Still, he was impressed with the precautions taken by Colonel Sánchez, who sat in the passenger seat in front of Juan. Tate must have warned him not to take any risks.
Next to Juan was a huge mercenary holding a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun with the barrel aimed at him. He never took his eyes off Juan. Both in front of and behind the SUV were Swiss-made MOWAG Grenadier armored cars that each carried a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on a turret. Juan had also seen the mercenaries loading several Rocket-Propelled Grenade launchers into the vehicles.
If Sánchez had truly taken Tate’s advice seriously, he would have ridden with Juan in the armored cars. However, it seemed the colonel preferred the comforts of leather seats and air-conditioning instead and wanted to keep his prisoner close by.
Juan had been nonchalantly watching the road traffic ever since they’d left Army headquarters. If the Oregon was tracking him and attempted a rescue, the highway would present the best opportunity. Or he hoped it would.
A few minutes later, a truck with a familiar logo passed them going in the other direction. He saw it for only a moment, but he recognized the false name VERTEGAS on its side.
It was the PIG.
“Colonel, what if I have to go to the bathroom?” Juan asked.
“You’ll wait. We’re only thirty miles from the prison.”
“And if I can’t?”
Sánchez turned and snarled at him. “If you mess up my SUV, your stay at the prison will get off to an even worse start than you can imagine.”
“I imagine it’s not going to be pleasant, although the concrete floor in my cell last night was surprisingly comfortable.”
Sánchez looked at the mercenary. “If he doesn’t hold it, you have my permission to shoot him in the kneecap.”
The mercenary grinned. “Sí, Colonel.”
“That’s okay,” Juan said. “I’ll try to hold it.”
He knew what was coming and wanted to help out if he could, so Juan shifted his position in apparent discomfort as if he had to go badly. In reality, he was moving his right leg around, loosening the poorly fitted prosthetic limb. After a few moments, he felt it come free, propped up only by the jumpsuit leg.
Now he was ready for the attack.
34
After passing the convoy, going the opposite direction, and turning around in a small town a mile ahead, Raven caught up with them and pulled the PIG up behind the rear armored car as if she were about to pass. There was nothing but fertile farms and grazing land on either side of the four-lane divided highway, and the traffic was light at midday.
Having already passed the convoy, Raven had seen that they were up against some formidable firepower. The Ford SUV was pretty standard, but the two four-wheeled MOWAG Grenadiers looked like genuine war machines, the kind of angular, steel-plated vehicles you’d expect to see patrolling a burned-out town in Syria, not racing down a freeway.
“Can you take out both armored cars?” she asked Eddie.
“Not with Juan in the SUV between them,” he answered. “Too risky. We’ll have to take out the trailing armored car, then you run the SUV off the road so I have a clear shot at the other one.”
“Works for me.”
“You ready back there?” Eddie called over his shoulder.
“Armed and dangerous,” said Linc, who was standing by the door in the cargo bay. “I’ll get the Chairman out of the SUV as soon as we’re stopped.”
“Okay,” Eddie said, peering down at the weapons controls. “Here we go.”
He pressed the button, and a rocket leaped from one of the side racks. It shot down the road and blew apart the trailing armored car’s left rear wheel. Raven dodged to the right as it veered left into the grassy median and flipped over, throwing sod and metal parts high into the air.
The drivers of both the leading armored car and the SUV stepped on the gas.
“Get closer before that armored car’s machine gun can get a bead on us,” Eddie said.
“Remember what I mentioned earlier?” Raven asked, flipping the switch on the PIG’s nitrous-boost system. “I’m a leadfoot.”
The PIG blasted forward.
* * *
—
Vamos! Vamos!” Sánchez shouted at the SUV’s driver when he saw the armored car get hit by a rocket and somersault behind them.
The mercenary guarding Juan was distracted because he had turned around to watch the crash and the PIG chasing them, so Juan’s moment of opportunity had arrived.
He lifted himself up in the seat and pulled his wrists under him. A two-legged man would have to be a contortionist to pull the handcuffed arms past his feet, but Juan was able to get the cuffs past the stump below his right knee. Once that was accomplished, it was easy to get his hands over his left foot.
The whole maneuver took less than two seconds, and by the time the guard turned back around, Juan elbowed him in the head, slamming it against the bulletproof glass.
The guy slumped into unconsciousness.
Juan’s cuffed wrists were too close together to use the guard’s MP5, so he leaned forward and threw his hands over the driver’s neck.
The SUV swerved back and forth as the driver battled with Juan. Sánchez drew his pistol and tried to shoot Juan, so Juan released the driver and grabbed the colonel’s hand aiming the gun. They wrestled, as the driver got the SUV back under control, but Sánchez had better leverage.
Juan wrenched Sánchez’s hand just as he pulled the trigger.
The bullet went through the driver’s head. Blood spattered the ballistic glass, and then he collapsed on the steering wheel.
While Sánchez struggled to get hold of the wheel, Juan recognized that it was a lost cause. He sat back and whipped the seat belt over his torso. The metal buckle clicked at the same time that the speeding SUV swerved through the shoulder and dipped into the ditch next to the road.
The top-heavy SUV tumbled onto its side, and all the air bags went off.
* * *
—
Raven watched in horror as the SUV cartwheeled off the road. It violently flipped twice and came to rest on its tires. She pulled to a stop next to the wrecked vehicle, and Linc and Eddie leaped out of the PIG.
The armored car ahead of them braked, did a U-turn, and crossed the median to the other side of the highway. Raven was about to target it with a rocket, but it shielded itself behind a van that had come to a stop on the opposite side of the highway. The body of the van had IGLESIA DE SANTA MARÍA emblazoned on it. St. Mary’s Church.
She couldn’t shoot at the armored car without the risk of killing the churchgoers, some of whom had gotten out and were on their cell phones as they looked at the SUV wreckage.
The soldiers in the armored car had no such qualms about bystanders. Church members dove to the ground as the .50 caliber machine gun in the turret opened fire. The PIG wasn’t designed to withstand such a heavy barrage, and the huge rounds started pouring through the cab.
She knew it was time to abandon ship and scrambled out of the PIG through the open passenger door.
* * *
—
Juan shook his head as he regained his senses. The first thing he noticed was Sánchez’s face in front of him. Wide eyes stared at him blankly, a broken windshield wiper protruding from his neck. Apparently, the colonel had not been wearing his seat belt.
The next thing that got Juan’s attention was knocking on the window. He saw Linc pounding on the glass and looking in. Juan gestured that he was all right, though he did feel some blood trickling down his face.
The door wouldn’t open, so he motioned Linc to the driver’s side. The guard next to Juan was now lying in the truck bed, which allowed him to lean over and pop the lock.
Eddie yanked the door open while Juan unlatched his seat belt.
“Are you okay, Chairman?”
They were interrupted by the thump of heavy machine gun fire. Shells tore into the PIG as Juan pushed himself out of the SUV.
Eddie and Linc helped him take cover in the ditch behind the PIG. Raven joined them a moment later.
Eddie produced a handcuff key and unlocked Juan’s wrist. Then he took out some gauze and pressed it against Juan’s forehead.
“You got a nasty cut in the crash,” Eddie said.
“Better than the alternative,” Juan said. “Life in prison didn’t sound fun.”
“Thought you might need this,” Linc said, handing Juan his spare combat leg.
“And I didn’t get a present for you,” Juan said, strapping it on quickly. “Now, how do we get out of here with that armored car pouring rounds into our ride?”
“Max assumed this was a one-way mission for the PIG,” Raven said, pulling the truck’s remote control from her pocket.
Eddie nodded. “We didn’t think we’d get it back onto the ship without awkward questions about it suffering serious damage.”
“Not to mention the bounty that must be out for me right about now,” Juan added.
“That, too . . . Raven, time to lead them away from here so we can make our rendezvous undisturbed.”
Raven nodded, and the PIG began to belch dense smoke. After a huge cloud had surrounded them and the truck, she revved the engine. The PIG barreled down the highway toward Las Armas.
Moments later, the armored car crossed back across the median and gave chase, continuing to fire at the fleeing truck.
“We’ll wait for them to get a few miles down the road,” Eddie said.
Juan didn’t have to ask what they were waiting for. He heard it. The throbbing rotor blades of a helicopter.
The smoke dissipated completely with the arrival of the Oregon’s MD 520N, a chopper without a tail rotor that steered itself using the turbine’s exhaust gasses. Gomez, who was wearing mirrored shades and a Houston Astros baseball cap, smoothly settled the aircraft on a field of grass next to the highway and gave a jaunty wave when he was down.
Eddie handed out black balaclavas in case any curious onlookers in traffic were filming the action, and they all pulled them over their heads before rushing over to the helicopter and climbing on.
Juan got into the seat next to Gomez, who pointed at the bloody gauze sticking out of the balaclava.
When Juan had his headset on, Gomez said, “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Juan replied. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
Gomez gave him a movie star wattage smile. “My pleasure, Chairman. Just glad to have you back. The Oregon’s waiting for us twenty miles off the coast. For some reason, Max didn’t want me to rise out of the cargo hold in the middle of Mar del Plata Harbor.”
When the doors were closed, Gomez pulled back on the collective, and the helicopter rose into the air. As they flew east across the highway toward the Oregon and gained altitude, Juan looked south, where he could see the PIG racing down the road with the armored car in hot pursuit.
“Anytime it’s clear,” Eddie said to Raven over the intercom.
She waited until there weren’t any other cars within three hundred yards.
“Activating self-destruct,” she said. “That’ll do, PIG.”
The mortar rounds inside the PIG detonated. In combination with the fuel drums in back, it created an enormous fireball that engulfed the entire highway. The armored car careened off the road to avoid the explosion.
With a blast that huge, there would be little left of the truck, and certainly nothing to trace back to the Oregon. Still, it was a big price to pay for Juan’s freedom, and he couldn’t help but think of everything that Zachariah Tate had cost them already. He was sick of being on the defensive.
It was time to fight back.
35
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
Once he got back to his cabin aboard the Oregon, Juan took a long—very long—hot shower, a luxury he had even more appreciation for now after his night in the filthy cell. As he put on his leg and clothes in his bedroom, he heard a knock at the outer door. That would be Maurice with a late lunch specially prepared by Chef.
“Come in!” Juan called out.
He didn’t hear the door open, but the sound of dishes and glasses clinking on the table in his office/living room soon followed.
When he was dressed, he went out to see Maurice completing an immaculate setting for two.
“It’s a pleasure to have you back on the Oregon, Captain,” Maurice said. “I trust that you are on the mend.”
Juan touched the spot on his temple where Julia had put in four stitches.
“Just a little bump on the noggin,” he said. “Thanks for the meal. The jail I was in last night isn’t exactly Michelin-rated.”
“No, I suppose not. Chef has prepared filet mignon with béarnaise sauce, garlic scalloped potatoes, and Brussels sprouts in a blood orange balsamic reduction. I have taken the liberty of pairing it with a Château Montrose Bordeaux.” Maurice poured the decanted rich red wine into large crystal goblets.
Juan’s mouth began to water at the savory aroma wafting from the feast. “I trust your judgment implicitly, Maurice.”
“The feeling is mutual, Captain.”
That was about as gushing a compliment as Juan could ever expect from the unflappable steward.
There was another knock on the door, and Juan opened it to see Langston Overholt waiting outside.
“Lang, welcome to the Oregon,” Juan said, shaking his old mentor’s hand. “Please come in and join me for dinner to celebrate your first visit to the ship. Not the way I would have liked it to happen, of course.”
“Thank you,” Overholt said as he entered. “It smells delicious.” He glanced at the bottle in Maurice’s hand. “Château Montrose. Excellent choice. Is it the 2007?”
“It is the 2006, Mr. Overholt,” Maurice replied.
“It sounds like you two have met.”
“Not yet, actually,” Overholt said.
“I’m not surprised Maurice knows your name,” Juan said. “Not only is he the best steward on the Seven Seas, he’s also the most well-informed person on the ship.”
As the two older men shook hands, Maurice had an odd look on his face.
“Forgive me, sir, but haven’t we met?”
Overholt wore a similar expression of recognition. “You look familiar to me as well. For some reason, Admiral Beale of the Royal Navy comes to mind.”
Maurice nodded. “I served under Admiral Beale when he was captain of the HMS Invincible.”
“Yes, I remember now,” Overholt said. He turned to Juan and said, “This was long ago, back in my days as a field officer at the Agency. We brought a defecting KGB officer back to Maurice’s aircraft carrier, and the Royal Navy generously hosted us for a few days until we could get him back to America. I imagine Maurice and I were both at the start of our careers during that mission.” He turned back to Maurice. “I’d love to reminisce with you a little later over drinks. Not many people in our cohort left to remember the olden days.”
“I would be honored.” He looked at Juan. “Captain, please ring when you’d like me to remove your dishes.”
“Thanks, Maurice.”
The courtly steward picked up the silver tray and left as quietly as he had entered.
Juan and Overholt sat down and ate heartily, each of them recounting the events of the past two days.
When they were done with the recap, Juan brought up the theory about the sonic weapon that Julia had told him while she was suturing his wound.
“She thinks that the metal hull of the Oregon vibrated in a resonant frequency when this sonic device hit it, transmitting the signal throughout the ship and affecting the entire crew.”
“I’d say her theory’s correct given the immunity th
at Linda Ross seemed to have,” Overholt said.
“The question is, how do we fight a weapon like that? I can’t very well make my entire crew deaf.”
“What about earmuffs or -plugs?”
“It’s worth a shot, but Julia doesn’t think it would work. The harmonic tones could be infrasound, and the low frequencies aren’t as well blocked by hearing protection. The resonance might be carried by bone conduction, like our molar mics.”
“I know the U.S. military has done experiments along these lines, but no one has produced results anywhere near what your crew has experienced.”
Juan shook his head in frustration. “They tell me that they would have jumped overboard or destroyed the ship to escape their hallucinations. We got very lucky that Linda was unaffected. I don’t want to count on luck again, but if we don’t have an effective countermeasure, we’ll be at Tate’s mercy if we battle the Portland. There’s got to be some way to neutralize it.”
Overholt sat back and got a faraway look in his eye.
“Tate did let something slip while I was on board the Portland. He said they sank the Kansas City partially because someone aboard had critical knowledge he seemed to consider dangerous. I recall the exact quote because it seemed important. ‘That SEAL was too curious about his cousins’ deaths.’”
“So there was a Navy SEAL on the KC who Tate was so concerned about that he sank a nuclear sub to conceal it?”
“That seems to be the case. Could they still be alive?”
Juan considered that before saying, “Although it’s been more than ten days, it’s possible. If the hull wasn’t breached, there could be enough air for the crew to survive that long. I know bottoming tests on Los Angeles–class subs have shown crews can last up to two weeks with battery power and by burning emergency O2 candles.”
Marauder (The Oregon Files) Page 17