Typhoon Fury

17

Beth wrinkled her nose in disgust at the rickety ship tied up at the Manila dock where she and Raven had been told to meet Juan. The bright morning sun didn’t do the vessel any favors, throwing a harsh light on the rust spots, mismatched green paint, and cracks in the hull. It looked like it was in danger of sinking right there in the harbor.

“Are you sure this is the place?” she asked Raven, who regarded the ship with nothing more than an arched eyebrow.

“That’s what the text message said,” Raven replied.

“But this ship is called the Norego.” Beth pointed at the name painted in black on the fantail. The jackstaff flew a flag she didn’t recognize, and it certainly wasn’t American. “Maybe the Oregon couldn’t make it here so fast from Guam after all.”

Raven frowned at the corroded hulk. “Maybe not.”

She and Raven had holed up in a Manila hotel for the last two days, and Beth had been bored out of her mind waiting for a chance to retrieve the stolen Gardner paintings. Raven, on the other hand, had spent her time going out into the city to acquire new equipment that she thought they’d need, including a pistol and knife, neither of which she could have gotten through customs.

Beth was about to suggest that they text back to make sure they’d understood the message correctly when a uniformed Filipino man appeared at the top of the gangway accompanied by a weather-beaten old man in dirty khakis and a sweat-stained denim shirt unbuttoned down to his round belly.

The Filipino waved his hand like he was hastily refusing some kind of offer and hustled down the wobbly gangway. As he passed them, his face was ashen, and he mopped his brow with a handkerchief. He looked as if he’d lose his breakfast at any moment.

The old man lurched down the plank as if he’d drunk his breakfast. He stopped at the bottom and leaned against the railing.

“What do you want?” he rasped in a voice as rough as sandpaper. Deep lines etched his leathery face like a geological formation around his bulbous nose. His head was hairless except for gray muttonchop sideburns and bushy eyebrows that could have served as birds’ nests.

“We’re looking for Juan Cabrillo,” Beth said.

He scowled at them. “If you want a burrito, go find a restaurant. I’m a captain, not a cook.”

Raven choked down a laugh.

Beth gave him her best smile and raised her voice so he could hear her. “Sir, we’re supposed to meet a man named Juan Cabrillo here.”

“All right, all right. You don’t need to shout. So you’re Beth Anders and Raven Malloy?”

“That’s right.”

He pursed his lips as if he was considering whether they were legit, then nodded. “I’m Herb Munson. Juan’s this way. Come on.”

He staggered up the gangway. Beth and Raven looked at each other and shrugged before going after him.

The deck was a mess, and they had to step over trash and broken chains as they made their way toward the superstructure. Munson weaved his way ahead of them, and Beth expected him to take a spill on the cluttered deck with every step.

She leaned over and whispered to Raven, “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“He knew who we are, so obviously we are expected.”

“How could this guy be a part of Juan’s organization? He looks old enough to have been a stowaway on Noah’s ark.”

Over his shoulder, Munson suddenly said, “Of course I know how to park. We’re docked, aren’t we?”

Beth looked in amazement from Munson to Raven. “How could he hear that?”

“I don’t know. But something’s not right here.” Beth noticed that Raven’s hand hovered near her holstered weapon.

Munson waved for them to enter the ship’s interior, and once they were inside, Beth could understand why the Filipino had been so sick. A foul smell greeted them, and it only got worse as they entered a small office that reeked like an overflowing dumpster. The major source of the rancid odor seemed to be a connected bathroom. Before Munson closed the lavatory door, Beth got a glimpse of a level of filth that would give her nightmares.

A familiar voice behind them surprised Beth. “Hey there. Looks like you found us.”

She whipped around to see Max Hanley in the doorway.

“Juan,” he said, looking at the wizened captain, “we’re unloading the Powered Investigator Ground now.”

Beth turned and stared in astonishment at the man calling himself Munson. But when he replied, Juan’s strong baritone came out.

“Good. Send Eddie up. I’ll get changed while you ready the PIG.”

“Do you have to call it that?” Max said.

“You designed it, so you got to pick the name. You should have realized what was going to happen.”

“Acronyms. Everyone around here has to use acronyms.” Max continued to grumble as he walked away.

“Sorry about deceiving you ladies,” Juan said as he pulled off his bald cap and glued-on sideburns, “but I couldn’t reveal myself out on the wharf where prying eyes might have seen me.”

“Then this is the Oregon?” Raven asked matter-of-factly.

Juan grinned as he removed his prosthetic nose and fake belly. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

“Norego. Oregon. It adds up now. But that’s a good disguise. I’m not fooled easily.”

“I noticed. We do it to get in and out of ports without much attention. None of the harbormasters like to spend more time on board than they have to, and I get to remain incognito. Well, Beth, are you ready for a little road trip?”

Beth shut her mouth, which had been gaping open at Juan’s transformation. “I’m just a bit confused right now. What’s the PIG?”

“That’s our transportation for today. Here’s Eddie now. He’ll show it to you while I get out of these brown contacts and change clothes.”

A lean Chinese man appeared where Max had been. Juan introduced him as Eddie Seng, chief of shore operations.

“What does that mean?” Beth asked.

“I’m in charge of any excursions we take off the ship,” Eddie said.

“But I’m coming along, too,” Juan said. “I’ll meet you down there.”

As he ducked out of the office, Eddie said, “Why don’t we get some fresh air.”

“Yes, please,” Beth said.

When they got outside, Beth couldn’t believe how good the oily seawater of the dock area smelled. She inhaled in relief like she’d just been released from prison.

One of the ship’s deck cranes was hauling a boxy-looking truck from the hold. With oversized tires and a stout cab on the front, it must have been formidable in its day, but now it looked as decrepit as the ship it had emerged from. The crane’s motor whined in protest at the load, but the truck swung smoothly over the pier and settled onto the dock as lightly as a feather.

“We’re going in that?” Beth said, pointing at the truck as they walked down the gangway. “Why don’t we just rent an SUV?”

“The PIG may not look pretty, but I think you’ll be comfortable.” He noticed another Filipino man walking around the truck. “Just a moment. I need to take care of the inspector.”

When the PIG was unlatched from the crane, Eddie opened the back doors, which, like the sides, featured the faded logo of an oil exploration company. The cargo area was full of metal drums. “Spare fuel,” Beth heard Eddie say to the inspector, who nodded. He made a few notes on a clipboard, and Eddie signed it. Beth caught him slipping a few American hundred-dollar bills under the paper.

When the inspector left, Eddie said, “Sometimes we have to grease a few palms to avoid questions.”

Beth nodded but said nothing. She’d done the same in a few seedy locales when she needed answers to awkward questions.

They stood by while Eddie made preparations in the PIG. A few minutes later, Juan strode down the gangway in a black T-shirt and light cargo pants.

“I like this version much better,” Beth said.

“Me too,” Juan said. “I’m done with Herb Munson for the day. How’s it looking, Eddie?”

Eddie poked his head from the cab. “Everything checks out, Chairman. We’re ready when you are.”

“Then let’s load up. Beth and Raven, I’ll ride shotgun, if you don’t mind.”

Beth got in back with Raven and was happy to find that it had already been cooled down by a powerful air conditioner. Though the seats were torn and faded, the leather was surprisingly supple and the cushions provided good support.

When all the doors were closed, Eddie flipped a switch, and the ancient dashboard retracted and flipped around. It was replaced with a state-of-the-art computer display and high-tech switches.

Eddie engaged the powerful diesel and drove away from the Oregon. The ride was limousine smooth.

Juan turned in his seat. “The PIG’s got a few more hidden features that might come in handy, since we don’t know what we’ll find up in the mountains. GPS says it’s a four-hour drive. There are drinks and sandwiches in the cooler between you, if you want some.”

Beth shook her head and laughed. “What hidden features? Am I sitting in an ejector seat? Does it have machine guns in the headlights?”

Juan gave her a mysterious smile. “No, not in the headlights.”

He didn’t say anything about the ejector seat.

Mel Ocampo nervously watched Salvador Locsin’s helicopter land inside the compound in remote central Luzon. He’d been stalling as long as he could to avoid this visit, but he could no longer disguise his lack of progress in replicating the Typhoon drug.

He pined for his days as a research scientist at a pharmaceutical conglomerate in Manila. It had been solid if unexciting work that paid well, but when this new job offer had come along — with three times the pay — he’d jumped at the chance. At the time, it seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime. With the money he’d been advanced, he sent his wife and two children to the United States to live with a cousin until he could join them. Now he wished he’d never answered that phone call.

For four months, he’d been trapped in this remote compound in charge of five other chemists who were given the impossible task of divining the formula for a pill none of them had seen before. Now he wasn’t sure any of them would ever leave this place alive.

Locsin and his right-hand man, Tagaan, got out of the helicopter and marched toward him.

“Dr. Ocampo,” Locsin said, his annoyance obvious, “why am I here?”

Ocampo stammered, “To… to see the headway we’ve made on your project—”

“Wrong. I’m here because you aren’t doing the work you said you could do.”

Locsin brushed by him and walked toward the main lab facility with Tagaan. They pushed open the doors and walked in without caring about sterilization procedures. Ocampo scurried after them.

Five scientists were hard at work, hunched over high-powered microscopes, operating gas chromatographs, and poring over computer data. Although Locsin kept them captive, at least he provided them with the latest equipment. All of the chemists looked up for a moment but turned back to their jobs when they saw who had entered not because they were ignoring him but because they wanted to appear busy.

Ocampo knew it was a sham. Their work was futile without more information about what they were attempting to produce.

“Why aren’t you able to create more of the pills?” Locsin demanded.

“Mr. Locsin, you’ve given us only ten of the pills to work with,” Ocampo said. “We need at least fifty more to effectively analyze its chemical makeup.”

“I thought you only needed a small sample to identify a chemical.”

“If we were comparing it to something else that already exists, then yes. For example, if we were trying to match a chemical residue from an arson investigation, there’s a known database to compare with the sample. But what we’re trying to do is much more difficult. You want us to figure out the exact chemical formula for this drug from scratch.”

Without warning, Locsin picked up a heavy metal desk with one hand and flung it at the wall as if it were as light as balsa wood. The loud crash stopped all work, and the scientists looked at him in fear.

Locsin, his face scarlet with rage, got nose to nose with Ocampo and screamed, “I don’t care about the details! What I want to know is if you can do it!”

Ocampo’s mouth was suddenly bone dry from terror. Finding a way to replicate the drug was a long shot at best, but there was no way he was going to say that. “With time and resources, yes. But I must have more of the drug.”

“And if there is no more to give you?”

“Then it will take even longer.”

“How long?”

“It’s hard to estimate.”

“And if you have more pills?”

Ocampo swallowed reflexively. “Three months. I feel like we are close to a breakthrough.” He caught one of his chemists, a woman named Maria Santos, eyeing him when he made that proclamation.

Locsin’s face instantly transformed. The furious expression was gone and a beatific smile took its place. He put his arm around Ocampo’s shoulder like he was an old friend.

“A breakthrough,” he said. “That’s what I like to hear. I knew I could count on you, Dr. Ocampo. However, I need the formula in two months, not three. I’m sure you can do it. We have a limited supply of pills, so I can’t give you any more, but I can bring in more people if you need them. Just say the word.”

The thought of dragging more innocent souls into this nightmare nearly made Ocampo shudder. He couldn’t bear the responsibility for that.

“Perhaps if you told us more about the drug’s effects, we could narrow our focus.”

“Your expertise is in the development of steroids,” Locsin said. “That’s why you’re here. You don’t need to know what Typhoon is for, you only need to make more of it.” He turned Ocampo toward him and looked him in the eye. “Now, if you can’t do it, tell me and we’ll shut down the project right now.”

Shut down the project. What a nice way of saying that he’d have them all killed and buried in a shallow grave.

“We can do it, Mr. Locsin,” Ocampo said reassuringly. “As I said, the breakthrough could come at any time.”

Locsin patted him on the back. “I hope my presence here has provided the needed motivation.”

“Of course it has.”

“Good. Now I’m going to get my breakfast. When I come back, I want a detailed report on how you plan to accomplish your task.”

Ocampo felt the blood drain from his face. “Yes, sir.”

Locsin and Tagaan left. Maria Santos jumped up from her desk and raced over to Ocampo.

“Are you crazy?” she said. “We’re nowhere close to a breakthrough.”

“But he doesn’t know that.”

“We might be able to come up with some kind of bogus plan today, but he’s going to find out sooner or later that we have no idea how to do what he wants. My guess is sooner.”

“I agree. That’s why we’re all going to escape from this place.”

“Escape? You really are crazy.”

Ocampo put his hands on her shoulders. “I already have an idea for how to do it. The only thing left is to come up with the proper distraction.”