Epilogue

Epilogue

Malaysia

Aboard the Oregon

Juan winced as he pulled on his vintage tropical shirt. The loose bandages were only meant to hide the mass of red-and-purple bruising over his cracked ribs. The broken bones had already begun to heal on their own and needed no assistance.

Hali Kasim’s voice called out on the overhead speakers just as Cabrillo opened up his leather travel satchel.

“Langston Overholt for you, Chairman.”

“Pipe him in, please.”

“Will do.”

An audible click transferred the call.

“Juan, my boy,” Overholt said over the sound of a truck gunning its engine.

“Lang? Sounds like you’re out of the office. You okay?”

“As my mother used to say, ‘Finer than frog’s hair and only half as jumpy.’ ” A voice called to Overholt in the background and he took a moment to reply.

“Is that Burmese I’m hearing?”

“Perceptive as always. Delivering some aid here. But off the record, of course.”

“Of course.” Cabrillo knew the American government was providing humanitarian aid to the pro-democracy rebels battling the ruling junta in Myanmar. It didn’t surprise him to learn that the CIA was providing other kinds of support, nor that Overholt was on-site taking a personal interest in the deliveries. If his black budget was involved, he wanted to know where every penny was spent.

“How can I help you?” Juan asked.

“I’m only calling to congratulate you.”

“You already did.” Juan pulled open a drawer. “Your bank transfer cleared last night, including Callie’s reimbursement for the loss of the Spook Fish. Thanks for that.”

“It was the least I could do. But I’m calling in regard to the latest developments.”

A truck passed by and Overholt lowered his voice. “Your idea to issue an automated recall for all of the Vendor’s drone vessels worked perfectly. We’ve recovered all eighteen of his manufacturing vessels as well as three automated submarines. The cargo on board each of those ships alone is priceless. Whatever AI technology we can’t press into immediate service will be reverse engineered and incorporated into our future designs.”

“Glad it worked out.” Cabrillo set a stack of neatly folded underwear into his travel bag.

“Thanks to the data you recovered from Pau Rangi, we’ve also begun rolling up his human networks inside allied governments. The others we’ll turn and use as spies. For all intents and purposes, the Vendor’s organization is destroyed.”

“Fantastic. What about your mole?”

“Erin Banfield? A sad story that. I knew Banfield years ago. Brilliant in her day, though somewhat untethered. She was dedicated to her own ambition, and nothing else.”

“I know the type.”

“Banfield fled under an alias, of course. We lost her scent until an Interpol notification alerted the FBI office in Lisbon. They picked her up on an unrelated charge and are holding her in Portugal.”

“Lucky break.”

“Yes. She was charged with assaulting a local in Algarve. The man was living with another woman in a property she owned there under the same alias. Some sort of love triangle, apparently.”

Another Burmese voice interrupted Overholt in a hurried tone. The old spymaster calmly answered him in the same tongue. Apparently satisfied, the other voice disappeared.

“Sorry about that, Juan. Where was I?”

“Love triangle.” Cabrillo laid two pairs of linen pants into his satchel.

“Oh, yes. Miss Banfield will be extradited tomorrow morning and punished to the fullest extent of the law. Unless, of course, some untoward accident were to occur in transit.”

Juan glanced up at the speakers. Despite the old spymaster’s gentlemanly demeanor, when it came to treason, the unforgiving Overholt took no prisoners.

“Thanks for the update.”

“What are your plans now?”

“Like the Oregon, I’m heading for dry dock and a retrofit.”

“You both deserve it. Well, I’ve got another delivery to make and need to run. Take care, my boy.”

“You, too, Lang.” Cabrillo darkened with concern. “And head on a swivel, okay?”

Overholt laughed. “Of course! Just like I taught you.”

---

★The Oregon was docked at the same Malaysian shipyard where she had been born a few years back. It was an ideal place for her to be refurbished in secrecy and seclusion. After greasing the right palms, the necessary permissions were granted and nosy inspectors turned away.

In addition to the needed repairs, the op center team decided it was also the perfect opportunity to reevaluate the Oregon’s current mix of offensive and defensive systems. Thanks to inputs from Murph and Eric, the next iteration of the mighty ship would prove even more protected and lethal when she set sail again in a few months.

With the Oregon entering dry dock soon, Cabrillo gave all of the Gundogs and most of the crew a paid thirty days leave. Only a skeleton crew of engineers and technicians were staying behind to supervise the repairs and refurbishment.

Max, Murph, Eddie, and Linda gathered on the dock to say their goodbyes to Juan and Callie. The Oregon’s mighty shadow and a freshening breeze kept the warm tropical sun at bay. Murph’s wounded arm was in a sling, and Eric awkwardly cradled something behind his back.

Juan and Callie were flying to Honolulu to meet with her design team and work on a few upgrades for a new variant of the Spook Fish. The first one had performed so admirably that Cabrillo wanted to acquire one for future Oregon operations. The trip to Hawaii was also an excuse for Cabrillo to get some much needed rest, and equally important, to reacquaint himself with a surfboard once his rib cage settled down.

“I brought this,” Linda said, still wearing her eye patch. She handed Callie a bottle of the neon-peach hair color Callie had admired when she first arrived.

“Can’t wait to try it,” Callie said as she hugged Linda. “Love the pirate look, by the way.”

Linda whispered, “Don’t tell the guys, but Hux said I don’t need it anymore.”

Callie giggled. “Our secret.”

For a brief moment after Callie’s rescue, Linda had been overwhelmed with guilt for firing the torpedo that had nearly killed her friend. But Callie assured her all was well and that she would have done the same thing had their roles been reversed. The incident only deepened their mutual respect and friendship.

Eric cleared his throat. Callie turned around and Eric presented his gift.

Callie smiled with delight. It was a brass plaque engraved with the silhouette of a woman free diving to the surface. It read Callie Cosima, unofficial women’s world record, 352.7 feet.

“This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“I thought it up, but the boys in the shop put it together. That depth was the last sonar reading I had on the Spook Fish when you blew the emergency hatch. I know it’s not official or anything, but it’s your personal best, for sure.”

“Maybe I set the official world record for escaping a wrecked submarine.”

“What a dope! Why didn’t I think about that? I’ll definitely check it out.”

“No need.” Callie grinned. “It’s perfect the way it is.” She turned to Murph and hugged him, careful not to touch his sling.

“It was a real pleasure meeting you, Dr. Murphy. Keep up the good work.”

Murph blushed redder than a Grainger County tomato.

“The pleasure was all mine, trust me.”

A bicycle bell rang behind them. They all turned around.

A brightly colored beca, the local version of a bicycle-powered tuk-tuk, approached the farewell gathering and braked to a squeaking halt. The wiry young Malaysian driver sported a wide toothy grin, a San Francisco 49ers jersey, and mirrored aviators.

“I thought you called a limo,” Juan said as he picked up his leather satchel.

“When in Rome.” Max extended his calloused hand.

Juan took it. “You know how to reach me if you need anything.”

Max pulled Juan closer. He nodded at Callie as she tipped the grateful driver for loading her heavy duffel onto the beca.

“You take extra care of that special lady.”

Juan glanced up at the battle-scarred Oregon, her valiant decks looming high above. His face beamed with pride.

“You do the same.”