In a fit of inspiration, Eddie raised his own machine pistol and loosed an entire magazine into the air. The soldiers were nervous, had no information about what was going on, and had doubtlessly been told since their arrival that American commandos would be hitting them any day. Even the most seasoned veteran would be panicky right about now, so a moment after Eddie’s burst some young recruit on the other side of the base saw a shadow he was certain was a Green Beret and opened fire. Like opening a flood-gate, men began shooting indiscriminately, the chatter of autofire rising above the roar of the burning gas plant and the shriek of the wind.

Linc got it immediately. He toed the corpse. “This poor sap got hit by his own guys.”

“That’s how it’ll read. I’ll be surprised if they actually don’t shoot a few of their own themselves.”

They took off again and made it to the dock moments later. The gunfire didn’t let up one bit, which worked to their advantage right until the instant a stray bullet caught one of the scientists in the leg. He crashed to the ground, clutching at the wound and moaning.

It wasn’t a life-threatening wound, at least at that moment, so Linc picked him off the snow and threw him over his shoulder with barely a break in stride.

The Nomad had drifted a bit out from under the dock, so Eddie had to haul it back on its line. He jumped aboard and opened the hatch.

“Juan?” he called, even as he lowered himself into the craft. The Chairman wasn’t back yet.

“Eddie,” Linc said from the top of the hull. “Help me here.”

The former SEAL lowered the injured man through the hatch. His pant leg was stained with blood, and more of it dripped from the wound. His femoral artery had been nicked. He laid the injured scientist on one of the padded benches and was about to get to work on the wound when another of the prisoners leapt down into the submersible and shouldered him aside.

“I’m a doctor.”

Eddie didn’t need to hear anything further. He scrambled forward to the cockpit and threw himself into the pilot’s seat.

“Max, can you hear me?” he said into his mike, while he got busy prepping the sub for its return to the Oregon.

“Any sign of Juan?” Hanley asked.

“No. We’re loading onto the Nomad now. He isn’t here.”

The silence stretched to fifteen seconds. Twenty. Max finally asked, “How long do you think you can hang there?”