The Silent Sea (Oregon Files 7)

Linc had given the point position to him so that once they reached the Nomad, Eddie could go directly to the cockpit without having to climb over their guests.

The guard had his back turned when Eddie saw him. In the distance, he could see where the white ground gave way to the black ocean. The pier was less than a hundred yards away.

Sensing more than hearing anything, the soldier spun in place, his weapon held ready. “Jaguar,” he challenged.

“Capybara,” Eddie returned.

The soldier asked a question. Seng spoke no Spanish, and realized Linc should have stayed on point. Eddie cupped his glove to his hood as if to say he didn’t hear the question. Ignoring Seng’s pantomime, the sentry moved closer to look at the people with him. Though they were shapeless under the heavy parkas, there was no disguising that three of them were much shorter than average. Short enough to be women, something the complex had none of.

He went straight for the blonde, whose name was Sue, and pushed back her hood to reveal her cherubic face. He whipped up his H&K and aimed it point-blank between her eyes. No one would ever know if he intended to fire. Linc dropped him with a three-round burst.

In a fit of inspiration, Eddie raised his own machine pistol and loosed an entire magazine into the air. The soldiers were nervous, had no information about what was going on, and had doubtlessly been told since their arrival that American commandos would be hitting them any day. Even the most seasoned veteran would be panicky right about now, so a moment after Eddie’s burst some young recruit on the other side of the base saw a shadow he was certain was a Green Beret and opened fire. Like opening a flood-gate, men began shooting indiscriminately, the chatter of autofire rising above the roar of the burning gas plant and the shriek of the wind.

Linc got it immediately. He toed the corpse. “This poor sap got hit by his own guys.”

“That’s how it’ll read. I’ll be surprised if they actually don’t shoot a few of their own themselves.”

They took off again and made it to the dock moments later. The gunfire didn’t let up one bit, which worked to their advantage right until the instant a stray bullet caught one of the scientists in the leg. He crashed to the ground, clutching at the wound and moaning.

It wasn’t a life-threatening wound, at least at that moment, so Linc picked him off the snow and threw him over his shoulder with barely a break in stride.

The Nomad had drifted a bit out from under the dock, so Eddie had to haul it back on its line. He jumped aboard and opened the hatch.

“Juan?” he called, even as he lowered himself into the craft. The Chairman wasn’t back yet.

“Eddie,” Linc said from the top of the hull. “Help me here.”

The former SEAL lowered the injured man through the hatch. His pant leg was stained with blood, and more of it dripped from the wound. His femoral artery had been nicked. He laid the injured scientist on one of the padded benches and was about to get to work on the wound when another of the prisoners leapt down into the submersible and shouldered him aside.

“I’m a doctor.”

Eddie didn’t need to hear anything further. He scrambled forward to the cockpit and threw himself into the pilot’s seat.

“Max, can you hear me?” he said into his mike, while he got busy prepping the sub for its return to the Oregon.

“Any sign of Juan?” Hanley asked.

“No. We’re loading onto the Nomad now. He isn’t here.”

The silence stretched to fifteen seconds. Twenty. Max finally asked, “How long do you think you can hang there?”

“I don’t think at all. One of the scientists was shot. Looks like he could bleed out. He needs to be in the OR as fast as we can get him there.” Whenever there was a mission under way, Dr. Huxley and her staff were standing by in Medical ready to treat anything that came their way.

Eddie glanced over and down the length of the submersible. Already the bench seats were full, and people were starting to sit on each other’s laps. It didn’t help that the wounded man took up four places while the doctor worked to save his life. They remained quiet, but all of them threw smiles Eddie’s way when they caught his eye.

“Doc,” Eddie called. “It’s going to take a half hour to reach our ship, but there’s a level-one trauma team standing by. What are his chances? Another man’s life might depend on your answer.”

The physician, a Norwegian on sabbatical down there in Antarctica because of his thirst for adventure, took his time and considered all the variables. “If it is as you say, this man will live if we leave in the next five minutes.”

Eddie turned back to his radio. “Max, I can give Juan ten minutes, then we have to go.” He figured the doctor would have given himself a little cushion.

“Every second you can spare. You hear me? Every second.”

Twelve minutes later, the sub sank into the black waters of the bay.

Cabrillo hadn’t shown.

TWENTY-NINE