The Silent Sea (Oregon Files 7)

“They were interested enough to reach out to the target,” General Espinoza said, more for his own benefit than his son’s. “Will they continue on or have they had enough?”

“If I may hazard a guess . . . The men were obviously soldiers. I think it’s most likely they came here to tell the target about his brothers as a military courtesy. A Band of Brothers type thing.”

“You believe they will drop it?”

“I think they will tell their superiors what happened tonight, and it will be they who decide to drop it.”

“Yes, that’s most likely how the military would act. There is no obvious threat to national security, so the soldiers will be told to stand down. Even if they want to pursue it, they will have their orders to let it go. This is good, Jorge, very good.”

“Thank you, sir. May I ask what this is all about?”

General Espinoza chuckled. “Even if we were alone together here at the house, I could not tell you. I am sorry. I can say that in a few days an alliance is going to be announced that will forever change the world’s balance of power, and, if I am correct about your find, you will have contributed to its success. I sent you to hunt a wild goose and it may yet turn out to lay a golden egg.”

His father wasn’t one to use such a frivolous turn of phrase, so Jorge took it as a sign of his happiness. Like any good son, he was especially proud when he could bring his father joy.

“See to your injured man,” the General continued, “and be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I am not sure if you will come back home or if you will have another mission. It all depends what we learn from the rubbing.” He paused to give weight to his following words. “I am proud of you, son.”

“Thank you, Father. It’s all I ever want you to be.” Espinoza hung up. He had more on his mind than simply waiting for orders. He wasn’t sure what the Americans had learned from the old man, but it wasn’t unreasonable to guess they might show up at his private island.

CABRILLO HAD ALWAYS HELD the belief that if you threw enough money at a problem, it would go away, and he figured getting to the bottom of the Treasure Pit should be no different.

He and Max spent two hours in the woods watching the cheery glow of the fire as James Ronish’s little ranch house burned to the ground. They waited that long to make sure the better-armed Argentines had left the area. Nothing remained of the house but a toppled chimney and smoldering ash piles that spat and hissed in the rain. As a parting gift, all four tires on their rented SUV had been shot out, forcing them to drive back to the motel on flats.

Before they could think about hot showers and beds, they had to cut up the tires to retrieve the bullets so when they brought the truck to a garage the mechanic wouldn’t report the incident to the police. They also smashed a headlight and keyed dozens of random lines into the glossy paint. Coming on the heels of such a fatal fire, it wouldn’t do to arouse any kind of suspicion in the sleepy little town. The truck looked like the victim of juvenile vandals.

It was this kind of attention to detail, no matter how minute, that made the Corporation such a success.

The next morning, while Max went to find a garage to get the truck repaired, muttering about ‘those damned kids these days,’ Juan set up a video conference with his brain trust. When he told Mark and Eric that he had no choice but to dive the Treasure Pit, they looked like they were ready to jump ship to join him.

“My question to you is: How do I do it? How do I duplicate what only the Ronish brothers managed to accomplish on the eve of World War Two?”

“Have you gone over the information you recovered from the Flying Dutchman?” Eric asked. Juan had caught them eating breakfast. Over Stone’s shoulder, Mark Murphy was munching on a banana. “They could have left a clue there.”

“I took a quick peek. Despite the protection, the paper is in pretty bad shape. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get anything off of it. Assume I can’t, and tell me what you two think. The pit has thwarted a number of attempts. You mentioned one that used some pretty high-tech solutions and yet they failed. What do you think the brothers figured out?”

Mark swallowed a mouthful of food, and said, “We know their first attempt ended in disaster, so obviously one of them learned something during the war that gave him the answer.”

“Which one?”

“I doubt the pilot. He was an observer on a blimp. I can’t imagine that kind of job giving him much inspiration.”

“So it’s either the Marine or the Army Ranger,” Juan said.

Mark leaned in toward the webcam. “Look, this is an engineering problem, hydrodynamics, stuff like that. The Marines faced some pretty tricky booby traps as they fought their way to Japan. My bet is, he saw something the Japanese had done and thought Pierre Devereaux had come up with it first.”

Eric looked at him crossways, and said what Cabrillo was about to. “You still think this is about an old pirate? There’s no way the Argentines would be this interested if the Treasure Pit turns out to be just that.”

Murph looked a little defensive. “What is it about, then?”

“Obviously, I can’t answer that question.” Eric turned back to Juan. “Do you have any ideas, Chairman?”

“Nothing. Ronish died before he could talk. And Max and I weren’t in any position to search his place. Come on, think. What did they figure out? How do we crack the Treasure Pit?”

Mark tapped his chin. “A device . . . a device . . . A booby trap . . . Something involving water . . . Hydrostatic pressure.”

“You have an idea?”

Murph didn’t answer because he didn’t have one. “Sorry, man. I’ve been so wrapped up in the history, I never really thought about the technology.”