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Back Silent Sea Save as PDF
Chapters (32)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Epigraph
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE

He and the others had arrived aboard the Oregon three hours earlier after a flight back to Brazil from the Paraguayan capital. They’d spent the first hour talking with members of the crew about what had happened and how Jerry had sacrificed himself so they could get away. Already a memorial service was in the works for that evening. The kitchen staff was making traditional Polish food, including pierogi, Kotlet Schabowy, and Sernik, a popular cheese-cake, for dessert.

Cabrillo usually led such a service, but because of their friendship Mike Trono asked if he could have the honor.

Juan left his cabin to do a slow inspection of his ship as she lay at anchor just outside the port of Santos. The tropical sun beat down on the steel decks, but the trade winds that blew through his white linen shirt kept him cool. Even to the most observant eye, the Oregon looked ready for the breaker’s yard. Junk littered the deck, and any areas of paint that weren’t chipped or peeling were applied so haphazardly and in such a myriad of off-putting colors that it almost looked like she wore camouflage. The central white stripe of the Iranian flag hanging over her fantail looked to be the only spot of brightness on the old freighter.

Juan approached an oil drum placed next to the ship’s rail. He fished an ear microphone from his pocket and called the op center. The Oregon was wired with encrypted cellular service.

“Hello,” answered the high-pitched voice of Linda Ross, who had the conn.

“Hello yourself,” Cabrillo said. “Do me a favor and activate the number five deck gun.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No. Just giving the old girl a once-over.” Juan was well aware his crew knew he inspected the ship whenever he was troubled.

“You got it, Juan. Coming up now.”

The oil drum’s lid lifted silently on an armature until it was completely folded over the side. An M-60 medium machine gun rose barrel first and rotated down so it was pointed out to sea. He examined the ammunition belt. The brass showed no trace of corrosion, while the weapon itself was well coated in gun oil.

“Looks good to me,” Cabrillo said, and asked Linda to stow it once again.