"There was more to it than just fighting communism, though," Tai continued.
"If so much gold flooded the market, it would have destabilized all the currencies that were based on a gold standard."
"So this Black Eagle Trust was a good thing," Vaughn said. She shrugged.
"It was illegal."
He gave a short laugh.
"You think what we're doing here is legal?"
"No, it isn't," Tai allowed.
"So what the fuck is your point?" Vaughn snapped, tired of being strung along.
"My point is that there's a lot more going on in the covert world than we know – or maybe than anyone except a select handful know."
"So?"
"So, I think we better be damn careful and watch our backs."
Vaughn let out his anger with a deep breath.
"I agree to that."
He stood, shouldering his ruck.
"Let's go find Abayon."
"How do you propose to do that?" Tai asked.
Vaughn pointed at the various openings that lined the walls.
"Pick one."
She walked to the wall and went to each opening, shining her light into them. Vaughn waited in the middle of the room, listening to the thump of the air circulator.
"This one," she finally said.
"Why that one?"
"It goes up. Bosses always like being above it all. Plus the air intakes should be up there – and we're going to need another way in and out of this place."
It made as much sense as anything else. Without waiting, Tai climbed into the tube. Vaughn followed. The pipe went upward at about a twenty-degree angle and was about two and a half feet wide. It was uncomfortable moving through it, and Vaughn was forced to tie his rucksack to his boot and drag it behind him. Every so often they came to a grate and paused to check out what was on the other side. So far the grates had opened onto dark rooms, and Vaughn was reluctant to shine a light into them for fear one might be a barracks room with sleeping guards.
Finally they came upon a grate with light shining through it. Tai peered through, then moved up, gesturing to Vaughn. He crawled to the grate and looked inside at a room with a half-dozen long tables. From the odor wafting in, he assumed it was some sort of mess hall. There was no one in sight.
Tai was already moving, and he followed her.
Another grate. A single lightbulb glowed in what was obviously a storage room. Tai kept moving. Vaughn estimated they had gone up at least two hundred feet in altitude, but it was hard to tell.
They came to another grate where light shone through. Tai spent several moments looking, gesturing for Vaughn to be very quiet, then slid up, giving him access.
He slid up to the grate, peered through and saw a medical dispensary. A woman in a white uniform was working on some sort of machine, checking it. It seemed they were getting closer, since the dispensary would be close to where the people were.
As they continued to ascend, Vaughn began to wonder how much farther they could possibly go. He also worried about a way out. Reversing course meant they would have to find a way to get back up into the tube they had slid down, which he didn't think would be possible. He hoped his information about air intakes was correct.
Tai stopped at another grate, and Vaughn waited as she peered through for over a minute. Finally she moved up the tube and signaled. He crawled up and peered through.
An old man sat in a wheelchair behind a desk in a room portioned by what appeared to be a blast-proof clear wall. Even though the photo they had was out of date, Vaughn had no doubt the man was Rogelio Abayon. His hand slid down to his holster, but he paused as Tai's boot tapped him on the head. He looked up.
She shook her head, then pointed up. She clicked on her red lens flashlight briefly, showing that the tube ended at what appeared to be a hatch. Without waiting, she began crawling upward.
Vaughn took one last look at Abayon, then followed.
CHAPTER 17
Royce was driving toward Fort Shafter when his pager went off. He glanced at the number, then pushed down on the accelerator. He made it to the tunnel entrance, flashed his identification card to the guard, and entered. Foster was waiting for him in the control room. From the bustle of activity in the operations room, Royce had a good idea about what had happened.
Foster confirmed it immediately.
"The recon element has pinpointed Abayon's location and found a way into the complex."
"Has the rest of the team been alerted?" Royce asked as he scanned the short message.
Foster nodded.
"The message was forwarded to the AST."
He glanced at the clock.
"Wheels up for the infiltration aircraft in four hours."
"How are they going in?" Royce asked.
"Low level Combat Talon. They're parachuting at three hundred feet right on top of the mountain. Rough terrain suits. The recon element found a tube that goes right in."
Royce pondered that. There was a very good chance the Talon flying low over the mountain would alert the guerrillas. On the other hand, it was fast.
"How are they getting out?"
Foster frowned.
"They've requested Fulton Recovery right off the top of the mountain by the same plane that puts them in. The general isn't too happy about it. He wants them to walk away from the mountain to an open field five kilometers away."
Generals always wanted people to walk, Royce thought.
"Approve the Fulton Recovery. Send me the contact information with the Talon and the code words for recovery."
"I'm going to have to lay on an in-flight refuel to allow the Talon to stay on station that long and – "
Royce stared at Foster and he fell silent.
Orson looked at the prisoner, then issued an order to the two military police who had brought him.
"Uncuff him. Then leave."
The two MPs glanced at each other, but they had their orders. They removed the cuffs, then departed the isolation area. The prisoner looked around the room, noting the maps and satellite imagery, then returned his gaze to Orson. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit that had seen better days. His head was shaved and his skin pale and sallow from little time spent outdoors. But he appeared to be in shape and he had the right background, which was all that mattered.
Orson briefly read the paperwork the MPs had brought with the man, then looked at him.
"Clarret, Gregory, former staff sergeant in the First Special Forces Group. Convicted of arms trafficking and sentenced to twenty years awaiting transportation back to the States and a long stay in the big house at Fort Leavenworth."
Kasen and Sinclair were silently watching the exchange.
Clarret didn't say a word.
Orson tossed the file in the burn barrel.
"You're coming with us on this mission. When you get back, it will be as if none of this happened. You can't go back in the Army, but you'll have your freedom. Roger that?"
Clarret nodded.
"Roger that."
Orson pointed toward what had been Hayes's locker.
"Uniform and equipment are in there. Get out of that. We're wheels up in a little over three hours."