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“Actually, you don’t,” Julia said. “The bullet missed the bone. So all we’ll do is wash and dress the wounds regularly. Stitches would just keep foreign contaminants from draining. You should be good as new in a couple of months.”
Julia handed Juan a cup of water. He was parched from inhaling so much seawater and gulped it down.
“How’s the crew?” he asked Max.
“Everyone’s safe and accounted for. We even found Gomez.”
Juan dreaded asking the next question. “Alive?”
“Oh, yeah,” Max said. “Sorry I didn’t mention that part. He sent up a flare, and the Deepwater homed in on it with a short-range drone. Seems he crash-landed as pretty as a picture on a glacier. Eddie and Linc were able to fly down from the ridge above us through a break in the fog, and they’re on the way there now in the Gator with the Hoverbike so they can retrieve him.”
“Any survivors from the Portland?”
Max shook his head. “Seems like the only person on that side who got out of this alive was Li Quon. Linda has him under lock and key on the Deepwater. Apparently, the authorities in Singapore will be very happy to get their hands on him.”
“And the valuables? Did Maurice get them out?”
“I did indeed, Captain,” said a soothing British voice behind Juan.
Juan edged around to look at the rest of the Nomad’s cabin and saw Maurice and Overholt sitting beside a large pile of boxes and a dozen rolled-up paintings.
“Good to see you back from the brink, Juan,” Overholt said.
“Glad to be here. Thanks for your help, Maurice. I knew I could count on you.”
“Although I didn’t relish the implications of the task you gave me,” Maurice said, “it was the proper thing to do. We couldn’t let the Oregon go down without rescuing our dearest possessions. Mr. Overholt and I were able to collect the Corporation’s valuables from your safe, as well as the most important mementos from the crew’s cabins. We also salvaged all of the artwork on board.”
Maurice knew more about the ship and the people on it than anyone else, so he had been the perfect person for the job.
“Good work,” Juan said. “I’m sure the crew will be appreciative.”
“Speaking of which, there they are,” Max said, pointing out the cockpit window. The two Oregon lifeboats bobbed twenty yards away. “Captain Jefferson thinks the Deepwater’s engines can be fixed by tomorrow morning. Once they’re up and running, they’ll swing by, pick up the rest of us, and tow all the vessels back to Punta Arenas.”
Juan nodded with admiration for the pluck and resourcefulness of his crew. Although the Oregon had been sunk, they’d saved what really mattered. Each other.
* * *
—
I’m sorry you lost your home,” Overholt said.
Juan almost replied, “There’s never been a ship like her,” but thought about her doppelgänger and stopped himself.
“The Oregon was a good ship,” he said with a bittersweet smile and a hollow pit in his stomach. “I sure will miss the old gal.”
EPILOGUE
RIO DE JANEIRO
TWO MONTHS LATER
Across Guanabara Bay from Rio’s bright lights, Juan rode on a small ferry with a dozen workers heading to the tiny Ilha do Viana for the night shift. It was long past sunset, and cargo ships crowded around the island, shuttling goods in and out of the brand-new transshipment warehouse located there. It stood next to an abandoned fish-processing plant that dated back fifty years. When they pulled up to the dock, Juan could see the giant letters painted on the side of the new building.
FERREIRA INDÚSTRIAS GLOBAIS. Ferreira Global Industries.
Juan shuffled off the ferry with the others, yawning like he was still waking up from a night’s sleep. An armed guard stopped the group coming in and checked ID.
Juan handed his over. It read “Lucas Calvo.” The prosthetic appliances glued to Juan’s face by Kevin were a perfect match for the real Lucas Calvo, who was currently being detained in his apartment by Hali. During their observations of the warehouse laborers, they discovered that Calvo wasn’t the chatty type, which was the reason they’d chosen him for impersonation. Juan hadn’t had to talk to any of the other workers during the ferry ride.
