The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

Juan looked right to see the familiar rusty bow that he knew so well racing toward the submarine.

Golov yelled for the sub to dive, but it was too late. The kinetic energy of eleven thousand tons of armored steel bore down on the relatively puny eight-man submarine. Golov screamed in terror and defeat as the bow of the Oregon hit the sub dead center.

It split in two as if it were cleaved by a butcher’s knife. The conning tower was crushed, pinning Golov inside the hatch. Water surged into the broken front half of the sub, pulling it down. Juan’s last sight of the Ukrainian ship captain was him flailing desperately as he was sucked down beneath the sea’s surface to a watery grave.

Max reestablished comms. “Juan . . . you there?”

“Still here, Max. Thanks for riding to the rescue.”

“Our pleasure. The old girl took a licking, but she came through it all right. Did we lose anyone?”

“Not yet, but some are in bad shape. Come and get us as soon as you can.”

“Hux is waiting in the boat garage with stretchers. We’ll be there in a minute.”

Juan felt a hand grasp his arm. He looked down and saw Gretchen’s eyes open, searching and confused.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “Where am I?”

Juan took her hand gently and knelt beside her. “We’re on a life raft. How are you feeling?”

“I can’t move my right leg.”

“You’ve been injured in an explosion, but Julia is on her way to take care of you.”

“Doesn’t hurt too much.”

Juan knew that wouldn’t last long. She was still in shock. The pain hadn’t hit her yet, but it soon would.

She looked at Eric, then MacD, before returning her gaze to Juan. “Did we . . . Did we stop them?”

“We sure did. You missed all the fun.”

Gretchen wheezed a hoarse laugh. “You call this fun?”

Juan shook his head and smiled at her. “I call this a typical day at the office.”

Epilogue

SIX WEEKS LATER

BORNHOLM ISLAND, BALTIC SEA

This kind of view must be why tourists flock to the island, Juan thought as he stood alone on the aft deck of the Oregon. The late-afternoon sun perfectly framed the scenic rocky coastline of the Danish island, situated halfway between Sweden and Poland. Gossamer wisps of clouds daubed the azure sky, and a light breeze lifted a pleasant salty tang from the sea. A lone gull noiselessly hovering over the fantail was his only company.

Soon the sound of the waves crashing against the nearby shoreline was punctured by the throb of helicopter blades pulsing in the air. The seagull banked away, making room for the Oregon’s MD 520N helicopter as it flared out over the ship’s landing pad. Gomez Adams grinned at him as he smoothly landed the unusual chopper, with its rotorless tail. The skids had barely kissed the deck when he killed the engine.

Juan walked over and opened the helicopter’s passenger door. Gretchen greeted him with a warm smile.

“Nice of you to send this first-class ride for me,” she said as she gingerly climbed down with Juan’s assistance. “Breathing outdoor air is a nice change after being cooped up in a hospital room for a month.”

When she had both feet firmly planted on the deck, she removed a brass-tipped cane from beside the seat while Juan grabbed her small suitcase.

“No more walker for you, I see,” he said, holding her arm as she hobbled off with him.

“My first full day with a cane. I felt like an old lady riding in those courtesy carts at the airport on the way here, but they do get you around fast.”

“I like it. Very sophisticated.”