“You poor thing,” Alison teased. She had seen Caesare’s voracious appetite in action.
“Everything going all right?”
“Yes! Dirk and Sally are out finding dinner, and Kelly is taking a nap, getting ready for the first watch. It sounds like we’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I bet you’re busting with excitement.”
“I am.” She turned back out toward the water. “I really am. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for, John.” She paused. “I kinda wish you were here with me.”
“So do I.” His baritone voice said through the speaker. “It’s just bad timing, I’m afraid.”
“I know. I’m not mad. I just…” She struggled for a moment and decided to change the subject. “Wait, I haven’t told you about DeeAnn!”
“Told me what?”
Alison spent the next ten minutes telling Clay about the visit from Alves and his assistant, the news about DeeAnn’s friend, and her decision to take Dulce back with them. When she was finished, Clay remained quiet, thinking.
“What’s the guy’s name again?”
“Mateus Alves. Have you heard of him?”
“Can’t say that I have, but that certainly doesn’t mean anything.”
“Lee and Juan both checked him out. And considering their snooping skills, he looks pretty trustworthy.”
Clay was still thinking. “Can Dulce really communicate with another primate species?”
Alison shrugged. “We’re not sure, but DeeAnn seemed to think it was possible. She said the way they communicate is very similar. Honestly though, I think she would have gone either way. I probably would have too.”
“Have you heard from her since she left?” Clay was again looking at Caesare who had picked up on the topic of their conversation and was now listening intently.
“Yes. She called last night. They arrived safe and sound. And the new vest seems to be working well. With any luck, they’ll find something out about her friend quickly.”
“You don’t sound hopeful.”
Alison sighed. She wanted to be hopeful, but all things considered, the odds were against them. Even if Dulce could find and talk to the smaller monkey, she couldn’t imagine what he might tell them that would make a difference. She wanted to believe DeeAnn’s friend was alive, but from the circumstances described by Alves, it sounded doubtful. “You know me,” she told Clay. “Prepare for the worst but hope for the best.”
Clay smiled on the other end. “You’re very wise, Alison Shaw.” He glanced at his watch. “I should probably go. Steve and I have some things to do before it gets too late. Stay safe. I’ll try to call you again soon.”
“Okay. Thanks for calling. You be safe too.”
“I will.”
Clay ended the call and powered off the phone, dropping it into a side pocket on his bag.
Caesare was still watching with raised eyebrows. “What’s up with Dulce and DeeAnn?”
“It appears they’ve gone on a trip.”
“Trip? To where?”
Clay zipped the side pocket closed and slung the bag over his shoulder. “Let’s head out. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Caesare nodded and picked up his own bag. They had a relatively short window in which to reach their target before dark. Once there, they would have to change back into their black fatigues and hightail it up the hill to get into position.
Just as they had the night before, the loud trucks angled slowly down the narrow road toward the bottom of the mountain. Even in first gear, the giant vehicles strained under their own weight, causing the transmissions to moan under protest. The bright headlights of the Typhoons eventually passed over a section of dense jungle where Clay and Caesare were lying quietly on their stomachs, waiting.
Talking to Langford earlier, he impressed upon them that the brass needed to know what was in those trucks as soon as possible, which meant they were going to have to improvise, and fast.
As the first truck passed, Caesare remained motionless, propped up onto his elbows in an overlook position with an M4 carbine tucked tightly into his shoulder. He pointed downhill into an open area, where he could give Clay emergency cover if needed.
A little further uphill from Caesare, Clay was squatting, waiting. The plan was simple, or at least as simple as they could come up with, given the time crunch. Caesare was also a better shot and Clay a faster runner, which was why Caesare was the one providing cover.
When the last truck rumbled past, Clay immediately leapt from his position and scampered up a small embankment. Within half a dozen steps, he was onto the road and in full sprint. Clay tore down the steep hill, chasing the truck’s dark outline. He stumbled over the uneven ground, almost losing his balance. He recovered and quickened his pace, reaching out for the rear of the huge bouncing vehicle.
Clay’s hand was just inches from one of the back handles when the grade changed and the truck abruptly sped up. He stumbled again and pushed harder. His boot dropped into a small hole, slightly twisting his ankle and causing him to fall onto a knee, just as he seized one of the large stainless steel handles. The ground raced beneath him, dragging Clay behind the truck as he managed to get another grip on the handle and lifted off both knees. He pulled himself up, hand over hand, until only his feet were dragging. Clay finally propped one, then both knees, up onto the bumper.
This new position was only slightly better than being drug, as the truck’s heavy bouncing smashed Clay’s knees against the hard metal. With another heave, he got a foot under himself and stood up straight, pulling himself in against the black metal door.
Less than twenty yards behind him, Caesare watched and rolled his one open eye before looking back into the scope. “What I wouldn’t give for a camera.”
Caesare kept the rifle trained on the truck as he watched Clay’s dark figure twist the heavy handle then quickly pull the door open. With that, he disappeared inside and the door closed behind him.
In the darkness, Clay pulled a small light from a leg pocket and put it between his teeth. He bit down on the rubber tip and the tiny LED light came on, casting a faint glow around the dark gray interior. The mysterious crates were larger than he expected. All were stacked in front of him, secured to the sides and floor with thick nylon straps.
Clay quickly grasped a strap and loosened one of the ratchets, providing enough slack to pull one of the crates free. The truck’s transmission groaned again and caused the vehicle to lurch, throwing Clay forward. He tumbled hard against the rest of the crates, then immediately stood back up and reached out for one. Clay was quite mindful that each second inside was carrying him further from Caesare’s protection.
Inside the cab, the driver looked across the seat to the other soldier. “Did you hear something?”
“Sounded like something fell over.”
The driver smashed his foot against the oversized pedal and the truck came to a grinding stop. He pressed the emergency brake down with his other foot and placed his hand on the ball of the gearshift. He motioned toward the back. “Check it out.”
Further up the hill, Caesare let his second eye open briefly when he saw the brake lights come on, lighting up the area behind the truck in an eerie red glow.
“Get out, John,” he quietly mumbled. A moment later, he heard the truck’s emergency brake engage. “As in now!”
Next, he saw the passenger door open.
The soldier dropped to the ground and slung his rifle over his shoulder. Having a crate come loose and fall over wasn’t that unusual. But they were given orders to investigate everything, no matter how small. Considering their cargo, they were to take absolutely no chances.
The soldier stood behind the truck, bathed in the red light. He pulled the rifle off his shoulder and tilted it toward the metal door. With a finger lightly against the trigger, he reached up high with his left hand and twisted the handle. In a burst of movement, he pulled the door open and leapt back, aiming his rifle inside.
30
It was on the floor.
The soldier kept his rifle pointed into the darkness of the truck while he examined the area around the crate. He then carefully climbed up through the door. Leaning his rifle against the metal wall and with a heave, the soldier grabbed and lifted the crate back up on top of the others. He calmly wrapped the end of the loose strap around his hand and pulled hard, ratcheting it back down firmly.
In the cab, the driver felt the door slam shut behind him. A moment later, the passenger door opened again. His comrade jumped back in next to him and pulled his door closed with a bang.
As the truck lurched forward and continued down the hill, Caesare dropped his trigger finger and exhaled. He pivoted his barrel and scope, searching. After a few minutes, he saw Clay’s black outline rise from some nearby bushes and look around.
Neither of them moved for a long time, until well after the truck was out of sight. Clay listened carefully before stepping back out onto the road, still under the watchful eye of Caesare’s scope.
It wasn’t until Clay made it back up the hill and sat down next to him that Caesare relaxed. “That was exciting.”
“And painful,” replied Clay. He examined his pants at the knees, fingering some tears in the material.
“You’re not going to go on about your bad knees again, are you?”
“Well, that sure as hell didn’t help!”
Caesare chuckled and pushed himself up onto his own knees. He slung the M4 over his right shoulder. “So, any luck?”
Clay nodded and stood up. He ripped the Velcro top of his jacket open, then reached inside and pulled something out.
Caesare merely stared at him. When Clay failed to reach into his jacket for anything else, Caesare squinted disappointedly. “Wait, that’s it? That’s what was inside?”
Clay nodded silently.
Caesare shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Lieutenant Chao stormed down the corvette’s gangway under the bright lights toward one of the Typhoon trucks. One of the men had found something on the last truck and called out to the others.
Several had gathered around the tailgate by the time Chao arrived, and he pushed his way through, yelling for them to get out of the way. He lifted himself up into the back where one of his men was examining a crate.
“What is it?”
“Sir, one of the crates is damaged.” The man stepped back allowing Chao a closer look. “The driver said they had one fall off the top just a few kilometers back.”
Chao could see the corner where some of the wood had been severely chipped.
“Sir,” the man replied. He silently fingered the edge and raised the top of the hinged crate for Chao.
Chao looked inside. He instantly whipped around and jumped back down, out of the truck. “We have a breach!” he yelled to the others. “Three kilometers! GO!”
Chao’s top men immediately scrambled for the truck, piled in around the crates, and unloaded them as fast as possible. Once empty, the rest climbed in and closed the metal door. The driver jammed the stick into first gear and watched Chao climb in next to him. He released the brake and the vehicle jerked forward.
The giant engine roared as it accelerated, forcing Chao to scream over the noise and into his radio.
Clay and Caesare stopped in their tracks. They were halfway down the mountain when they heard a sudden commotion. They ran to the top of a small hill and looked out over the clearing. The trucks were headed back uphill, and fast. They were coming for them.
Caesare turned to Clay. “What did you do, leave them a thank you note?”
Clay buckled his pack around his waist and cinched the straps down tight. “I guess that was a mistake.”
Together the two men broke into a run, zigzagging eastward through the dark trees.
They found the spot not far from where the truck had stopped earlier. The vegetation was matted down, indicating where someone had been lying in wait. Chao’s men quickly fanned out but couldn’t find any tracks. Not surprising in the dark. It would take several hours before there was enough light to discover Clay and Caesare’s tracks further down the road.
Chao examined the area with his flashlight. Nothing else was left behind. Just the matted flatness. He climbed back up the short embankment to the road and walked around the back of the truck. He shined his light over the door, then down lower and along the bumper.
Chao peered closer at something small stuck in the crevice between the bumper and the truck’s back panel. He reached down and wiggled it forcefully until it came free. He examined it carefully, rubbing it between his fingers before looking back at the truck. He was familiar with the fabric.
General Zhang Wei awoke, peering sleepily at the small stand next to his bed and his cellular phone lying on top of it. The phone rang a third time before he reached out and picked it up. The screen was painfully bright in the dark room, causing him to squint as he tried to make out the incoming number. It was Chao.
The General accepted the call but continued watching the screen with one eye closed to make sure the encryption was established. Finally, he held the phone to his ear. “What is it?”
Chao’s words were clear and unmistakable. “The Americans have found out.”
The fog immediately cleared from General Wei’s head, and he sat up on the edge of his bed, thinking. He wasn’t surprised. It was inevitable once the science vessel had arrived. They were smart not to send a warship. Wei instinctively reached for his glasses and slid them on. “But do they know?”
On the other end, Chao held his own satellite phone to his ear and peered into the darkness beyond the glaringly bright glow from the truck’s headlights. “They don’t know yet, but they will. They took a sample.”
“Dammit,” Wei growled. It would take them some time to understand what they had, just as it had taken Wei’s men in the beginning. But it wouldn’t be long. Maybe days. “How much do we have now?”
“About sixty percent.”
Wei nodded silently in the dark. He’d hoped for more, a lot more, but they would have to take what they had. He hesitated, wondering if there was any other way. Maybe the Americans wouldn’t figure it out. Or maybe it would take them longer than he expected. Maybe the politicians would get wind of it and turn it into one of those bureaucratic fights for which the Americans were famous.
Damn it! He shook his head again. He couldn’t take any chances. Those Americans had no idea just how lucky they were to have sent a science vessel. They would soon.
Wei gave a resigned sigh. “Three more days,” he said. “We have at least that long. Then destroy what’s left.”
Chao acknowledged the instruction and hung up, leaving Wei solemn and thoughtful on the edge of his mattress, holding his phone. He finally lay back down on his bed. The other side was empty.
He couldn’t take any chances. It was a once in a lifetime discovery. No, he thought to himself, it was bigger than that, much bigger.
31
Captain Krogstad stepped through the door and onto the bridge, still fastening the last button on his shirt. He gazed out over the shoulder of his Quartermaster of the Watch. An early morning fog surrounded the ship, giving a strange feeling of isolation.
“Where is it?” Krogstad asked.
The Quartermaster nodded straight ahead. “Just a few degrees to port, sir.”
“How fast?”
“Just a poke, really. Maybe five knots.”
Krogstad relaxed slightly, still staring out through the giant window. If someone was attacking the Bowditch, it was a ridiculously slow attack.
The communication's officer turned around. “Sir. I have a call coming in for you over satellite.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s John Clay, sir. He says it’s them on the boat.” The officer then smiled, “And not to shoot.”
Krogstad rolled his eyes. Yeah, like what was he going to shoot with?
Ten minutes later, the strange boat slowly
emerged from the fog. When Krogstad saw what it was, he almost laughed. A small fishing trawler.
The old half-rusted trawler slowed its engines and slid past the Bowditch’s bow as the skipper expertly brought the two vessels almost within reach. The trawler’s bumpers were down, but they wouldn’t need them. Instead, they glided closer and closer until they approached one of the Bowditch’s maintenance ladders running down the outside of its hull. With a rumble, the trawler’s engines were thrown into reverse, which slowed the boat to a virtual standstill. The tip of its own bow crept closer. Clay and Caesare turned and acknowledged the skipper before jumping from the front of the trawler onto the Bowditch’s exterior ladder.
When they reached the top, Captain Krogstad was standing over them with arms folded, along with his Officer of the Deck and the Quartermaster. “Nice ride,” he commented, with a smirk.
Clay cleared the ladder and unbuckled his bag, giving the Captain a salute. “We had to leave rather quickly. I apologize for the dramatic entrance. I had some trouble getting routed to you through satellite.”
Krogstad’s lip curled. “What the hell. I don’t get many wake-up calls like that anymore.” He turned to Caesare as he joined them. “I presume your grand return means you found something.”
“You could say that.”
Thirty minutes later, Clay, Caesare, Captain Krogstad, and Will Borger sat around a small metal table in a semicircle. All four men sat facing the monitor. The conference capabilities onboard a ship while underway were much more limited, having to bounce the signal off a satellite first. But all technical limitations aside, the picture was still surprisingly clear. Aside from some occasional pixilation, they could see Admiral Langford and Secretary of Defense Miller quite well. In another window on the screen were National Security Advisor Griffith and Secretary of State Bartman. However, Clay and Caesare were both surprised to see Dr. Kathryn Lokke from the U.S.G.S. in a third window. They had met her the year before in what turned out to be one of the most memorable meetings they’d ever had.
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