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“Who are you?” she demanded.
He coughed and said, “Li Quon.”
“Are you going to tell me anything useful, Mr. Li, or should I shoot you now?”
She wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, but he didn’t know that. By the horrified looks on their faces, neither did Jefferson nor Vargas.
“Don’t shoot!” Li cried. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Where is the Portland?”
“It’s heading to the Oregon right now. Tate knows where it is.”
“We know that,” Linda said, shoving the rifle even closer to his nose. “How far away is it?”
“It’ll be there in less than an hour,” Li yammered, terrified. “Tate said there’s no way for the Oregon to escape.”
65
Juan stood on the ruined bridge of the Oregon and looked down at the battle scars riddling her deck. Charred and twisted metal bore witness to the damage she had survived. Despite the toppled crane, the blasted gaps in the hull, and the wreckage where he was standing, his ship still had life in her. To someone else, the blackened paint and misshapen steel might have looked ugly, but to Juan the blemishes were a testament to the reasons why he loved his home on the sea.
Footsteps stomped up the metal stairs to the bridge wing outside, and Juan smiled. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“She’s a tough old gal,” Max said. “Any other ship would have been at the bottom of Davy Jones’s locker by now.”
“The Oregon can take a lot of punishment, in large part thanks to you,” Juan said. “You designed a fine ship.”
Max sighed. “Which means I also designed the Portland. I never thought we’d be fighting against ourselves.”
“And now we’re fighting with both hands tied behind our backs. Tate’s ship is undamaged, and we’re about to face him with half an engine and minimal weapons. At least you got the maneuvering thrusters back online.”
The outlook hadn’t gotten any rosier when they’d received a brief call from Linda telling them that her team had defeated the assault on the Deepwater and that the Portland was on the way.
“We can still deliver a punch,” Max said. “The sub sitting on the bottom of this fjord is proof of that.”
Juan shook his head. “It’s not enough. Tate has torpedoes and missiles.”
“We’ve got the Gatling guns for defense, and Murph’s pseudo sonic disruptor has worked so far to deflect torpedoes.”
“Tate saw what happened the last time he used torpedoes. He’s too smart to make the same mistake twice. He’ll use umbilical wires to guide them in. We’ll be an easy target. And we can’t outrun him. I’ve looked at the map. He’ll easily catch us if we try to make a break for it.”
Max leaned against the railing next to him. “You sound pretty glum. I’ve never known you to give up. You’re not thinking of surrendering to Tate, are you?”
“If I thought surrendering would save the crew, I’d do it. But you’ve seen Tate’s MO. He won’t stop at killing me and sinking the ship. He’ll murder every single survivor of the battle, and then he’ll go back and finish off the Deepwater for good measure.”
“Then we go down fighting,” Max said resolutely. “Not a bad way to die.”
“I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone on the Oregon to die. That’s why there’s only one option.”
“Maurice didn’t like what you told him. And I bet I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.”
Juan pointed at the narrow gap in the peninsula separating them from the fjord’s entrance. Before he could say more, his phone buzzed. Even out this far in the middle of nowhere, he could get a signal from the shipwide network. He answered and put it on speaker.
“What’s going on, Hali?” he asked.
“I’ve got Linda on the line again.”
“Patch her through.”
