When he reached the surface, he looked around and saw the cupola of the Gator twenty feet away. Gomez was looking out at him
with concern.
Juan swiveled around and saw Machado’s head bobbing above the water, but he didn’t see Eddie. With two powerful strokes, he was next to Machado.
“Have you seen Eddie?” Juan asked him.
Machado didn’t answer. Juan tapped him on the shoulder.
“Machado?”
Eddie broke the surface on the other side of Machado. He blew out some water and said, “He was hit as we went over.”
Juan grabbed Machado by the shoulders and turned him. There was a bullet hole in his chest. He was blinking in shock, his face drained of color.
Juan immediately looped his arm under Machado’s shoulder and began hauling him backward toward the Gator.
“Stay with me, Luis,” Juan said.
Two guards appeared at the railing of the yacht. As they took aim, they shuddered from the impact of automatic fire. Juan glanced behind him to see Murph shooting an assault rifle with a grim determination.
Without the weight of Machado to slow him down, Eddie reached the Gator first. He climbed aboard, then pulled Machado up when Juan was beside the sub. While Murph covered them, Juan bounded onto the Gator, and they lowered Machado’s still form through the hatch.
Juan took the assault rifle from Murph and trained it on the Dragão while Eddie and Murph got in. He heard Ferreira shouting for his men to shoot at the sub, but no one appeared at the railing before Juan dove into the hatch and closed it behind him.
“Submerge now!” he yelled to Gomez.
“Submerging, aye,” Gomez replied.
As they descended, Juan could hear bullets pinging against the hull, slowed just enough by the water covering the Gator so that none of them penetrated, although one of them cracked a cupola window.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Linda lying on her back, but Machado was his first priority. Eddie had opened the medical kit and handed him some gauze compresses.
Juan ripped open Machado’s shirt and checked his back. No exit wound. The bullet had missed his heart, but not by much. Blood poured from his chest. His breathing was shallow and gurgling from the damage to his lungs.
Juan pressed the gauze against Machado’s chest to stanch the flow of blood, but he couldn’t do anything about the internal bleeding. They had to get him to the Oregon’s medical bay as soon as possible.
“Gomez, set course for the Oregon at top speed.”
“Heading that way, Chairman.”
“And alert Doc Huxley to be ready for casualties.”
“She’s prepped and standing by.”
Machado grabbed Juan’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip.
“Password,” he croaked. Blood trickled from his lips.
“Easy, Luis,” Juan said. “We’re going to get you some help.”
Machado shook his head. “J . . . Two . . . Seven . . . Y . . .” He paused to catch his breath, then continued, “Five . . . Nine . . . Z . . . Eight . . .”
His hand dropped from Juan’s arm and reached into his pants pocket. He took something out and pressed it into Juan’s hands.
It was a sealed plastic baggie. Inside was a USB memory stick.
“Use it . . . to stop . . . Ferreira . . .”