The Emperor's Revenge (The Oregon Files) Read online

  Juan squeezed in with her, holding his helmet so that he wouldn’t have to clamp it onto his suit until the last possible moment. The drysuits were clumsy, but they would keep their clothes from getting soaked. Wetsuits would leave telltale trails of water during their infiltration.

  With their bodies pressed together and facing eye to eye, the awkwardness came back. Juan could tell Gretchen felt it as well, but both of them were too professional to say anything. They had a job to do.

  Juan reached for the valve that would flood the air lock. “Ready? This is your last chance to bail out if you’re having second thoughts.”

  She tilted her head at him as if to say Really? and clamped the helmet to her suit. “Do it.”

  Juan opened the valve and water rose from the floor. The drysuit kept the cold at bay. He attached his own helmet while watching Gretchen. She had her eyes closed in a meditative state, and he could feel a slight press of her body with each deep breath she inhaled.

  Juan shook his head and focused on the mission. When the readout indicated that the pressure was equalized with the water outside, he opened the hatch. He swam up, and pulled the packs behind him, before helping Gretchen out. They crouched on the deck of the sub, the ocean surface just ten feet above them, as they waited for Murph and MacD to complete the same process.

  When everyone was out and the sub was sealed again, they swam for the cliff face, which plunged down from the castle into the water like a rocky wall. There was just enough room to pull themselves onto a small ledge they’d identified in their reconnaissance. No one on the wall would see anything amiss unless they happened to be looking straight down.

  They quickly stripped off their drysuits, and Juan shoved them into a container that was attached to a nylon line leading back to the sub. The rest of them retrieved their equipment and weapons from the drybags.

  “Our feet are dry,” Juan said to Max over the comm link. “Reel it in.”

  “Starting the winch,” Max replied. “See you soon.”

  The container slipped into the water and was pulled back to the sub. No sense in leaving the expensive drysuits behind.

  MacD withdrew a crossbow from his pack and loaded it with a rubberized three-pronged hook connected to a rope that disappeared into the bag. He nodded at Juan.

  Juan keyed the radio linked to his throat mic. “Do you read me, Hali?”

  “Loud and clear, Chairman.”

  “We’re in position.”

  “Roger. Gomez spotted you from the drone as soon as you climbed out of the water. Pretty eerie.”

  “I bet. Any guards up above?”

  “They just finished their quarter-hour sweep. You have fourteen minutes until the next one. No one is in sight on the wall.”

  “Good. Keep us posted if you spot anyone.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Juan looked at MacD. “Let’s make like Spider-Man.”

  MacD grinned and shouldered the crossbow. With a press of the trigger, the hook arced silently up over the battlement, trailing a rope ladder behind it. MacD slung the crossbow over his back and pulled the ladder down until the rubberized hook was firmly snagged on the wall above.

  “We’re good to go,” he said.

  Gretchen stepped forward and flashed a smile. “Ladies first again?”

  Juan shook his head and put his head through the sling of his silenced MP5 submachine gun. “This time, you’re second.” He insisted on being first in and last out on a mission whenever possible.

  He tested the rope ladder and found that it could hold his weight. A glance at his watch told him that there were thirteen minutes left before the next security patrol.

  That is, if the guards kept to their regular schedule.

  Juan put his foot into the lowest ladder rung and began to climb.

  SEVENTEEN

  Linda pointed at the upper right quadrant of the main view screen from the command seat. Eric was at the helm, Hali at his communications station, and Gomez focused on the drone controls. The Oregon was five miles south of the castle, all her lights out so that she wouldn’t be seen.

  “Two guards are coming around the top of the wall counterclockwise,” Linda said to Juan. Hali had put him on speaker so she could communicate directly with him.

  Gomez was coordinating three drones that gave the op center a comprehensive view of the castle from the air. Instead of the winged drone he’d flown this morning, these were quadcopter drones that could hover in position. They had to fly closer to the castle for good sight lines, but the darkness concealed them. Gimballed cameras hanging from them could zoom in with high-definition visible light mode or could be switched to infrared and night vision modes.

  One of the cameras showed two men making their sweep around the rim of the castle wall on the side opposite from Juan and his team. They walked lazily and smoked cigarettes, displaying little of the discipline that Linda had demanded of her crew in the Navy and expected, without a thought, on the Oregon.

  Linda watched as Juan and his team crabbed along the top of the ten-foot-wide wall. They disappeared into the closest gate tower before the approaching guards could turn the corner and spot them.

  A minute later, Juan’s voice came over the radio. “We’ve got two men manning the gatehouse. They’re about as bored as the two guards on the wall. They didn’t notice us sneak by. We’ll hold up outside behind one of the SUVs until you give us the all clear.”

  Juan and the others hustled out of a ground-level door into the center yard. They gathered behind the largest SUV, out of the predicted path of the two guards who were coming down from their wall patrol.

  The guards appeared a few moments later in the courtyard and ambled toward the main building and past the hiding team. They seemed to be idly chatting, suspecting nothing strange. Finally, they went inside. Linda noted the time and reset the clock for another fifteen minutes.

  “You’re clear,” she said. “No one else is outside.”

  Juan pointed at the front gate, and MacD raced toward it to plant C-4 charges so they could blow a hole in it to allow their escape by car. Juan and Gretchen darted among the vehicles, slapping smaller plastic explosive bundles into the wheel wells. Murph went over to Simaku’s Mercedes and pulled the door handle. It popped open.

  “Nailed it,” he said. “Nobody locks the doors inside a castle.”

  He climbed inside and turned off the dome light. The plan was for him to program a blank electronic key fob with the onboard diagnostics system used by Mercedes mechanics. The Oregon’s Magic Shop had a full set of tools for hacking into the cars of all the major manufacturers.

  After a minute, he closed the door quietly and said, “We’ve got wheels.”

  They all converged back at the SUV.

  Linda made one last check of the castle grounds and then had Gomez switch to infrared to make sure she hadn’t missed anyone. A warm body would have appeared as a bright white figure. All three drone images were dark.

  “You’re all alone,” she said.

  “Copy.”

  Juan and the others sprinted to the barracks’s only door, which was set into the narrow end facing away from the gates. They pressed themselves against the wall, Juan and Gretchen on one side of the door and MacD and Murph on the other side.

  Juan put his hand on the door handle and said, “The door’s thick, but I can hear laughter. We’re going in.”

  “Good hunting,” Linda said.

  Juan pushed the door open and dashed inside.

  —

  Juan had his MP5 up to his shoulder as soon as he crossed the threshold. The four of them entered so fast that the three men sitting at a card table barely had time to look up and stare into the deadly end of three submachine guns and a crossbow. The guards were confused momentarily, perhaps thinking it was a joke by their fellow mafiosi. All three were lanky
, sported greasy slicked-back hair and five o’clock shadows, and wore dark T-shirts under leather jackets. They didn’t move.

  Gretchen closed the door behind them. The sparsely furnished room held little more than the table, four wooden chairs, and a coffeepot on an end table. Two bare bulbs hung overhead. The table was littered with coffee cups, playing cards, and euro bills.

  “You speak English?” Juan asked.

  Two of them looked at the third guard, who had a dusting of gray in his stubble. That had to be the senior guard. He shook his head slowly, a glint of malice in his eyes.

  “No English,” he replied.

  “That’s okay,” Juan said. “We’ll use Albanian.”

  Murph took out a mini-tablet and spoke into it. “Raise your hands.” The tablet instantly interpreted and spoke in a mechanical Albanian dialect. The three guards obviously understood because their hands went up in the air.

  Juan pointed at the leader. “Tell him to very slowly remove that Glock under his left armpit with his left hand, butt first. Keep an eye on him, MacD.”

  “Ah ain’t blinkin’,” MacD replied.

  The tablet translated and the lead guard nodded. He moved his left hand as ordered and reached into his jacket. He withdrew the Glock with two fingers.

  Then he did something stupid.

  He flipped the semiautomatic pistol around in his hand in a lightning-quick maneuver. Too bad for him, MacD was faster.

  The crossbow bolt went through the guard’s eye before he could bring the pistol all the way around to fire. His brain snapped off so suddenly that the pistol flew out of his hand as it was coming around and smacked into the wall. The guard teetered forward and slammed into the table, where he lay motionless. The end of the crossbow bolt protruding from his skull knocked a few of the bills off the table and they fluttered to the floor.

  His companions hadn’t taken his cue and still had their hands in the air. They gawked at the dead man until Murph repeated the command to remove their guns slowly.

  MacD nonchalantly reloaded his crossbow while the other guards followed the translated commands to the letter and offered no resistance. In three minutes, they were gagged and hog-tied on the floor. A search of the guards produced a ring of keys from the dead one’s pocket.

  The drone surveillance hadn’t shown any more guards enter or leave the building, but they couldn’t be sure, so Juan took up the same stance at the only other door in the room. He tried the handle, but it was locked. He quietly inserted keys until he found one that fit.

  Juan pushed the door open and saw a dank, empty hallway running the length of the building. Doors, each with a small barred opening set into it at eye level, were spaced at regular intervals on either side.

  It looked like a prison.

  While MacD stayed in the anteroom to guard the front door, Juan, Gretchen, and Murph checked the rooms. Juan went to the first door and peered through its barred portal. Sitting on a cot was Erion Kula—Whyvern—staring back at him. The room was bare except for a cot, a bucket, and a tray with a plate licked clean. No computer equipment at all. Kula stood and backed up when he realized it wasn’t the guard he’d been expecting.

  He said something in Albanian.

  “I know you speak English,” Juan said.

  Kula gave him a confused look. “Who are you?” His accent was thick, but his diction was perfect.

  “I’m here to find out what you did with our money.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do.”

  Juan found the key for Kula’s door and was about to open it when Murph, who was two doors down, said, “I found the computer room. Two of the latest Lenovo desktops. Four twenty-five-inch monitors. High-speed Ethernet cables. A couple of printers. Another chair behind the workstation. Looks like he was observed while he worked.”

  “This is about Credit Condamine, isn’t it?” Kula said.

  “I knew you could help us,” Juan said with a sardonic grin.

  “No, no! You have to get me out of here. Simaku knows you’re coming!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Before Kula could say more, Gretchen called out, “Juan! Come here quick!”

  She was standing in front of the last door, her eyes wide as she stared through its portal.

  Both Juan and Murph ran down the hall to Gretchen, whose face had drained of color. Juan looked into the room and his stomach twisted in fury when he saw its occupants.

  A matronly woman in her fifties sat with her back against the far wall, a look of hopelessness on her face. Her gray hair was held back by a headband, but wisps of it coiled around her face. Her sweater was ragged and her pants had holes in the knees. She mumbled softly in Albanian as if she were praying.

  Curled up next to her, dressed in soiled and torn clothing, were four children no older than ten.

  —

  Eddie heard the sound first. He’d been watching the castle, but the thrum of engines was coming from behind him.

  He turned. “That sounds like a car.”

  Linc nodded.

  “More than one,” Trono said.

  Headlights rose over a hill three miles distant. They were coming fast.

  “They’re expecting company after midnight?” Linc said. “I don’t think so.”

  “We’ve been made,” Trono said.

  Eddie keyed his radio. “Welcome Wagon here. Is the Chairman on his way?”

  “Not imminently,” Hali replied.

  “Then we have a problem,” Eddie said. “Because in about three minutes, we’re going to have guests. And by the way they’re hightailing it here, I have a feeling that they won’t be happy to see us.”

  —

  Linda was about to relay the info to Juan when Eric gestured at the big screen.

  “We’ve got movement,” he said.

  The door on the main building opened and men poured out, fanning across the yard. Linda recognized Simaku’s long gray hair. He waved a pistol at the barracks where Juan and his team were. Men with assault rifles took up positions around the door.

  “Chairman, do you read me?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Don’t go out the front door. Simaku’s got nine men aiming AK-47s at it. Is there another way out?”

  “Not at the moment,” Juan said. “But we have another issue. It looks like we’re going to have too many to fit in the car, so we can’t make it to the RHIB.”

  Linda was perplexed. “Who else do you have?”

  “Long story . . . Is Max there?”

  “He just returned with Nomad. He’s on his way up from the moon pool.”

  “Good. Tell him we need our backup escape route. And cut the castle lights. You’re going to be our eyes.”

  “Aye, Chairman.” She turned to Hali. “Tell Eddie to kill the power. Gomez, switch to night vision.”

  Just as Gomez made the transition, the castle was plunged into darkness.

  EIGHTEEN

  With the lights out, Juan and the rest of his team turned on their flashlights instead of activating their night vision goggles. Juan unlocked the cell holding the woman and children and told Murph to bring Erion Kula in to translate. He entered the cell with the gun slung behind his back, his hands raised, and the warmest smile he could muster given his seething anger at their captors. When they shrank back from him, he couldn’t blame them. A large armed man in black camouflage had to be frightening.

  Gretchen came to his rescue. She removed her stocking cap and shook out her hair as she approached them with a smile of her own. The sight of a friendly woman seemed to put them more at ease. She knelt next to them and tenderly caressed the hair of the oldest girl while the woman regarded them warily.

  “They’re filthy and underfed,” Gretchen said, “but I don’t see any injuries exce
pt for the woman’s bruises.” Her neck and arms were dotted with black and blue marks.

  When Kula stepped into the doorway, a look of confusion at being summoned switched instantly to relief. He rushed over to the children, who leaped toward him.

  “Baba! Baba!” they cried as they hugged him tightly. Juan didn’t need a translation to realize that Kula was the children’s father.

  While Kula comforted them in Albanian, Murph said, “Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

  Kula looked up at Juan. “These are my children and aunt. I thought they were still in Tirana. I had no idea Simaku brought them here. He told me he was holding—”

  Juan put up his hand. “We’ll get the story later. Right now, we need to figure out an exit strategy. Linda, what’s the situation outside?”

  “Simaku and his men were about to breach the door when the power went out,” she said in his earpiece. “They backed off when that happened, and some of them returned to the main building, I assume to look for some portable lights.”

  “That gives us another minute at best.” Juan peered out of the small barred outer window and confirmed that this room was the closest to the guard tower they’d descended. Only the parked cars stood between him and the tower. The window was also on the opposite side of the building from the mass of gunmen waiting to assault the barracks.

  “You have to help us,” Kula pleaded. “Simaku will surely kill us all now. Please take us with you.”

  The Mercedes was temptingly close, but no way were ten of them going to fit inside. They needed to go to Max’s backup plan.

  “No one’s getting left behind,” Juan said to Kula. “Linda, tell Max to launch the cargo drone. I want it on the wall in two minutes. Have Eddie meet us in the RHIB on the west side.”

  “Aye, Chairman. Max says it’s already in the air. The Oregon is five miles away and heading toward you at flank speed.”

  “We’re also going to need help getting to the tower. Have Gomez prepare his air raid. We’re going out the back door. All of us.” He nodded at Murph, who went to the wall and began pulling gear from his bag.