Section 8

CHAPTER 11

"It was just five months after the American disaster at Pearl Harbor," Abayon said. He and Fatima were near the top of Hono Mountain, in the same place where Abayon had watched the failed American raid to rescue the hostages just days before.

"Smoke was still rising from some of the ships sunk in Pearl Harbor, and oil has been leaking out of some of the hulks to this very day.

"The Rising Sun of Japan seemed to be spreading without check throughout the western Pacific Rim. At least, so it appeared to all of us back then. The day after the assault on Pearl Harbor, the Japanese launched attacks on the Philippines in preparation for invasion. Despite having had over fourteen hours of warning about what had happened at Pearl Harbor, the great Douglas MacArthur, the overall commander here in the Philippines, did not have his forces on alert, and most of his planes were destroyed on the ground, lined up at the airfields around the islands.

"It got worse. On the tenth of December, 1941, the pride of the British Pacific fleet, the battleship Prince of Wales and the battle cruiser Repulse, were sunk by Japanese torpedo planes. It was a stunning defeat for the British, who had always looked down on the Japanese as an inferior race and not a foe worthy of serious consideration. That loss would soon be followed by another even more devastating blow.

"Singapore was considered by the British to be their Gibraltar in the Far East. Unfortunately for the British, and fortunately for the inferior Japanese, most of the defenses were oriented toward the ocean, where the British naturally assumed the attack would come. They were shocked when the Japanese landed on the Malay peninsula and fought through swamp and jungle toward the city. Despite being outnumbered by the British almost two to one, the Japanese rapidly advanced. They were under the command of General Tomoyuki Yamashita, who, as you know, would later be in command of the occupation of the Philippines."

Abayon was looking out to sea. The lights of a few anchored fishing vessels were visible, but otherwise there was no sign of man. He continued his story.

"The Japanese advance was swift and brutal. No prisoners were taken. Wounded men were executed. Locals who assisted the British were also killed. On February the eighth, 1942, the Japanese captured Singapore, taking over 100,000 Allied troops prisoner. A tenth of those would later die building the Burma-Thailand railway, much as many of those captured here died.

"The beginning of 1942 was a dark time for the Allies in the Pacific. The Japanese seemed invincible. Hong Kong had fallen. Darwin was bombed. China, Burma, Borneo – the list of places the Japanese were advancing through was almost endless. And with those advancing troops came the Kempetai, the secret police, and within the Kempetai an even more secret unit that began the systematic looting of the conquered lands."

"Golden Lily," Fatima said.

"Yes," Abayon said.

"We will get back to that. But let me continue so you understand as much of the big picture as I do. In the United States, morale was at an all-time low. President Roosevelt ordered his Joint Chiefs of Staff to come up with something to hit back at the Japanese homeland. It was a daunting proposition, given the vast width of the Pacific Ocean. The plan that was developed was daring: launch medium bombers off an aircraft carrier.

"Sixteen B-25 Mitchell bombers were loaded on board the USS Hornet. The crews of the bombers, despite having spent weeks practicing short takeoffs, did not know their target or mission as they boarded the carrier. The Americans used to be very good at keeping secrets, a skill they've lost to a large degree since then. The ship set sail from California and headed west.

"Also on board the ship were three men who were neither part of the flight crew or the ship's complement. They had orders signed by General Marshall himself…very strange orders that simply directed any U.S. Military officer who was shown the orders to do as the bearer instructed."

Fatima stirred as if to say something, but Abayon continued without acknowledging her.

"I am sure Colonel Doolittle, the commander of the bomber group, was none too happy to have these orders shoved in his face shortly after the fleet took sail. But Doolittle was a good officer and he would do as ordered.

"The launch was set for April nineteenth, when the Hornet would be around five hundred miles from the Japanese islands. The planes would fly to their targets, drop their bombs, then continue onward to land in China. That plan, as with most military plans, went out the window on the eighteenth of April when one of the escort ships was spotted by a Japanese picket boat. The Japanese boat was sunk, but it was assumed it had gotten a warning message out.

"As dawn broke on the eighteenth, the public address system on the Hornet called the Army pilots to man their planes. For the first time since boarding the ship, the three men who had been snuck aboard in California during darkness came up onto the deck. They made their way to aircraft number sixteen, named Bat Out of Hell by its crew. Unlike the other fifteen bombers, this plane, as ordered by the man who carried the letter from Marshall, carried no bombs. Instead, the three men climbed into the bomb bay, where their equipment awaited them – parachutes, weapons, grenades, a wireless, and other equipment indicating they were going somewhere to do something dangerous."

Abayon was on a roll, telling the story almost as if he had experienced it firsthand, which surprised Fatima.

"The lead plane, piloted by Doolittle, lifted off the deck of the Hornet at 0820. The other planes followed as quickly as they could be moved into position. An hour after Doolittle had taken off, Bat Out of Hell roared down the wooden deck and into the sky. As soon as it was clear, the Hornet began a wide sweeping turn to head back east.

"Inside the last plane, the man with the letter made his way to the cockpit. The plane's original target was supposed to have been Kobe. The man's orders, backed up by his letter, changed that. Bat Out of Hell headed on an azimuth to make landfall just north of Tokyo.

"When the navigator estimated the plane was an hour from the Japanese coast, the three men rigged their parachutes and gear. At the designated location, the bombardier opened the doors on the bottom of the aircraft and the three men threw themselves out, their parachutes quickly deploying."

Abayon paused, and this time Fatima was able to get some words in.

"How do you know all this?" she asked.

"Afterward I met one of the members of that plane's crew," Abayon said.

"They managed to make it to China, but ran out of fuel and had to bail out. They suffered the misfortune of being captured by the Japanese. I had suffered the same misfortune almost two months before and was shipped to China en route to Unit 731 in Manchuria."

Fatima frowned.

"But I don't understand why this is important. Three men parachuted out of one of those planes. And…? Do you know who they were? What they were going to do? It sounds as if the crew of the plane certainly didn't."

"No, the crew had no clue who the men were or why they were parachuting into Japan," Abayon said.

"But I discovered more."

"How?"

He held up a hand.

"First, let me tell you a little more about what happened after the Doolittle raid so you get a sense of perspective. History, particularly American history, paints the raid as a great success and a turning point in the war. The Americans, as is their way, made a movie about it in 1944, even before the war was over. The commander, Doolittle, was given their Medal of Honor.

"Militarily, the raid accomplished very little. Each plane – other than number sixteen – carried only four five-hundred-pound bombs because of weight restrictions. The damage done was negligible. And all sixteen planes were lost when they crash-landed after running out of fuel.

"The Japanese, as they did here in the Philippines against the guerrillas, responded to this gnat's strike with fury. Since the planes all went on to China, and most of the crews were saved by Chinese partisans, the Japanese vented their rage on the Chinese people. First, they conducted more than six hundred air raids of their own on Chinese villages and towns. Any village where an American airman passed through was burned to the ground and the people murdered. No one knows the exact number, but the American moral victory cost almost 100,000 Chinese their lives."

"And the Americans did not care."

Fatima said it as a statement.

Abayon nodded.

"Most Americans care nothing for people killed as long as it is not their own people. A hundred thousand Chinese dead so that there can be exciting headlines in their newspapers and newsreel was fine for them.

"Some Americans did suffer. The Japanese captured eight of the men who were on the planes, including the crew of the Bat Out of Hell that the three mystery men had jumped out of. The eight were first taken to Tokyo by the Kempetai, where they were interrogated."

"But you said you talked to one of these men in China," Fatima noted.

"Yes," Abayon said.

"That was later. The Americans were kept in Tokyo for about two months, where they were tortured until they agreed to sign documents admitting they were war criminals. Then they were shipped back to China. I ran into them there in a prison camp. Surprisingly, though, the crew of the sixteenth plane was never interrogated about the three men, even though, under torture, they told of the jump."

Fatima was now intrigued with this story of events over sixty years ago.

"You're saying the crew told the Kempetai that three Americans parachuted into Japan during the raid, but the Kempetai never pursued that line of questioning?"

"Yes. Strange, isn't it? And the secret should have died with them. The Japanese held a trial of the crew. It took them all of twenty minutes. The Americans couldn't understand anything, since it was all done in Japanese. There was no defense counsel, and it wasn't until after they were taken out of the courtroom that they discovered they had been condemned to death.

"The sentence was to be carried out several weeks later, but it wasn't until the day before they were to be killed that the Americans were informed of their sentence. They wrote letters to their families – which were never sent. Then, the next day, the Japanese took them into a cemetery. There were three small wooden crosses stuck in the ground, and the men were made to kneel with their backs against the crosses. Their hands were tied to the cross pieces. White cloth was wrapped around their faces – not as blindfolds, but with a large X marked on it just above the nose as a target point. It only took one volley from the firing squad."

Abayon paused. Fatima had seen death in her work for the Abu Sayef, but the horrors of World War II were on a scale that her generation could not visualize.

She waited a few moments, then asked, "But what does any of that have to do with the Golden Lily? And what is in this complex?"

Abayon ran his hands along the worn arms of his wheelchair. It had been years since he'd been able to walk. Years since he'd left the complex. He knew his present condition was a direct result of what had been done to him by the Japanese so many years ago. He was lucky to have survived when so many others had not, but revisiting that place, even in conversation, was painful. Still, Fatima had to know what he knew and what he suspected.

"The men who jumped out of that bomber into Japan are the connection," he finally said.

"After we were captured, my wife and I were taken from the Philippines to China for a while and then eventually to Manchuria, to a place called Pingfan, about twenty-five kilometers southeast of Harbin.

"At first we thought it was just a concentration camp. But the collection of prisoners was strange. There were Chinese, of course, but there were two dozen Filipinos; some Europeans who had been captured; a handful of Australians; many nationalities were represented, in small numbers for some reason. And there was one American."

"One of the jumpers," Fatima said.

Abayon smiled despite the terrible memories bubbling in his mind. She was indeed the right one.

"Yes. One of the jumpers. I talked to him. His name was Martin. Kevin Martin. At first he said nothing of his past or how he had been captured or even who he was. But when I told him of the American aircrew from Doolittle's raid and that I had seen that they were prisoners of the Japanese, it was the key to opening him up. Martin wanted to know what had happened to the men. He was quite upset when I told him they were executed, even though we were in a place where it was obvious we would not live long either."

Abayon paused, gnarled hands moving back and forth on the arms of his wheelchair in agitation.

"What do you know of Unit 731?"

"What you have told me," Fatima said.

"It was the biological warfare experimental laboratory for the Japanese."

"I have studied the unit and its history as much as any person since the end of the war," he said.

"The Japanese made no secret of their interest in developing biological and chemical weapons. Early on, they knew they were at a technical disadvantage to the West, but in this field they felt they might be able to gain the upper hand.

"In 1925 the Japanese made this clear when they refused to sign the Geneva Convention ban on biological weapons. In fact, I believe, given information I have examined over the years, that in a perverse way the fact that there was a ban on these weapons is what made the Japanese actually more interested in them. High-ranking Japanese officers figured that if something was so terrible it was outlawed, then it must be an effective weapon.

"They weren't stupid, though. They knew better than to build facilities in their own country. When they invaded Manchuria in 1932, accompanying the troops was an army officer who was also a physician, Dr. Ishii. He began the preliminary work that would lead four years later to Unit 731 being established. Besides the remoteness of the site, it also allowed them access to numerous test subjects: namely, Chinese soldiers and citizens, whom they considered less than human.

"It was a large compound," Abayon said, remembering.

"Around 150 buildings covering several square kilometers. The Japanese used bubonic plague, cholera, anthrax, and other diseases in controlled tests on humans. They decided they also needed to make sure that the diseases worked the same on different races, so they began importing prisoners from other theaters of the war. That is how I ended up there.

"They did more than experiment – they also used the weapons. In their war against China, the Japanese used poison gas over one thousand times. They dropped bacteria from planes numerous times, starting plagues among not only enemy troops, but the civilian population. The estimates of how many died run into the hundreds of thousands."

"But…"

Abayon paused.

"Yes?"

"Biological warfare has never been considered particularly effective for the battlefield. That is why it has so rarely been used."

Abayon nodded.

"True. And it wasn't particularly effective then either. Even though they killed many, the Japanese couldn't control what they had unleashed. Japanese troops also died. But still, the experiments at 731 went on."

Abayon fell silent, and Fatima did not disturb him as his mind wandered down the dark alleys of his past. Finally he stirred.

"My wife. They took her before they took me. They called us meruta – logs. That's what they thought of us."

"Why logs?" Fatima asked.

"Because that's what we looked like when they stacked the bodies," Abayon said.

"Seventeen days after we arrived at Unit 731 – shipped there packed in trains like cattle – they took my love along with several dozen others. Out to the testing range. They tied them to stakes. A plane flew by overhead, spraying whatever latest germ the scientists had come up with.

"The lucky ones died quickly and on the stake. My wife wasn't one of the lucky ones. The Japanese doctors wanted to see how quickly the disease progressed and what it did to the victim. So at a certain schedule, soldiers garbed in protective gear would go out to the field of death and take a harvest. They would bring several living prisoners back to the doctors. Then…"

Abayon fell silent.

"Your wife was one of these chosen?" Fatima asked.

"Yes. I was in my barracks. Locked in. I could look through a split in the wood. I saw them drive the truck in, the bodies in the back, sealed in a protective tent. Still alive. The doctors wanted them alive. So they could cut them open and see what their diseases were doing to a living person.

"I heard my wife's screams. They went on and on. I had seen the bodies of others who had been taken into the operating lab before, so I had a good idea – too good – of what they were doing to her. Vivisection. Cutting her open without anesthesia. The screams became so bad, they couldn't even be recognized as coming from a human being anymore. It was like an animal that had been trapped and was being tormented."

Abayon spit.

"Doctor Ishii. Whatever oaths he had sworn in medical school were long forgotten. One hears so much about the Nazis and their death camps, but no one talks about 731. Everyone acts like it didn't exist. The Japanese premier and emperor both denied ever hearing of it at the end of the war. But Tojo personally gave Ishii a medal for his work there.

"And it was the Americans who would have paid the price if the Japanese had managed to make their weapons program effective. They planned to use balloon bombs to carry diseases to America. In 1945 they made a plan to use kamikaze pilots to dump plague-infected fleas on San Diego. There was another plan to send cattle plague in grain smut to affect the American economy. As the war wound down, Ishii came up with his most daring plan, which he named 'Cherry Blossoms at Night': use kamikaze pilots to hit the entire coast of California with plague. A sort of reverse of the Doolittle raid.

"Submarines were to take pilots and planes off the western coast of the United States. The submarines would surface and the planes would be launched. The date scheduled for this attack was September twenty-second, 1945. Fortunately for the Americans, the Japanese high command interceded and the submarines were diverted to be used against a closer threat: the American fleet at Ulith. All the Japanese managed to do was launch nine thousand incendiary bombs attached to balloons in the hopes that the jet stream would carry them across the ocean to America. They hoped to cause forest fires and terror. Several bombs made it, and one unfortunate woman was killed, but that was it."

"So 731 was a failure," Fatima said.

"For the Japanese," Abayon said.

"What do you mean?"

Abayon sighed.

"Let me finish my story and you judge for yourself. The war was coming to a close, but still Ishii ran his experiments. Then came my day. I was taken out to the field. Tied to a stake. To my right was the American, Martin. We waited, and then the plane came flying by, releasing something from the tanks under its wings. We knew we were dead men. Finally Martin told me his story.

"He had been recruited into the OSS – Office of Strategic Services – the American precursor to the CIA. He had been briefed that his team's mission was to parachute into Japan and make their way to a university where Japan's only cyclotron was located. It's a device that is needed to develop atomic weapons."

"But that wasn't their real mission," Fatima said, once more jumping a step ahead of the story.

Abayon nodded.

"Correct, it wasn't, as Martin found out, to his shock. They were picked up by the Kempetai on the drop zone, as if the Japanese were waiting for them and knew exactly when and where they would be jumping."

Abayon paused, then gestured.

"Could you get me some water?"

"That will take a while," Fatima said, knowing how far away the nearest room where she could fulfill his request was.

"We have time," Abayon said.

"Talking has made me parched. And I need a little time to collect my thoughts before I continue."

When Fatima left the observation point, Abayon checked his watch. It would begin soon. Very soon.

"Six minutes," the crew chief warned Vaughn.

Vaughn repeated the warning to Tai. They were standing next to the oxygen console. Vaughn made a twisting motion as he gave the next command.

"Go on personal oxygen."

They both unscrewed their oxygen hoses from the console and connected them to the small tanks strapped to their chests. Vaughn took a few breaths to make sure the tank was feeding properly. Everything was working perfectly so far.

"Depressurizing begun," the crew chief announced.

Both Vaughn and Tai swallowed as air began to leak out of the cargo bay so they could equalize with thin air outside at 25,000 feet.

The room was on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in Hong Kong. To be allowed access, the half-dozen occupants had to suffer through a tedious two-hour security check. And these were not people who submitted easily to such checks. But the lure that had been dangled in front of them about what was to occur in this room at this late hour was more than enough to convince them to put aside their pride.

The half dozen were seated in comfortable chairs arranged in a semicircle facing a small stage with a podium on the right side. A curtain hid whatever was on the stage.

Ruiz stepped from behind the curtain and walked to the podium with a black three-ring binder in his hands. He set the binder down, then checked his watch.

"Gentlemen, and lady," he added, acknowledging the jewel-bedecked older woman seated in one of the chairs, "the first item will be up for bid in five minutes."

"The recon team is just about on target for drop."

The man who announced this wore black combat fatigues, unmarked by any rank, insignia, or patch. He sported a pistol in a quick draw holster on his right hip. A fighting knife hung in a sheath on his left hip. He was addressing three other men, all dressed in black fatigues, all armed in one form or another. He had a satellite phone pressed to one ear.

"A fucking chick on a bloody mission," one of the men said with disgust.

The man who had made the announcement turned to the board near his right rear. Pictures of all six members of Section 8 were tacked there. He reached out with his free hand and ran his fingers over Tai's image, almost a caress.

"She's supposed to be a badass," he noted.

"That's what her file says."

"File," the second man snorted.

"I'll show her a fucking file."

The team leader gave a cold smile.

"I don't think she's going to be around for our reckoning with these fellows."

He was a tall man, head shaved completely bald. A jagged scar ran across his forehead. On top of the scar a barbed-wire tattoo had been laid, making it seem part of the artwork. His accent indicated he was from South Africa, with the trace of Afrikaaner showing through.

The other man who had spoken had an Australian accent. The third man, Sicilian, had a swarthy complexion, and was tumbling a throwing knife through the fingers of his right hand seemingly without paying attention. The fourth man was black and huge, his chest as wide as a barrel, his head also shaved, and gleaming under the fluorescent lights in the operations room they occupied.

The black man stirred uncomfortably.

"You have a link into their commo?" he asked.

The team leader nodded.

"We get copied on everything that goes on inside the team and that comes out of the isolation."

The black man frowned.

"Ever occur to you that they could be doing that to us also?"

"Who the fuck knows who they are," the Australian noted.

"What the hell are you talking about?" the team leader demanded.

"Well," the black man noted, "if we're spying on them, how do we know there's not a team spying on us?"

"A little paranoid, aren't you?" the team leader asked.

"Occupational hazard," the black man said.

The team leader stared at him.

"Just focus on your job, all right? Don't get to be thinking beyond what you're capable of."

The muscles on the black man's face tightened, but he said nothing.

Everyone was startled when, with a solid thud, the throwing knife slammed into the wall, dead center on Tai's face. The man who had been playing with it slowly got up, walked to the wall, and pulled it out.

The pressure equalized. With a hiss, the back ramp began to open, revealing a sliver of night sky. Vaughn focused on his breathing, making sure it was slow and steady. He had never liked being on oxygen. It made him very aware how hostile the environment around him was. A chill was already settling into his bones from the freezing air swirling into the cargo bay, easily overwhelming the plane's heaters.

"Goggles," Vaughn said over the FM radio.

Both he and Tai slid the night vision goggles mounted on their helmets down and switched them on. The cargo bay was lit only by a few small red night-lights, but with the goggles, everything appeared as if brightly lit. Vaughn looked out over the ramp and could see hundreds of bright stars. It was beautiful.

Ruiz lifted a single finger ever so slightly on his right hand, and the curtain behind him slowly began to open.

"Gentlemen and lady, it is time."

Vaughn could feel the weight of the parachute, reserve, rucksack, weapon, and combat vest all weighing him down. Over a hundred pounds, all focused on the top of his shoulders, pressing down on him. He remembered jumps where his rucksack had weighed over twice as much and his only thought after standing at the six-minute warning had been to pray for the green light to go on so he could get the hell out of the plane and get this weight off his shoulders.

He glanced to his left at Tai. She stood ramrod straight, as if denying the weight on her shoulders.

The plane was descending. Even without access to the cockpit, David could tell that. Looking out one of the windows, he saw the ocean slowly approaching. He estimated that he had already passed through 10,000 feet, and the descent seemed to be picking up speed.

His attempts to get into the armored pilot's compartment had all failed. Whoever prepared this plane had done a good job. Naturally, there were no convenient parachutes lying around. His attempts to wake up the other passengers had also failed. Whatever had been in that gas was very powerful. David figured he had a couple of minutes left. He stared at the unconscious occupants of the passenger compartment and almost envied them. They would simply pass out of this life without the terror of seeing their end coming. For people in this profession, it was almost a mercy.

He went back to his seat, took out his PDA and satphone. The message he had begun earlier was still there.

He began typing.

There was a collective gasp in the room as the object behind the curtain was revealed. This from people who had more money than many small nations and were not known to gasp at anything.

A slight smile curled at the sides of Ruiz's mouth. It was as he'd hoped. He had picked this particular item to be first for shock value. A jewel-festooned golden box over two feet long by one foot wide and high, it was a unique piece, dating back over six hundred years to the height of craftsmen at the Chinese Imperial Court. It was well-known among collectors – known for its extreme value and beauty, and known to have been lost during World War II, disappearing during the Rape of Nanking.

Ruiz left the podium, went to the box and carefully lifted the lid. The box had just been a precursor. Out of its interior he lifted a jade sculpture. The half-dozen in the audience, stunned already by the box, could only sit there with jaws agape at this even rarer, and greater, treasure.

"The bidding will commence on this," he announced, bringing the object forward and showing it to the six people.

The first of the six to collect his wits immediately shouted out a number. An insanely large number to begin the bidding with. The smile grew larger on Ruiz's face as a second person topped that number by over a million U.S. dollars, the currency of all world business.

In his other hand, Ruiz held a stopwatch, which he now showed to the bidders.

"As agreed, the bidding will be over in sixty seconds."

The amount escalated at a pace the person taking in the numbers could barely keep up with as the buyers scrambled under the dual pressure of little time and even greater greed.

"One minute," the crew chief announced, holding up a single finger.

Vaughn and Tai edged closer to the ramp, side by side. Glancing down, he could see that they were over open ocean. The plan was to offset from Jolo over ten miles. That would keep anyone on the island from being aware a plane was anywhere nearby. They would fly their parachutes to the island.

"One minute," the team leader announced to the others. He lowered the satphone for a second.

"This is going to be very interesting."

David glanced out the window. He could see the horizon now, which meant the plane was very low. There was so much more he wanted to write, but there was no more time. He hit the send button on the satphone.

The SENDING message flickered on the small screen.

"Come on, come on," David whispered. He glanced around. Should he assume the crash position that was always briefed? He smiled bitterly to himself. With the engines still at full thrust, there wasn't going to be much left of this thing after it hit the water.

He looked at the screen. SENDING was still flashing.

Vaughn still couldn't see land below. He had to trust the plane's navigator that they were going out where they'd planned. He looked up into the tail of the plane at the red light that glowed there. In a flash it went out and the green light above it flickered on.

"Go," he yelled.

Ruiz held up his hand, but still had to shout to stop the frenzied bidding.

"Time."

He turned to the shaken woman who had been taking in the bids.

"Who and how much?" The woman swallowed.

"Sixty million. Bidder number four."

There was silence in the room as the number sank in. It was as if, during the actual bidding, the reality had been lost in the lust for a one-of-a-kind piece of history.

David's complete focus was on the message flashing on his screen. He didn't want to see how close the water – and his death – were. The letters SENDING began to dissolve and were replaced. He cursed. BLOCKED They'd thought of everything, and cut him out of the Milstar loop.

The nose of the plane hit.

Vaughn and Tai went off the ramp in step and fell into the darkness.

The room exploded in excitement. Money wasn't the issue. Questions were hurled at Ruiz. Where had these artifacts come from? Who was behind this?

He did not answer nor did he give them time to collect themselves.

"We will now bid on the box. And…" He paused for effect.

"…after that, there will be sixteen more articles just as rare and exquisite."

A piece of seat cushion and a rapidly dissipating fuel slick marked the grave of all those who had been on the plane.

As soon as he was clear of the plane, Vaughn assumed a stable position, back arched, arms and legs spread wide. Then he quickly reached down and pulled the rip cord for his main parachute.

The opening shock jerked him upright. He looked up and checked his canopy. It was fully deployed and appeared intact. His hands snaked up and grabbed the toggles controlling the chute. Then he looked about for Tai. She was low jumper, according to the plan, the primary navigator to the drop zone on the island.

Even though they had radio communication, they would not use it unless absolutely necessary, for fear that the Abu Sayef would pick up the transmission. Vaughn spotted her chute below him and to the right. He pulled on his right toggle and turned to follow her.

"They're in the air," the team leader announced.

"Let's see how well the bitch can do."

The black man abruptly stood up and headed for the door.

"Were the hell you think you're going?" the Australian demanded.

"I'm going to get some sleep."

The black man paused and stared at the Australian.

"You got a problem with that?"

"Oh, fuck off," the Australian muttered.

Tai had a navigation board strapped on top of her reserve parachute, just in front of her oxygen cylinder. Built into the board was a compass, a GPS unit, an altimeter, and a small scale copy of the map of their target area. Through her night vision goggles she could see all them, although not at the greatest resolution. Enough to get the job done, though.

She never looked up. She had to trust that Vaughn was tracking her. Her entire focus was on the nav board. Every once in a while she would glance beyond to try to see the island far below them, a reflex that was impossible to resist. Ahead, far ahead, she could spot a dark mass: Jolo Island. They were on track for it, visually confirming what her instruments were telling her.

According to the altimeter, she was passing through 20,000 feet. The chutes were like large wings that they could fly, and were practically undetectable to radar. The C-130 was long gone, traveling along on the same track it had been on, as if nothing unusual had occurred.

She wasn't so focused that she didn't register the slight hitch in her gear, a tug on the right side. She looked up, tracing her riser up to where it connected to nylon cords that spread out to the chute itself. One of the cords had broken. As she was watching, another one popped. She'd never seen anything like that happen. Another let loose. Then another. The right side of her canopy began to flap loosely.

Above Tai, Vaughn could see that something was wrong, since she was now making a slow turn to the right. Even without the nav board, he could see Jolo Island, and she was turning away from it. Vaughn pulled in on both toggles, dumping air so he could get closer to her.

The rest of the nylon cords on the right side of Tai's parachute let go all at once, and the parachute went from a flying wing to a streamer of material wrapped into itself. Her descent practically unchecked, she plummeted toward the earth.

Vaughn cursed as he saw the chute collapse. He dumped as much air as he safely could without causing his own parachute to collapse and chased after her, losing ground.

"Cut away," Vaughn urged, not using the radio yet. He knew she had to know what to do next.

Tai was already in the process of doing that. She couldn't deploy her reserve with the main still attached because the reserve would get caught up in the main, so she had to get rid of the malfunctioning canopy before she could deploy the reserve. She flipped open the metal covers on her shoulder that protected the cutaways, the loops of metal cable attached to pins that locked the attaching point for the canopy to her harness. She put her thumbs through the metal loops and pulled both at the same time.

She was rewarded with two metal cable loops dangling over her thumbs but no released main. It was still firmly attached to the rig. Shocked at this second and most unexpected event, Tai lost her concentration and began to tumble, held partly upright by the streamer.

She was a good two hundred feet below Vaughn and moving farther away with each second. He couldn't understand why she hadn't cut away yet. The only possibility was that she was unconscious. But he could see her arms moving purposefully, pulling at her shoulders.

Tai was trying to dig into the cutaway, to pull the small pins out with the tip of her fingers, but she couldn't get leverage on them. She did a quick check at the nav board. The altimeter read 10,000 feet and indicated she was descending at almost terminal velocity.

Realizing there was no more time to mess around, she stopped trying to pull the pins and reached for the shoto tucked under her vest. She slid the blade out. With a quick slash, she cut through her right riser, the razor-sharp edge easily slicing through the nylon. Then the left. The main parachute fluttered away and she tumbled into full free fall. She slid the shoto back into its sheath, then arched her back, spreading her arms and legs to get stable before she pulled the reserve. If she pulled it while tumbling, there was a good chance it would just wrap around her body.

Vaughn flew past Tai's fluttering cutaway main canopy, his eyes focused on her. He watched her stop her tumbling and get stable, all the while mentally urging her to pull her reserve. They were getting low and running out of altitude.

Tai reached for the handle for her reserve and pulled it, tensing her body for the rapid opening shock that would follow its explosive opening.

Nothing.

Three malfunctions in a row. There was no training for this. She had run through all the emergency procedures correctly and was still plummeting toward earth at almost terminal velocity. The only thing slowing her down now was her own body spread as wide as she could make it.

Above her, Vaughn decided it was time to ignore security.

"What are you doing? Over."

He transmitted over the short-range FM.

Tai was struggling to maintain a stable position, her training pushing her to do it even as her mind realized it was worthless. She was going to die. At this speed, hitting the water would be like hitting concrete. She faintly heard Vaughn's voice in her earpiece.

"Reserve malfunction!" she screamed.

Reserves weren't supposed to malfunction, Vaughn thought as he glanced at his altimeter. Five thousand feet. She was at least four hundred feet below him, and the gap was growing wider.

There was only one option. It was stupid, it was insane, but he didn't hesitate.

He reached up, grabbed the metal covers over his cutaways, flipped them open, put his thumbs in the loops and pulled. The pins popped and his main separated from his harness. He was now in free fall.

Vaughn briefly went into the free-fall stable position, then tucked his head down, moved his arms back tight against his sides, legs together, and became an arrow, shooting down toward Tai.

"I'm coming for you," he yelled, the mike picking it up and transmitting.

"Stay stable."

"What?" Tai was confused. How could he be coming for her? Then she realized what he had to have done. She wanted to yell at him, to curse him out for being so foolish, but she also knew it was too late. Still, there was a spark of hope in her chest. She didn't know what he planned to do, but whatever it was, it was her only chance at living.

Four thousand feet.

Vaughn looked past the black spread-eagle form that was Tai. Jolo Island was off in the distance, at least a mile or two offset from them. They were over open water and there was no way they would make landfall. That was the least of their problems right now. Vaughn could tell he was closing on Tai, but he wasn't sure if it would be enough.

Three thousand feet.

Tai was only fifty feet below him now, and he was inching closer. It was going to be close, very close.

Two thousand feet.

She was ten feet below him…five feet. Vaughn moved out of the dive position to stable as he came alongside her. He knew that grabbing her and pulling his reserve wouldn't work – the opening shock would be stronger than his ability to hold onto her. He had to make sure there was a secure connection. With one hand, he reached out and grabbed her harness.

"Stay stable," he ordered over the radio. She was staring at him, the night vision goggles making her seem more like a flying machine than a flesh and blood human being.

One thousand feet.

With the other hand, Vaughn reached underneath his reserve, fingers ripping at the nylon casing around the eighteen-foot lowering line attached to his rucksack. A nail ripped away, but he ignored the pain and managed to hook his finger around a piece of the nylon strap. With all his strength, he pulled, extracting a length about two feet long.

Five hundred feet.

Tai was having a hard time keeping them stable and oriented. Their bodies were beginning to tumble, but Vaughn knew there was nothing to be done about that as he took the length of nylon strap and pressed it against the snap link on the front of Tai's combat vest, trying to press it through the gate. Tai realized what he was doing and grabbed his hand with both of hers. The nylon popped through the snap link.

Vaughn's other hand grabbed his reserve handle. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the ocean surface. Close, way too close. He pulled the rip-cord grip on the reserve and the chute spewed out. Vaughn was jerked upright, then cried out in pain as the lowering line ripped out of its casing, burning down the inside of his right thigh, and then abruptly stopped at its full length, and he was jerked again as Tai came to a halt at the end of it.

She hit the water barely two seconds later, then Vaughn splashed down hard next to her.