Mirage (Oregon Files 9)

“Captain Ramon Esteban.”

“Master Chief Davies has already filled us in on what you’ve accomplished. Damn fine piece of work, Captain.”

“I loved the Poseidon Adventure as a boy,” Juan said with a disarming shrug. “I never thought I would live it.”

“You said this was caused by a rogue wave?”

“Yes, we experienced it ourselves. A real monster that came out of nowhere. We were bow on to it, but I suspect this vessel took it broadside.”

“Strange, because we’ve contacted local shipping and no one reported any rogue waves.”

Cabrillo lightly tapped the hull with his boot. “I think this is evidence enough, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Coasties began loading litters with the worst injured into the inflatables for the quick ride back to the cutter. The rest of the survivors, cold and miserable, waited their turn on the shrinking hulk. Each minute saw the ocean eat up another few inches of deck space as the derelict continued to sink. Cabrillo’s mind flashed to the painting of the survivors of the wreck of the Medusa as they huddled on their raft while it sank. If Taggard didn’t speed up his rescue, he saw the same thing playing out here.

It took two more trips to evacuate the rest of the survivors. As they’d worked out earlier, the Emir gushed over Cabrillo’s heroism and vowed to make him a rich man for saving his life. Cabrillo in turn acted the hardened sea veteran and said it was his duty and could not take financial reward for doing the right thing. This was all played out for the Coast Guard’s benefit, and it seemed that Taggard bought the act. He didn’t ask to board the Oregon or ask many questions about her at all. He had what he needed for his report, and though he couldn’t promise the names Xanadu or Ramon Esteban wouldn’t reach the media, he intimated that their role in the rescue would be downplayed. Budget battles loomed, and an operation like this made his service look good in the eyes of Washington.

The two shook hands, and while the Coasties returned to their cutter, Cabrillo and his team returned to the Oregon. The “problem” with the davit had been rectified and the lifeboat was secured once again. They made a show of lugging their little inflatable up the lowered boarding stairs and stowing it on the cluttered deck. No sooner were they aboard than Max had them moving off deeper into the storm, keeping track with their stated destination of Nassau, the Bahamas. He kept to the course and a speed of just twelve knots until the threat detection gear showed they had steamed beyond the cutter’s effective radar range.

Only then could they go after the stealth ship being pursued by MacD and Eddie in the RHIB. Cabrillo was still in the shower when he felt the engines spool up and the ship begin to pour on the power. They’d lost several hours on their target, and it felt as though Max intended on making it up as fast as possible. Ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and a Norwegian roll-neck sweater, Cabrillo entered the op center.

“How are our boys?” he asked, taking his command seat.

“Still in pursuit,” Max replied.

“What’s their fuel status?”

“If we can maintain forty knots, we’ll reach them when they still have an hour’s reserve.”

“That’s a bit tighter than I like,” Juan remarked. “If we’re delayed, they’ll need to break off the chase so they don’t run out.”

“Not much we can do about that,” Hanley said. “Coasties took their time reaching the wreck. Could’ve been worse if they’d wanted to board us and go over our papers.”

Juan didn’t reply. What so concerned him was that in these seas, his men needed to keep headway in the RHIB to avoid being swamped by a wave. If their fuel load dropped to a certain point, they would need to slow down to stretch out their time under power. That meant letting the stealth ship escape.

Over the next hours, Cabrillo sat wordlessly drinking coffee while the plot showing the Oregon’s position and the blip representing the RHIB according to its locator drew closer and closer. Because they didn’t know their quarry’s capabilities, they were maintaining strict radio silence. Juan was relieved by the fact that they were maintaining a steady southeasterly course. The RHIB hadn’t deviated more than a couple of degrees since the chase had begun nor had it changed speed. They’d also maintained a steady fifteen knots.

It was well past dusk when they had closed to within twenty miles of the RHIB and thus about twenty-one from the stealth ship. Juan judged they were close enough to have MacD and Eddie break off and return to the Oregon. He knew where his target would be over the next hour and wanted to be in a position to do something about it.

“Hali, open a line to Eddie.”

Hali Kasim, at the communications station, had been waiting for this for hours and had a channel open in seconds.

“Time to head home,” Juan said over the link. “Reverse course. Eighteen.”

Eddie Seng clicked his radio in response and knew to turn back and expect to find the Oregon eighteen miles away.

Because he was no longer shadowing the slow stealth ship, Eddie would doubtlessly firewall the RHIB’s twin outboards so the two vessels would have a closing speed in excess of eighty knots. The Chairman called down to the boat garage to inform them that the RHIB was inbound and should be off their beam in less than fifteen minutes.

It actually was just ten, but because the Oregon had to come to an almost complete stop in order for the RHIB to enter the hull, it was seventeen minutes until Juan could give the order for full speed again. Only, this time, he took the Oregon on a wide arc around their target so when they finally approached, it would seem that they were coming from the east and not like they’d been trailing the rogue vessel.

Linda Ross finally sauntered into the op center, looking none the worse for her adventures.

“How are you doing?” Juan asked with genuine concern.

“Doc says I’m fine, and who am I to argue? Where do we stand?”