Typhoon Fury

59

On the deck of the Oregon, Juan was buffeted by the steadily strengthening winds as he walked toward Max at the stern. The black clouds made it look like daybreak even though the sun had risen an hour before. A small river fed the wetlands that were protecting the ship from the brunt of the waves crashing onto the shore, but they wouldn’t completely mitigate the effects of the storm surge when Typhoon Hidalgo arrived. For that, they would need propulsion from the engines, which were currently shut down.

Standing beneath the jackstaff, Max peered over the railing at crewmen working on the Venturi nozzle below. He had to yell at the top of his lungs to be heard over the howling wind.

“No! Just rip it off!”

When Juan reached the railing, he looked down and saw three men in the water tugging at a bent piece of metal. A fourth crewman was using a blowtorch to cut apart the jagged remnant of the Kuyog explosion.

“Are you scrapping my ship?” Juan teased.

Max turned to him with bloodshot eyes from working straight through the night. “We might as well if we can’t get that nozzle functional in the next few hours. An anchor isn’t going to keep us in place. What’s the latest forecast?”

“We should be seeing hurricane-force winds before dark. It’s been downgraded to a Category Three, but the center of the storm is still on track to pass right over us, so we’ll get the worst of it. Do you think we’ll be ready for it?”

“Fingers crossed. There was nothing I could do about the ballast tank flooding. That will take some heavy-duty welding on the exterior hull. But I’ve finished recalibrating the cooling system, and the damage to the magnets wasn’t as bad as I first thought. If we can get this Venturi nozzle at least somewhat operational, I think we can get us to three-quarters power output. But even if that happens, the ride is going to be pretty rough for the next thirty-six hours.”

“I have faith in you,” Juan said.

“I’m glad someone does, because the thought of doing maintenance work outside in a gentle one-hundred-mile-an-hour breeze isn’t my idea of fun.”

Juan left Max still yelling and went to the nearest hatch, which looked as if it were jammed shut with a broken handle. He pressed in three spots simultaneously on the hatch, and it sprung open, revealing the luxurious secret interior.

He took the teak-paneled stairway down to the Magic Shop, the Oregon’s workshop and storehouse for any gadget, costume, or makeup needed for a mission. He found Kevin Nixon hunched over one of the many workbenches tinkering with an electronic device. Dozens of clothes racks were behind him, as was a makeup counter worthy of a movie set, a metalworking table, a woodshop, and shelves full of electronics, tools, and assorted gear.

Kevin was an award-winning Hollywood special effects master who had joined the Corporation after his sister was killed on 9/11. Any time someone on the Oregon needed a disguise, a uniform, or an unusual piece of equipment, such as Juan’s combat leg, Kevin would put his considerable expertise to work. Unlike the athletic veterans, former special forces operators, and CIA agents that made up the bulk of the crew, Kevin’s sedentary job and rich food provided by the chef meant that he was constantly at war with his weight, though right now he was looking more svelte than usual and seemed to be winning the battle of the bulge.

When he saw Juan enter, Kevin looked up, pushed the pair of magnifying glasses back onto his head, and sighed.

“You’re not going to blow up this tracker, too, are you?”

“Me personally?” Juan said. “No. But, then, I’m not going on the mission. Besides, technically I didn’t blow up the last one, either. That was Tagaan’s fault.”

“Who’s going to destroy it this time?”

“Eddie, Hali, and Raven. They’ll blend into the Philippine crowds better than Linc and I would.”

“I met Raven when I was outfitting you all with those Filipino police uniforms. She seemed quiet, but extremely competent.”

“She’s performed well even though she hasn’t worked with us before,” Juan said.

“She’s highly motivated. The few times she talked, she had some choice words for this Locsin guy. Sounds like it’s personal.”

“It is. She was on protective detail for Beth Anders. We think this mission will help find her.”

“You said she sent a phone number to home in on?”

Juan nodded. “I have a request in to Langston Overholt to track it down, and he passed it on to the NSA. I figured they owed us for the Vietnam job. Lang says they agreed to find it, but apparently the phone isn’t transmitting right now. It may be off or unable to get a signal. As soon as it comes back online, he’ll let me know. Then I’ll send the team in to plant that new tracker of yours so we can find out where he’s going. Unless, of course, Beth is with the phone’s owner at the time. Then they’ll snatch her back right there.”

Kevin handed the tracker to Juan. “Since you gave me a second shot with this one, I decided to add a few features.”

The device was a little larger than the previous tracker that Juan had planted on the truck holding the Kuyog components. It was cylindrical and painted black.

“One end is magnetic,” Kevin said. “Just stick it under the chassis of any vehicle you want to follow. If the satellite signal is blocked because it’s in a building, it will use any cell phone or Wi-Fi signal available to continue transmitting.”

Juan noticed a thin seam near the end opposite the magnet.

“What’s this?”

“Good eye.” Kevin turned to a laptop and typed in a command. The cylinder telescoped out to reveal a tiny camera suspended from a gimbal. “I repurposed this from one of our drones. You’ll be able to control the camera sightline remotely. There’s even a mic for audio feed. Just make sure the cylinder is placed somewhere that the telescope can extend past the vehicle’s frame.”

Juan smiled. “You’re a genius. And to think your talents could have been wasted winning an Oscar for designing some monster in the latest superhero movie.”

“If it helps save Beth, I don’t mind missing out at all. Award shows are overrated anyway.”

Juan’s phone buzzed, and he answered it immediately when he saw it was Overholt.

“Did you find it?” Juan asked without preamble.

“The NSA reported that the phone came online a few minutes ago,” Overholt said. “Who knows how long it will be active, so I advise sending in your team immediately. I’ll relay the coordinates to you.”

“Where is it?”

“Just like you thought, the signal is coming from Negros Island. It’s a city called Bacolod not too far from your present position. Good hunting.”

He hung up and called Hali, who was waiting with Eddie and Raven in the boat garage ready to take the RHIB up the river to a small town where they could “borrow” a vehicle for the morning.

“Hali,” Juan said. “We just got the coordinates of the phone signal. Tell Eddie the mission is a go.”