Piranha (Oregon Files 10)

“ETA to Isla Caraca del Oeste?”

“Thirty-two minutes.”

“Cutting it close, aren’t we?”

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.”

The Oregon could easily evade the frigate, if Juan gave the order. Instead of typical diesels, revolutionary magnetohydrodynamic engines provided the power via a pair of gigantic tubes that ran the length of the ship. Magnetic coils interacted with the free electrons in the seawater to accelerate it through the tubes. With the ability to thrust water like air through a jet engine forward or backward with equal force, the Oregon could not only accelerate like a dragster and stop like it had slammed into the Rock of Gibraltar, but she could also outrun virtually anything on the ocean slower than a cigarette boat. Venturi nozzles made it possible for the ship to turn on its own axis, and because she got her energy by stripping free electrons from the water, no diesel engine or fuel tanks were required. Her range was essentially limitless.

Juan smiled. “Steady as she goes. What about the Sorocaima?”

“They had a few hiccups, but the bacteria were successfully injected into the tanks. Only one small casualty. Mike Trono has a busted hand, but Linda says a few aspirin will hold him until we pick them up. I’ve already let Julia know.”

Juan had no doubt that Julia Huxley, the Oregon’s medical officer and a former U.S. Navy doctor, would be able to get Mike back on operational duty in no time. It wouldn’t present a problem on a ship equipped with a hospital-grade trauma unit and operating room.

Juan glanced at the helm and weapons control, the stations closest to the forward bulkhead and just below the enormous front screen. They were occupied by other Corporation members instead of Eric Stone and Mark Murphy, who were away on their own mission. With Linda gone as well, Max at engineering and Hali Kasim at communications were the only senior officers staffing the op center.

“Are Eric and Murph finished?” Juan asked.

“They’ve got everything in place and are headed our way on the RHIB. We should rendezvous with them in ten minutes.”

The rigid-hulled inflatable boat, the same type used by Navy SEALs, had a metal hull flanked by inflatable tubes, making it as seaworthy as Styrofoam. Eric had served in the Navy in research and development rather than a blue-water assignment, but since joining the Corporation he had become an expert helmsman, ranking just below Juan in his ship-handling prowess. He would be leaning on the throttle to get the RHIB back aboard the Oregon.

“Then I think we’ve kept our caller waiting long enough,” Juan said. “Mr. Kasim, hail our Venezuelan friends.”

After a few moments, Hali said, “You’re on the line with Captain Escobar.”

Juan switched to his Buck Holland drawl. “Captain Escobar, this is Buck Holland, captain of the Dolos,” he said in cheery greeting. “What can I do for you?”

“I order you to halt at once,” a heavily accented voice replied. “You and your crew will be placed under arrest and charged with espionage and sabotage, and your vessel will be impounded.”

“Those are some serious charges. What’s your proof?”

“Your crew has assaulted our harbor police, and you stole a tank, destroying a ship and dock in the process.”

“Oh, those were just misunderstandings.”

Escobar was practically apoplectic at Juan’s cheeky insolence. “‘Misunderstandings’? You will be lucky if you are not shot for your crimes, you piece of scum.”

“Now, there’s no need for name-calling.”

“You will stop your ship immediately.”

“Why should I do something like that?”

“Because if you do not comply, we will blow you out of the water.”

“Hmm. Arrest or destruction. Neither of those choices sounds very appealing. I’ll take what’s behind door number three.”

“What?”

“Don’t you have game shows down in these parts?”

“I don’t—”

The line went dead for a second before a woman spoke, staccato and more commanding than Escobar.

“Captain, drop the charade,” she said with only a hint of an accent. “I know that you are responsible for what happened at the warehouse.”