down and the sub to come to a halt and submerge – to sit on the bottom in one hundred feet of water. They were here, but it wasn't time yet. Tomorrow would be another day.

Ruiz slumped down on the podium. The room was empty. He looked at the piece of paper the woman who took the bids had left him. He knew Abayon's goal with the auction was not about the money, but about the attention it would bring. But still, the figure was staggering.

His cell phone had already rung four times with inquiries from major news agencies wanting to know the source of the auction items. His reply had been to sink the hook in deeper and invite the reporters to another auction, where he promised even more rare pieces would be put up for sale.

And he dropped a hint, asking the reporters in return if they had ever heard of the Golden Lily project.

"Vaughn is on the island, ten klicks from where he was supposed to land," Orson announced.

"Vaughn?" Sinclair repeated.

"What about Tai?"

"Dead."

That brought silence to the four people in the isolation area.

"How?" Hayes finally asked.

"Apparently some sort of parachute malfunction," Orson said.

"The initial entry report wasn't specific."

He shrugged.

"Nothing changes. Vaughn can do the recon. The mission is still a go."

"Lot of fucking empathy there," Sinclair muttered. Orson glared at him.

"You want empathy, you should have joined the Peace Corps. There's nothing any of us can do about Tai. Let's get back to work, people."

Royce frowned as he began to read the latest message on the laptop from David's – now, his – boss. A job needed to be done in Hong Kong. Hong Kong? he wondered. What the hell did Hong Kong have to do with the current mission? There was no explanation, just instructions.

There was no point in pondering the reasons, and from experience, Royce knew he wouldn't get any explanation if he asked. The problem was, he would have to divert assets that were allocated to the Abu Sayef mission. There was time, but not much.

He brought up a blank message and typed in the address. Then he quickly typed out the orders and transmitted the command.

Then Royce sat very still for several minutes, thinking hard, trying to come to a decision he didn't want to face. Some said ignorance was bliss. But ignorance could also be dangerous.

"Grab your gear and let's get moving," the team leader announced. He was ahead of his own order, as he had his rucksack slung over one shoulder and his weapon in his hand.

The three other members of the team looked up from what they were doing. The Sicilian slid his knife into its scabbard and without a word, began gathering his equipment. The black mercenary considered the order for a few seconds, then complied. The Australian began gathering his gear, but had to ask: "What's the rush? The main team hasn't even gone in yet."

"We're going to the Philippines," the team leader said, "but just to cross-load."

"Where to then?" the Australian wanted to know.

"What's the op?"

"We're staging out of Manila," the team leader said.

"Civilian flight from there."

The Australian was getting exasperated by the slow flow of information.

"You bloody well gonna tell us where we're going and what we're gonna be doing or you going to wait till we get there?"

The team leader walked up to the Australian. The blood was pulsing in the scar on his head, backlighting the barbed-wire tattoo.

"You want to run this team?"

"I want to know what I'm going to be doing."

"You'll know when you need to know," the team leader growled.

The black man stepped between the two, dwarfing both.

"There's no reason for you not to tell us where we're going and what we're going to do."

He put a hand on the team leader's chest, forestalling whatever he was about to say, and looked at the Australian.

"But you know what, mate, what the fuck difference does it make?" He spread his massive arms, pushing the two back.

"It's the job we signed up for, and it isn't like we can quit. So let's shut the fuck up and get going."

Vaughn and Tai didn't need the GPS to make their way to the mountain. From the beach, they shot an azimuth to the crown of Hono Mountain and then moved out into the jungle, staying on that track. Tai was on point, Vaughn right behind, close enough to reach out and touch her. All he could see were the two reflective cat eyes sewn into the back of her patrol cap. He knew all she was focused on was the glowing needle of her compass. Her concentration was verified by the occasional grunt of pain as she walked into a tree or log.

It was hard going, breaking their way through the tangled vegetation. Vaughn kept a pace count, and after two hours he reached out and tapped her on the shoulder, signaling a halt. They did rucksack flops on the jungle floor, each half sitting, half lying on their packs, weapons across their laps, facing each other but offset, so they had clear fields of fire.

Not that they were likely to bump into anyone around here. They had yet to see any sign of civilization, not even a trail. Vaughn remembered from isolation that the north side of the island was almost completely unpopulated, which was a blessing, given the screw-up this mission had been so far.

"I need to call in a situation report," he whispered.

"I know. Wait until we stop for daylight," Tai advised.

"No. I want to call it in from a location where we won't be staying."

Tai digested that.

"You're that worried?"

"You're the one that had three malfunctions on one jump. I've done over two hundred jumps and never had one malfunction. I'd say that constitutes reason for worry. I'd prefer that the only one who can pinpoint our location be us."

"All right."

By feel, Vaughn got the satellite radio out. He typed a message into the keyboard, telling the rest of the team that he would not be on the mountain until the following night and would send in a report as soon as he discovered something. He signed off and put the radio back in his rucksack.

"We should be pretty close to the hot spot," he said to Tai.

She already had her GPS unit out. She turned it on and waited while it acquired the nearest positioning satellites, then put a poncho liner over her head and turned on the back light on the unit.

"How close?" Vaughn asked as he kept watch on the surrounding darkness. Even if they had their night vision goggles, he doubted they would see much in the pitch-black underneath the jungle canopy.

"Eleven hundred and twelve meters. Two hundred and four degree azimuth."

Vaughn remembered blundering around in the dark years ago at Fort Benning on night land navigation courses. Technology had certainly changed things, although the loss of the night vision goggles during their water landing and the disaster of the laser targeting during the earlier raid he'd led made clear that one could not totally count on the equipment. He clicked in the correct azimuth on his compass, an older but more reliable technology.