Marauder (The Oregon Files)

by Clive Cussler

  Eddie looked more closely and understood what he meant. Scalloped beads of hardened metal were evident around the entire circumference.

  The hatch was welded shut.

  27

  Zachariah Tate watched the diving bell’s video feed from the Portland’s submersible, the Deceiver. Like the Oregon’s Gator, it could operate underwater for lengthy periods of time on its batteries alone, but it could also surface quickly and engage its twin diesels to shoot across the water at high speed. They were keeping station only a hundred yards away from the diving bell.

  Tate could see the marker buoy via a high-powered telescopic camera mounted on the Portland. It was clear that Juan Cabrillo hadn’t lost his planning skills. The parachute jump to the bell was clever, but it wouldn’t do Cabrillo any good if he couldn’t get Overholt out. Of course, Tate’s ex–CIA partner would have been expecting the hatch to be welded shut, so the case he descended with might have held a mini-blowtorch or some other device to break the seal.

  On the well-hidden exterior cameras, he saw Cabrillo descending to the capsule. Cabrillo clipped something to the cable leading to the surface, which Tate assumed was some kind of signal interrupter for the camera feeds. Sure enough, a few moments later, when Juan had swum to the diving bell’s window, the interior and exterior feeds went to loop mode. Soon after that, Tate could see Cabrillo on the monitor descending to the diving bell all over again. Overholt just sat there inside.

  “Set course for the diving bell,” Tate ordered the Deceiver’s pilot. “He must have a sub ready to pick him up.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  The Deceiver was armed with miniature torpedoes. Tate would destroy the sub before Cabrillo and Overholt could board, along with any chance for their rescue.

  Before the Deceiver got halfway there, Tate was surprised by what he saw on the video feed from the Portland. Cabrillo had surfaced. And he was holding Overholt under the arms.

  “We’ve got a Rigid-Hulled Inflatable Boat nearing the buoy,” said Catherine Ballard over the radio from her position in the Portland’s op center. “But I don’t see anyone on board.”

  “It must be remote controlled,” Tate replied. “That’s how he’s planning to escape.” He turned and yelled at the Deceiver’s pilot, “Surface the boat and intercept them!”

  The RHIB was closing fast, but it would take time for Cabrillo and Overholt to climb aboard once it stopped. The Deceiver would be there in moments, plenty of time to disable the RHIB and capture them.

  The submersible popped out of the water, and the pilot started the diesels. They rocketed forward.

  The RHIB raced toward the swimming men, but it wasn’t slowing down. At that speed, it would overshoot the two of them by a considerable margin. A malfunction in the remote control? Tate wondered, before quickly dismissing the thought. Cabrillo didn’t make mistakes like that.

  Then he noticed a thin nylon rope trailing behind the RHIB. The boat was towing a boogie board.

  “Faster!” Tate yelled.

  They had closed just half the distance when the RHIB’s motor cut out. The boogie swung by Cabrillo, who snagged the rope and pulled it to him. He clipped his parachute harness to the board and lay on his back with Overholt cradled in his arms. The RHIB went back to full power, yanking Cabrillo and Overholt through its wake.

  It turned away from the Deceiver and flew across the harbor. In the distance, the floatplane that Cabrillo had jumped from was descending toward the water.

  Tate leaped into the cockpit and shoved the throttles against their stops, and snarled at the sub’s pilot, “If you let them get away, you’re a dead man.”

  * * *

  —

  Eddie and Linc hovered below the diving bell’s hatch as they pressed a ropy length of plastic explosives against the weld. They’d been anticipating the hatch to be locked, jammed, or welded and had different equipment to deal with each scenario.

  While Linc finished applying the plastique, Eddie went back to the capsule’s window and held up a different sign.

  Sit far back from the hatch and cover your eyes.

  Overholt nodded and put his hands up to shield his face.

  Linc met him at the side of the diving bell holding the detonator, its leads twisting back to the shaped charge.

  “Ready?” Eddie asked.

  Linc nodded.

  “Do it.”

  Linc pressed the button, and a loud thump rippled through the water, shaking the bell. Eddie looked through the window and saw a small puff of smoke curl up from the blown hatch, but water didn’t flood in because the air pressure inside was equalized with the water pressure outside.

  When they swam to the bottom of the capsule, they saw the hatch resting on the seabed. A jagged hole in the floor of the diving bell had taken its place.

  Eddie took the snorkel mask from Linc and swam up through the opening. When he surfaced inside, he took his regulator out.

  “Mr. Overholt, we don’t have much time. As soon as Tate figures out that the Chairman is holding a dummy, he’ll blow this thing.”

  “Just tell me what to do,” Overholt replied, taking the mask and putting it on.

  “I know you’ve dove before, so this should be easy for you. You’ll use my spare regulator, and Linc and I will each hold an arm as we swim. We won’t bother trying to enter the Nomad. We’ll grab its hatch handle, and Eric will get us away from here as fast as possible.”

  “Understood.” Overholt calmly removed his jacket and tie. Although he looked tired, he didn’t seemed fazed by the sudden rescue.

  The hatch opening was only large enough for one person, so as soon as Overholt had the regulator in his mouth, Eddie descended as far as the hose connected to his tank allowed. Overholt put his feet in the water and dropped in. His pants and shirt billowed around him.

  When he was free of the diving bell, Eddie asked, “Are you okay?”

  Since Overholt didn’t have a full-face mask like Eddie, he could only nod and sign OK with his hand.

  Eddie took his left arm, Linc took his right, and they furiously kicked toward the waiting the Nomad.

  “Eric, we’re on our way,” Eddie said through his comm system.

  “I’ll crank it up to max speed the moment you’re secured,” Eric responded.

  Eddie knew that this was the risky part of the mission. The Nomad wasn’t a speed demon. They just had to hope the Chairman could delay Tate long enough for them to put some distance between them and the diving bell before it exploded.

  * * *

  —

  The RHIB weaved back and forth as it tried to evade assault rifle shots from the men on the deck of the Deceiver.

  “Don’t shoot Cabrillo or Overholt!” Tate shouted at them.

  Their bullets were missing the fast boat as it was approaching the floatplane that was coming in for a landing.

  Tate had had enough. He didn’t care that it was broad daylight in one of the busiest harbors in South America. He took an RPG from the weapons rack and climbed out onto the Deceiver’s deck.

  He took aim on the RHIB and fired. The Rocket-Propelled Grenade shot across the water and hit the RHIB dead amidships. It blew in half, and the boogie board it was towing plowed to a halt.

  The floatplane’s pilot must have seen the carnage because he abruptly pulled up and banked away from the Deceiver.

  Cabrillo and Overholt bobbed in the water with nowhere to go.

  Tate tossed the spent RPG launcher into the water, and the Deceiver pulled alongside the two men. His crew pulled them aboard.

  Cabrillo got to his feet and blew water out of his mouth. “Can’t say it’s good to see you again, Tate.”

  “You should have known it would end this way,” Tate said with a smile.

  “I did,” Cabrillo answered with his own grin.

 
Tate frowned at the odd response, then looked down at Overholt, who just lay there facedown.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Tate asked. “Did you kill him during your ‘rescue’?”

  “Not at all. He was never alive.”

  Tate looked closely and saw that something was wrong with the man’s limbs. He yanked an arm to turn Overholt over and discovered it was merely a dummy with the same suit and hair as the CIA administrator.

  “No!” He kicked the mannequin off the Deceiver and sneered at Cabrillo as he ordered his men, “Get him inside!”

  Tate dropped through the hatch first and looked at the video coming from the diving bell. It was no longer showing the loop. He could see a wisp of smoke inside the capsule and the real Overholt lowering his hands to look down at a diver surfacing through the opening.

  Cabrillo landed next to Tate with four different guns trained on him. He peered at the video screen and shook his head.

  “There he is,” Cabrillo said with mock annoyance. “I knew something was off with the other guy.”

  The hatch closed, and Tate said, “Dive the boat and get us back to the Portland.”

  He turned back to the monitor and saw Overholt donning a mask. Tate flipped the cover off the DETONATOR button for the explosives attached to the diving bell.

  As he placed his finger over the button, he looked at Cabrillo. Tate wanted to see his expression when he pushed it.

  “You just killed your friend.”

  * * *

  —

  Eddie and Linc had a tight hold on Overholt and the sub as the Nomad motored away from the diving bell at a stately eight knots. The video feed now being broadcast was on a one-minute delay, but Eddie didn’t know how long the ruse would protect them.

  He got his answer a second later.

  A bow wave of pressure and noise pummeled them as the explosives ripped the diving bell apart. The Nomad bucked from the impact, tearing the handhold from their grips.

  They also lost Overholt.

  Eddie tumbled for a few seconds, and his mask was torn from his face. When the shock wave had passed, he steadied himself and reached around to find the hose connected to his mask. With a practiced hand, he put it back on, clearing the water, so he could breathe again.

  The buddy hose dangled in front of him, the damaged regulator bubbling. Overholt was no longer attached to it.

  Eddie retrieved the flashlight lashed to his wrist and rotated until he saw Linc putting on his own mask in the swirling mud. When he was breathing again, he gave the OK. Then he noticed that neither of them had Overholt.

  They frantically searched the seafloor for him, but it wasn’t until the Nomad swung around and focused its powerful lights through the gloom that they saw Overholt floating motionless nearby, his mask askew.

  Eddie grabbed his arms and pulled him toward the Nomad’s open air lock hatch. There was room for only two people, so Linc closed the hatch behind them and waited outside while Eddie held Overholt as he waited for the air lock to drain. Overholt was unconscious or dead, Eddie couldn’t tell.

  The moment the lock was empty, Eric pulled the interior door open, and Eddie lay Overholt on the floor.

  “Oh, man,” was all Eric said, before closing the door so he could refill it to let Linc in.

  Eddie turned Overholt onto his back to clear the water from his throat and then felt for a pulse. Nothing. He began chest compressions, being careful not to press too hard and break the elderly man’s ribs.

  He counted to thirty and checked again. Still nothing.

  Eddie tilted Overholt’s head back to open the airway and administered two quick mouth-to-mouths. Then he started CPR again.

  After five pumps to the chest, Overholt coughed. He convulsed, and water spewed from his mouth.

  Eddie turned him over, and more water drained from Overholt’s lungs. He shuddered as he struggled to draw in air, and he finally gasped in a ragged breath.

  The air lock cycled again, and Linc emerged as Eddie helped Overholt sit up. Linc let out a sigh of relief and clapped Eric on the shoulder.

  “You had us worried there, Mr. Overholt,” Eddie said.

  Overholt coughed again, then said, “I never doubted this would work . . . Where’s Juan?”

  Eddie looked at Eric, who said, “Tiny called in from the plane. He saw the Chairman get pulled aboard a sub that disappeared.”

  “Then Tate has him,” Overholt said, shaking his head. “Juan traded himself for me.”

  “Just like he wanted to,” Linc said.

  Overholt looked at the three of them with a puzzled expression. “You mean, that was Juan’s plan the whole time? He wanted to get captured?”

  Eddie nodded. “To fool Tate, we had to make the rescue look well executed until you ‘died.’ Everything went exactly how the Chairman sketched it out. I just hope the rest of his plan works.”

  28

  Juan climbed out of the submersible Tate called the Deceiver and into what looked like an exact duplicate of the Oregon’s moon pool. The only thing missing was the Nomad hanging from the gantry cradle. The catwalks above were packed with gawking crew members.

  All work had stopped. All eyes were locked on Juan as Tate led him onto the deck beside the pool.

  “Don’t tell me they’ve never seen a real captain before,” Juan said.

  “Everybody here has a personal stake in capturing you,” Tate said, before raising his hands in victory and yelling to the crowd. “I promised you this day and I delivered! We got him!”

  A huge cheer went up from the gathered crew as if they had witnessed the winning goal at the World Cup. The clapping and hooting went on for a full minute.

  “That certainly was a warm welcome. But what’s the personal stake?”

  “You’ve made all of their lives miserable in one way or another. You’ve killed family members, ruined businesses, sunk ships, or caused them to be exiled from their countries.”

  “So they’re all criminals,” Juan said. “Like you.”

  “Only because of your actions. Many of them see themselves as freedom fighters who got caught before they could finish the revolution. Or, like me, they were doing the right thing, and you didn’t like the methods. It took me a long time to recruit them, but they’ve been very motivated to carry out this mission.”

  “Then they’re also deluded. Like you. Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with? That’s what you all want, isn’t it?”

  “You’re too smart to believe that, old pal,” Tate said. “I could have done that already, as you well know.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “To make you suffer the way you made me suffer.” Tate raised his arms again to indicate all those around him. “The way you made all these people suffer.”

  Juan took a breath as he thought about that. “Torture for torture’s sake isn’t your style. Even for someone as amoral as you.”

  “You’re right. It would be satisfying in the short run, but I want you to live a long life with your failure. You failed to rescue Overholt when you had the chance. Your reputation is in tatters with the CIA and the U.S. government. What else do you have left?”

  Tate paused for effect. And Juan realized what he meant.

  Juan launched himself at Tate but was restrained by two of the men. “The Oregon? What have you done?”

  “Nothing . . . yet. Come.”

  Catcalls and curses rained down on Juan as he was shoved through the exit door behind Tate. They wound through the ship, and Juan knew exactly where they were going since the interior layout was identical to the Oregon’s. The sole difference was the lack of artwork adorning the corridors’ walls.

  “You’re so unoriginal, Tate. You had to copy me?”

  Tate shrugged. “I think of it more as an homage. Besides, a good idea is a good idea. As you
know, I don’t mind stealing.”

  They entered the op center, and the sense of déjà vu was even stronger for Juan. He had the urge to sit in the captain’s chair, but Tate settled into it.

  “What would be your worst nightmare, Juan?” Tate asked casually. “The death of your crew? The sinking of your ship?”

  Juan remained tight-lipped. He didn’t think Tate had the means to endanger the Oregon, especially with the Portland sitting in Buenos Aires.

  “I can see that would be difficult for you,” Tate continued. “But wouldn’t it be worse if I took command of your beloved spy ship?”

  Juan scoffed, but he didn’t like where this was going. “What are you babbling about now?”

  “You didn’t think I’d send them to find the real Kansas City, did you?”

  “Of course not.” But they had to risk going to the coordinates Tate gave them in case it was there.

  “As I told your dear dead friend Overholt, I needed somewhere much closer than Algodoal for my purposes. I had to lure you with something tangible. And it worked.”

  Tate nodded to a woman, and a video of the Oregon appeared on the main view screen. It was framed by the horizon and bright blue sky. No other ships were visible, and the image seemed to be filmed from far away.

  “They’ll be ready for whatever you come at them with,” Juan said.

  A smile curled on Tate’s lips. “Is that what you thought in Rio?”

  Juan seethed. “I knew you were responsible for that.”

  “I planned it from the very beginning. CIA officer Ballard here was instrumental in leaking the names of those agents. I knew Overholt would hire you to extract them.”

  Juan was repulsed by how pleased Tate seemed with himself.

  “How did you do it?” Juan demanded.

  “I can’t give everything away to you. Let’s just say it involves a weapon that’s been lost for a hundred years. We’ve tweaked it, naturally, but the principles are virtually unchanged from when it was first developed.”