Page 98 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
“Then hit the afterburners, my boy.” Max clapped his hands. “Flank speed!”
50
The Island of Sorrows
The Celebes Sea
Juan’s first thought wasn’t how to get to his assigned flag but rather for he and Linc to get enough distance away from the others to call theOregonon his sat phone. If the mercs knew he had it, their cover would be blown. The last thing he wanted was for that pack of wolves to turn on them.
Their target flag was located in the jungle at the base of the city, on the side directly opposite the ocean front it bordered. He and Linc purposely ran at an oblique angle from the air control tower to their target to avoid Osipenko, who had set out directly behind them. As soon as the Russian had pushed through the foliage and deeper into the trees, Juan and Linc found cover in a grove of towering bamboo.
Juan opened up his combat leg and removed his satellite phone, one of several devices inside the secret compartment. He wasn’t worried about detection by Rahul’s drones. Unlike the comms units the team deployed, his sat phone utilized frequency-hopping to avoid detection.
He powered it up, hoping to see a couple of voicemails or texts from theOregon, but there were none.That’s odd, he thought as he hit the auto dial for theOregonnumber. But the phone never acquired a signal. Instead, an error message popped up: “SEARCHING FOR SATELLITE.”
“Problem, Chief?” Linc whispered as his eyes scanned the area.
“Can’t get a signal.”
“Something wrong with the unit?”
Juan checked the battery indicator. It read eighty-nine percent. He then turned the unit over in his hands looking for any kind of damage, but found none. He powered it down and then brought it back up to clear the cache and still it didn’t work. Finally, he ran a self-diagnostic. All clear.
“It’s solid as a rock. Just can’t get the signal here.”
“If the phone’s good, then the link is bad. You think we’re being blocked?”
“If we are”—Juan unconsciously touched his hip—“then our trackers are offline, too.”
“So theOregonhas no idea where we are.”
“Just like us.”
“And our merc friends. Forgotten warriors on an unknown rock fighting some sort of ghost soldier.”
“Except I don’t believe in ghosts,” Juan replied. “We’ll push on toward our flag. It’s a couple of miles from here. We’ll try again for a signal along the way.”
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The rawboned Nigerian chose one of the flags in the decaying ruins of the island city. He had spent years crawling through the rubble of Libya’s ruined buildings hunting whatever targets got him paid the most. He far preferred the haunted city to the claustrophobic mines or the suffocating jungle.
The Nigerian’s keen eyes scanned for trip wires and hidden cameras as he made his way up the crumbling cement staircase toward the top floor. Reaching the top of the landing, he popped his head in and out of the first room, but saw nothing. The blistered cement scrunched beneath his boots and a light wind rattled the sheet metal roof above his head. He glanced up at the noise and saw that half of the rusted metal sheeting had been torn off or blown away, probably years ago.
He stepped carefully forward, his senses on full alert, his eyes fixed on the next doorway. A glint of purple at his feet crept into hisperipheral vision. Incredibly, the stem of a single petaling flower grew out of a crack in the cement floor.How is that even possible?he asked himself as he edged closer to the door. He felt the cool damp of a light breeze pouring out of the doorway.
He peered around the corner and there it was—the flag, standing on the far side of a glassless window. The Nigerian felt a drop of water hit the back of his neck, but he ignored it. He did another three-hundred-sixty-degree sweep with his eyes to make sure he was clear, then dashed into the room.
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The surveillance drone circled five hundred feet above the apartment block, one of dozens on patrol over the island. Its downward gaze first caught sight of the Nigerian as he bolted into the building. Now that he was on the top floor, the bird drone caught a second, fleeting glimpse of his coal-black hair as he ducked his head into the first room.
Its sensors now alerted, the drone tightened its circle and its telephoto-lense eyes locked onto the figure. Programmed to recognize human forms and movement, the surveillance drone easily tracked the Nigerian through the partially covered roof and sent out an alert signal to the other drones in its network.
When the Nigerian approached the second room, the drone acquired a much clearer image that instantly broadcast in real time to the rest of the network. The image was so clear it captured the glimmer of sunlight radiating in the single drop of moisture that fell onto the man’s neck.
This fuller image triggered the attack algorithm.
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