Section 8

by Bob Mayer

  “Sinclair. Weapons. Find out what everyone is familiar and comfortable with. But I want at least two heavy guns—Squad Automatic Weapons. One shotgun for breaching if needed. Also, any trained snipers?”

  Vaughn raised his hand, as did the Ranger, Kasen. “All right, draw two sniper weapons just in case we take that path. Kasen, explosives and mines. Vaughn, work on how we’re getting from here to there and back again. Tai, you also have medical training, correct?”

  The woman nodded. Vaughn had noted that other than giving her expertise, Orson had not divulged her background during the introductions.

  “Good. Draw medical kit and make sure you check everyone, blood types, personal gear, and all that. Vaughn, you help Tai on targeting. I want you to lock down Abayon’s position.”

  Orson glanced at his watch. “We will gather back here in two hours for a briefing on Abayon and the Abu Sayef. Tomorrow I want initial thoughts on targeting, tactical possibilities, infiltration and exfiltration.”

  The six scattered to the various equipment and sources of intelligence in the room. Vaughn logged onto one of the laptops set up on a plywood table and began searching through the classified database, looking for information about Abayon’s hiding place.

  He was engrossed in the data when the sound of two voices raised in confrontation interrupted him. He immediately recognized Tai’s. Looking up, he saw her and the Ranger, Kasen, standing face-to-face, inside each other’s personal space.

  “What’s the problem?” Vaughn asked as he stepped over. Sinclair was watching with interest from his position, making no move. Hayes also seemed to want to have nothing do with it. Orson was nowhere to be seen, having gone out to coordinate with the ASTs.

  “The little girl wants one of the machine guns,” Kasen said. “I told her to leave the big guns to the men.”

  “I can handle a SAW,” Tai insisted. “We’re a team.

  I—”

  “Why not just carry a submachine gun?” Kasen asked, making it a taunt. “Something small and delicate, like you.”

  Tai’s left hand was a blur, the knife edge of it striking Kasen in the neck. The Ranger staggered back, coughing hard. He wasn’t off balance long, going into the attack, hands a blur of blows aimed at Tai. Vaughn was impressed as she fended off every one of them with blocks, twisting and turning, getting inside Kasen’s range and hitting him two hard blows in the solar plexus, doubling him over, before she skipped back out of range.

  “You bitch,” Kasen cursed as he slowly straightened and considered his adversary. “You were lucky.”

  “I don’t think so,” Vaughn said, stepping between the two.

  “I don’t need you to intervene,” Tai said. “Let the pig come at me. I’ll teach him the meaning of pain.”

  “As you said,” Vaughn said, “we’re teammates. We—”

  He was caught off guard as Kasen leapt past him, going for Tai’s throat. Kasen was left grasping air as Tai ducked underneath him, then spun about, her left boot toe leading, striking Kasen on the side of his head and dropping him unconscious to the floor..

  “Shit,” was Sinclair’s take on the TKO. “Seems to me the lady wants the machine gun.”

  “Seems to me we ought to give it to her,” Vaughn said as he knelt and checked Kasen. The Ranger opened his eyes, the pupils unfocused for several moments, then realization set in and he tried to jerk to his feet.

  “Enough,” Vaughn said, putting an arm across his chest.

  “What’s going on?” Orson demanded, his short bulk filling the open door.

  “A slight disagreement over equipment,” Vaughn said, helping Kasen to his feet and glancing at Tai, who stood perfectly still without saying a word.

  “If we kill each other,” Orson said, “there won’t be much of a mission. Back to work.”

  Vaughn helped Kasen to his place, then went over to Tai.

  “I don’t need you to help me,” Tai hissed.

  “We’re teammates,” Vaughn said again. “We’re supposed to help each other. You going to be able to work with Kasen?”

  “He’s a pig,” Tai said. “As long as he does his job and doesn’t insult me again, I’ll have no problem.”

  “What martial art was that?” Vaughn asked. “I didn’t recognize some of the blocks.”

  “Something my father taught me,” Tai said vaguely. She looked at him. “You were on that team that screwed up the hostage rescue, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Vaughn waited for more.

  “Interesting,” Tai said, a surprising response. “Royce approached you after that, right?”

  Vaughn nodded.

  “An undercover team of terrorist hunters?” Tai asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? We’re here.”

  “Hmm,” Tai mused.

  “How did he recruit you?”

  “How is not important,” she said. “Why is.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because of my sister.”

  Vaughn felt like he was pulling teeth to get anything out of these people. “What about your sister?”

  “She was killed in the attack on the Pentagon. He promised me vengeance against the Abu Sayef, who we believe are allied with Al Qaeda.”

  “That was years ago,” Vaughn said. “You’ve been working for Royce all this time?”

  “No. He approached me two days ago. There was something else.”

  “And that is?”

  “I was accused of prisoner abuse in Iraq.”

  “And you just passed a test to get on the team?” Vaughn asked.

  Tai’s head jerked and she reached up and placed her fingers lighdy on the bandage. “Yes. And you?” Her eyes met his, and they were locked in a stare that lasted several seconds, each appraising the other.

  Finally Vaughn nodded. “Yes.” He broke the stare and looked at the other members of the team, wondering what in their past had caused them to be recruited and what they had just done recently in order to be allowed on the team.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Orson. “Briefings in one hour.”

  Then the team leader left the room once more.

  “So everyone here is new to this team?” Vaughn asked Tai, trying to confirm what he had suspected upon entering isolation.

  She shrugged. “As far as I know. Makes sense if they want to keep it covert.”

  “But Royce told me that this was a one-way ticket,”

  Vaughn pointed out. “We’ll never go back to our previous assignments.”

  “And?’

  “Do you think we’re the first ones ever to get booked on this kind of thing?” he asked her.

  That gave Tai pause. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I don’t know,” Vaughn admitted frankly. “But...”

  “But... ?”

  Vaughn looked at the photo of Rogelio Abayon. Eyes on the target—it was an axiom of planning. “Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

  Tai nodded. “That’s the idea.”

  Tokyo, Japan

  The death of a Yakuza boss was big news. But for the moment that news was being held very tightly. Both ends of the alley where Kasama had been killed were still sealed by the containers. The police had used ladders to climb over the trailers blocking one end and get down into the alley. Upon ascertaining who the victims were, a special police unit had been called. The head of that unit, working on a classified alert bulletin he had been given just a few days before, then made another call, this one to the Public Security Intelligence Agency, the Japanese version of the CIA.

  Within fifteen minutes an unmarked helicopter appeared overhead and landed as close as possible. Two old men got off. They brushed their way past the police under the escort of the head of the special unit. Laboriously, they clambered up the ladder and then down another ladder into the alley. They walked up to Kasama’s body, ignoring the smoke still drifting out of the SUVs and the other bodies and body parts li
ttered about.

  The Yakuza boss’s head was resting on his stomach, neatly severed from his body. His dead hands cradled the head, as if protecting it. Lifeless eyes stared at his feet. The two men stood there for several moments, not speaking.

  The head of the police special unit on the Yakuza cleared his throat, then said, “We do not think this was done by a rival faction. There have been no reports or rumors. Someone would be boasting of it if they had done it. And the preparations”—he indicated the three destroyed vehicles, the two trailers, the bodies—”we would have gotten some wind of it if some other part of the Yakuza were involved.”

  “The Black Wind,’ “ one of the old men said. “The Black Wind blows no more,” he added, nodding toward Kasama’s body.

  His partner turned toward the policeman. “This is our problem. You are correct—it is not internal Yakuza conflict.”

  “What is it?” the policeman asked. “Who did this?”

  The first old man considered the question for several moments, as if trying to decide how much to say, then shrugged. “We don’t know. That’s why we’re here. But we know the Black Wind has been involved in things that extend beyond the borders of our country. Far beyond. And strong as Kasama and his group were, there was something stronger than them. As we can obviously see.”

  The policeman asked in a whisper. “The Organization?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Okinawa

  It had been a long day, the team getting slowly into processing the information they had been given. Distilling it into usable intelligence. Each member had watched the briefing from Hawaii on the Abu Sayef, and Tai had added a little to it.

  Now Vaughn lay on the hard bunk staring up at the rock ceiling. He could hear the breathing of his teammates, each different. Orson snored, which Vaughn noted—a potentially dangerous thing on a mission. Tai, on the next bunk, was motionless and her breathing so shallow he had wondered for a few moments if she’d died in her sleep. Kasen tossed and turned, occasionally muttering, another trait that was not good if they had to go on an extended mission. Sinclair seemed the most normal of the bunch, sleeping soundly and without much noise.

  Hayes was not asleep. Nor was he in his bunk. Vaughn had watched him get up and make his way to the latrine in the darkness, stepping carefully to avoid making any noise. But even with the latrine door shut, Vaughn could hear the muffled retching and coughing.

  After ten minutes, Hayes crept back into the room and slid into his bunk. Vaughn turned his head. And saw Tai looking right at him, the dim light glinting off the whites of her eyes. They held each other’s gaze for several moments, then she closed her eyes.

  Vaughn did the same. But sleep was a long time coming. And before it did come, he heard Hayes make two more trips to the latrine.

  CHAPTER 9

  Okinawa

  “He’s on Hono Mountain, on this side,” Vaughn said, pointing at the imagery tacked to the plywood. He’d managed a few hours sleep, but got up before dawn, poring through the intelligence on Abayon and Jolo Island.

  Orson stared at him silendy for several seconds. Vaughn was behind the podium, the rest of the team arrayed about in their seats facing him.

  “That’s it?” Orson finally asked.

  “There’s not much intelligence on the Abu Sayef on Jolo,” Vaughn said, which was an understatement. “Reversing the videotape that was taken of the failed raid indicates it was shot from the mountain.” Vaughn turned to a satellite image of the mountain and marked out a large area with a pointer. “Somewhere on the southeast side.”

  Orson turned to Hayes. “You have any idea where Abayon hides out?”

  “Like I said yesterday, in the mountain,” Hayes said. He shrugged. “No one except those in Abayon’s inner circlse are allowed anywhere close to the mountain. What I heard when I was on the island was that there are tunnels and chambers throughout it and that’s where his lair is. And he almost never comes out. That’s why there’s no recent photo of him.”

  Orson got up and walked to the imagery. “It’s a big damn mountain. And the area is crawling with guerrillas. Not only do we need to pinpoint how to get into the tunnel system, but we also have to figure out how to kill him once we’re in. Whether it’s a shot to the head or taking out the whole complex.”

  “There’s a third issue,” Sinclair said.

  “And what is that?” Orson demanded.

  “Getting out.”

  Vaughn smiled but didn’t say anything. He could tell that Sinclair had indeed served in Special Forces. It was always an issue on A-Teams that higher command had great plans for getting a team into its target area but was always vague on getting them back out.

  “We’ll get out,” Orson said.

  “That’s about as specific as where the entrance is to the tunnel complex,” Sinclair pointed out, “and you weren’t too happy with that.”

  “One thing at a time,” Orson said. “First, we have to pin down exactly where Abayon is. According to everything we have and our asset”—he nodded at Hayes—”he’s in the tunnel complex. So we have to figure out how to get in there.”

  “Why?” Tai asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. “If we can figure out how air is pumped into that place, we could gas everyone in there. Wipe them out without entering. Get Abayon and a bunch of his people in one attack.”

  Orson shook his head. “We have to confirm that Abayon is dead. Doing what you suggest won’t accomplish that.”

  Tai frowned but didn’t say anything more. Vaughn also wasn’t satisfied with Orson’s answer. If they were so sure that Abayon was in the complex, then what she’d suggested made sense. Yes, they wouldn’t be able to bring back Abayon’s head, so to speak, for confirmation, but the odds would be that they had succeeded. He also knew, though, that ever since nine-eleven and getting Bin Laden, there was a strong emphasis on having bodies in hand rather than best guesses on termination. The last thing anyone wanted was to report Abayon dead and then have him pop up somewhere.

  “What about thermal imagery?” Orson asked.

  Vaughn nodded. “I ordered an intelsat to do some shots when it goes overhead. We should be getting those in shortly.”

  “The other thing to factor in,” Hayes said, “is that Abayon has money. Lots of it. He’s put a lot of it into the infrastructure on the island and also bought a lot of protection from the Philippine government with bribes. When I was on the island, I heard rumors of large piles of gold that Abayon had from the war.”

  “Yamashita’s gold,” Tai said.

  “Whose gold?” Vaughn asked.

  “Gold is not an issue here,” Orson said. He tapped the photo tacked to the plywood. “Abayon is the target.” He turned to Tai. As he was about to speak, there was a tap at the door.

  Vaughn went over and opened it. One of the ASTs was there with a large manila envelope with a red top-secret seal. Vaughn took it and went back to the podium. He ripped it open and looked at the thermal imaging while the others waited impatiently.

  “The complex must be deep,” he said as he scanned the pictures. “There’s not much . ..” He paused as he noted something. “There’s a hot spot on the side of the mountain. Northwest side. Looks like it might be a ventilator exhaust, since hot air is flowing out of it.”

  “Just one?” Tai asked. “A complex as big as what were talking about should have more than that.”

  Vaughn shook his head. “According to some historical records I found, there were originally numerous caves and caverns on Hono, which the natives used hundreds of years ago. So we have to assume that the complex is mostly natural, with some artificial enhancement—cross tunnels, enlarging of natural chambers, and so on. I checked online with an expert on underground bunkers and he told me that in such a situation it’s possible that the complex doesn’t need an extensive air system, that air might flow through fissures and other natural openings. They could place generators for power in caverns that have the most air flow to cross ventilate.
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  “There’s even the possibility,” he continued, “that used air and exhaust could be pumped out into this river”—he tapped the imagery, indicating the valley in front of Hono Mountain—”and be dispersed in the water. So we’re lucky to get at least one hot spot.”

  Kasen spoke up for the first time. “Pretty sophisticated setup for a bunch of terrorists.”

  Hayes cleared his throat and everyone turned toward him. “The rumor is that the original complex was built by the Japanese during World War Two.”

  Vaughn frowned “I didn’t find anything on that.”

  Hayes shrugged. “That’s just the rumor on the island. I never saw anything to substantiate it. An old guy I met did speak, though, about Japanese soldiers killing some of the villagers, but he said they weren’t around very long.”

  “If the Japs initially built this thing,” Sinclair said, “any chance of getting their blueprints or whatever?”

  “I found no record of the Japanese building anything on the mountain,” Vaughn said. He tapped a very thick folder. “The NSA, CIA, and various other agencies have spent a lot of time putting this material together, and there’s nothing in it on that.”

  “So all we have is one hot spot and a big mountain?” Sinclair asked. He got up and went to the map. “Nice talk, but there’s six of us, and we have to get onto this island, find this old man hidden in a tunnel complex we don’t even know how to get into, kill him, and then— even though you don’t seem overly concerned about it—get back off the island and home without getting our heads blown off. We could use a little help here.”

  “We have to find him ourselves,” Orson said.

  Vaughn glanced at Tai. He found it curious that Orson had cut her off so abruptiy earlier about the Ya- mashita gold thing, and that he also didn’t seem interested in the Japanese connection. Even though it was long ago, it made sense that the Japanese might have done something on the island.

  “And how do you propose finding him?” Sinclair asked.

  “We send in a recon team ahead of the target window to pinpoint Abayon’s location,” Orson said. ‘To check that hot spot and see if it’s a way in.”