Клайв Касслер - Typhoon Fury

Juan smiled. “I suppose not.”

“Then I will sign off here. Godspeed.” The screen winked to black.

“You heard the man, Stoney,” Juan said. “Anchors aweigh, and set course for Negros Island.”

“Aye, Chairman.”

“And Murph?” Juan said.

“Yup?”

“Be ready to counter more of those Kuyog drones in case Locsin left behind those papers on purpose.”

Murph raised an eyebrow. “This smells like a trap to you?”

Juan nodded and patted him on the back. “It positively reeks.”

50

NEGROS ISLAND

Light from the cavern’s roof opening was now streaming through the shutters over the window, and Beth’s stomach was already grumbling for breakfast. She was almost finished appraising the paintings and still couldn’t believe the incredible bounty of stolen artwork that Locsin and his group had amassed. It was like the best Christmas morning ever, despite her predicament. She could open one of the best museums in the world with what was inside this single room.

In addition to every one of the stolen Gardner paintings, she had seen works by Van Gogh, Raphael, Gauguin, and Cézanne that had been missing for years, as well as items by Renoir and Monet from an auction house theft. There were only three more to appraise out of the sixteen. The piece she was inspecting now was a small oil painting from Picasso’s cubist period. It was the least valuable artwork she’d seen because it was so small, but it would still likely fetch a million dollars if it went back to auction.

She had been making notes on a pad with a pencil. She added up her estimates, and the total of all of the paintings ran close to half a billion dollars on the open market. However, because they couldn’t see the light of day without being confiscated, they would be worth only a tenth that in the underground trade. Fifty million dollars was still a huge sum, but she’d bet there would be plenty of Russian oligarchs or Saudi sheiks willing to part with a bit of their oil money to get their hands on these masterpieces.

Dolap was still intently playing with an app on his phone, which she’d seen was a puzzle game when she’d gotten up to use the bathroom. His half-full coffee mug was on the table. She was ready to put her plan into motion, but she cringed thinking about what she had to do.

Beth had positioned the tube that had held the Picasso in exactly the place she wanted.

She nodded at it and said, “Can you hand that to me?” She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she continued to jot on the notepad.

Dolap reluctantly looked away from his game and leaned forward to pick up the tube. He handed it to her, and when she took it from him, she pushed it into the coffee mug, tipping it over. Coffee spilled across the table, splashing onto the Picasso.

Beth screamed at the same time Dolap leapt to his feet. She swung the tube around as if in a panic and slapped the phone out of his hand. He barely noticed because he was so concerned with the painting.

She dropped the tube and jumped out of her chair.

“What have you done?” she shouted.

“It’s not my fault!”

“It was your coffee, wasn’t it?”

He looked at her in terror when he realized what Tagaan would do to him if he found out that Dolap was responsible for ruining one of the valuable paintings.

He pleaded with Beth, “What can we do?”

“I think we can still save it, but I need some cloth towels right now.”

Dolap charged toward the bathroom, but Beth stopped him. “Not the paper towels in there. Bath towels. Clean.”

He would either have to take her with him and draw unwanted attention or leave her alone in the trailer to get them. He was paralyzed with fear and indecision.

Beth clapped her hands and pointed at the door. “We don’t have much time before the coffee seeps into the canvas! Hurry! I want to save it as much as you do. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded and dashed through the door, locking it behind him.

Beth picked up the Picasso and let most of the coffee drain off as she set it aside. She wasn’t too worried about the damage, not only because she was willing to sacrifice the artwork if it saved her neck but also because she suspected the coffee would probably just run off the oil.

She got down on her knees and frantically searched for Dolap’s phone. She spotted it in the corner and snatched it up. It was still unlocked, paused on the game.

The icons at the top of the phone showed no bars for a cell signal. She didn’t know if that meant the cave didn’t have cell service at all or just not in this part of the cavern, but, either way, she wasn’t going to be able to call for help. There was, however, an icon for Wi-Fi service.

She checked the contact list for the phone’s own number, then quickly opened the email app and typed in a message to Raven’s address. Beth had no idea how much time she had before Dolap came back, so she kept it short.

Raven, this is Beth. In a huge cavern but don’t know where. Track this cell number to find me.

She added Dolap’s phone number to the end and hit SEND.

As soon as the message was gone, she went to the SENT folder and deleted the message. Then she opened the game up again and put it back in the corner just as she heard footsteps pounding toward the door.

Dolap yanked the door open and thrust a pile of towels in her arms before locking the door behind him.

While she patted the painting dry, he found his phone, looked at it briefly, and put it in his pocket. He watched her with concern.

“Well? Can you save it?”

“I think you were quick enough to salvage it.”

He looked at her with a deadly serious expression. “If you tell Tagaan about this, I will kill you.”

Beth shook her head. “Why would I want to tell him? He’d probably kill both of us.”

That seemed to put him at ease. He picked up some of the tubes that she’d already looked through and went to the back of the building.

When she was satisfied that the Picasso was dry, Beth rolled it back up and sealed it in the tube, then wiped down the table so she could get back to work.

Dolap returned and took his chair again. Beth pressed her hands down on the table so that he couldn’t see her shaking from the adrenaline rush of getting away with her plan.

Now all she could do was try to stay alive long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

THE BANTAYAN ISLAND ARCHIPELAGO

The process of digging through the hole in the side of the Pearsall had gone faster than Gerhard Brekker had anticipated and by midmorning they were able to explore the interior of the sunken U.S. warship.

During the night, Brekker had downloaded the schematics for the Fletcher class destroyer from a website dedicated to cataloging World War II ships. That let them narrow their search to the rooms on the ship where cargo would most likely have been stowed.

The crew areas were divided roughly in half fore and aft, with the fire rooms and engine rooms in the center of the ship. They’d never reach the stern without significant work, but they could search the bow section fairly quickly.

Most of the organic material had disintegrated in the warm salt water, so Brekker saw no clothes or bodies, not even skeletons. Fish and crabs had found a way into the ship, but there was no sunlight for coral to grow in the interior.

They found a mess hall, with metal dishes and silverware rusted but still intact. They also happened upon the ammunition magazine for one of the forward guns. The steel casings of the shells were corroded, and some of the rounds had come loose from their bins, piling onto the floor. Brekker warned his men not to touch them in case the explosives inside were still active.