Minutes earlier, the helmsman had backed the sub into the tunnel, facing into the crater. The sonar operator watched for the shuttle and alerted Austin when he picked up its moving blip. A monitor connected to a camera in the sub’s sail picked out the shuttle’s twin searchlights approaching. Austin gave the order for a full-speed ram. The helmsman gripped the wheel as the submarine began to move forward. The ambush was under way.
After glancing off the shuttle, the Typhoon had continued into the crater and made a wide turn. As the sub headed back toward the tunnel to finish the job, the camera picked up the shuttle once again. Austin watched with pitiless eyes as it plunged to the bottom. He felt no sense of triumph. Not yet. He was all too well aware that the Triad was a three-headed monster.
CHAPTER 46
WHEN THE CONCORD FAILED TO HEAR FROM AUSTIN, CAPTAIN Dixon had moved the Navy ships under his command in closer to surround the atoll. He stood on the foredeck with Song Lee, who had stayed by his side since Austin had set off on his mission hours before.
The captain was watching the atoll through binoculars in the dawn light, unaware of the drama that had transpired under the calm waters of the lagoon. He was pondering what his next course of action should be when Lee pointed toward a boiling patch of water. She grabbed him by the arm.
“Captain Dixon, look!”
As they were looking, the massive conning tower and high vertical rudder of the Typhoon broke the surface several hundred yards east of the atoll. After a few minutes, two figures appeared in the lofty tower and waved their arms. Dixon brought his binoculars to his eyes.
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
He handed the binoculars to Lee.
She raised them to her eyes, and blurted, “It’s Kurt! And Joe!”
Dixon laughed out loud. Only Kurt Austin could go fishing in a remote lagoon and catch the world’s biggest submarine.
After another wave, the two men disappeared from the tower and emerged moments later from a hatch in the deck. With the help of some crewmen, they pulled an inflatable boat up on deck, lowered it over the sub’s rounded hull into the water, then climbed in and came skimming over the waves toward the cruiser.
Song Lee was waiting on deck to throw her arms around Austin, then Zavala. Then Austin again. She gave him a kiss full on the lips.
Austin would have liked to prolong the pleasant experience, but he gently disentangled himself from her arms and turned to Captain Dixon.
“Have you seen any sign of the lab’s staff?” he asked. “They should have surfaced in the minisubs by now.”
Dixon shook his head. He called his first officer on the bridge and asked him to ask the other ships in the vicinity to be on the lookout for the surfacing minisubs. Moments later, a call came in from the NUMA ship. The first minisub had surfaced. Dixon issued an order to get the Concord under way. It rounded the atoll just in time to see a second sub popping out of the water, then a third. Each had an identification number painted on its side.
Austin scanned the sea for the fourth minisub carrying Lois Mitchell and the vaccine. After a few anxious moments, it too popped out of the water.
He let out the breath he had been holding.
“We need to bring the scientists from the last sub on board immediately,” he told the captain.
Dixon ordered a boat in the water. The rescue crew pulled Lois Mitchell and the other scientists out of their minisub and brought them back to the cruiser. As the boat came close, Lois saw Austin leaning over the railing. She waved, then pointed to the cooler in her lap. When she climbed aboard, she handed the cooler off to Lee.
“Here’s our vaccine,” Mitchell said, “safe and sound.”
The joyful smile on Lee’s face dissolved. She looked crestfallen as she held the cooler, like someone just told her it was radioactive.
“It’s too late, Lois,” she said. “The epidemic will explode throughout China within twenty-four hours and spread to the rest of the world within days. There is no time to produce the vaccine in the massive quantities we need.”
Mitchell took the cooler back, set it on the deck, and pushed the top back to expose a rack with dozens of aluminum cylinders in it. She pulled one out and showed it to Lee.
“You weren’t in on the last phase of the research,” Mitchell said, “so you don’t know how far we have gone.”
“I was aware that you had integrated the antiviral molecule into microbes in an attempt to speed up the synthesis process,” Lee said.
“We decided that was too slow,” Mitchell said. “So we incorporated the toxin’s curative protein in fast-growing saltwater algae.”
Lee’s expression of dismay turned to laughter.
She picked up a cylinder and said, “This is wonderful.”
Seeing the puzzled expressions on the faces of the three men, she explained.
“Algae grow at an incredible speed,” she said. “Once we get these cultures to the production facilities, they can extract enough vaccine for hundreds of people in a short time. We can do the same for thousands, then hundreds of thousands within a few days.”
She handed the cylinder to Austin, who held it gingerly as if he expected to feel some sort of magical emanations. He carefully placed it back in the cooler and closed the lid, then turned to Dixon.
“This has to get to China as soon as possible,” he said.
The captain picked the cooler off the deck.
“It’s on its way,” he said.
Ten minutes later, the Seahawk carrying the cooler lifted off the deck and headed toward its rendezvous with a fast jet waiting at Pohnpei Airport. Within hours of landing in China, its cargo would be distributed to vaccine-production facilities that Lee had set up during her time on Bonefish Key.
Austin stood on the deck, watching the helicopter shrink to a speck. Lee had volunteered to escort the vaccine back to China. Austin was sad to see her go, but the evil smile of the Dragon Lady was already starting to overshadow his thoughts of Song’s lovely face.
THE GIANT RUSSIAN SUBMARINE led the way into Pohnpei’s harbor like a proud leviathan. Next was Chang’s freighter, now manned by a Navy crew that had taken over after a destroyer had chased her down. Without orders from Chang, his crew had surrendered to the no-nonsense Navy SEALs without a shot.
Phelps had come over from the submarine and was giving Austin and Zavala a tour of the deceptively decrepit-looking vessel, showing them the moon pool, the high-powered engine room, and the state-of-the-art communications center with its hologram-projection booth that Chang used to communicate with his other two triplets.
The last stop was the ship’s salon. Austin made himself immediately at home in the oversize room. He passed out three Havana-wrapped cigars from a humidor and lit them with a silver-plated lighter. He, Zavala, and Phelps sat in plush red-velvet chairs and puffed on their cigars.
“Chang had a good nose for smokes,” Zavala said, “but his taste in decorating stinks.”
Austin blew out a smoke ring and glanced around the spacious salon.
“I dunno,” he said, looking at the purple drapes and dark wood paneling, “the Castle Dracula look is all the rage in Transylvania.”
“Kinda reminds me more of a Nevada whorehouse,” said Phelps, who had been studying the ash on his cigar. He flicked the ash onto the maroon carpet, and added, “I stopped there one time to ask for directions.”
Austin smiled and took a few more puffs, then snuffed his cigar out in an ashtray.
“We’ve got to talk,” he said to Phelps.
“Talk away,” Phelps said.
“Joe and I are grateful for your help,” Austin said, “but we’ve got to discuss what comes next. We’ve got that issue about the scientist you killed on board the lab.”
“It was an accident,” Phelps said. “Lois will vouch for that.”
“I thought she didn’t like you,” Zavala said.
“We’ve gotten to know each other better. She’s a beautiful woman. I like them big-boned.”