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Juan forced a grin. “It’s my fatal flaw.”
“And it’s your biggest strength. That’s why Tate is going to lose.”
“Fingers crossed. Give my best to Julia. We’ve both been too busy in the last few hours to see each other.”
“I will.” Max unexpectedly wrapped Juan in a bear hug.
“I’ll be seeing you, old friend,” Juan said.
“In this life or the next, brother,” Max replied.
Max pushed him back and took one last look before he turned away to finish prepping the submersible.
Juan left the moon pool and headed toward the stern, pausing only to retrieve a small box from his cabin. He didn’t run into a single person as he navigated the bare corridors. With everyone leaving, the ship felt decidedly hollow.
He climbed the stairs and emerged on the afterdeck. He was confronted with the empty helicopter pad, where Gomez’s chopper should have been, and hoped the pilot had made it somehow.
Juan walked to the very end of the fantail and saw the second of the lifeboats motoring away from the ship. He saluted the faces looking up at him and received melancholy waves in return.
The jackstaff was currently displaying the national flag of Iran. To keep a low profile, the Oregon often flew the banner of a rogue country like Iran, Syria, or Myanmar, or sometimes one signifying more of a mainstream registration, such as Panama or Liberia. It was done to better keep the ship’s true registry hidden.
But there was one flag that had never before been raised on the Oregon.
Juan lowered the Iranian flag and tossed it in the sea. He opened the box he was carrying to reveal another, folded flag, its blue field with white stars crisp and clean.
He carefully unfolded it, making sure that it didn’t touch the deck, and lashed it to the line. With sure hands, he ran it up the pole until the stars and stripes of the U.S. flag fluttered in the light breeze.
Juan heard a distant cheer erupt from the previously gloomy crew on the lifeboats, and he pumped a fist in the air as a response.
If he was going to go down with his ship, Juan wanted to do it in service of his country.
Even though she was gravely wounded, the Oregon still had some fight left in her, but there was no reason for anyone else to pay for Tate’s homicidal revenge plot. Thanks to Murph, Juan could operate the ship by himself for this one last task.
He was going to ram the Portland with the Oregon.
68
Tate was still seething over his call with Cabrillo, but he had the Oregon right where he wanted her. She was still in the same place near the beach with the penguins. She hadn’t moved in the last half hour.
In his mind’s eye, Tate had a vision of the Oregon’s demise. From the safety of the bend in the fjord, he would plant two torpedoes in her port side, where she had the most damage. Big, beautiful geysers of water would shoot into the sky, and the Oregon would be rocked by the explosions. She would start listing immediately as water gushed into the gaping holes.
Then Tate would have the Portland come around the bend so he could see the ship’s misery with high-definition cameras. He would launch every Exocet he had and watch the Oregon try to shoot them down. At the same time, he’d order his 120mm cannon and the Gatling guns to unleash their fury on the ship. Anyone caught on deck trying to escape would be cut to ribbons.
Finally, the Oregon, by this point an utter ruin, would turn turtle and break in half. She would suffer the disgrace of sinking keel up. Then after mopping up any survivors, Tate would head back to the Deepwater and destroy her as well.
His only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to force Cabrillo to watch with him. Tate woul
d try to call him, perhaps make him beg for mercy, but he doubted his old friend would answer. It didn’t really matter. Cabrillo would know that he’d been beaten. Tate had to be satisfied with that.
“We’ve reached the fjord’s entrance,” Farouk said. “Should I send up a drone to verify their position?”
“And risk them spotting it?” Tate asked. “Do you think we should let Juan know we’ve arrived just to strike a little terror in him?”
Farouk looked horrified. “I didn’t think of that.”
“You may be a brilliant engineer, Farouk,” Tate said. “But you’re a moron when it comes to tactics. Of course we’re not going to announce that we’re here. He’ll know the moment our torpedoes have dealt a killing blow to his beloved ship.”
He took one more look at the stationary Oregon on-screen and said to the helmsman, “It’s time to party. Make the turn.”
