“So long as the harbor cops don’t give me any trouble and we don’t get pulled over, we should be there in an hour.”

“See you when you get here.” Juan switched frequencies. “Mike, you out there?”

“Just chilling with the fishes.”

“Move to waypoint Beta.” All locations had been worked out long in advance.

“On my way.” There was a slight catch in Mike Trono’s voice. He knew the Chairman was getting a bad feeling.

“Why reposition the sub?” Linda asked.

“It occurred to me that with this weather, there are going to be a lot of police with little to do. Once the alarm’s sounded, we’re going to have every cop in BA after us.”

Linda suddenly had Juan’s bad feeling, too.

They circled around the block, moving only when they were certain no one was watching. Once, they had to hide behind trash Dumpsters near a construction zone when a patrol car eased by. The officer wasn’t scanning the curbs. He was just focused on driving through the downpour. A miserable man walking a little dog was the only person they saw, and neither group acknowledged the other. The weather was just too nasty for pleasantries.

Juan touched the Bluetooth in his ear. “Go ahead, Linc.”

“Wanna let you know that things are going smooth. Bluffed my way past the guards, no problem, even if my Spanish is rusty and I look about as native as a rhinoceros. Tell people you need to borrow something for the Ninth Brigade and the questions come to a halt.”

“That’s the beauty of a police state. No one will stick his neck out. They’ve learned it can get chopped off.”

“Mark’s right ahead of me, and we’re getting close.”

“We’ll see you coming.”

Fifteen minutes later, a strange convoy rounded a far corner and started approaching. Murph was in the lead, driving a nondescript compact sedan. Emergency flashers on the roof were strobing a rhythmic orange beat as if to announce the vehicle behind him. Which was the point. Linc was behind the wheel of a mobile crane emblazoned with the logo of the Buenos Aires Port Authority. The vehicle really didn’t have a body but rather a turret like an Army tank’s, mounted on a heavy-duty chassis. Its wheels were twice the size of a car’s tires. The collapsible boom was at its shortest but still protruded from the crane like a battering ram.

They would have to act fast because a big crane in the middle of a posh residential neighborhood would attract attention. Juan stripped off his overcoat and suit jacket and tore away the white oxford shirt. The clip-on tie went flying. It was a disguise, after all. Under it, he wore a black long-sleeved T-shirt and two empty shoulder holsters. He slipped on a pair of tight black gloves.