Juan looked at Jerry. “Do you really feel like lugging that thing all the way back to the RHIB?”

“Hell no.”

“What do you say, Mr. Trono?”

If Mike couldn’t fly them out of here in one of the Argentine’s helicopters, Juan knew he would admit it. He selected each member of the Corporation not only for what they could do but also because they were aware of what they could not.

Trono nodded. “Let’s hope my third solo’s the charm.”

SEVEN

FOOLING THE INJURED ARGENTINE SOLDIERS HAD BEEN easy. Those men saw what they wanted to see. It was going to be something altogether different getting past the reserve troops below and making their way to one of the helicopters.

Juan thought for a second and found inspiration amid the moans of the wounded. “Okay,” he said. “Back to the truck, but move like you’re injured. Murph, lean against Jerry. Mike, pretend I’m helping you.”

They crawled up the hill as though they were victims of the accident, moving stiffly but surprisingly quickly. Cabrillo had the three men crawl into the old pickup’s bed while he got behind the wheel. Before engaging the manual transmission, he pulled a clasp knife from his pocket. The blade’s edge was honed as sharp as a scalpel, so when he drew it across his forehead at his hairline he felt no pain, only the liquid rush of blood, which quickly began dripping into his eyes and cutting runnels through the dirt and grime that caked his face.

He glanced back through the rear window so his men could see what he’d done. They caught on immediately, and by the time he’d gotten the truck up to speed the three men in back looked like they’d just walked out of a slaughterhouse. They met a ragtag convoy of vehicles coming up the mountainside—pickups, mostly, but also ATVs, and a fire engine that had first been put into service in the 1950s. Juan slowed as he approached the lead truck. The driver was a civilian, but next to him was a man in uniform, a man who would be considered handsome in other circumstances but whose features were drawn by what he’d seen.

“What happened?” he shouted across the cab to Juan.

“A log truck overturned, sir,” Juan replied. He wiped blood from his eyes, smearing it over his face to better disguise his features. “The men in back are the most seriously injured.”

On cue, Jerry, Mike, and Mark moaned pitiably.

“The others have only minor injuries,” Juan continued. “These should be flown out immediately.”

“What about Lieutenant Jimenez and the recovered part of the satellite?” Major Espinoza asked.

“He has it up where the trucks overturned,” Juan replied.

“And you, how bad are your injuries?”

“I’m okay to drive.”

Espinoza made a quick decision. “All right, get these troops down to the chopper and tell my pilot to fly you back to our forward operations base. Make sure he radios ahead so medical staff are standing by.”