Juan ran to his cabin, yelling for crewmen to make way as he hurried by. Any remnants of his deep exhaustion had fallen away. He switched prosthetics to what he termed his “combat leg.” This was a veritable Swiss Army knife of weaponry. It had a built-in .44 caliber single-shot gun that fired out of his heel, and a place to secrete a Kel-Tec .380 pistol, a small amount of explosives, and a knife. Next, he drew on a black tactical uniform, made of a flame-resistant cloth, and black combat boots. He kept his personal weapons in an old safe that had once sat in a station of a long-defunct southwestern railroad. He spun the dials to open it, and ignored the stacks of currency and gold coins he kept in case of emergencies. They used to have a nice cache of diamonds, but the market had been right to convert those into cash.

The bottom of the safe was a virtual armory. He slipped into a combat vest and rammed a new FN Five-seveN into the holster. He clipped on a tear gas grenade as well as two flashbangs. His main weapon for this op was a Kriss Arms Super V. It was the most compact submachine gun ever built and resembled something out of science fiction, with its stubby foregrip and skeletal butt stock. Its revolutionary design allowed it to chamber the massive .45 caliber ACP round and gave the shooter unparalleled control over a notoriously difficult bullet to fire on automatic. Normally fed with a standard thirteen-round Glock magazine, Juan’s was fitted with a thirty-round extender. He slipped spare magazines into the appropriate pockets.

Had this been an extended mission he would have carried weapons of the same caliber in case he needed more rounds for the Super V, but this was going to be a quick-and-dirty takedown, not a protracted gun battle. The combat harness was already fitted with a throwing knife, garrote wire, a med kit, and a radio, so all he had left to take was a black ski mask and he was ready to go.

He threw open his cabin door and almost knocked Maurice to the deck. As it was, he had to steady the old Englishman to keep him from dropping his silver tray. “You pad around as silent as a cat,” Cabrillo admonished.

“Sorry, Captain. I was just about to knock. I brought you some sustenance.”

Juan was about to tell him that he wasn’t hungry, but suddenly he was famished. “I don’t have a whole lot of time.”

“Take it and go,” Maurice said, pulling the domed cover off the tray. Inside was a steaming burrito, the perfect food to walk and eat. “Shredded beef and pork, and very, very mild.”