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No, just to make sure you bring her back. I wasn't kidding about wanting to take Tamara out on a date. She's dynamite.
The future of your love life is in capable hands. Were you serious about the weather?
'Fraid so. Rain's coming down in buckets and won't let up until tomorrow night. Do you want to delay?
Launching and recovering one of the submersibles was tricky enough in calm weather, but Juan wasn't tempted. Every second counted. No. Not this time.
Good luck, Max said, and turned to head back to the op center.
Cabrillo was neither superstitious nor a fatalist, yet somehow Hanley's wish made him uneasy. Wishing luck to someone going into danger was just bad luck. He roused himself. Okay, people, let's saddle up.
He was the last one through the Nomad's hatch and he spun it closed, tightening the seal until an indicator light in the cramped co
The lighting in the space switched from fluorescent tubes to red bulbs to help the crew adjust to the coming darkness. When the artificial basin was full, hydraulic rams opened the keel doors. Water in the moon pool sloshed dangerously, washing across the deck and dousing one technician with spray. The submersible held steady in its cradle.
It was slowly lowered into the water, waves splashing against the acrylic dome. It was too rough to risk divers in the moon pool, so a worker leapt across to the top of the sub and detached the cables while she was still floating inside the ship. Mike immediately dumped air, and the minisub dropped clear of the ship.
The water was pitch-black, and at this shallow depth they could feel the powerful South Atlantic surging above them. Until they were about fifty feet down, the Nomad dipped and swayed in a nauseating random ballet.
Everyone okay back there? Trono called over his shoulder after setting a westerly heading.
There should have been a sign back there that said I was too short for this ride, Linda said. She massaged her elbow where it had been slammed into the steel hull.
Juan climbed through the austere cabin and plopped himself in the copilot's seat to Mike's right. What's our ETA?
One second. Mike finished punching numbers into the navigation computer. It spit back the answer instantly. We've got five hours in this can, provided we don't stumble on any Coast Guard or Navy ships.
They'll never hear us in this slop. Juan leaned back so he could see the others. Five hours. Might as well catch a few z's.
Mark, you can share my bench, Linc said. We can spoon.
Forget it, Colossus. You never let me be the little spoon.
The ride in was uneventful. There was no shipping into or out of Buenos Aires and no military patrols. They surfaced a mile from shore. The proximity to land had calmed the waters somewhat, though rain fell steadily. Through the murk they could see the lights of the downtown high-rises as a spectral aura a
Juan organized the loading of their gear into waterproof bags. He lashed each one to the Zodiac as it was passed up to him from below. He suspected they were taking too much equipment, but there were variables within variables, and they needed to be ready for anything.
He fitted a headset over his ears. Comm check, comm check, how do you read?
Five by five, Mike answered from the submersible's cockpit.
Mind the shop while we're gone.
You got it, Chairman.
Juan waited until the other three had clamored out the hatch and settled into the inflatable before releasing the lines that had kept it secured. As they floated free, he eyed another bundle of equipment they had left lashed to the deck and hoped against hope they would not need to use it.
The Zodiac's electric motor made a whine that was lost to the storm, and with its low profile they were all but invisible. Juan had to steer a few degrees off point because of the current of the mighty Rio de la Plata, the river that first attracted Spanish settlers to build BA.
They made their way toward the heavily industrialized port area where big freighters lay idle since so few countries maintained trade ties with the rogue nation. Cabrillo noticed that the ships here were registered to nations such as Cuba, Libya, China, and Venezuela. He wasn't surprised.
Because of the weather, there was virtually no activity on the docks that they could see from their low vantage in the inflatable raft. The big gantry cranes were immobile and the tower lights were off. He motored them under an unused pier whose concrete pilings were covered with mussels and sea growth that stank of iodine. The water was remarkably free of trash, thanks to the river.
Linc tied off the Zodiac while Juan cut the motor.
Hi, honey, I'm home, Mark quipped. They all wore foul-weather gear, but Murph had a particular drowned-rat look to him.
Cabrillo ignored the joke. He had his game face on. Okay, we all know the plan. Stick to it. We'll call when we've cased the building.
We'll be ready, Linc replied.
Juan and Linda stripped out of their nylon rain pants and jackets. Under his, Cabrillo wore a thousand-dollar suit, which he quickly wrapped in a Burberry trench coat. His shoes looked like wingtips but were in fact combat shoes with nonskid rubber soles. Linda had on a red cocktail dress that was slit up high and cut down low. Her trench coat was black, and she wore boots that nearly reached her thighs. Like Juan's shoes, these were designed for ease of movement and traction. Only another woman would notice they weren't quite the apex of fashion. They had no heels.
Juan climbed the ladder built into the dock pylon first, and Linda shot her two crewmates a look that said, Peek up my dress and you'll regret it, before following him. She pulled a little feminine umbrella from her coat pocket and popped it over her head. Because he stood a solid ten inches taller, Juan couldn't fit under it with her, and as they started down the quay he had to duck several times to avoid having one of its thin metal ribs gouge out an eye.
It took them fifteen minutes to cross the sprawling port facility and reach the main gate. Flickering light from inside the guardhouse meant the security men were watching television. Juan and Linda strolled leisurely past, and a few minutes later found a taxi cruising the deserted streets. Cabrillo gave an address a few doors down from General Espinoza's building. One of the junta's laws mandated that the cabbie write down their names and addresses from their travel papers. It was one more way for the government to keep track of its people. The lack of freedom made Cabrillo's skin crawl.
He grabbed the newspaper someone had left on the backseat and used it to cover his head when he and Linda got out of the cab.
They walked the last few feet to their destination once the taxi had disappeared around a corner. The first floor of most of the buildings were leased commercial spaces boutiques catering to the wealthy women of the neighborhood mostly, but a few restaurants that were closing up at this late hour. There were no other pedestrians on the broad sidewalk. The cars parked along the curb represented every German luxury-automobile company.
Falling rain slashed silver and gold in the lights cast from apartment windows above.
Espinoza's corner building had a glass-and-brass revolving door that Juan and Linda sped through like happy lovers, laughing at how wet they were and how glad they were to be home.