The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

“Maybe. But I can’t take that chance when we’re so close. If you keep digging, I’ll let you live. If you try anything, Hasim is to kill you without hesitation.” He glanced at the man on the machine gun, who nodded, and then turned back to Juan. “Do you understand?”

Juan backed up and picked up one of the shovels. “Of course.” Eddie and Linc followed his lead and lifted two more shovels. They started digging, joined by Nazari’s other soldier. Hasim stayed at his post behind the machine gun, his hands resting on the vertical spade grips, his thumb on the trigger.

Nazari and the other two soldiers got in Scorpion 1.

“I hate to point this out,” Eddie said, “but Nazari is taking our ride.”

“I noticed,” Juan said as he shoveled sand. “We’ll deal with that when we need to.”

The driver started the engine and took off, flinging sand behind the fat tires. In another minute, they were over the next dune and out of sight.

As they dug, Juan nodded his head in a rhythm only he could hear. After five minutes, he seemed to point and give instructions in English to Eddie and Linc about where to dig so that their captors wouldn’t realize they were having a conversation.

“We’ll give Nazari fifteen minutes to reach the escarpment and dismount,” he said. “That’s when we’ll make our move. Linc, you take out our digging companion. Eddie and I will rush the machine gun.”

Linc nodded and started digging in the spot that Juan had pointed to. “Do you think that’ll give us enough time to recover the nuclear cases?”

“Did you figure out Hodgin’s code?” Eddie asked.

Juan nodded in response to both questions. In his translation to Nazari, he’d left out one key note that Hodgin had recorded in his logbook. Linc and Eddie didn’t give any sign that Juan had skipped it, and he had committed the passage to memory.

March 15, 1429: If the Soviets are searching for us as well, they might find us before the Americans. I couldn’t leave the cases for them to find, so I buried them. Hard work, with no water and a bum leg. You’ll find them straight on from the Jimmy Durante for the number of blue paces in my suede shoes.

Hodgin knew that no Russian would recognize the American references. Jimmy Durante was a famous comedian and singer of the era known by the nickname “The Schnozzola” for his bulbous nose. Hodgin had buried the cases straight in front of the plane’s nose.

The number of paces to count off referred to Elvis Presley’s hit “Blue Suede Shoes.” Juan had played the song back in his head while he was digging and counted twenty-one mentions of the word blue. If he was right, twenty-one paces out was where they should dig.

“I’m glad you knew the song,” Linc said. “I’m more of a Marvin Gaye fan.”

“If it had been a Beatles song, I would have been all over it,” Eddie chimed in.

“That would have been about ten years too late,” Juan said. “Be ready for my signal.”

He waited another ten minutes to be sure Nazari was at the farthest point in his trek. The timing would be close, depending on how far down the cases had been buried. Given Hodgin’s feeble condition at the time, he couldn’t have dug very deep. They had to hope the same storm that exposed the aircraft hadn’t heaped more sand over the spot.

Juan speared his shovel into the sand and leaned back to stretch. He took the canteen from his belt and conspicuously drained it. He shook it out looking for more, then turned and started walking toward the Scorpion.

Hasim, the soldier at the machine gun, straightened at the movement toward him.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“To get more water.”

“Keep digging.”

Juan kept moving toward the dune buggy only forty feet away. “I’m thirsty.”

“I don’t care. You’ll get water when Nazari gets back.”

Thirty-five feet. The AK-47s were still lying on the hood of Scorpion 3.

“Stop! I will kill you and your men if you don’t.”

Juan picked up his pace. Thirty feet now.

The M2’s sight was squarely on Juan’s chest.

“Stop!”