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“Then I’ll be sure to set a phone alert when you get close to me.”
“That would get annoying fast,” Max said. “For both of us. Where are you headed now?”
“To the Magic Shop.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Julia waved as they left.
“I got a call from Tiny,” Max said as they walked. “He’s on his way to Buenos Aires in the Gulfstream. Should be there in eight hours.” Chuck “Tiny” Gunderson was the Corporation’s dedicated airplane pilot. When they needed to get somewhere fast, Tiny flew them by private jet or on just about anything else with wings.
“Did he find the charter we need?” Juan asked.
Max nodded. “He’s got an old buddy in the city who hooked him up. It’s a single-engine Pilatus PC-6 Porter. Tiny says it’s a cinch to fly.”
“How’s the weather in Buenos Aires tomorrow?”
“Clear. Zero chance of rain.”
“Then it sounds like we’re a go.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Max asked.
“I need you in command of the Oregon. I know Tate has something up his sleeve about the Kansas City, and I want you here to handle it.”
“Fine,” Max grumbled. “For the record, I still think your plan is stupid.”
“You don’t think it’ll work?”
“No, I think it will. That’s the problem.”
Without knowing exactly where Overholt would be or how the diving bell would be booby-trapped, the mission would require a good bit of improvisation. Since Linda was still out of commission with ruptured eardrums, Eric Stone would be driving the Nomad, their large submersible equipped with an air lock. The Oregon was going to approach twenty miles off Buenos Aires and launch the Nomad. It would take more than three hours to reach the
harbor at its maximum cruising speed. Eddie and Linc would also be on board the sub. At the same time, Juan would launch the Rigid-Hulled Inflatable Boat, or RHIB, an extremely fast hydroplaning boat favored by Navy Special Forces around the world. Murph was in the process of adding some special modifications to it. Juan was going to take the RHIB alone into Buenos Aires Harbor to receive the further instructions from Tate.
Once the sub and RHIB were away, Max was going to take the Oregon to the supposed vicinity of the Kansas City’s sinking southeast of Montevideo, only a hundred fifty miles away across the Rio de la Plata estuary.
Getting Overholt out of the diving bell alive would be the tricky part. The depth of the harbor averaged thirty feet, so diving on the bell in regular scuba gear wouldn’t be an issue, but Juan expected Tate to be monitoring it on video feed. And he’d be nearby, watching the location and set to capture Juan the moment he got any clue that a boat or sub was approaching the location. That’s why Juan would be offering up an eye-catching distraction. A very risky distraction.
“We’ve gone over all the options,” Juan said, “and all of the other plans have less chance of success. This is the only way to save Lang and stop Tate. I have to do this.”
They were passing the ship’s armory and firing range when Max stopped and frowned at him. Then he motioned for Juan to come with him into the reinforced single-lane, twenty-five-yard-long range where they tested weapons and maintained shooting proficiency. Max closed the door behind them.
“All you’ve told us is that Tate is a traitor to the CIA who deserved to go to a Chechen prison. Now he’s after us. What happened between you two?”
Juan sighed. “I’m not proud of how I handled the situation.”
“Why?”
“I worked with Zachariah Tate for more than a year. He was the smartest and most resourceful agent I ever met. I learned a lot from him about tradecraft, and he could get us out of the most difficult situations you could imagine. He’s fluent in Russian like I am, so we were a natural fit. Or so I thought.”
“What went wrong?”
“He did.” Juan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he was born in the wrong country. Or maybe at the wrong time. Or both. He would have thrived in any number of ruthless regimes, from Genghis Khan’s Mongol horde to Nazi Germany. I only recognized too late that he was a complete sociopath. No means was off-limits if it achieved the ends he wanted.”
Juan stared off into the distance as he remembered the last time he saw Tate.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Max said.
