The Silent Sea (Oregon Files 7)

“I don’t like it,” Hanley said when Juan was finished.

“Not much of a choice. We won’t get within ten feet of those scientists otherwise.”

“Okay. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Get as close to the jail as you can,” Cabrillo told the other two men with him, “and wait for my signal.”

They exited the submersible together, Linc and Eddie each taking one of the waterproof bags in tow. They had to crawl on their bellies and move inches at a time, not to attract attention. It would take twenty minutes for them to just reach the temporary prison.

Juan went in the opposite direction. The wind tore at his clothing and made each pace a struggle. It would come at his face and then reverse itself and send him staggering. His scarf drooped, and it was like his skin had been splashed with lye.

He had to time his movements for when the Argentines were turned away from him. The wind did provide one thing of use. Most of the soldiers moved with their backs toward it, giving Cabrillo a chance to cover more ground when the gusts became constant.

Visibility remained dismal, and he almost blundered on one soldier who stood in the lee of a bulldozer. He froze, no more than five feet from the sentry. The man was in profile. He was close enough to see the fur trimming around his hood whipping furiously. Juan backed up a step, and then another, but froze once again when a second guard approached.

“Jaguar,” the first guard called out when he saw his comrade.

“Capybara,” the second responded.

These were their recognition codes. Juan smiled tightly. That was an intelligence coup. When he had cleared around the duo, he radioed that information to Eddie and Linc in case they were challenged.

From here on, Juan moved more swiftly, and when he came up on a guard the man turned on him sharply, his gun not at the ready but raised in an aggressive manner.

“Jaguar.”

“Capybara,” Cabrillo said confidently. The other man lowered his machine pistol.

“The only thing that makes this worthwhile,” the guard said, “is knowing that the Major is out here with us and not warm inside.”

“He’s never one to ask us to do something he wouldn’t.” Juan had no idea if this was true, but he’d seen enough of Espinoza to think he wasn’t a lead-from-the-rear kind of soldier.

“I guess. Stay warm.” The soldier moved on.

Juan kept going. Ten minutes and three cold and bored guards later, he reached the gas-processing building. “I’m here,” he called to his men. “Where are you?”

“We’re still shy of our target,” Linc said. “It’s like Rio during Carnival out here, there’s so many people.”

“Max, are you ready?”

“Ballast is pumped clear and the engines are purring sweetly.”

“Okay. Stand by.”

Juan opened the plant’s personnel door next to the giant overhead door and moved into the entry vestibule. He was challenged by a guard instantly. “Caiman.”

Cabrillo swallowed. They had different code words for when someone came into a building. He mentally cursed Jorge Espinoza’s foresight, as he frantically ran though the names of all the native South American animals he could remember. Llama. Boa. Anaconda. Um, Sloth. From there, he drew a blank.

A half second had passed, and the sentry was about to become suspicious. Capybara is to Jaguar as what is to a Caiman? Predator and prey. Caimans eat fish. It’s a fish. Which one? He said the only one he could think of. “Piranha.”

The soldier lowered his weapon, and it took all of Cabrillo’s self-control not to show his relief.

“You know you aren’t supposed to be in here.”

“Just for a second. I need to warm up a little.”

“Sorry. You know the Major’s orders.”

“Come on, man. It’s not like he’s around right now.”