The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

When the Oregon emerged from her refit, she actually looked worse than she had when she went in. But that only served the anonymity that Juan had desired.

It was underneath the skin where all the real work had been done. Stabilizing fins were added, and the frame was stiffened and fortified to withstand the stresses that would be placed on it by its cutting-edge power plant.

Her old diesels were gone, replaced by revolutionary new magnetohydrodynamic engines. Only a few vessels had ever been equipped with them. Four pulse jets were powered by supercooled magnets that stripped free electrons from seawater to produce practically unlimited electricity. Two thrust-vectored drive tubes focused the power, making the Oregon the fastest and most maneuverable ship in the world for her size.

Fiber optics and wiring throughout the ship allowed it to be upgraded on a regular basis with all of the latest technology and electronics, including high-definition closed-circuit cameras, encrypted satellite communications, centralized ship operations, and military-grade radar and sonar. A mighty IBM Vulcan supercomputer powered the Oregon’s network.

Her defensive and offensive capabilities were equally potent. Attacks could be carried out using Exocet antiship missiles and twin tubes that launched Russian-made Type 53-65 torpedoes, which had recently replaced its TEST-71s.

The ship’s vast array of guns were cleverly hidden by retractable hull plates. At the bow was a 120mm cannon like the one on an M1A1 Abrams

main battle tank. For defense against small vessels, missiles, and aircraft, the Oregon was armed with three General Electric 20mm Gatling guns, a Metal Storm electronically fired multibarreled-salvo array, and vertical launchers for surface-to-air missiles. A batch of remote-controlled .30 caliber machine guns could pop out of the deck oil barrels to repel boarders.

An MD 520N helicopter stored in the aft-most hold could be raised into position for takeoff on a hydraulic platform, while her two submarines could conduct covert missions by launching from the keel, where two huge underwater panels opened into a cavernous space in the center of the ship called the moon pool. At the waterline were the concealed doors of a boat garage that housed small craft, such as Zodiacs and a SEAL assault boat.

Should the need arise, as it sometimes did, the Oregon had a fully staffed medical bay with a sterile operating theater. The Magic Shop was the onboard facility where all of their made-to-order equipment, uniforms, disguises, and false identifications were created.

To attract a crew of the best and brightest in their fields, the accommodations were some of the most luxurious afloat. Chefs trained at the Cordon Bleu prepared gourmet meals made from the freshest ingredients. One of the ballast tanks doubled as a Carrara marble–lined Olympic-length swimming pool, in addition to the full-sized Jacuzzi and sauna.

Juan entered his cabin and office. Crew members were given generous allowances to decorate their quarters as they liked. Juan had recently updated his to a more sleek modern style. The feature he enjoyed most was the wall-mounted, 4K super-high-def LED screen that stretched the length of the cabin. Most of the time, like now, it showed the feed from an external camera. With the ships and harbor defined in crisp detail under the beautiful sunset, the illusion of a window was uncanny.

He called Max and Linda to come to his cabin in twenty minutes. After removing the fake nose and taking a quick shower to wash the grit off and the dye out of his hair, he changed into jeans and a linen shirt. As soon as he was dressed, there was a light knock on his door. He opened it to see Maurice, the chief steward, dressed in his impeccable suit and tie as usual. His left arm had a white linen napkin draped over it and held a covered silver tray. His timing was so spot-on that Juan sometimes wondered whether the dour Englishman had a camera in Juan’s cabin.

“Good evening, Captain,” Maurice said in his plummy British accent. As a veteran of the Royal Navy, Maurice insisted on using the nautical honorific rather than “Chairman,” which was what the rest of the crew called him as the head of the Corporation.

Juan waved him in and Maurice set the tray on his small dining table. Beneath the cover were a marinated rib eye, green beans, and potatoes O’Brien. Maurice poured steaming coffee from a china pot into one of the three cups. He even knew Linda and Max would be joining him.

“Thank you, Maurice. I hope you had a better day than I did.”

“That somewhat depends on whether we really did lose all of our money.” In addition to being the best steward on the high seas, Maurice had a nose for information. If Juan wanted the latest gossip on what was going on behind the scenes on the Oregon, Maurice was the first place he turned.

“That’s what I’m going to find out,” Juan said as he savored the Kenyan brew.

“I know you will, Captain.”

He slipped out of the room like a wraith a moment before Linda and Max appeared in the doorway.

“Come in,” Juan said. “Pour yourselves some coffee. Did you already eat?”

Max Hanley had been the first person Juan hired for the Corporation and its second-in-command as president. A former Vietnam War Swift Boat commander, Max was also the ship’s chief engineer and had helped design the Oregon, so he considered it his baby. Not only was he in charge of running the ship when Juan wasn’t on board but he was also Juan’s best friend. Though he was in his sixties, with gray licking at the red curls circling his balding head, Max seemed to have the attitude of a much younger man and was as cantankerous as ever.

“Chef fed me well tonight,” Max said.

“Well, I figured you ate,” Juan teased, looking pointedly at Max’s stomach. “I was asking Linda.”

“Are you kidding?” Max said. “She wolfed down more than I did.”

Juan raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

Linda Ross, the Corporation’s vice president of operations and third-in-command, was as lovely as a wood elf and about as small. Her cute, upturned nose and high-pitched, girlish voice might have kept her from getting promotions when she served in the Navy on an Aegis cruiser and as a Pentagon staffer, but Juan brought her on because she had no trouble putting that voice to use when she was barking out commands during battle. She’d earned the entire crew’s respect for her skill and discipline. But now that she was out of the military, she took advantage of the less stringent rules and frequently changed the color of her hair. Today, it was a vibrant silver, cut in a shaggy bob.

“Believe it,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I was starving.”

“Me, too,” Juan replied, taking a seat. “I hope you don’t mind if I eat while you fill me in. Tell me what happened.”

Linda and Max sat as well. Max sipped his coffee while Linda explained the events of the afternoon.

“Hali is a big Formula 1 fan, so he was keeping an eye on the race and saw the whole thing in real time.” Hali Kasim was their Lebanese American communications officer. “By the way, he said Langston Overholt will be calling in a few minutes. As far as they can tell, the Credit Condamine president, Henri Munier, sabotaged his own bank and then went on a rampage. He crashed through a barrier and destroyed several race cars before smashing into a pit garage and setting off a fuel tank. They’re still cleaning it up, but the latest news is seven dead and dozens injured. I’ll show you.”