Shadow Tyrants

SEVENTEEN

One thing Juan Cabrillo was sure of was that there were no indigenous peoples on the island, at least not anymore. Any organization that could somehow land an intact plane here wasn’t going to allow a few natives to get in their way. The only known missing A380 was Xavier Carlton’s private jet that disappeared eighteen months ago. Now they knew why it had never been found.

While Eddie, Linc, MacD, and Raven readied their gear, Juan had Linda dive the Gator and head to the part of the protective atoll that was nearest to the camouflaged airliner.

He was in the driver’s cupola with Linda when they arrived. The sun shone through the pristine water, playing along an underwater structure that definitely didn’t belong.

“You were right, Chairman,” Linda said. “Caissons are lined up perpendicular to the island as far as we can see.”

She piloted the Gator along a perfectly linear row of huge closely set concrete blocks, each the size of a house, that were resting on the ocean floor where coral had been blasted away. Each caisson was painted in a mottled pattern to resemble the reef so that it wouldn’t be recognized in any photos taken from the sky.

“That must have been how they landed the plane,” Juan said. “And they could double as a pier for the Triton Star.”

“You think these float?”

Juan pointed at a series of valves and hoses connecting the caissons. “All they had to do is pump air in or out to raise or lower it. A permanent pier would have been noticed during one of the Coast Guard’s random checks. If they raised this at night or under thick cloud cover, it would never be seen from the air. Not only that, it looks like it’s still being used.”

A series of parallel lines marred the random growth of algae on the surface of the nearest caisson.

“Tire tracks,” Linda said.

“They must have a vehicle for the cargo transfers. Those tracks can’t be more than a week old.”

“This structure has to be four thousand feet long,” Linda said with awe. “It must have cost a fortune to build. They’d have to ship these blocks in from another manufacturing site and install them at night.”

“Makes you wonder who would go to that much trouble.”

“And why.”

“Let’s find out,” Juan said. “Surface the boat as close to the island as you can get.”

As he got his own equipment ready, Juan told the others about the sunken runway.

“Someone really doesn’t want anyone to know about this island,” Linc said as he checked his P90 submachine gun.

“Good,” MacD said, “then they won’t be expecting us.” Instead of an automatic weapon like the others had, he carried a high-tech crossbow. In the stock, it had a small battery-powered cocking motor, which allowed for quick reload. It was the perfect weapon for silent attacks.

“Who was on the plane when it went down?” Raven asked while donning the same set of glasses that everyone else wore. A tiny screen displayed the feed from the drone’s camera.

Eddie answered, “Almost a hundred technology experts who had been attending a convention in Dubai. They were from some of the most prestigious companies and universities around the world.”

The drone feed clearly showed that a few pieces of the plane had been removed, and records revealed they matched exactly with the wreckage that had been found on the shores of Oman and Yemen. Those parts must have been chosen because the serial numbers would have confirmed that the missing airliner had gone down at sea.

“It’s been more than a year since they disappeared,” Gomez said. He was still operating the drone, keeping an eye on the island to make sure they weren’t being observed. “You think any of them are still alive?”

“At least some of them might be,” Juan said. “If the hijackers simply wanted to kill the passengers, they could have picked a lot less expensive way to do it.”

“Keeping them prisoners in huts on a deserted island?” MacD said. “Doesn’t make sense to me.”

“And what does all this have to do with the attack on Diego Garcia?” Raven wondered.

“All valid questions,” Eddie said to Juan with a smile.

“And maybe we’ll be able to answer some of them after we take a little walk around the island,” Juan replied. “Everyone ready?”

They all answered in the affirmative. Linda surfaced only fifty yards from the beach right next to one of the caissons. As usual for the tropics, a rain shower from an isolated cloud was drenching the island.

Juan waited a few minutes for the quick downpour to pass, then led the way out of the hatch and stepped into the water. Here, the top of the caisson was just three feet below the surface.

When they were all out, Linda backed the Gator away and submerged until just the antenna and air snorkel were visible. The drone hovered above them, and Juan could see the aerial image projected onto his glasses.

As they began to wade forward, the drone flew on to scout ahead.

When they got to the edge of the jungle, the Airbus airliner came into view. The underside was still white. The giant plane loomed over them, casting deep shadows in the already dense thicket of trees.

One of the doors on the plane was open, but its emergency slide had been torn away. If they wanted a look inside, they’d have to climb. Maybe later, Juan thought. Right now, he wanted to explore the interior of the island.

MacD, an experienced hunter and tracker, caught everyone’s attention and waved them over. He pointed to the ground. The tire tracks that Juan had seen on the top of the caissons continued here under the cover of the foliage. Since there were no grooves on the sandy beach, they had to have been intentionally erased.

Instead of taking the tires’ path, they divided up and crept through the jungle parallel to it twenty yards away, Juan and Eddie on one side and MacD, Linc, and Raven on the other. Gomez kept the drone fixated on the path so they could see if anyone was coming to greet them.

Juan heard a clicking noise and stopped, holding up his hand for the others to do the same.

He looked up and saw what was making the rhythmic noise. A blue coconut crab the size of a bulldog was doggedly attempting to clip a coconut from the palm tree above him.

“At least we can be sure there aren’t any motion sensors,” Eddie whispered.

Juan nodded at the huge crab, which was three times as big as any lobster he’d ever seen. “Those guys would be setting them off constantly.”

As they walked away, the coconut finally came loose and fell to the ground. The crab scurried down the tree and hauled away its prize.

A thousand yards later, Juan spotted a building the size of a three-car garage and as tall as a semi. It was a modern metal structure painted camouflage like the plane. There was a door big enough for a truck to pass through, and another regular door beside it, both closed.

They regrouped and crouched down out of sight.

“Unless the indigenous natives have a local construction company that we haven’t seen yet,” Juan said, “I’d say the Indian government is going to get a big surprise soon about their off-limits island.”

“Unless they’re the ones who built this,” MacD said. “Maybe the indigenous angle has been one big con all these years.”

“How about we knock on the door and ask?” Linc said.

Raven nodded. “I have a feeling whoever they are won’t be happy to see visitors.”

Juan said, “Gomez, give us a close-up of the front.”

“Close-up on the way,” Gomez replied.

The quadcopter flew down until Juan had a clear view of the door. Next to it was a keypad and flat panel big enough for a hand.

“Could be a biometric scanner for a palm print,” Eddie said.

“Out here?” Linc said, looking around at the desolate jungle. “Why would they need that kind of security?”

“We might be able to find someone who knows the answer to that question,” Gomez said.

“What do you mean?” Juan asked.

Gomez rotated the drone’s camera so that it pointed down at two sets of footprints leading to a footpath. It went in the direction of the cigarette butts they had spotted on the beach halfway around the island from the concealed plane.

“I think someone went for a stroll recently,” Gomez said.

The footprints in the mud were empty, unlike the other depressions around them that had been filled with water from the short downpour twenty minutes before.

Two people had walked out of that building since Juan’s team had landed on the island. And judging from the footprints, they hadn’t returned.

Either Juan and his crew were about to become hunters or they were the hunted.