Section 8

CHAPTER 8

The Humvee that had picked Vaughn up at the airfield came out of the tunnel into an open chamber where several other vehicles were parked, including three more Humvees. Various mounds of supplies were stacked here and there. The driver still had not said a word to him, indeed had not looked at him once, either in the rearview mirror or by turning around. As soon as the engine was turned off, as if on cue, the door to the right swung open and people began stepping out, all wearing sterile camouflage fatigues. Vaughn slowly got out of his Humvee, and as soon as he was clear, it departed, back the way it had come.

My new team, he thought as he looked at them.

Several things struck him right away about his new teammates. First, one was female. A slender woman of Japanese descent with dark hair shorn tight against her skull and a white bandage on her forehead. One of the men was Korean. Vaughn had served long enough in the Far East to tell the ethnic differences among the races. Another was African-American. The other two were Caucasian, one a tall man with graying hair, the other short and powerfully built, with what appeared to be a permanent scowl on his face. And they all had the aura that Special Operations personnel carried. A sense of confidence without a need to press it upon anyone.

The short man stepped forward.

"I'm the team leader. Name's Orson."

Only five and a half feet tall, Orson looked like a human fireplug.

"I spent some time in the SEALs," he said vaguely.

"Including Team Six."

Vaughn knew that Team Six was the SEAL version of Delta Force – an elite counterterrorist unit. He'd worked with elements of Team Six several times on training missions but had never met Orson.

Orson turned to the others.

"Gentlemen – and lady," he said.

"Our latest and last addition to the team. Vaughn, formerly of Delta Force."

The "formerly" resonated in Vaughn's ears. For some reason, the way Orson said it made the finality of his decision strike home. There was no going back. He'd heard of people who, rumor said, had been recruited for covert units and then simply disappeared into the world of black ops. Vaughn also noted that Orson had not used his rank – another indicator that things were going to be very different. He followed as Orson led him down the line, introducing his new teammates.

"Hayes," Orson said, stopping in front of the black man.

"He spent most of his childhood in the Philippine Islands, so he is our area expert. Also qualified on weapons and demolitions."

As Vaughn shook the man's hand, he had to wonder why his Delta Team hadn't had access to Hayes as an area specialist. They certainly could have used more intelligence about the setup on Jolo. He also noted that there was a tremor in Hayes's hand, so slight it was almost unnoticeable. Almost.

"Vaughn," Hayes said, the greeting noncommittal. He stepped back with a glance at the Japanese woman next to him.

"Tai."

Orson said her name so sharply that Vaughn was uncertain for a moment if it was her name or some expression, but the doubt disappeared as she put her hand out.

"Welcome to the team, Vaughn."

"Tai is expert in demolitions, but her particular expertise is in intelligence and counterintelligence with a specialty on terrorism, particularly in the Pacific Rim."

Orson had already moved on to a tall gray-haired man. Before he could say anything, the man stuck his hand out.

"Hey. Sinclair's my name. Spent some time in Fifth Group and the schoolhouse at Bragg teaching at SWC."

He pronounced it "swick," which was what Special Forces people called the Special Warfare Center at Fort Bragg.

"Nice to meet you," Vaughn said, feeling a bit strange. Every other time he'd gone to a new unit, he'd at least known someone there, since the U.S. Special Operations community was still a relatively small one. Here he had no advance intelligence on these people and had to assume, or hope, they had none on him. He'd never met Sinclair, as far as he could remember, but Special Forces had grown into a large community in the nineties, and once he was in Delta Force, he'd little interaction with the Special Forces groups.

"Kasen," Royce said, stopping in front of the Korean.

"Formerly of the First Ranger Battalion."

Kasen's grip was strong and the skin rough, toughened; Vaughn assumed it was from a rigorous martial arts routine. Kasen said nothing, staring at him with no apparent emotion, but Vaughn felt a coldness in the man. Vaughn had gone to Ranger school but never served in one of the battalions. He had a lot of respect for the soldiers who did, since they were the most elite infantry in the U.S. Army and perhaps the world. But there was a much different attitude between soldiers in the Ranger battalions and those in Special Forces: the former were more action oriented and thought in the short term, while the latter tended to be more cerebral and considered long-term missions.

"We're glad you're finally here so we can proceed," Orson said, giving Vaughn a cold look. With that, he spun about and headed back to the door.

"Hey," Sinclair said, slapping Vaughn on the back, "I'll give you a hand with your gear."

Orson led the other three inside, leaving Vaughn with Sinclair to haul the contents of the bundle that had been left there from his previous time in the tunnel.

"Friendly fucking lot, aren't they?" Sinclair said as he hoisted a duffel bag.

"You been here long?" Vaughn asked as he threw one strap of his rucksack over his shoulder and they headed for the door.

"Six hours," Sinclair said.

"I was the third one here. I guess we've been waiting on you to get the show going."

"So everyone is new to the team?"

Sinclair shrugged.

"I am. You are. You'll have to ask the others."

"Did you have to – " Vaughn hesitated, not sure how to phrase it.

"Pass a test?" Sinclair nodded.

"Yeah, but we ain't supposed to talk about that. Everything's a big secret here. Hush-hush and all that good shit."

Vaughn had wanted to know how long Sinclair had been in Section 8, but he knew better than to ask too many questions right away. There would be time for that later. Sinclair's answer, though, did indicate this was a newly assembled team, which meant he wasn't the outsider. That was both good and bad: good, because he wouldn't have to be accepted by those who had already formed bonds; bad, because it meant they all would have to quickly form the bonds of trust and training that the upcoming mission was going to require. The thought of going on a mission with a group of people who had just been thrown together didn't sit well with Vaughn.

They stepped through, and the steel door slammed behind them. Vaughn looked around. A typical setup for isolation. Plywood boards with maps mounted on them along with satellite imagery and lists of supplies. Two more doors at the end that Vaughn assumed led to their bunks and latrine.

"Functional" was the word that applied.

The other three Section 8 members were seated in folding chairs, Orson standing in front of them, waiting with impatience. Vaughn and Sinclair dropped the gear and sat down in the two remaining folding chairs. Orson had a remote in his hand, and a multimedia projector had been set up, attached to a laptop on the lectern in front of him. Orson took a thumb drive out of his coat pocket and plugged it into the USB port of the laptop. He worked the keyboard for a few moments, bringing up whatever he was going to show on the projector.

"Our mission," he began, "is to kill the leader of the Abu Sayef, a man named Rogelio Abayon."

The face of a middle-age man appeared on the screen over Orson's right shoulder.

Vaughn felt a surge of adrenaline as Orson confirmed what Royce had promised – this was the real deal. No more pussyfooting around. No more reacting. They were going to take the war to the bad guy.

Orson tapped the screen.

"This is the last photograph we have of Abayon, and it was taken over twenty-five years ago."

"No one's seen this guy in twenty-five years?" Sinclair asked with disbelief.

"No one's taken a photograph of Abayon in that time," Orson clarified.

"He's been seen, but rarely. It appears he hasn't left Jolo Island in all those years. And outsiders aren't welcome on Jolo."

Orson looked at Hayes, a not too subtle prompt.

The black man nodded.

"I saw Abayon on Jolo once, eight years ago. Only in passing. From what I managed to pick up, he has a hiding place on Hono Mountain, which pretty much dominates the entire island. There's supposed to be a set of tunnels built up there connecting natural caves. Only his closest people know where the entrance is."

Tai spoke up.

"If Jolo is controlled by the Abu Sayef, what were you doing there?" she asked Hayes.

"My father was in the U.S. Navy. My mother was Filipino. I grew up mostly in Manila, but when I was twelve I – " He paused, as if figuring out how to say it.

" – I traveled around the islands a lot with my friends. There are a lot of people like me, people of mixed race, in the islands. So although I don't pass as a native, since I speak the language and know the ways of the land, I can go pretty much anywhere."

"Eight years ago you were on Jolo?" Tai prompted.

Hayes nodded.

"Yes."

She waited but he didn't elaborate.

"Your teen years seem long gone," Tai finally said.

"What were you doing there?" Hayes stared at her.

"I was working."

"Doing?" she pressed. Vaughn glanced at Orson and noted that he wasn't stepping in, giving tacit approval to Tai's line of questioning. Vaughn had noted that while Orson had given the background of certain members of the team, for others he'd been rather quiet. Hayes didn't blink.

"I was negotiating the transfer of funds for illicit drugs. Does that make you feel better?"

"No," Tai said.

"You're a drug dealer."

"Was," Hayes said.

"And do you want to know who was supplying me with the money to buy?" He didn't wait for an answer, and Vaughn half expected the answer that was coming, based on his experiences in Afghanistan.

"The CIA. They wanted intelligence on the Abu Sayef and they recruited me to get it for them. What do they call it? Humint. Human intelligence. That was me. Of course they denied it, said I was just a drug dealer."

"Doing it for money," Tai said.

"What?" Hayes asked.

"You do it for free?"

"I do it for my country," Tai said.

"So you hand your paycheck back?" Hayes asked. Sinclair got them back on track.

"When was the last time you were on Jolo?"

"Two years ago," Hayes said.

"Shit," Sinclair said. He looked at Orson.

"And we're supposed to trust this guy?"

"Yes," Orson said.

"Hayes has his reasons for being here. As you all do."

Sinclair wasn't satisfied.

"So we're to take your word for it?"

Orson eyed him.

"Would you like to explain to the others why you're here?"

Sinclair glared at Orson but didn't respond, which was answer enough. Vaughn shifted in his seat and picked up the sense of unease that Orson's question to Sinclair had generated in all of them.

"But you didn't see Abayon?" Tai asked Hayes.

"Only in passing, as I said."

"If I may continue."

Orson made it an order, not a question.

"As you all know, the Abu Sayef were recently responsible for the deaths of eighteen tourists of various nationalities."

Vaughn once more shifted uncomfortably in his chair. But no one turned to stare at him, so he had to believe they didn't know his role in the recent debacle on Jolo.

"With the exposure of American involvement in the failed raid on the compound on Jolo Island," Orson went on, "the normal covert, albeit unofficial, channels of going after Abayon and his organization are closed. No other organization dare touch this, and the Philippine government, which has jurisdiction, wants nothing more to do with Abayon, the Abu Sayef, or Jolo Island. We believe they have negotiated an informal truce."

Hayes snorted.

"They've had an informal truce for a long time."

Orson continued.

"Unfortunately, we have intelligence that the Abu Sayef have been making contact with various other terrorist organizations, including Al Qaeda. Such a linkage is unacceptable. There are also vague but substantiated reports that the Abu Sayef are planning a major terrorist operation against the United States. Therefore, we are taking the fight to the terrorists, not waiting for them to bring it to American soil again."

"Who is we?" Tai asked.

"Our team designation is Section Eight," Orson said, deliberately misinterpreting her question.

"We have an AST team for support but they have no idea – nor should they – what our mission is. All requests for support will be encoded and passed through the AST, who will coordinate whatever you need.

"Questions?"

"Who is we?" Tai repeated. She amplified the question.

"Who do we work for? If we're Section Eight, what is the designation of the organization we fall under?"

"Who we work for," Orson said, "is none of your business. Remember, an essential part of this is deniability."

"So what do we say if captured?" Tai asked.

"Don't get captured," Orson said.

Tai was not giving up easily.

"If our bodies are found, what will be the cover story?"

"We'll be operating sterile with no indications of our nationality," Orson said.

"We won't need a cover story."

Vaughn wasn't sure he bought that, but Tai seemed to have exhausted that line of questioning in the face of Orson's stone wall.

Kasen, the ex-Ranger, raised his hand and Orson acknowledged him with a nod.

"Will killing Abayon destroy the Abu Sayef?

"Abayon founded the Abu Sayef after World War Two. He's the only leader it's ever had. Our estimate is that without him, the organization will splinter into ineffectual pieces that will spend most of their energy fighting among themselves. Without Abayon they'll be vulnerable. At that point it might be possible to get the Philippine government to take a stronger role.

"There is intelligence there" – Orson pointed at a row of laptop computers – "on both Abayon and his organization. As much as we know, which isn't much. One thing to know is that during World War Two Abayon fought with the Filipino guerrillas against the Japanese."

"So he was on our side," Vaughn said. He hadn't even heard of Abayon during the previous isolation for the raid.

"Just like Ho Chi Minh was during the same war."

Orson didn't rise to the bait.

"Gentlemen – and lady – we need to start planning."

"Is there a time limit on this?" Tai asked.

"We have five days to come up with a plan," Orson said.

"We'll brief-back then and either get a go or you start over. So let's make it a good plan."

Like we'd want to come up with a bad one, Vaughn thought.

Orson scanned the other five section members as if assessing them with that simple look.

"Tai, you are intelligence. There's a taped briefing on the Abu Sayef in the computer – I want you to distill out critical points in two hours. Hayes, you assist her with what you know about both the group and the locale, and also start giving me ways to infiltrate and exfiltrate Jolo Island and an idea exactly where our target is.

"Sinclair. Weapons. Find out what everyone is familiar and comfortable with. But I want at least two heavy guns – Squad Automatic Weapons. One shotgun for breaching if needed. Also, any trained snipers?"

Vaughn raised his hand, as did the Ranger, Kasen.

"All right, draw two sniper weapons just in case we take that path. Kasen, explosives and mines. Vaughn, work on how we're getting from here to there and back again. Tai, you also have medical training, correct?"

The woman nodded. Vaughn had noted that other than giving her expertise, Orson had not divulged her background during the introductions.

"Good. Draw medical kit and make sure you check everyone, blood types, personal gear, and all that. Vaughn, you help Tai on targeting. I want you to lock down Abayon's position."

Orson glanced at his watch.

"We will gather back here in two hours for a briefing on Abayon and the Abu Sayef. Tomorrow I want initial thoughts on targeting, tactical possibilities, infiltration and exfiltration."

The six scattered to the various equipment and sources of intelligence in the room. Vaughn logged onto one of the laptops set up on a plywood table and began searching through the classified database, looking for information about Abayon's hiding place.

He was engrossed in the data when the sound of two voices raised in confrontation interrupted him. He immediately recognized Tai's. Looking up, he saw her and the Ranger, Kasen, standing face-to-face, inside each other's personal space.

"What's the problem?" Vaughn asked as he stepped over. Sinclair was watching with interest from his position, making no move. Hayes also seemed to want to have nothing do with it. Orson was nowhere to be seen, having gone out to coordinate with the ASTs.

"The little girl wants one of the machine guns," Kasen said.

"I told her to leave the big guns to the men."

"I can handle a SAW," Tai insisted.

"We're a team. I – "

"Why not just carry a submachine gun?" Kasen asked, making it a taunt.

"Something small and delicate, like you."

Tai's left hand was a blur, the knife edge of it striking Kasen in the neck. The Ranger staggered back, coughing hard. He wasn't off balance long, going into the attack, hands a blur of blows aimed at Tai. Vaughn was impressed as she fended off every one of them with blocks, twisting and turning, getting inside Kasen's range and hitting him two hard blows in the solar plexus, doubling him over, before she skipped back out of range.

"You bitch," Kasen cursed as he slowly straightened and considered his adversary.

"You were lucky."

"I don't think so," Vaughn said, stepping between the two.

"I don't need you to intervene," Tai said.

"Let the pig come at me. I'll teach him the meaning of pain."

"As you said," Vaughn said, "we're teammates. We – " He was caught off guard as Kasen leapt past him, going for Tai's throat. Kasen was left grasping air as

Tai ducked underneath him, then spun about, her left boot toe leading, striking Kasen on the side of his head and dropping him unconscious to the floor.

"Shit," was Sinclair's take on the TKO.

"Seems to me the lady wants the machine gun."

"Seems to me we ought to give it to her," Vaughn said as he knelt and checked Kasen. The Ranger opened his eyes, the pupils unfocused for several moments, then realization set in and he tried to jerk to his feet.

"Enough," Vaughn said, putting an arm across his chest.

"What's going on?" Orson demanded, his short bulk filling the open door.

"A slight disagreement over equipment," Vaughn said, helping Kasen to his feet and glancing at Tai, who stood perfectly still without saying a word.

"If we kill each other," Orson said, "there won't be much of a mission. Back to work."

Vaughn helped Kasen to his place, then went over to Tai.

"I don't need you to help me," Tai hissed.

"We're teammates," Vaughn said again.

"We're supposed to help each other. You going to be able to work with Kasen?"

"He's a pig," Tai said.

"As long as he does his job and doesn't insult me again, I'll have no problem."

"What martial art was that?" Vaughn asked.

"I didn't recognize some of the blocks."

"Something my father taught me," Tai said vaguely. She looked at him.

"You were on that team that screwed up the hostage rescue, weren't you?"Yes."

Vaughn waited for more."Interesting," Tai said, a surprising response.

"Royce approached you after that, right?"Vaughn nodded."An undercover team of terrorist hunters?" Tai asked."Yes."Do you believe him?"Why shouldn't I? We're here."Hmm," Tai mused."How did he recruit you?"How is not important," she said.

"Why is."Then why?"Because of my sister."Vaughn felt like he was pulling teeth to get anything out of these people.

"What about your sister?"She was killed in the attack on the Pentagon. He promised me vengeance against the Abu Sayef, who we believe are allied with Al Qaeda."

"That was years ago," Vaughn said.

"You've been working for Royce all this time?"

"No. He approached me two days ago. There was something else."

"And that is?"

"I was accused of prisoner abuse in Iraq."

"And you just passed a test to get on the team?" Vaughn asked. Tai's head jerked and she reached up and placed her fingers lightly on the bandage.

"Yes. And you?" Her eyes met his, and they were locked in a stare that lasted several seconds, each appraising the other.

Finally Vaughn nodded.

"Yes."

He broke the stare and looked at the other members of the team, wondering what in their past had caused them to be recruited and what they had just done recently in order to be allowed on the team.

His thoughts were interrupted by Orson.

"Briefings in one hour."

Then the team leader left the room once more.

"So everyone here is new to this team?" Vaughn asked Tai, trying to confirm what he had suspected upon entering isolation.

She shrugged.

"As far as I know. Makes sense if they want to keep it covert."

"But Royce told me that this was a one-way ticket," Vaughn pointed out.

"We'll never go back to our previous assignments."

"And?"

"Do you think we're the first ones ever to get booked on this kind of thing?" he asked her.

That gave Tai pause.

"What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know," Vaughn admitted frankly.

"But…"

"But…?"

Vaughn looked at the photo of Rogelio Abayon. Eyes on the target – it was an axiom of planning.

"Let's get this son of a bitch."

Tai nodded.

"That's the idea."

The death of a Yakuza boss was big news. But for the moment that news was being held very tightly. Both ends of the alley where Kasama had been killed were still sealed by the containers. The police had used ladders to climb over the trailers blocking one end and then get down into the alley. Upon ascertaining who the victims were, a special police unit had been called. The head of that unit, working on a classified alert bulletin he had been given just a few days before, then made another call, this one to the Public Security Intelligence Agency, the Japanese version of the CIA.

Within fifteen minutes an unmarked helicopter appeared overhead and landed as close as possible. Two old men got off. They brushed their way past the police under the escort of the head of the special unit. Laboriously, they clambered up the ladder and then down another ladder into the alley. They walked up to Kasama's body, ignoring the smoke still drifting out of the SUVs and the other bodies and body parts littered about.

The Yakuza boss's head was resting on his stomach, neatly severed from his body. His dead hands cradled the head, as if protecting it. Lifeless eyes stared at his feet. The two men stood there for several moments, not speaking.

The head of the police special unit on the Yakuza cleared his throat, then said, "We do not think this was done by a rival faction. There have been no reports or rumors. Someone would be boasting of it if they had done it. And the preparations" – he indicated the three destroyed vehicles, the two trailers, the bodies – "we would have gotten some wind of it if some other part of the Yakuza were involved."

"'Wind,'" one of the old men repeated.

"The Black Wind blows no more," he added, nodding toward Kasama's body.

His partner turned toward the policeman.

"This is our problem. You are correct – it is not internal Yakuza conflict."

"What is it?" the policeman asked.

"Who did this?"

The first old man considered the question for several moments, as if trying to decide how much to say, then shrugged.

"We don't know. That's why we're here. But we know the Black Wind has been involved in things that extend beyond the borders of our country. Far beyond. And strong as Kasama and his organization were, there was something stronger than them. As we can obviously see."

The other man turned to the policeman.

"You can go now."

The policeman beat a hasty retreat.

"Should we call the group?" one asked the other.

He nodded.

"Let them in on the confusion."

It had been a long day, the team getting slowly into gear processing the intelligence they had been given. Each member had watched the briefing from Hawaii on the Abu Sayef, and Tai had added a little to it.

Now Vaughn lay on the hard bunk staring up at the rock. He could hear the breathing of his teammates, each different. Orson snored, which Vaughn noted – a potentially dangerous thing on a mission. Tai, on the next bunk, was motionless and her breathing so shallow he had wondered for a few moments if she'd died in her sleep. Kasen tossed and turned, occasionally muttering, another trait that was not good if they had to go on an extended mission. Sinclair seemed the most normal of the bunch, sleeping soundly and without much noise.

Hayes was not asleep. Nor was he in his bunk. Vaughn had watched him get up and make his way to the latrine in the darkness, stepping carefully to avoid making any noise. But even with the latrine door shut, Vaughn could hear the muffled retching and coughing.

After ten minutes, Hayes crept back into the room and slid into his bunk. Vaughn turned his head. And saw Tai looking right at him, the dim light glinting off the whites of her eyes. They held each other's gaze for several moments, then she closed her eyes.

Vaughn did the same. But sleep was a long time coming. And before it did come, he heard Hayes make two more trips to the latrine.