“Just for a second. I need to warm up a little.”

“Sorry. You know the Major’s orders.”

“Come on, man. It’s not like he’s around right now.”

The soldier thought for another second, then a look of compassion crossed his face. “All right, go ahead inside. But five minutes, and if Espinoza or Jimenez shows up I’m gong to tell them you’ve been hiding in there since before I came on duty.”

“Five minutes. Promise.”

Juan moved past the guard and walked into the overheated facility. He had to pull back his hood and unzip his parka. Machinery hummed as it processed the natural gas flowing in from the offshore pipes, while, on the other side of the yawning space, the blast furnaces were hard at work keeping the bay from freezing over. Cabrillo was again amazed at the size and complexity of the Argentine facility.

“Max, I’m in. Go for it.”

Juan found one of the main trunk lines for incoming gas. He pulled out a small explosive and set the motion sensor. It wasn’t particularly sensitive, but for what was coming it didn’t need to be.

He turned to go just as four men entered from the vestibule. They had removed their arctic coats, and at once Cabrillo recognized Major Espinoza. With him was the Sergeant who’d been aboard the Oregon and two other NCOs. Juan moved behind a piece of machinery before they spotted him.

“We saw you come in here,” Espinoza shouted above the industrial din. “Don’t make it harder on yourself. Come out now, and I won’t charge you with desertion.”

Cabrillo looked at the bomb, then back at the burly soldiers staying by the door while Espinoza and Sergeant Lugones started fanning out to find him.

“Max,” he whispered urgently. “I might be blown, but don’t stop. You read? I’ll get out somehow.”

“Roger,” Max said tersely, knowing full well that the Chairman was lying about the last part.

HANLEY STARED INTO SPACE for a moment and then forced himself into action. “Mr. Stone, bring us up to five percent, and set some tension on the cable, if you please.”

“Aye.” Eric dialed up the Oregon’s unrivaled engines and moved her forward at a quarter knot.

A tech stationed in the fantail locker where the cable drum was located called out when the line started showing stress.

Even with wind and waves pummeling the ship, Eric didn’t need to be told when she was pulling against her tether. He knew how she responded in almost any circumstance.

“Tension on, Mr. Hanley,” he said with customary op center formality when a mission was under way.

“Okay, steady acceleration. One hundred feet per minute. Don’t jerk the thing, lad.”

“Aye, sir.”