Typhoon Fury

EPILOGUE

Juan found Max in the starboard ballast tank, which also doubled as an Olympic-length lap pool. Juan’s preferred method of exercise was swimming in its dual lanes, but he hadn’t been able to use it since the Kuyog blew a hole in the side of the ship, which was why they were now docked at a maintenance depot.

The hull had since been patched up on the outside, appearing as slipshod as possible of course. On the inside, Max was inspecting the welds, making sure that the new armor plating was seamless.

“When can I go back to doing laps?” Juan asked, his voice echoing off the marble-clad flooring. A week’s worth of algae had been scrubbed away, revealing the gleaming surface.

“When I’m sure that all the damage has been repaired,” Max said. “Should take another hour. Then, remember, we head out for beer and nachos at eighteen hundred.”

“Should I invite Hux?” Juan teased.

Max shot him a look that would melt steel. “Don’t you dare.”

“I was about to talk to Raven. Do you want to be in on the conversation?”

“No, it’s your call. A good one, by the way. You can tell me how it goes at the bar.”

“I’ll meet you on deck.”

Juan left Max muttering to himself and went up to the boardroom, where Raven was waiting.

He took a seat next to her as she put down the Jane Austen book she was reading.

“Persuasion,” Juan said, reading the title. “I haven’t read that one.”

“Everyone thinks I’d want to watch war movies or read about military history,” Raven said. “It’s nice to get away from all that once in a while.”

“I’m glad you’ve been taking advantage of our library. It’s nice that you’ve stuck around during Beth’s recovery.”

“I’ve been there. A familiar face helps you get through it. Besides, the facilities on your ship are incredible, and my little apartment in San Diego isn’t much to look at.”

“You don’t have anyone back in the States?”

“My parents, but I don’t see them all that much.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t have a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It was, actually. But not for the reason you’re thinking.”

She tilted her head and gave him an amused look. “I’m listening.”

“Everyone in the Corporation, myself included, was very impressed by your skills and composure in the Philippines. You may not realize how difficult it is to find someone with your set of abilities.”

“Very difficult, I’d guess. They’re aren’t many women out there like me.”

Juan laughed. “At least you know your worth.”

She shrugged. “False modesty isn’t one of my flaws.”

“Then you’d fit right in with us. What do you think about joining the Corporation? As you can tell, it’s dirty work sometimes, but you’d be surrounded by people just like you, people who are the best at what they do.”

“I’m assuming the job isn’t open because someone retired.”

Juan’s eyes clouded with Mike Trono’s memory. “It’s also dangerous work, as you’ve seen.”

“Being a bodyguard is, too. And from what I’ve heard, the pay isn’t nearly as good as it is for your crew.”

“You’d be well compensated. We can talk numbers, if you’re interested.”

She paused. “Let me think about it.”

“Absolutely,” Juan said, rising from his chair. “Max tells me we’ll be ready to set sail in two days. We hope you’ll still be here when we cast off.”

Raven never took her piercing brown eyes off him as he left.

Juan smiled to himself as he walked to the medical bay, since he thought he already knew her answer. It would be fun having her around.

When he got there, he found Julia helping Beth from her bed into a wheelchair. She looked much better than she had while going through the depths of Typhoon withdrawal. Julia had told him it was touch-and-go for a while, especially with the added complication of the gunshot wound, but Beth hadn’t become fully addicted in the short time she’d taken the drug. Still, Julia had been tending to her round the clock to keep her from succumbing to its effects.

“You’re looking good,” Juan said. “Ready for our outing?”

“Are you kidding?” Beth said with a voice that remained weak. “I’ve been getting claustrophobic in here.”

“Not too long,” Julia warned him. “She’s still regaining her strength.”

“Just a spin around the block and we’ll be back,” Juan assured her.

As he pushed her into the corridor, Beth said, “Now, what’s this surprise you promised?”

“Boy, talk about impatience. You’ll see soon enough.”

“Sorry. I’m still getting over that drug they forced on me. I hope every single one of those pills was destroyed forever.”

“We think that’s the case,” Juan said. “NUMA is currently diving on the Pearsall, but most of the destroyer was wrecked in the blast created by Gerhard Brekker. If there was any still aboard, it’s gone now. The police are still excavating the entrance to the cavern, but I doubt there’s any left in there after that explosion.”

“What about the load in Tagaan’s truck?”

“Vaporized. And I don’t think Dr. Ocampo has any reason to keep trying to synthesize it. He and all the other scientists have been returned safely to their families, by the way.”

“That’s good to hear. I don’t want anyone else to go through what I’ve experienced over the last week. And with Salvador Locsin dead, the last link to Typhoon is gone.”

Juan frowned. “No one told you?”

“Told me what?”

“I guess they didn’t want to bring it up when you were in recovery. They found Locsin pinned in the wreckage of his helicopter two days after it went down.”

Beth turned in her chair to look at Juan with concern. “He’s not dead?”

Juan shook his head. “Not yet, anyway.”

Locsin writhed in agony, chained to a bed in a prison infirmary. He begged for death that wouldn’t come.

The doctors tried to pump him full of morphine and sedatives to ease his suffering, but nothing worked on his now skeletal body, his muscles atrophied beyond recognition. The medical staff didn’t know how long he’d survive, but they told him it wouldn’t be long. His body was literally consuming itself.

The dozen Special Action Force soldiers outside his room in full riot gear were woefully unnecessary. Locsin was in no condition to get out of bed, let alone make an escape, and this time no one was coming to spring him from captivity.

The pain was so unbearable that he went in and out of hallucinations. One minute he was thrashing against his shackles and screaming in a sweat-soaked bed, the next he was back in the cavern switching out the cardboard pieces holding the dried orchid with a fake using a flower he made Dolap acquire for him in Bacolod.

He could picture Tagaan’s face when he realized he’d been duped, that Locsin had hidden away the real name of the flower in a safe place so that only he knew where it was. Locsin had been right to do it, too. His right-hand man had betrayed him.

He’d heard that Tagaan had been killed in a mysterious explosion that consumed the entire supply of Typhoon. But he felt no satisfaction in that knowledge. He felt only envy at Tagaan’s quick death.

As his mind returned to the horror of the hospital bed, he realized there was something else besides the excruciating pain and overwhelming envy. There was hatred of Juan Cabrillo for putting him here. No, not hatred.

Fury.

Beth’s jaw dropped open as Juan wheeled her into the Oregon’s dining room. Virtually every table had been transformed into a display with a painting lying atop it. Even the eagle finial that had started the whole thing was there.

“This is the last time all of these paintings will be in one place,” Juan said, “so I thought you’d want to take one last look at them before we return them to their rightful owners. Sorry we couldn’t bring the Manet you recovered in Bangkok. The Gardner Museum has it under lock and key in Thailand until it goes back to the U.S. They’re ecstatic that you found their stolen art, as are the other museums. The discovery has made worldwide news.”

Beth wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks. All of these magnificent masterworks had been thought to be gone forever and now they’d be preserved for future generations. She felt an enormous sense of pride for having a part in their retrieval.

She took her time appreciating each and every one until she got to the last. Then she realized there were only fifteen.

“Where’s the Picasso?”

Juan went over to a rectangular object draped with a cloth. He carried it to her and removed the cloth with a flourish.

It was the Picasso, set into an elegant gold frame.

“This belongs to the Corporation now,” Juan said. “We made a generous offer to the insurance company that paid off the owner and they gladly accepted. Maurice thought it would look good in here. Would you like to hang it?”

“I’d be honored.”

He gave her the small oil painting and she checked out the stellar framing job. She turned it over and gasped when she saw that the back had been marred by writing that looked like it had been done with a Sharpie.

It was a crude drawing of a flower along with the words Cephalantheropsis inviolabilem. Beth recognized it as scientific plant name. The first word was the Latin for the flower genus. The second was the species. The word meant invulnerable.

“This wasn’t here when I first inspected the painting,” she said. “Believe me, I would have seen it.”

Juan nodded. “I think Locsin wrote it there for safekeeping. Can it be removed?”

“Not without risking damage to the canvas.”

“That’s what I thought. Since it’s not visible from the front, we’ll leave it as is.”

He helped her secure it to the wall fasteners that had already been installed. She had to admit it did look beautiful there.

Juan put his hand on her shoulder and said, “It’s done.”

Beth knew what he really meant. The hateful drug was finally gone for good. As long as the Picasso stayed on that wall, no one would ever again see the name of the flower used to make Typhoon.

And she believed him. From what Beth had seen, there was no better place on earth to keep a secret than the Oregon.