Pulaski held out a hand, which Juan took. The congealed blood on his palm cemented their skin together. Jerry continued. “It ain’t noble, staying with me. It’s suicide. Argies are gonna shoot you for spies after torturing you.” He coughed wetly and spat a little blood onto the deck. “I got an ex who hates me and a kid who don’t know me. You’re my family. I don’t want you to die for me. I want you to live for me instead. You understand?”

“I understand you copied that sentiment from Braveheart,” Juan said. His lips smiled. His eyes couldn’t.

“I’m serious, Juan.”

For Cabrillo, time stopped for a few moments. The steady beat of the rotor and the whine of the turbine faded to silence. He’d known death and loss. His wife had been killed by a drunk driver—herself. He’d lost agents and contacts during his time at the CIA, and the Corporation had been visited by the Grim Reaper as well, but he’d never asked another man to die so that he could live.

He reached into his pack and handed the portable GPS to Mike. “The RHIB’s at waypoint Delta.”

“There’s no place to land,” Mike said. “You remember how thick that jungle was. And there’s no way I can ditch this thing in the river without killing us all.”

“Don’t worry about an LZ,” Mark Murphy shouted forward. “I got that covered.”

Cabrillo knew to trust the eccentric Mr. Murphy.

“Swing us around and punch in waypoint Delta.”

“Not Delta,” Murph said. “Echo.”

“Echo?” Juan questioned.

“Trust me.”

The Eurocopter’s navigational computer was self-explanatory, so Mike punched in the coordinates from the handheld GPS, then swung the chopper around to a southeasterly bearing. So far, his flying had been smooth and controlled, just as he’d been taught. Gomez Adams would be proud.

“Looks like we have enough fuel. Barely,” he said.

“Chairman,” Mark shouted. “Starboard side. Maybe three klicks back.”

“What?”

“I saw the flash of sun off the other chopper’s windshield.”

Juan looked out the side window. He didn’t see anything but he didn’t doubt Mark’s eyesight. The Argentines were coming a lot faster than he’d thought. Then he should have realized it. With their helo burning oil, they didn’t have the speed to match the other bird. And the Argentine Major would tear the guts out of his aircraft in order to get his prey.

“Mike,” he shouted. “Give us everything she’s got. Company’s coming.”

The turbines kicked up a notch but didn’t sound healthy. Metal was grinding someplace in the engine compartment, and it was only a matter of time before they shut down.