Page 123 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
The closest they got to actionable intel was locating a charred computer crushed beneath a chunk of concrete. Eric opened it up only to find the hard drive had been removed.
The Vendor had covered his tracks thoroughly.
Juan rubbed his face with frustration, smearing it with ash. Surviving the deadly island was its own reward, but he had nonetheless failed his primary mission to capture or kill the Vendor.
While Juan was probing the ruins, Eddie Seng’s Gundogs had spread out in three-man squads across the island. Like theOregonherself, each Gundog was skilled at both fighting and intelligence collection.
Over the tactical net Cabrillo listened in real time as Eddie’s team easily dispatched a suicide attack by the last of the Vendor’s bodyguards. Other squads reported in as they combed through the armory and other buildings, all of them coming up short on actionable intel.
Linc and Raven searched for Plata’s corpse at the last battleground around the mass grave. Linc found the headless body. He searched through the man’s blood-soaked pockets and came up with a satellite phone, but nothing else of value. Linc also did a head count and confirmed that the last six Vendor mercs, including the Russian, had been killed. Several other shattered corpses were strewn about in the field and the tree line. Murphy’s Gatling gun had done a number on them all.
Cabrillo hadn’t much cared for any of the mercenaries, including the Frenchman who had saved his life—they were truly killers for hire.His first instinct was to leave them all to rot where they lay. But they were all soldiers of a sort who had sworn at least one honorable oath in their lifetimes. Out of respect for that selfless moment he personally took charge of disposing of their corpses in the mass grave he and Linc had fought in. With any luck, they would be the last to die on the Island of Sorrows.
Juan also made a mental note to notify the Frenchman’s family of his death. It would allow them closure. The man’s warning had saved his life, and Cabrillo made it a habit to owe no man anything.
When it was clear his people had recovered everything they could, Cabrillo ordered them back to the ship. There was no doubt he and Linc had emerged victorious in their battle with the Vendor, but it gave him little satisfaction. The fact of the matter was that their one and only clue as to the Vendor’s whereabouts had put Juan within striking distance on this small island, but he had slipped his grasp.
And if Eric and Murph couldn’t tease anything of value from what little intel had been collected, it was likely the Vendor had escaped for good.
63
Aboard the Vendor’s Mini Sub
The Celebes Sea
The Vendor stared at the computer screen, fuming.
His island headquarters had been reduced to a slag heap. His escape sub’s photonics mast had captured the distant image just moments before he ordered it to dive below the thermocline. It was his last and only view.
All of the cameras on the Island of Sorrows had been knocked out simultaneously along with virtually every other electronic device. He knew it was theOregonthat had pulled off that feat. He assumed they used some kind of EMP device. He thanked his ancestors for the wisdom to escape before that happened, otherwise his pilotless electronic mini sub would have been paralyzed. He shuddered at the thought of sitting in chains in some vile prison cell aboard that hated vessel.
Though theOregonhad blinded him digitally, there could be no doubt what followed next. The thought of that Mendoza creature and his crew rifling through his island facilities made his blood boil. At least he had taken precautions against that eventuality. They wouldn’t find even a shred of a clue as to his network or his whereabouts. More importantly, they would learn nothing about Black Chrysanthemum or its impending launch.
Nevertheless, his nerves were shattered. It had been a close call. He put no faith in the ability of his bodyguards to destroy theOregonandits crew. If he wanted to kill Mendoza, he would have to do it himself. But how? That infernal ship had proven to be a technological marvel. No other ship on the planet could have survived the two surprise attacks he had launched against her.
No matter. His vengeance was an unslakable thirst, and only Mendoza’s blood could quench it. If he wanted to destroy theOregonand Mendoza, he would have to set a different kind of trap.
But the rage itself was blunting his incredible powers of concentration. He took several deep breaths and entered into a nearly trancelike state, his mind batch-processing a nearly infinite number of murderous possibilities.
Suddenly, all of the pieces came together.
He checked his weather app.
Perfect.
“Keiko, how long until we reach the base?”
“The same as you asked me ten minutes ago, minus ten minutes.”
“Keiko, erase your self-programmed sardonicism immediately or I will do it for you—and maybe a few other personality quirks you’ve developed that I don’t particularly care for.”
“Done. And to answer your question, at the current rate of speed, six point two hours.”
His vessel was crawling beneath the surface at a snail’s pace. There was no telling what kind of surveillance reach or resources Mendoza’s people had. Sailing beneath the thermocline on electric power made him practically invisible, but time was of the essence. He checked his watch. He would run this way for another twenty minutes and then surface, doubling his speed. In the meantime he would put together the technical specs for his plan to sink theOregonand broadcast those to his island team once he was no longer submerged.
His burning rage morphed into the lusty hope of a thrilling hunt.
Mendoza had the audacity to rain chaos down onto his plans.
