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Tate smiled. He lifted the G36 and fired a burst of rounds at the security pad next to its door. On the Portland, the portal was designed to go into lockdown mode if the pad was tampered with. This one had just been tampered with big-time.
To be sure, Tate tested the handle. The door wouldn’t budge.
He didn’t know if Juan would be able to hear him through the soundproofing, so Tate pounded with the butt of his rifle.
“You hear that, Juan?” he shouted. “Sorry I had to do it this way. The Oregon will make a nice tomb for you!”
He heard nothing in response. Cabrillo would probably try to use an RPG to open the door, killing himself in the process, so it was time for Tate to make his exit, find a life raft, and figure out a way back to civilization.
Of course, he might be captured by the crew of the Oregon, if they were still around, but he’d gotten out of prisons tougher than anyplace they could take him. He still had millions hidden in offshore accounts, plenty to start rebuilding his life with. The important thing was, he’d finally gotten his revenge.
Tate turned the handle and pushed.
It wouldn’t open.
* * *
—
For Juan, going down to the armory was never about getting a weapon to fight Tate.
A few years back, Juan got tired of having to go through the noisy shooting range just to get to the armory, so he had a second door installed on the opposite side of the large room for easier access. He guessed Tate hadn’t gone to that trouble.
So when he heard Tate enter the range and fire his rifle, Juan had sprinted back behind him and keyed in his code for locking all fire doors on the ship, which included those to the shooting range and the armory.
Juan heard muted pounding, followed by rifle fire and bullets hammering the door. He activated the intercom to the range.
“You said you know this ship as well as I do, Tate. You’re obviously wrong. I thought you’d realize that this door is fireproof, waterproof, and bulletproof.”
“You coward!” Tate screamed. “That’s a cheap move, locking me in here!”
“Isn’t that what you were trying to do to me?”
“Come in here and fight me face-to-face. No weapons, just skill against skill. See who the better man really is.”
“I don’t have to fight you to know the answer to that.”
Juan desperately wanted to punch Tate in the face for what he had been made to do, for sinking his ship, but this was his best chance to survive. The Oregon was saving Juan’s life one last time.
Freezing water rushed up the sloping corridor and rapidly covered his feet. The irony was not lost on Juan that Tate was going to go down in the very ship he had promised to sink.
“Time to leave now,” Juan said. “It’s been fun seeing you again, Tate.”
He clicked the intercom off before Tate could respond. No reason to let him have the last word.
Juan sloshed through the water toward the stairs as the Oregon tilted ever higher.
74
Juan had to stay dry as long as possible. His toes were going numb from their brief dip in the water that was quickly devouring the Oregon.
Every second, the floor’s incline was increasing, making it difficult for him to make his way up the stairs. At the same time, the ship was sinking faster and faster, and it felt like the flood was chasing him with each step.
He hauled himself up the stairway by clasping the railing with his good arm and wedging his boots against the wall, as if he were scaling a steep cliff.
By the time he reached topside, behind the superstructure, the Oregon was sloped at an acute angle, and half of the ship had been engulfed by the water. He climbed over to the railing and used the chains on it to pull himself toward the stern.
When Juan was within a hundred feet of the fantail, the unnatural torque at the base of the aftmost crane caused it to collapse. The steel girders smashed into the superstructure, and the boom crashed into the gunwales just behind him, sweeping down the deck until it plummeted into the sea.
