Page 133 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

Cabrillo unshouldered his pack and unzipped it. The gadget inside was something Murph had put together. He powered it on and hit the charge button. The device sent out a jamming signal that would break any Wi-Fi or radio network within a hundred yards. Any electronic device that was remotely powered or activated would be rendered harmless. The RHIB was safely behind them at over two hundred yards. The last thing Cabrillo wanted to do was fry the boat’s motors.

“Okay, let’s go,” Juan said. He bolted to his feet and jogged forward. Eddie and Linda were on his heels, their heads still on swivels looking for trouble. A massive thunderclap overhead lit up the area like Yankee Stadium for a nanosecond. They were surrounded by trees, and nothing else—except the dark that suddenly closed back in on them.

Juan hated being off comms with Linc and MacD, but they knew to stay put. Cabrillo had suspected the Vendor had laid some sort of a trap. But it was beginning to feel as if he had been overly cautious.

The windowless warehouse was buttoned-up tight. Cabrillo approached the big steel rolling door. Seng dashed up with a pair of bolt cutters in his hands. A quick snap of his arms and the thick padlock fell away. Linda reached down and yanked the door. The steel clattered as it rolled up.

Juan pointed at his boots.

A Chinese-made IED was positioned right next to the door, its laser trip light pointed across the entrance. If Cabrillo hadn’t killed its circuitry with Murph’s gadget, the three of them would be piles of bloody Swiss cheese lying on the ground.

Not one to tempt fate, Cabrillo still stepped over what would have been the laser line and headed into the warehouse. It was pitch-black, but another flash of lightning lit up the interior. The building was completely empty.

Except for a table. And on the table stood a small electrical device. If he had to guess, it was a GPS transponder—probably pulled from a Humvee.

A shock wave shot through Cabrillo’s spinal column.

“It’s a trap!”

69

Pau Rangi Island

The Bismarck Sea

Shigeru Hashimoto, aka the Vendor, tugged on his beard as he studied the monitor. He had been tracking Mendoza and his team ever since they left their mother ship and made their way onto the island.

For once, he hadn’t underestimated the determined Mendoza or the considerable technical skills of that wretched vessel. Mendoza’s ship had not only changed its name to theEstacada, but also altered its paint scheme in short order, technologies that he deployed himself. But he had to hand it to the wily American for the presentation of the utterly believable illusion of the boat’s rust, wreck, and ruin.

Hashimoto was completely unsurprised when Mendoza deployed an electronic countermeasures device and disabled all of the island’s electronics.

By now Mendoza and his team had infiltrated the warehouse, and likely discovered the IED waiting for them there. Hashimoto blew air out of his nose, frustrated with the lack of imagery. He would have enjoyed nothing better than to witness the explosion and the slaughter the American swine.

Now he was blind to events on the ground.

No matter, he thought, as he pressed the button.

Mendoza would die just the same.

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Above Jaco Island

The Timor Sea

Hashimoto’s drone’s AI-driven navigation skillfully battled the turbulent storm winds several thousand feet above Jaco Island. It had been preprogrammed with the coordinates of the abandoned warehouse facility and was also locked on to the American GPS transmitter located inside.

Additionally, Hashimoto uploaded facial recognition software specifically targeting Mendoza, but as a final precaution he activated the optical “eyes-on” targeting system, anticipating theEstacada’s deployment of an EMP missile.

Once Hashimoto signaled the attack, the drone’s AI programming took over, and all of its sensors were fixed on the warehouse. It plunged through the chaotic winds in a wonky, twisted arc and at approximately ninety-one meters above the building all of its electronics ceased functioning.

But the warehouse was a fixed target and the drone’s onboard computer—which also ceased to function—had already made all of the necessary calculations to complete the final 3.3 seconds of the terminal phase of its mission. Deaf, dumb, and blind, the drone had transitioned from an independently guided weapon into a dumb bomb delivered with appalling accuracy.

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Aboard theOregon

With Juan and Linda on the warehouse mission, Max was left in charge of the boat. The Gundogs’ comms were piped into the overhead speakers and the crew in the op center followed their movements with intense interest.