Final Option (Oregon Files 14)

“Just nasty memories,” Juan replied. “We were trying to acquire some information about an impending terrorist attack in Moscow that would have targeted the U.S. embassy. The plotters were Chechen separatists, and we’d tracked their origin to a tiny village in the Caucasus Mountains. According to our intel, the attack was only hours away, so we needed to find out who they were and where they were hiding in Moscow. Hundreds of lives were at stake.”

Juan swallowed hard as he thought back to that day.

“We had one of the terrorists tied up in a farmhouse,” Juan continued, “but he wasn’t talking. His family—wife, sister, and three children, all under ten—were in the next room. I left to follow a lead on his partner somewhere else in the village. Looking back, it was obvious that I shouldn’t have left Tate alone with them. He had a look in his eye, a complete lack of compassion. I thought he was simply pushing aside his emotions like I was. But the emotions simply weren’t there, except for excitement about what he was planning.”

Max had a stricken look. He knew what was coming.

“I had a gunfight with the second terrorist,” Juan said. “He died, so I got no more information. When I returned to the farmhouse, I found Tate outside with the terrorist, who was on the ground crying. The house was going up in flames.”

“Tate had set it on fire?”

Juan nodded. “He was smiling, actually grinning ear to ear. He said he got the terrorist to tell him the location of the hideout in Moscow, already bragging about the promotion he’d get for stopping the attack.”

“He burned up the guy’s family?”

“He locked them inside and threatened to torch the house to get the man to talk. The terrorist didn’t believe him until he tossed in a gas can with a lit rag stuck in it.”

Max shook his head in disgust. “He murdered five innocent people.”

“No, one. I wanted to go in to save them, but Tate wouldn’t give me the key. And it was a heavy oak door, so they would have burned alive before I could break it down. Tate said the terrorist was getting what he deserved. So I shot Tate in the leg and took the key from him. He called me a traitor, and every other name you could think of. I was able to get the three kids and the sister out, but I couldn’t reach the mother.”

“I never heard about an embassy bombing in Moscow. You obviously stopped the attack.”

“We did, but not because of the information the terrorist gave Tate. Turns out the guy was lying. The info about the hideout was actually in a notebook he’d hidden in the pocket of the youngest child.”

“Which you wouldn’t have gotten with Tate’s methods.”

“I later found out that Tate had done similar things before in his career to get ahead.” Juan took a breath. “When I got out of the house with the last child, Tate was gone. He took our SUV and fled with the terrorist, leaving me to hike for two days through the forest to my rendezvous. Tate got caught at a roadblock because one of the rebel soldiers noticed the blood on his pants from the gunshot wound. They threw him in prison, and the CIA had to disavow his status as an agent.”

“I can see why he hates you,” Max said, “but I’m glad to know we don’t have someone like that on our side anymore. You did the right thing, as usual.”

“Yes, but not soon enough. I thought that was all in my past. I received a report from Langley three years ago that Tate was killed in prison by another inmate.”

“That must have been when he escaped,” Max said.

Juan nodded. “It appears that he faked his death and that he’s been planning his revenge ever since.”

“Including building the doppelgänger Oregon.”

“I guess he got to Vladivostok before we did and found the blueprints.” The Russian shipyard was where the Oregon was constructed with the help of a corrupt Navy admiral. Juan and his team went back later when they realized a secret copy of the ship schematics were still in storage there and shredded them.

“Where do you think Tate had the Portland built?” Max asked.

“I’ll ask him.” Juan opened the door. “I better get to the Magic Shop. See you later.”

He left Max mumbling sarcastically, “‘I’ll ask him,’ he says . . .”

If a mission required any specialized gadgets, disguises, or false credentials, the Magic Shop was where they were created. It was run by Kevin Nixon, an award-winning Hollywood special effects and makeup artist who left show business behind to join the fight against terror after losing his sister in an attack. The CIA was his first choice until the Corporation came calling. Juan was glad he’d been able to snag Kevin because he was also the person who designed all of the clever versions of Juan’s prosthetic legs.

When Juan got there, Kevin was rummaging through the extensive racks of clothing, which included military uniforms from around the world. If Kevin didn’t have something in stock, his team had everything they needed to tailor it from scratch.

“Did you find a match?” Juan asked.

Kevin poked his head out of a wardrobe full of suits. He had a slim face and thick brown beard, and the stick end of a lollipop stuck out of his mouth. When he saw Juan, he pushed his way through, triumphantly holding up a gray Armani suit and red tie.

“This close enough, Chairman?” Kevin asked.

Juan squinted at the suit and