Клайв Касслер - Typhoon Fury

“Right now, you’re wondering who I am and how I found you here,” he said. “Alastair Lynch sends his best wishes. He couldn’t be here, however, because he’s feeling under the weather. Apparently, a couple of days without a dose of Typhoon will do that to a man.” He paused to let the information sink in.

“All right,” Locsin finally yelled back. “You have my attention. You’re obviously not with the authorities or we wouldn’t be talking like this. What do you want?”

“I have a business transaction that you might be interested in. Specifically, the Typhoon business. I think it could be lucrative for both of us.”

“Why should I trust you? You killed one of my men.”

“You and I both understand the need for force to make a point. Obviously, my point was that I could have killed you and all your men before you even knew I was here, but where would that have gotten me?”

Brekker knew Locsin’s type. Capturing him at gunpoint wouldn’t work. He may have been nabbed by the police once, but he wouldn’t let that happen again. Locsin would go down fighting rather than be taken alive. He’d never submit to the kind of torture that Lynch was going through.

Brekker continued, “If I hadn’t made my demonstration, would you have listened to me?”

“I’m listening now.”

“Good. Then I think we can help each other. I know you have found a supply of Typhoon secretly stored since World War Two.”

“I won’t tell you where it is.”

“I’m not expecting you to. But I may know where more of it is.”

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“Because I think you know where more of it is, too. It would be a shame for it to be destroyed before either of us could find it.”

Another pause. Brekker had hit a nerve.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“There’s a shipwreck somewhere in the Philippines that carried a large supply of Typhoon in its hold. It was sunk by a submarine during the Second World War. I know its location.”

“What is your proposal? You’re going to tell me where it is?”

So Locsin didn’t know about it. He must have another potential source of the drug. Interesting.

“It depends how much that knowledge is worth to you,” Brekker said.

“Why don’t you keep it for yourself?”

“I’m a pragmatic man, Mr. Locsin. The Typhoon may still be inside the ship or it may not. There’s no guarantee that the cargo was actually on board. And even if it had been, it might have been destroyed either in the sinking or by deterioration during the last seventy years on the ocean floor. I’d rather go for the sure thing than risk coming away with nothing.”

“How much is a sure thing worth?”

“Fifty million dollars.”

Brekker heard laughter coming from the warehouse floor.

“What makes you think I even have that kind of money?”

“Because Alastair Lynch told us about the meth shipment in that fire truck down there. Fifty million dollars’ worth headed to Indonesia.” Brekker neglected to mention the fact that he didn’t know which fire truck it was.

“And if I refuse your offer?”

“Then the National Police Force will be making a raid on this facility in the very near future, and you’ll be out fifty million dollars anyway.”

“Then you won’t have Typhoon.”

“I’ll just have to take my chances that I can find the cargo on my own.”

“All right. When do you want the money?”

“According to Lynch, the meth is scheduled to be delivered in a week. I expect the money to be wired to my account the same day you receive payment.”

“How do I know you’ll tell me the location of the shipwreck once you have the money?”

“I’m going to tell you before you wire the money.”

Silence.

“What’s the catch?” Locsin asked.

“The catch is that if you don’t wire the money once I tell you the location, I’ll blow up the entire shipwreck and everything in it. You’ll get nothing.”

“I’ll have to verify the ship is there first before I pay you.”

“Of course,” Brekker said. “That won’t be hard to do before the meth arrives in Indonesia. And when I get the money, I’ll tell you how to disable the explosives. They’ll obviously be booby-trapped, so don’t try to disarm them without my instructions. Do we have a deal?”

“We have one other problem,” Locsin said. “There’s someone else after the Typhoon drug. His name is Juan Cabrillo.”

“Yes, you mentioned him. That sounds like it falls under the category of ‘not my problem.’”

“It’s your problem if he finds the ship before you do.”

“He won’t. I’m the only one who knows it’s there and what’s inside.”

“The woman who got away from me. She’s heard everything you just said. She works with Cabrillo.”

“Then I suggest you find her and get rid of her. Again, not my problem. I repeat, do we have a deal?”

While he waited for Locsin’s answer, Brekker heard Van Der Waal speaking in his earpiece. “We’ve got movement at the airport crash tender.”

Brekker released the microphone button and replied, “One of Locsin’s men?”

“No, we’ve got them all accounted for. I think it’s the woman.”

“Take her out. We’ll do it as a favor to Locsin.”

“I don’t have a clean shot. Now I can see the cab door opening. The dead guy in the driver’s seat just fell over.”

Brekker looked down at the airport crash tender, but he didn’t have any better view inside the cab. What he did see was the nozzle on the front slewing around.

It was pointing directly at Van Der Waal’s sniper position on the catwalk.

“Get out of there!” was all he could yell before a jet of water rocketed from the nozzle all the way across the warehouse and hit Van Der Waal just as he rose to run away. The powerful stream lifted him off his feet and tossed him over the railing like a rag doll, his rifle tumbling in the air next to him. As Brekker watched in horror, his closest friend plummeted fifty feet to the concrete floor, lethally smacking his head into a ladder truck on the way down.

The détente was gone. “Kill them all!” Locsin shouted. As gunfire erupted throughout the warehouse, he shoved the redheaded woman into the nearest fire truck and started it up.

“Don’t let anyone leave the building!” Brekker yelled into his comm unit.

But it was too late. Despite the furious barrage of rounds pouring into it, Locsin’s truck smashed into the closest garage door and tore through the thin aluminum. That had to be the one carrying the load of meth.

“We can’t let him get away!” Brekker shouted to his team. “Forget the other men and meet me outside. I want Locsin’s head on a pike.”

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who wanted to hunt Locsin down. The woman in the airport crash tender revved up the enormous engine and jolted forward, tearing an even bigger hole in the building as she took off in pursuit.

33

Beth held on to the console in front of the fire truck’s passenger seat as it smashed through the front gate and careened onto the road. The terror that had gripped her before was now numbed, replaced by a resolve to get out of her predicament. Locsin, incandescent with anger, was driving so wildly that she had the urge to buckle her seat belt, but she decided she’d rather risk dying in a fiery wreck than go any farther with this madman. At her first opportunity, she’d open the door and jump out no matter how fast the fire truck was going.

Locsin seemed to read her mind.

“Don’t try to escape,” he said, brandishing the pistol in his right hand. “I never miss.”

Beth had no doubt that, even if he did miss, he’d turn the truck around just to run her down. Still, she had to try.