"The room we just left," he said.

"What about it?"

"It's moving air out of the complex, right?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"So there have to be air shafts coming into it from below. Beneath that big fan."

Tai nodded and turned back the way they had come. They retraced their steps and entered the room. Vaughn looked at the large air handler. There was a service panel on one side, so he pulled out his multipurpose tool and unscrewed it.

"Shit," Tai said as the opening revealed the large, six-foot-diameter fan, spinning, the blades thumping through the air, pushing it up. There was an open shaft below it.

"How do we – "

Vaughn answered by pointing at a bundle of wires.

"We cut those, we stop it."

"Won't someone notice?"

"Probably."

"Then we need a better plan."

Vaughn waved his hand, indicating she could do whatever she wished. He stepped back as Tai stuck her head in the opening, looking about.

"The tips of the fan don't make it to the sides," she noted.

"There's about eighteen inches of room."

Vaughn was already shaking his head.

"We hit those fans and it'll cut us in two."

"There's room," Tai insisted.

Vaughn looked. She was right. But it would be damn close. He shined his flashlight down and saw. The shaft below the fan curved, so he couldn't see how far it dropped.

"I don't like it," he finally said.

"We don't have much choice," she replied.

She was right about that. But he didn't see how they were going to get out of there once they went in. He took a deep breath. This was representative of what he'd been feeling ever since becoming part of Section 8. They were on a one-way trip.

"Ladies first," Vaughn said, and the tone of his voice indicated it wasn't a choice.

Tai responded by edging over into the opening. She gripped the side with her hands and slowly lowered herself. Vaughn anxiously watched as her legs reached the level of the fan. The metal whipped by, less than six inches from her flesh. She continued to lower herself until her arms were fully extended. The fan was at chest level, barely missing her. She looked up at Vaughn, gave him a wan smile, then let go. She slid down the tube and out of sight.

Cursing to himself, Vaughn climbed into the machine and duplicated her actions. As he lowered himself, he could feel the power of the fan so close. As he extended his arms, the edge of one of the blades hit the back of his combat vest, cutting through it and the shirt underneath but barely missing his skin. Abandoning caution for speed, Vaughn let go and slid down, safe from the fan now but uncertain where and when his fall would be arrested.

The tube curved, but only slightly, and he gained speed as he went down. He tried slowing his progress with his hands but there was nothing to grip. The tube was steel, too new to be from the original World War II structure. Vaughn gasped as he suddenly went airborne into a black void. He braced himself for impact, hoping the fall would be brief.

It was. He slammed onto a steel platform with a solid thud.

"That you?" Tai asked.

"No," Vaughn grunted as he inwardly reviewed his body for injuries.

A red light came on, and he could see Tai now, about four feet away. He slowly got to his feet. They were in an open space, and as Tai slowly shifted her light, he saw that it was about ten meters square with a steel floor. He looked up and saw the opening he had fallen out of about eight feet above his head. Not good, he thought, as he considered how the hell they were going to get out of there.

Tai directed her light toward a couple of openings in the floor. She walked over to the closest one, and Vaughn joined her. There was a two-foot depression, then a metal grate in the three-foot-wide hole. Air was being drawn up through the opening. They both knelt next to the opening and she shined her flashlight down. The red light penetrated the darkness for a few feet but they couldn't see anything.

"I assume no one's in there since it's dark," Tai said.

"Unless it's a barracks room," Vaughn said, "and there's a bunch of guys with guns sleeping."

"Always the optimist."

Tai turned off her flashlight, leaving them in darkness. Vaughn could hear her unscrewing the cover. She turned the light back on, flooding the room with white light. She pointed it down at the grate.

Both of them gasped as a golden glow was reflected back at them. Directly below the grate was a five-foot-high stack of gold bullion.

CHAPTER 16

"Space Command did track the plane," Foster said.

It didn't surprise Royce, because Space Command had tracked everything flying since 9/11. He waited out Foster. There was little activity in the operations center. Everyone was still waiting for the report from the surviving recon team member on the ground – if he lived long enough to make a report.

Foster slid a piece of paper across his desk, and Royce recognized the location it displayed: the middle of the Pacific Ocean, west of Midway Island. A thin red line went from Oahu to a point about four hundred miles away from Midway, where it ended.

"That's where it disappeared," Foster said. He cleared his throat nervously.

"There was no report of a plane missing in that area or anywhere close to it. But there was also no flight plan for a plane flying in that area at the time. No one has reported a plane missing either."

"Of course not," Royce said as he stared at the end of the red line. A watery grave. At least David's brother had gotten the honor of being buried in the Punchbowl here on the island. There would be no markers to commemorate David's service. It was as if he'd never existed.

Royce folded the piece of paper and slid it into his pocket.

"Also – " Foster hesitated.

"Yes?"

"We just got a report that one of the team members, Hayes, is very ill."

Royce stood up.

"Inform me as soon as the recon element reports in."

He went out to David's Defender and drove into the hills. Once in the clearing, he opened his laptop and typed out two messages. The first one was to the isolation area on Okinawa. The second went to the backup team that should now have been departing Hong Kong to converge on the primary mission.

The Humvee ambulance slowed to a halt outside the door to the isolation area. The medic/driver hopped out and went to the rear, pulling out a folding stretcher. Orson was waiting for him, arms folded.

"This way."

He led the medic to where Sinclair had Hayes lying on a couch, a cold compress on his forehead. The medic checked Hayes's pulse while he looked at the other members of the team.

"Any idea what's wrong with him?"

"Pancreatic cancer," Orson said succinctly, which earned a surprised look from Sinclair and a not so surprised look from Kasen.

"Jesus," the medic muttered.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"His job," Orson said.

The medic shook his head.

"He needs to be in a hospital ASAP."

Orson frowned and glanced at the other members of the team.

"I'll go with him. You two continue mission preparation. Contact me ASAP if you hear from the recon element."

Orson and the medic put Hayes on the stretcher and carried him to the Humvee. They slid the stretcher in and Orson climbed up next to Hayes. The black man was sweating profusely, his gaze vacant. The medic slammed the back door shut and got in the driver's seat. The Humvee ambulance slowly wound its way through the tunnel toward the outside world.

Orson glanced at the front – the medic was focused on the road. Orson leaned over and placed his forearm across Hayes's throat, applying pressure. Hayes's eyes went wide and he reached up and weakly grabbed Orson's arm, trying to push it away, but he was too sick. Orson kept the pressure up as he watched the front of the Humvee.