Shadow Tyrants (Oregon Files 13)

Juan sat back and continued. “Let me tell you what I know, and then you can tell me what you know. Does that sound fair?”

More blinking from Tao. Maybe a little lip quivering.

“I’m glad you agree,” Juan said. “There’s an American government organization called NUMA, the National Underwater and Marine Agency. Ever heard of them? Doesn’t matter. NUMA was diving on a wreck in international waters near Novaya Zemlya, and you know what they found?”

“I don’t think he does,” Eddie said.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Juan replied. “If he knew how dangerous it was, he probably never would have put his greedy little hands on this job. There’s this stuff called Novichok. A Russian invention. Now, you may have never heard of it, but you probably have heard of VX nerve gas.”

That got a reaction. Tao furrowed his brow as Juan went on with his explanation.

“VX was thought to be the deadliest substance known to man. And it was, until we learned that Russia had created their own version, Novichok. It’s said to be ten times as lethal as VX. While VX is a colorless and odorless gas, Novichok is dispersed as a fine airborne powder. If one little speck touches your skin, you’re dead in less than a minute. Not an easy way to go, either. Your muscles seize up so tightly they tear themselves apart, paralyzing you while fluid fills your lungs. You literally drown without ever touching a drop of water.”

Finally, Tao spoke in a squeaky voice. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Remember that wreck NUMA found? It was supposedly carrying a load of Novichok when it went down. But the NUMA divers didn’t find it on the ship. They tracked it all the way to an abandoned warehouse in Nacala, Mozambique, which just happens to be your last port of call. A known assassin who goes by the name Rasul killed two Mozambique police officers who went into the warehouse. Before they died, they radioed that they’d found three containers inside. But after Rasul got away, all the police found was a single empty container labeled FARM MACHINERY. We are sure that you made a deal to put the other two on the Triton Star for a hefty payoff because a CIA officer photographed you with Rasul just before you set sail. That makes you a murder accomplice, as well as a trafficker in chemical weapons outlawed by the international community.”

Eddie shook his head in pity. “That sounds like death penalty kind of stuff right there.”

“In Mozambique, certainly. But before you go back, you’ll be taken to the rendition camp on Diego Garcia, which isn’t that far from here. I bet the CIA would love to have a chance to interrogate you and do a thorough search of your vessel before returning you to Mozambique for trial.”

The island of

Diego Garcia, now three hundred and fifty miles southeast of their current position, was America’s most remote Air Force and Navy base, serving as a staging area for Marine expeditionary forces and long-range bombers that could reach any nation in the Middle East. Its isolated location also made it the perfect place for sequestering terrorism suspects away from prying eyes. A destroyer carrying a hazmat team and CIA officers was on its way from the naval base to take possession of the Triton Star and her crew.

“We’re going to do this with or without your help,” Juan continued. “Now I can put in a good word with the CIA—”

Tao nodded vigorously. “Yes, I’ll take it.”

“You’ll take what?”

“The deal. I had no idea about that scary Novichok stuff, and I don’t want to go to prison. Besides, that guy Rasul is creepy. He’s a killer. You can see it in his eyes. What do you want to know?”

Juan looked at Eddie, who raised his brows in surprise. They both thought this would be harder.

“We’ve got a deal?” Tao asked with pleading eyes.

“I can’t promise you’ll get out of this completely free, but it’ll go much better if you cooperate.”

“Okay. Sounds good. By the way, the weapons were just for our protection. We weren’t going to hurt you and your men. I swear.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Juan said. “Now, where were you going before Kochi?”

“Jhootha Island.”

“Was that where the containers were going to be delivered?”

“Yes.”

“To whom?”

“I don’t know. We go there once a month. We tie up at a pier, unload a container or two, pick up some others, and leave. None of the crew ever leaves the ship, so I don’t know what the people on the island do with them. I’m just a deliveryman.”

Juan leaned toward him. “But you do know which containers they are.”

Tao nodded.

“You’re going to show us.”