Final Option (Oregon Files 14)

The guard gave the ID back after a thorough review and said, “Vá para dentro.” Go inside.

Juan, who’d been studying Portuguese for the last six weeks in preparation for this mission, replied, “Obrigado.” He entered the warehouse and followed the men to the opposite side of the cavernous space holding goods and materials from Ricardo Ferreira’s factories all over Brazil.

They took a freight elevator two levels down. The doors opened to a broad tunnel that extended two hundred yards ahead of them. Juan trudged along, flexing his left arm. Just as Julia had said, other than a slight pull in his skin from the two puckered scars, it felt no different than before he’d been shot.

When they reached the end of the tunnel, they entered another elevator that was located under the seemingly abandoned cannery. Two stories up, the doors opened to reveal a vast, well-lit manufacturing plant.

The only product on the assembly line were dozens of Slipstream submarine drones. Juan had only seen a prototype on Ferreira’s yacht. Orders from drug dealers and smugglers had been so good that it had gone into full-scale production. The first finished copies were about to roll off the line.

Juan saw a palatial office overlooking the factory floor, and a man inside wearing a tailored suit was excitedly talking on his phone. The man turned, and Juan recognized him instantly as Ricardo Ferreira. He was alone.

Thanks to Calvo, Juan knew exactly where the stairs up to the office were. He peeled away from the other workers and headed down the hallway toward the stairs where a single guard was on duty. As soon as he was in the corridor, he took out a handkerchief and held it to his face like he had a bloody nose.

“Eu preciso do banheiro,” he said. I need the bathroom.

“The bathroom is on the other side of the building, idiota,” the guard replied in English and Portuguese mixed, pointing as he did so.

When his hand was up and away from his weapon, Juan elbowed him in the ribs and slammed the guard’s head against his knee. The man crumpled to the floor. He wouldn’t be out long, but it would be long enough.

Juan pocketed the guard’s semiautomatic pistol and looked at his watch. He went to the nearby fire exit, which was chained shut and alarmed. Juan swiftly picked the padlock and deactivated the alarm.

When he opened the door, four people clad in black combat gear and ski masks swarmed in. Each was armed with a suppressed AR-15 assault rifle. One of them also had a carbon fiber crossbow.

“Right on time,” Eddie said.

“Have any trouble?” Juan asked as they crept toward the stairs.

“A couple of guards are going to have headaches in the morning,” Linc said.

“And need ice packs for their groins,” Raven added, handing Juan a pair of handcuffs.

MacD held out his assault rifle to Juan, who said, “I’d prefer the crossbow this time.”

“Really?” MacD asked. “Ah can’t blame you. She’s a beauty.”

“I promise you I’ll give her back once we’re in the Gator.” Linda was currently idling at one of the vacant docks.

Once they were outside the foreman’s office, Juan said, “Give me sixty seconds. Then we’re out of here.”

He left them behind and bounded up the stairs. Ferreira must have felt secure in this building. There was no guard outside his office.

Juan burst in, and a surprised Ferreira stared at him in utter shock. Juan pointed the crossbow at his head.

“Quem é você?” Ferreira demanded indignantly.

“Who am I?” Juan answered in English. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“No.”

“I made a promise to Luis Machado. You knew him as Roberto Espinoza.”

Ferreira was confused for a moment. “That traitor? How did—”

While keeping his aim with the crossbow, Juan pulled the prosthetic appliances off his face. “He found out where this factory was. I told him I’d use the information to get you. So here I am.”

It finally dawned on Ferreira who Juan was. “Jorge González! You were there the day my yacht was attacked.”

“The same day you murdered Machado. And my name isn’t González. It’s Juan Cabrillo.”