Page 106 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

“What?”

“I’ll explain everything as soon as you pick us up.”

“We’re still eight hours away—and running full tilt.”

“That’s probably seven hours longer than we can survive. You might want to goose it a little.”

“I figured as much. That’s why when Linc’s tracker came back online, I contacted Overholt and requested an emergency quick reactionforce. There’s a U.S. Navy Expeditionary Strike Group in the area with a boatload of leathernecks itching for a fight.”

Juan’s first reaction was relief. He was utterly exhausted from the long swim and the constant flood of adrenaline he’d experienced since he’d been awakened by an air-raid siren before sunrise. They sure could use the backup.

But his tactical brain quickly elbowed its way through his raw emotions.

“Negative. Belay that order. The Vendor has too many tricks up his sleeve. I can’t guarantee the safety of those Marines.”

“What about you and Linc?”

“We’ll figure something out for the next eight hours. Just do us a favor and keep the pedal to the metal.”

“Will do.”

“If we leave the cave we’ll probably lose contact again. There’s an airstrip on the southwest side of the island near the beach. We’ll meet you there.”

“Roger that. Stay frosty, boys. And Godspeed.”

?

Juan killed the call and replaced the sat phone into its compartment in his leg. He pulled on a shirt as he formulated his next moves.

“Where are the other teams at?” he asked Linc.

“I’ve been monitoring the radio traffic. The Polish twins, the German, and the Turk aren’t responding to Plata’s calls.”

“Neither are we.”

“You know they’re dead.”

“All the more reason why the others need our help. Let’s get out of here.”

54

Plata had ordered the mercs to meet at cache D, which happened to be an old Japanese bomb shelter dug into the side of a hill, well out of sight from any overhead surveillance.

The Vendor was giving them every chance for survival by putting food and ammo caches in protected positions. He wasn’t doing that out of any kind of charity, Juan knew, but for test integrity. Had he put a cache out in the middle of an open field it would have been like scattering apples at the base of Rahul’s drone-powered deer blind.

Once clear of the cave and under cover of a thick stand of trees, Cabrillo checked the Mini-Sniffer to see if it had finished cracking Rahul’s encryption codes. So far, it had failed to do so, but was still in the process. He wasn’t sure if his stint in the cave had somehow interrupted the attempt or if the Mini-Sniffer simply lacked the computing power to pull it off. Only time would tell.

Juan and Linc were the last to arrive at the cache, though they were right on time. Juan counted six survivors besides themselves: Plata, Dragu?, McGuire, Osipenko, the Frenchman, and the Brit.

Osipenko and the Brit were devouring MREs and washing them down with liters of bottled water. McGuire was stretched out on a cot, his face hidden beneath a cap and lightly snoring. Plata and Dragu? were hovering over a topo map they’d found in the cache storage.

“Nobody else?” Juan asked.

“Five dead, plus the Syrian,” Plata said. “Though he got his before we even got started, didn’t he?”

“More money for the rest of us,” the Russian grunted.

Linc made a beeline for the stash of food and snagged up a ripe mango, yellow as a daisy in bloom. He pocketed a couple of bananas, too, before pulling his combat knife and peeling the mango.