The lead car came up on their rear corner and tried to bump them into a skid. Juan countered the maneuver, his hands a blur on the wheel. Linc switched to his pistol and put two rounds through the patrol car’s passenger’s window. There was only the driver, and his courage failed him. He dropped back to a more respectful distance.

Cabrillo was beginning to recognize his surroundings. They were getting closer to the docks. “Mark, show Tamara how to use the pony.”

“Already on it,” Murph replied.

Juan tapped his radio. “Mike, are you in position?”

“I await your arrival,” Trono said breezily.

“We’re coming hot.”

The sub operator became more serious at hearing the Chairman’s tone. “I’m ready.”

Shots rang out from behind them—big, concussive booms from a handgun. The passenger in the second cruiser was leaning out and firing his sidearm. A lucky shot punctured the trunk and erupted through the backseat in a flurry of foam rubber. Tamara shrieked. Linc and Mark Murphy just exchanged a look, and the big former SEAL turned to fire back.

“Next right,” Linda called over the roar of wind whistling through the car. “That’s the dock.”

Juan took the turn so fast that the car slid into the guard shack hard enough to shatter the plate-glass window on the side of the building. The men inside dived for the floor, thinking they were under attack. The two cruisers were seconds behind them.

“Lower all the windows,” Juan ordered as he guided the car around rows of shipping containers.

That last impact had damaged something vital. The car rose and fell on its suspension like the swaying of a camel. The rear axle had been damaged by the collision and Cabrillo’s frantic driving, and it snapped. The two ends dug into the pavement and threw up fountains of sparks whenever they crossed sections of concrete roadway or the steel railroad tracks for the dock’s big overhead cranes. The front-wheel drive motored on gamely despite the damage.

Juan patted he dash affectionately. “I’ll never denigrate another Japanese compact again.”

The pier was almost a thousand feet long, half its width shielded by a corrugated-metal roof on an open I-beam framework. Juan wrestled the car down its length. He didn’t look over when Linda tapped him on the shoulder and handed him an object about the size of a water canteen but with a hose and mouthpiece attached to one end. He clamped the mouthpiece between his teeth.

Keeping his foot to the floor, he raced them to the edge of the pier. There was no need to shout a warning. Everyone could see what was coming up.