He called the Oregon. Though Hali Kasim was the ship’s communications director, Linda Ross was coordinating the assault. She answered the call before the first ring had ended. “Linda’s house of pleasure and pain,” she said by way of greeting.

“Put me down for some of the former,” Juan whispered. “I’m in.”

“We expected nothing less. Of course, I’ve seen seventy-year-old grandmothers para-sailing at Cabo, so I’m not all that impressed.” Her light tone vanished. “Tiny took off about fifteen minutes ago. He’ll stay out of range until fifteen minutes after sunup. After that you should be able to talk to Linc over your tactical net.”

There was no need for Cabrillo to further compromise his location by speaking so he said nothing.

“Just want to say good luck,” Linda added, “and get our boys out of there. Oregon out.”

Juan clicked off the phone and settled it in its hard case at his hip.

The three guards lazing by the front gate suddenly came, if not to attention, at least a bit more alert as a door opened directly under where Juan was perched. Ringed by stone crenellations like a medieval castle, Juan had ample cover as he watched a lone figure cross the courtyard, a flashlight clutched in his hand. He spoke to one of the guards for a moment, then retreated the way he’d come.

The full glare of the sun struck Juan’s back as it finally climbed over the horizon. Despite the long shadows he could see three wooden stakes had been driven into the ground against the wall to the left of the main gate. Before light could bathe the enclosed quad Juan plucked his little buck knife from his pocket and with an easy toss threw it toward the execution stakes. It landed and skidded right up against the middle post. It had been the grandfather who’d given him that first knife who’d also taught him horseshoes.

As Juan readied the rocket launcher, men began to trickle onto the parade ground, in ones and twos at first, but soon there were dozens streaming in. He could tell by body language and how they horsed around that the soldiers were eager for the execution. He estimated there were about a hundred. And unfortunately, more than half of them had kept their weapons with them. The buzz of conversation and rough laughter drifted up from below until another door was slammed open.

Juan had to crane his neck to see a pair of escorts leading Eddie, Mike, and Ski from within the prison. He felt a squeeze of pride in his chest. His crew walked with their shoulders back and heads high, and had their hands not been bound behind their backs he knew their arms would be swinging in step. They were going to their deaths as men.

He clicked on his machine pistol’s laser sight.