Mark jumped from the crane’s cab, and he and Linc sandwiched Tamara Wright in the backseat. The feet wells were packed with equipment, forcing Linc’s knees up by his head. Linda had slid over to the passenger’s side, leaving Juan at the wheel. Sirens sounded in the distance. He put the sedan in gear and eased away from the curb as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

Maybe the hard part is over, Juan thought, but he knew not to say it aloud.

The fates heard him anyway.

A big black town car raced into the intersection and slid to a stop a few feet from their bumper, forcing Cabrillo to jam on the brakes. Doors were thrown open, and a large bald man wearing a dress uniform erupted from the back of the Cadillac. He had a pistol in his hand and opened fire immediately.

The people in the sedan ducked as bullets cored through the windshield. Juan cranked the transmission into reverse and reached up to adjust the rearview mirror. A bullet whizzed close enough to his wrist that he could feel its hot passage, but now he could see behind them without exposing his head.

They backed up for fifty feet, beyond all but an expert’s ability with a handgun, before Juan mashed the emergency-brake pedal and spun the wheel. The wet asphalt helped him pirouette the woefully underpowered car in a slide worthy of a Hollywood chase.

He released the brake, dropped the car into first, and accelerated away. One more bullet hit the car, a wild shot that mangled one of the wing mirrors.

“Is everyone okay?” he called without taking his eyes off the road. It was like driving through a continuous waterfall.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Mark replied. “Who was that?”

“General Philippe Espinoza, whose house we just raided. He must have been on his way back from dinner when the doorman called.”

“That was the man asking me questions,” Tamara told them, “him and the creepy Chinese guy named Sun. I could tell he was from Beijing, and I’m pretty sure he was State Security.”

“Here in Argentina on a diplomatic passport, no doubt.” The sirens were getting closer. Juan slowed. The only way out of this was to not attract attention and hope they could lose Espinoza, because the General was surely coming after them. “Mark, are you ready with our bag of tricks?”

“Say the word, Chairman.”

Juan was thinking about chain of command. Espinoza doubtlessly knew someone in the police—a chief or commissioner, most likely. Fifteen minutes would pass by the time the General called his friend, who would in turn call someone lower in the police hierarchy, and so on, until a description of their car made it to the patrols out on the streets. If they could elude Espinoza and not draw attention to themselves, they would be halfway across the city before the APB went out.