Michael Vey 9, page 7
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Cassy said. “We weren’t sure you were going to wake up.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked.
“You needed the sleep,” Johnson said.
“Sit down, Michael,” Jax said. “Have a drink with us.”
I sat down. “What are you drinking?”
“I’m having a pisco sour,” Jax said, lifting his glass. “After a day like today, I needed it.”
“Michael doesn’t drink,” Tessa said. “I’m having a coca tea.”
“I’ll have some tea,” I said.
“I’ll pour you some.” Cassy poured hot water from a thermos into a coffee cup. “Would you like some azúcar?”
“Yes, please.”
She dropped a sugar cube into the cup, stirred it, then brought it over to me. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.” I took a sip of the tea. It had been a while since I’d had it, but it tasted like I remembered, which was basically like alfalfa soaked in tepid water.
“That is what we drink for altitude sickness,” Jacinta said.
Johnson set down his glass. “Jaime has things set up. Your team will leave for town at six a.m. It will take about thirty-five minutes to reach the boat. It’s a tourist boat, so you’ll want to look as touristy as possible.”
“How do you look touristy?” Cassy asked, smirking.
“You know, T-shirts with llamas on them, high black socks with shorts.”
“I’m not wearing high black socks with shorts,” she said. “Or the llama shirt. Sounds like a fashion nightmare.”
“What were you talking about before I interrupted?” I asked.
“We were talking about the Chasqui’s plan to burn down Arequipa,” Johnson said.
Jacinta said, “The Chasqui’s plan is not much different from the Allies’ firebombing of Dresden or Tokyo in World War II.”
Johnson bristled at the comparison. “Except that those countries had started a conflict that killed millions of people.”
“That is true,” she said.
“Just like the Chasqui. Peace doesn’t serve aggressors.” Johnson glanced down at his watch. “It’s about time for dinner. We’ll meet after dinner to plan.”
The hacienda’s chef had prepared a big meal for us, consisting of lomo saltado, a beef stir-fry made from the ranch’s own beef; a juane—a mix of rice, olives, meat, eggs, and spices wrapped in bijao leaves; and aguadito de pollo, a traditional chicken soup.
Such an extravagant supper made me feel like we were having our last meal. Still, it was a rare moment of relaxation, and as I watched everyone laugh and talk, a disturbing thought crossed my mind: Which one of us won’t make it back? I pushed the thought from my mind. Maybe none of them. Maybe just me.
17 Sneaking into the Devil’s Mouth
After dinner we cleared away the dishes, then gathered around the table to make our plans. Johnson stood at the front of the room.
“It’s late,” he said. “But not too late. Michael’s team will be leaving early, so we’ll keep this as brief as possible.” He looked at me. “We’ve got two missions ahead of us. Michael, which would you like to begin with?”
“Let’s start with saving Arequipa,” I said.
Before Johnson could speak, Ostin said, “I’ve been thinking about the Arequipa mission. We don’t have to blow the road. Or the trucks.”
“You have a better idea?” Johnson said.
“Yes,” he said. “Blowing up the road would be like broadcasting to the world where we are. Also, I’m assuming it will take more than one truck to transport all those bats, so unless those trucks are traveling dangerously close together, which is unlikely, the slower trucks are going to stop before they go over the road.”
“We don’t know how many trucks there will be,” Cibor said. “How many trucks would it take to haul a million bats?”
“That’s like asking how many angels can dance on the head of a pin,” Nichelle said.
Ostin’s brow furrowed. “That’s nothing like asking how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. How is that possibly relevant unless you are referring to destroying angels, in which case—”
I think Nichelle sensed a much longer answer coming, so she quickly apologized. “I’m sorry for saying something so stupid. Continue, please.”
“No worries,” Ostin said. “In answering Jax’s question, we can logically assume that the Chasqui will want to use as few trucks as possible, since the larger the convoy, the more attention they’ll acquire and the greater chance of mechanical difficulties.
“To transport the bats, they will likely use a standard forty-foot Conex shipping container, the kind used on shipping barges around the world. The container is forty feet by eight feet by eight feet, which gives it a cubic area of two thousand five hundred and sixty feet. Technically, that could, in fact, hold a million bats. But the overall cubic area is largely irrelevant since the bats wouldn’t survive being stuffed into a container like potato chips, so we can safely assume that the bats will only occupy a set surface space, which would be three hundred twenty square feet per ceiling. Bat researchers figure bat populations by estimating the amount of cave ceiling covered and multiplying it by approximately two hundred fifty bats per square foot. So, a single container could hold about eighty thousand bats. At that number it would take about twelve and a half containers to carry a million bats.”
“Truly you have a dizzying intellect,” Jax joked.
“Wait until I get going,” Ostin replied. “As I said, that is too large a convoy to avoid attention. So, if the Chasqui are smart, and they are, they would construct multiple layers of frames within each container, the same way that beekeepers stack frames in a beehive.
“As far as the bats, I would think that the Chasqui would use the Tadarida brasiliensis, the Brazilian free-tailed bat, because of its speed, availability, and size. They are only nine centimeters long, about three and a half inches, which means they can enter spaces in structures smaller than a dime. This means they can inhabit spaces much smaller than, say, your more common Megachiroptera, or fruit bat, which is almost three times larger, with a wingspan as wide as forty-two inches. Because the size of the spark required to start a fire is almost irrelevant, the free-tailed bat would be a much more efficient delivery method of an incendiary device….”
“He’s speaking English, right?” Cibor asked Johnson.
“Yes, just a little different version than most people do.”
“I suspect, to properly protect the bats, the Chasqui scientists would space each frame about twenty to twenty-four inches apart, which is the standard of most bat houses….”
“Bat houses?” Quentin said. “What’s a bat house?”
“You’ve heard of birdhouses?” Ostin asked.
“Yes.”
“Same thing, except for bats. As I was saying, twenty to twenty-four inches apart is the standard height distance, which means an eight-foot cargo container would give them approximately four frames, or five surfaces counting the ceiling. That means each container would hold close to four hundred thousand bats. If Cristiano is right and they’re shooting for a million bats, then they could haul all the bats in just three trucks.”
Everyone looked at Ostin with wonder.
“He really is brilliant,” Jax said.
“You’ll get used to it,” Cassy said.
“How does he know all these things?” Jacinta asked.
“He reads,” I said. “And he never forgets anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything. I once asked him if anyone had ever escaped from Alcatraz prison. He said, ‘Yes’ and asked if I wanted to know their names.”
“Three trucks…,” Johnson said, steering us back on track.
“Yes, three trucks,” Ostin said. “That’s what I think they’ll be running.”
“And you don’t think we should just blow them up?”
Ostin shook his head. “I think not. There’s a better way.”
After such an impressive display of intellect, I don’t think anyone wanted to disagree with him.
“What’s your idea?” Johnson asked.
“The road from Puerto Maldonado to Arequipa is roughly five hundred and fifteen miles, most of which is a winding mountain highway. It has a change of elevation of almost seven thousand feet. Our best course of action would be to find a tight corner of road—best case a hairpin turn on a slope with a steep drop-off. Then, as the trucks get close to the turn, Cassy freezes them. They can’t take their foot off the gas, they can’t turn, and they can’t hit their brakes. So they just drive right off the side of a mountain, taking their bats with them. It looks like human error, and no innocent people get killed driving off a road that no longer exists because we blew it up.”
“That is a brilliant plan,” Johnson said.
“So we’ll take Cassy with us,” Jax said.
I could see he was all for that. Cassy too, as she was smiling.
“And Tessa for the added distance,” Ostin said. “I’d take Quentin too. As backup. If something goes wrong, he can, at least, shut down the trucks. Then you could still blow them as a last resort.”
“We could hit them with rocket launchers,” Cibor said.
Johnson thought for a moment, then said, “We’ll still need advance warning to know when they’re coming.”
“I can go downriver with Michael,” Jaime said. “Maybe to Jacinta’s friend’s lodge. When I see the containers go by, I’ll radio you. Then I’ll head back to Puerto and keep an eye on the port and the progress of the Chasqui’s loading of the cargo containers. I’ll just keep a few miles ahead of them the whole way.”
“That’s a solid plan,” Johnson said. “That’s what we’ll do.” He turned to me. “Now let’s talk about your mission. Where do you think they’ll take her, the Starxource plant or the cave?”
“Cristiano thinks the cave,” I said.
Cristiano said, “Not many people know where the cave is, and it is easier to defend than the Starxource plant.”
“I was afraid of that,” Johnson said, shaking his head. “I hate cave and tunnel warfare. I had my fill of it in Afghanistan. We definitely have the easier of the two missions.”
“Nothing’s easy about any of this,” I said. “And you have a hundred thousand lives to save.”
Johnson exhaled slowly. “The closer you get to the Chasqui, the more eyes there will be on the river. How will you get to the cave without being seen?”
“I have a friend in Puerto with a tourist boat,” Jaime said. “He takes groups up the river every day, so the Chasqui won’t suspect him unless you get too close to their interests. You will have to hike the last three or four miles in through the jungle.”
“The Chasqui have sentinels all along the river, and they have installed many more cameras as well,” Cristiano said. “The closer we get, the more surveillance they have.”
“More than the Elgen?”
“Yes,” he said. “Much more. But I know a safe path through the jungle that leads to the caves. It is used by a native tribe. The Chasqui don’t know about it.”
“The Amacarra?” Ostin asked.
“Yes. You know of them?”
Ostin nodded. “We’ve had dealings with them.”
“The Chasqui’s cave was once a sacred place for them. It was where they buried their chiefs for many centuries. They tried to reclaim the caves, but many of them were killed by the Chasqui. The Amacarra hated the Elgen, but they consider the Chasqui living demons.”
“I know the Amacarra,” I said. “They helped me escape the Elgen. That’s where I met Tessa. She was practically part of their tribe.”
Tessa smiled. “The Amacarra are my friends. I even know a little bit of their language. And you’re right, they hated the Elgen.”
“We should take Tessa with us,” Cristiano said. “In case we run into them.”
“No,” I said. “Alpha Team will need her more than we will.” I turned to Cristiano. “Earlier you said ‘caves.’ Is there more than one cave?”
“It is really a network of caves. Before the Chasqui came, there were two different caves, which they tunneled through and connected, making a larger cave. There are more than two miles of explored tunnels, but it is even bigger than that. Some of the tunnels go deeper into the earth and have never been explored.”
“What’s in the caves?” McKenna asked.
“They’ve turned the caves into a fortress. Amash started building it after the Electroclan destroyed the Starxource plant and he started selling drugs. He wanted a safe place he could hide in case the Peruvian government or American DEA ever came after them. Or Hatch and the Elgen. General Hatch never knew about the caves. The caves are well hidden and easy to defend. They are also safe from bombing from the air. It was very smart of them to use the caves.”
“Cave warfare has been around for centuries,” Johnson said. “Just like the Chasqui. During the Vietnam War, North Vietnamese soldiers took shelter in Phong Nha-Ke Bang, one of the most expansive cave systems in the world. It had more than sixty miles of limestone caves. In places it’s as wide as a football field and twice as high. It had ventilation, lighting, and even a hospital.”
Of course Ostin chipped in with his knowledge. “Also, in Afghanistan, bin Laden’s Tora Bora cave complex protected him from aerial bombings. It was a safe place for them to store arms and munitions. Since the Chasqui originated in the Middle East, I would expect that they took a page from bin Laden’s playbook and built something even more secure.”
“I wish Gunnar was here,” Johnson said. “He was part of the Delta Force team that took Tora Bora during the Afghan War.”
“They took a lot of casualties,” Ostin said.
Johnson frowned. “Many.”
“That’s not an option,” I said. “Can you draw out what the cave looks like?” I asked Cristiano.
“Yes. Do you have paper?”
“Just a moment,” Jaime said. “I will get some.”
Jaime went to the pantry, where he tore off a meter-long section of white butcher paper. Then he brought it back to the dining room. He handed Cristiano a pencil. “You can draw the cave with this.”
Cristiano stood as he drew out a map of the cave system. His drawing reminded me a little of the Lichtenberg figures on my arms—the fernlike scars I got in Mexico. The cave spread out in smaller and smaller tunnels, trailing off into what might have been miles of small capillaries. After ten minutes or so he stood back from his drawing. “I’m sure I missed a few of the smaller tunnels, but I think that’s about right.”
“How do you know the cave so well?” Jax asked.
“One of my assignments was to give tours of the caves to the new guards, so I got to know them very well. In my free time, I explored a lot. After the Chasqui killed my friends, I started looking for a way to escape. I found a way out no one knew about.”
Cristiano touched his pencil to two different points on his map. “These are the two entrances to the cave.” He touched the pencil to the point farthest south. “This is the main entrance. It is the most heavily guarded. This big cavern here is where they built their dining room and lounge area. And this is where the beds are.”
“Hmmm,” Ostin said. “I’ve seen this drawing somewhere before.” He suddenly grinned. “I know. Your cave resembles the human digestive system.”
“You are right,” Cristiano said. “I thought the same thing. I was a pre-med major at ASU.”
Ostin ran his finger down the map. “The main entrance, here, is the mouth, the tunnel is the esophagus, which leads into the stomach. Over here, this cavern, is the liver. This section is the pancreas, leading to the small intestine.”
“This is getting weird,” Nichelle said.
“The liver is where the sovereign lives,” Cristiano said. “It is next to the treasure vault. They just call his room ‘the palace.’ The stomach is, coincidentally, the cafeteria and meeting room. The pancreas is the guards’ quarters and gym. This section right here…”
“The duodenum,” Ostin said.
“Yes, the duodenum is where they store their weapons and bombs.”
“Where do they keep prisoners?” I asked.
“Over here, what would be the ascending colon,” Cristiano said.
“Fitting,” Nichelle said.
“Yes. The south end. You enter through the guards’ barracks. There’s also a rarely used entrance in the back tunnel near the control center. You get there through the storage and utility rooms.”
“What do they keep in their storage?” I asked.
“Everything. Food, uniforms, alcohol. It is next to the utility room, where the electricity and ventilation come in.
“Down this tunnel is the main control center. It is where the cameras and locks and ventilation are controlled. They can see any part of the cave from the control center.”
“How many Chasqui are there in the cave?” I asked.
“Most of the Chasqui live in the old Starxource plant, but the cave can house more than fifty soldiers.” He bent back over his drawing. “This section here is their medical center.”
“The spleen,” Ostin said.
“They have a medical center?” Tessa asked.
“Do not let the stone walls deceive you. The Chasqui’s cave is a very luxurious place. In places it is like a palace for the kings of old. The walls of the sovereign’s room are covered with real gold, so the walls shimmer. I was allowed to see it once, only because I was carrying things to the room. That is where they built the vault.”
“What’s in the vault?” Nichelle asked.
“It is filled with gold and precious gems.”
“Like the Joule,” I said.
“Yes, many jewels.”
“Michael meant the Joule,” Ostin corrected. “It was one of Hatch’s ships, named after the scientist, James Prescott Joule, an English physicist who—”
I raised my hand to stop him. “How much gold is in the vault?”
“I have never been inside the vault, but a guard secretly told me there was more than twenty tons of gold bullion.”
