Instead of dialing fleet headquarters, Royce turned to the laptop and typed in orders to be transmitted to the Combat Talon that would recover his Australian team off of Jolo Island.
Vaughn looked in the grate where they had seen Abayon and silently cursed when he saw the room was dark and empty. Still, he had to assume that wherever Abayon was bedded down for the night had to be close to his office. He used the crowbar he'd radioed the team to bring in to pry open the grate. Then he dropped into the office, MP-5 at the ready, infrared light on, revealing a clear desktop. Vaughn heard the others come in behind him and felt someone press against his side.
"Where is he?" Orson whispered hoarsely.
Vaughn pointed with the muzzle of his weapon toward the door.
"Somewhere through there."
Orson grunted, whether in disgust or for some other reason, Vaughn wasn't sure. He edged forward toward the door, sensing the rest of the team behind him. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.
Sinclair opened the canister containing the Fulton equipment. In-out. He liked it. That's what this mission was shaping up to. He opened the top of a long tube as he turned the valve on a helium canister. A blimp-shaped balloon slowly slithered out of the tube. As it inflated, the blimp became eight feet long and four feet in diameter, connected at the bottom to the climbers' 12mm rope, which he clipped to a snap link on the blimp. Holding on to keep it from rising, he turned on the small infrared strobe attached to the top of the blimp, making sure through his night vision goggles that it was working, then let go.
As the helium rushed in, the blimp rose into the night sky. Sinclair paid out the rope through his hand so there were no snags. It finally came to a stop with the blimp over three hundred feet above his head.
He tied that rope off to another snap link on the waistband of his harness, then reached into his vest and pulled out an FM radio headset, settling it on his head. It was already set to the right frequency.
Sinclair spoke into the voice-activated mouthpiece.
"Condor, this is Charlie One-two. Over."
The reply was instantaneous.
"Charlie One-two, this is Condor. Over."
"The balloon is up," Sinclair said.
"I will inform you when to begin your run. Over."
"Roger that. We'll be there. Over."
On board the second Combat Talon en route to Jolo Island, the Australian team leader heard the radio traffic and nodded. Everything was going smoothly. He cinched down the straps on his parachute harness one last time, then checked his submachine gun to make sure there was a round in the chamber.
He signaled to the loadmaster that they were ready. Each team member switched over to his personal oxygen, and the cargo bay began to depressurize.
Vaughn moved down the tunnel, the stock of the weapon tight to his shoulder. He felt as if he were walking into the belly of the beast, but so far they had yet to encounter any opposition. He had opened three doors off the tunnel, and all the rooms were empty.
He reached a fourth and paused as the other members of the team deployed around him. He still had no idea who the new member of the team was, or where Hayes had gone, but they had all been trained the same way so they were functioning well tactically.
The others covered him as he pushed open the door. Another tunnel beckoned. And at the end of it Vaughn could see the glow of moonlight and something else. A bright red dot. He realized it was someone smoking. Not a cigarette, but something larger. A cigar, he could tell by the odor wafting in.
Vaughn moved forward, the others behind him. He exited the far end of the tunnel onto a level area cut into the side of the mountain. And there was Rogelio Abayon, seated in a wheelchair, smoking a cigar. Now that he was outdoors, Vaughn pressed the transmit button, but didn't say anything.
"I've been waiting for you," Abayon said as the three team members circled him, weapons at the ready.
Orson stepped past Vaughn and placed the muzzle of his submachine gun on the old man's chest.
"I hope the wait was worth it. Where is everyone else?"
"Long gone," Abayon said.
"I would like to know something before you kill me."
Vaughn looked from the old man to his team leader. The contrast was striking. Abayon was a frail figure in a wheelchair, peering up in the darkness at the forms around him, a cigar held in one hand that was shaking ever so slightly. Orson was in black, his face covered by the night vision goggles, the weapon in his hand not shaking at all. Vaughn released the transmit button, knowing Tai would hear the break in static. He was rewarded a second later by her voice in his ear.
"I copied all that. I assume you're on the outside. Probably where the video was shot from. The Fulton rig is ready on top of the mountain. Let me hear what's going on."
There was the burst of static as she let go of the transmit.
Vaughn pulled up his goggles, turning them off, trying to control his shock at what Tai had just told him. He pulled the flashlight off his web gear and turned it on, causing Orson to curse and the other team members to quickly rip off their goggles.
"What the hell are you doing?" Orson demanded, the muzzle still on Abayon but his dark eyes on
Vaughn.
"Let's get this over with," Vaughn said.
"He has something he wants to say. Let him say it, then let's get out of here."
"I have a question," Abayon said.
"Not a speech to make. There is no one else here, so you do not need to be afraid we'll be interrupted."
"Where did everyone go?" Vaughn asked. Abayon smiled.
"That is a foolish question."
Orson poked the old man with the barrel of his weapon.
"The Golden Lily? Is it still here?"
"No."
"That was a mistake," Orson snapped. Vaughn felt the energy drain out of him. The adrenaline high that had kept him going was depleted, and Orson's question confirmed Tai's suspicions.
"Where did you move it to?" Orson demanded.
"That is another foolish question."
"I can make you talk," Orson threatened.
"No, you cannot."
Abayon raised his right hand from the arm of his wheelchair, revealing a red button.
"If my hand falls on this, numerous explosives will detonate throughout the complex. We will all die."
Tai watched Sinclair check his watch from her hide position. Then she watched him die as a burst of red tracers came out of the sky and hit him. Sinclair tumbled to the ground, his dead weight still holding the Fulton blimp in place.
A parachutist holding a submachine gun landed less than ten feet from the body, quickly followed by three others. Tai took a deep breath, her finger on the trigger, but she didn't fire. She could hear the conversation taking place below her on the side of the mountain and knew this had yet to run its course.
She noted the group discard their parachutes and then take up positions watching the vent. She had no doubt what they were waiting for. She cocked her head to listen to what was happening with Vaughn and waited for her chance to transmit to him what had just happened.
"Who do you work for?" Abayon asked.
"The U.S. government," Orson said.
"That is not true," Abayon said.
"That might have been what you were told, but someone else is pulling the strings."
"Listen you – " Orson began, but Abayon's hand wavered over the button, silencing him.
"You do not even know," Abayon said, almost to himself.
"That is not surprising. I have spent over six decades fighting whoever it is you work for, and I don't know who they are either."
Vaughn could see a vein bulging on the side of Orson's face. He remained still and let go of the transmit button, and Tai's voice immediately crackled in his ear.