Клайв Касслер - Typhoon Fury

“You’re not going to blow up this tracker, too, are you?”

“Me personally?” Juan said. “No. But, then, I’m not going on the mission. Besides, technically I didn’t blow up the last one, either. That was Tagaan’s fault.”

“Who’s going to destroy it this time?”

“Eddie, Hali, and Raven. They’ll blend into the Philippine crowds better than Linc and I would.”

“I met Raven when I was outfitting you all with those Filipino police uniforms. She seemed quiet, but extremely competent.”

“She’s performed well even though she hasn’t worked with us before,” Juan said.

“She’s highly motivated. The few times she talked, she had some choice words for this Locsin guy. Sounds like it’s personal.”

“It is. She was on protective detail for Beth Anders. We think this mission will help find her.”

“You said she sent a phone number to home in on?”

Juan nodded. “I have a request in to Langston Overholt to track it down, and he passed it on to the NSA. I figured they owed us for the Vietnam job. Lang says they agreed to find it, but apparently the phone isn’t transmitting right now. It may be off or unable to get a signal. As soon as it comes back online, he’ll let me know. Then I’ll send the team in to plant that new tracker of yours so we can find out where he’s going. Unless, of course, Beth is with the phone’s owner at the time. Then they’ll snatch her back right there.”

Kevin handed the tracker to Juan. “Since you gave me a second shot with this one, I decided to add a few features.”

The device was a little larger than the previous tracker that Juan had planted on the truck holding the Kuyog components. It was cylindrical and painted black.

“One end is magnetic,” Kevin said. “Just stick it under the chassis of any vehicle you want to follow. If the satellite signal is blocked because it’s in a building, it will use any cell phone or Wi-Fi signal available to continue transmitting.”

Juan noticed a thin seam near the end opposite the magnet.

“What’s this?”

“Good eye.” Kevin turned to a laptop and typed in a command. The cylinder telescoped out to reveal a tiny camera suspended from a gimbal. “I repurposed this from one of our drones. You’ll be able to control the camera sightline remotely. There’s even a mic for audio feed. Just make sure the cylinder is placed somewhere that the telescope can extend past the vehicle’s frame.”

Juan smiled. “You’re a genius. And to think your talents could have been wasted winning an Oscar for designing some monster in the latest superhero movie.”

“If it helps save Beth, I don’t mind missing out at all. Award shows are overrated anyway.”

Juan’s phone buzzed, and he answered it immediately when he saw it was Overholt.

“Did you find it?” Juan asked without preamble.

“The NSA reported that the phone came online a few minutes ago,” Overholt said. “Who knows how long it will be active, so I advise sending in your team immediately. I’ll relay the coordinates to you.”

“Where is it?”

“Just like you thought, the signal is coming from Negros Island. It’s a city called Bacolod not too far from your present position. Good hunting.”

He hung up and called Hali, who was waiting with Eddie and Raven in the boat garage ready to take the RHIB up the river to a small town where they could “borrow” a vehicle for the morning.

“Hali,” Juan said. “We just got the coordinates of the phone signal. Tell Eddie the mission is a go.”

60

BACOLOD, NEGROS ISLAND

Finding an isolated car to hotwire took longer than Eddie thought it would, but according to the NSA, the phone that Beth had told them to track was still in the city when he, Hali, and Raven arrived. With over half a million people, the modern city of Bacolod was a major hub for the processing and shipment of the sugar grown in the vast fields they’d passed on the drive. If they didn’t intercept the person with the phone before it turned off again, they’d never find him.

Although none of them looked Filipino, Raven’s and Hali’s caramel complexions and dark hair meant that they could more easily disappear into the crowds of people preparing to ride out the coming typhoon. And since people of Chinese ancestry made up a significant portion of the population, Eddie looked like he could be a native. Most of the inhabitants spoke English, so language wouldn’t be a problem, though they’d have to fake the accent.

The NSA guidance led them to a plaza crowded with shoppers getting last-minute supplies before the storm. The nearest building had a sign on it that read Visayan Wholesale Foods .

Eddie parked the car, and the three of them walked toward the building, which had trucks lined up outside loading crates of food to replenish the rapidly emptying grocery stores. There was apparently no thought of evacuation, but Eddie wasn’t surprised. There was simply no way to clear out an entire island of more than four million people.

Rain showers were coming in bursts now as the outer edges of Hidalgo approached Negros, so all three of them wore hooded windbreakers. Many of the workers wore no protective clothing and were getting soaked, while the shoppers carried umbrellas. The bustle of activity made it difficult to tell who their target was.

They stopped at the building, and Eddie turned to Hali. “Can’t the NSA get more precise than the signal is coming from the vicinity of this food supplier?”

Hali nodded. “A half-block radius is the best they could do.”

“Raven, keep your head down but let me know if you see anyone familiar.”

“If it’s Locsin himself,” Raven said, “he’ll recognize me immediately. Getting the tracker onto his vehicle will be tricky.”

“We’ll deal with that if we need to,” Eddie said. “Right now, we need to find out who owns that mobile phone.”

Eddie scanned the shoppers while Hali eyed the workers. Raven switched back and forth between the groups. Five minutes later, Hali tapped Eddie’s shoulder and nodded at two muscular men walking out of Visayan Foods, each pushing a handcart full of produce boxes. They began loading them into an unmarked white truck with surprisingly knobby tires.

“Those guys seem like the kind of meatheads we’re looking for,” Hali said.

“Do you recognize either of them?” Eddie asked Raven.

She shook her head. “Neither was in the Manila warehouse.”

“And I don’t remember them from the gunfight on Corregidor. Still, Hali’s right that they fit the profile of Typhoon users. Let’s find out if we’re right.”

He took out a burner phone he’d gotten from the Magic Shop. He’d asked Kevin Nixon to program it with a Negros Island number for this very possibility.

He dialed the number they were trying to find.

Seconds later, they heard a phone ringing in the pocket of one of the men loading boxes. He had a scar on his upper lip like someone who’d had a cleft palate repaired. The man answered the phone, and Eddie hung up without saying a word. The man shrugged and put the phone back in his pocket.

“Looks like we’ve got our man,” Eddie said.

“Now we just need to wait until they go back inside to plant the tracker,” Hali said.

“They may not go back inside before they leave,” Raven said. “Look how full the truck is. They may be getting ready to head out.”

“We may never get a chance like this again,” Hali said.

Eddie frowned at the men. Everyone else was giving the truck a wide berth, as if they knew not to approach it. Even if the two communist soldiers standing nearby didn’t notice him attaching the tracker, somebody else in the crowd might alert them. They wouldn’t have a second try. Eddie dismissed the clichéd idea of sending Raven in to use her feminine wiles to distract the two men. Besides, it probably wouldn’t work in this kind of weather.