For now, though, the important thing was Max. He felt his phone vibrate as he rushed back up the stairs, but he ignored it. That it had amazingly survived its dunking was a fact of so little importance that it never entered Cabrillo's mind. The feel of the ship had changed, and the seaman in him told him the Belle's captain had slowed so they could turn back for Vicksburg, where every cop on duty would be waiting.

It was going to take some fast talking to keep himself out of prison. The shootings would eventually be proven justified, but there was still the fake ID, the unregistered guns, and the fact that he and Max had lied to customs to get into the country in the first place. This was why Juan preferred to work in the Third World. There, a judicious bribe in the right hands bought your freedom. Here, it tacked another couple of years to your sentence.

Up on deck, people were still clustered around Max, but Juan could see that his friend was sitting upright. The blood had been cleared from his face, and a man was holding a bar towel to the side of his head.

I'm sorry, he said when Juan squatted down at his side. I went to pull Tamara behind me, and the guy just opened fire. One went wide, but the second . . . He pointed to his head. I went down like a sack of potatoes. They get her?

I got one of them, but, yeah, they got her.

Damn.

That's putting it mildly. Juan's phone vibrated again. This time he pulled it out to check who was calling. This can't be good.

Langston, you've got lousy timing, he said to the veteran CIA agent.

You're not going to believe what happened about two hours ago.

Juan had put it together when the gunmen stormed the ship, and said, Argentina just announced that they're annexing the Antarctic Peninsula, and China has already recognized their sovereignty.

How could you . . . ? Overholt's voice trailed off in incredulity.

And I can guarantee that when this comes up at the UN tomorrow, the Chinese will use their veto power as permanent members of the Security Council to kill any resolutions condemning the annexation.

They've already announced they would. How did you know?

That's going to take a little explaining, but first I think I'm going to need a favor. Do you happen to know anybody in the Vicksburg Ph.D.? Cabrillo asked this as the ship's purser showed up with two goons from the engine room carrying wrenches the size of baseball bats.

A second later, he was facedown on the deck, with one goon sitting on his back while the second gorilla pinned his legs. The purser was holding the Glock like a tarantula in one hand and had Cabrillo's cell in the other. Juan hadn't bothered putting up a fight. He could have taken out all three, but he had Max to consider.

He just wished Overholt had answered him, otherwise this was going to be a long night.

The Silent Sea

Chapter EIGHTEEN

IN TOTAL, THEY LOST EIGHTEEN PRECIOUS HOURS. MAX spent most of these under guard at the River Region Medical Center, where his head was scanned and stitched up. Juan was the guest of the Warren County Sheriff's Department. They kept him up all night in a windowless interrogation room, where detectives and uniformed cops grilled him relentlessly.

It took them two hours to determine that his identification was bogus. Had Cabrillo expected any kind of background check, he could have brought papers that would prove legit no matter how hard the authorities studied them. But he hadn't expected this kind of trouble, so his identity was breachable. Once they learned he wasn't William Duffy of Englewood, California the name on his second set of papers the questions came harder and faster.

And while his story about a woman being abducted off the Natchez Belle had been confirmed by other passengers and the crew, the police seemed more interested in the hows and whys of his and Max's presence to try to thwart the attack.

There was nothing Juan could say to convince them that he wasn't part of the plot. And when the rushed ballistic report came back proving that the dead John Doe wearing a ski mask who'd been fished from the river had been killed by the gun the crew took from him, murder-one charges were threatened. They delighted in pointing out that Mississippi was a death-penalty state.

The FBI arrived at around nine the following morning, and for an hour, while jurisdiction was established, Cabrillo was left alone. Just for the fun of it, he pretended to pass out. Four cops, who'd been watching through the two-way mirror, rushed in. The last thing they wanted was for their prisoner to escape justice by dying on them.

It was around two-thirty, by his estimate his watch had been taken upon his arrest when two gray men in matching gray suits showed up. The cops and FBI agents, who were arrayed against Cabrillo like a pack of dogs slobbering over a fresh bone, looked nervous. They were told by the gray men that this was a matter for the Department of Homeland Security.

The salivating looks evaporated. Their bone was being taken by an even bigger dog.

Juan's cuffs were removed and replaced by a pair the Homeland agents had brought. Then he was given his belongings, including his suitcase from the Belle, and escorted outside. The bright sunlight felt wonderful after so many hours under the nauseating glow of fluorescent lights. They led him wordlessly to a black Crown Victoria that screamed government vehicle. One of them opened the rear door. Max was sitting in the back bench seat, half his head swaddled in bandages and tape.

How's the noggin?

Hurts like hell, but the concussion's mild.

Good thing they shot you in the head, otherwise they could have hit something important.

You're all heart.

As soon as Cabrillo was settled next to Max, the car pulled away from the sheriff 's office. The agent in the passenger's seat turned and held up a key. Juan wasn't sure what he wanted until he recognized it as the key to his cuffs. He held up his hands and they were freed.

Thanks. We won't give you any trouble. Where are you taking us?

Airport.

And then?

That's up to you, sir. Though my orders were to recommend you leave the country.

Max and Juan exchanged knowing smirks. Langston Overholt had done it. God only knew how, but he'd gotten them out of that quagmire. Juan wanted to call him right away, but his cell phone had finally died from its soak in the river, and Max's hadn't been returned to him.

The agents dumped them at the curb in front of the Jackson-Evers terminal. Juan hailed a taxi as soon as they'd pulled out of sight.

I take it we're not going to follow their advice? Max asked.

We are, but I don't want to hear you grumble about flying commercial. There's a charter service here.

Now we're talking.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the general-aviation terminal waiting for their plane to be fueled. Juan was using his laptop to act as a telephone. His first call was to Overholt.

I take it you're out? the old CIA agent asked.

Charter jet's fueling as we speak. Max and I both owe you one. How'd you do it?

Suffice it to say, it's done, and leave it at that. How could you possibly know about Argentina and China?

Juan wanted to tell him about Tamara Wright's abduction, but for now even someone as powerful as Overholt couldn't do anything more than was already being done by local law enforcement and the FBI.

He explained what Linda Ross and her team had discovered when they checked into the Argentine research station. He also told him about the gruesome find at Wilson/George.

Okay, so I understand your thinking that Argentina's going to make a play for the peninsula; they've been rattling sabers over it for years, even before the current junta. But China? That caught the CIA, State Department, and the White House completely by surprise.