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Chapters (32)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Epigraph
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE

“Tell me some good news,” Juan said wearily.

“Ah, that I have as well.” Overholt’s voice perked up. “We have an asset in Argentina who says that your missing professor is being held in Buenos Aires.”

“That narrows it down to a city of twelve million.”

“Ye of little faith,” Overholt chided. “She’s in a fifth-floor penthouse apartment in the Recoleta District just off Avenue Las Heras.”

“If I remember correctly, the Recoleta District is the swanky part of town.”

“The apartment belongs to General Philippe Espinoza, the commander of the Ninth Brigade.”

“Ninth Brigade, huh?” That wasn’t welcome news.

“I’m afraid so. The General is interrogating her personally. I would guess with the help of whatever spooks the Chinese have in Buenos Aires.”

The image of Tamara Wright strapped to a chair flashed through Cabrillo’s mind, and he winced. “Download whatever intel you have on the building. We should be off the coast by sunset.”

“How are you going to get her out?”

“As soon as I come up with a plan, you’ll be the second to know.” Juan cut the connection and leaned back, absently rubbing his chin. He hadn’t been joking. He had no idea how to save the professor.

TWENTY

TWENTY

FOUL WEATHER DOGGED THE OREGON AS SHE POUNDED her way southward. Ship and crew took the abuse stoically, as if it were penance for Tamara’s capture. At least that’s how Cabrillo felt about it. Some of the waves reached almost the height of the bridge, and, when her stern rose high, water exploded from the pump jets in twin lances that shot nearly a hundred feet.

Juan had assembled the senior staff in the Corporation’s board-room. The space had been destroyed by a direct hit from the Libyan frigate, and in the reconstruction Juan had gone for a modern glass-and-stainless-steel look. The table was embedded with a microscopic mesh of electrical wires that, when activated, created a static charge that kept papers in place no matter the sea’s state. With winds blowing force seven outside, the table was cranked up to keep the dozens of notes and photographs from being dumped on the floor. On the head and foot walls hung large flat-screen displays running a slide show of photographs of the target house and its environs.

The beautiful apartment building looked like it had been taken apart stone by stone in France and erected on a broad avenue in South America. In fact, much of BA’s older architecture was in the French Empire style—with mansard roofs, ornate stonework, and innumerable columns. Because of the wealth in the Recoleta District, there were countless parks dominated by statues of past leaders. Many of the main streets had been built to accommodate the turning radius of eight-horse teams when wagons were the dominant mode of transportation.