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Aboard the Oregon

The Gulf of Oman

Juan Cabrillo stood on the Oregon ’s deck, his clear blue eyes fixed on the distant speck in the achingly bright cobalt sky, one hand upraised to shade his face from the searing sunlight. The Oregon ’s thundering tilt-rotor aircraft, an AgustaWestland AW609, had begun its descent.

A gusting wind suddenly nudged his strapping six-foot-one-inch swimmer’s frame. The blast of wind ran its fingers through his closely cropped sun-bleached hair and his vintage 1950s Hawaiian shirt snapped like a flag in a hurricane.

“Where’s that wind coming from? No storm in the forecast,” Linda Ross said in her high-pitched voice. Her green, almond-shaped eyes were hidden behind a pair of oversized aviator glasses and a black ball cap. Though strong and lean, she was battered so hard by the breeze she had to grab on to Juan’s thick bicep for stability.

“Came out of nowhere,” Juan said. “I don’t like it.”

★

Callie Cosima’s tall, athletic frame sat comfortably in the tilt-rotor’s copilot seat. Her shoulder-length honey-blond hair was pulled into a ponytail to accommodate the tilt-rotor’s headphones and Oakley wraparound sunglasses protected her eyes from the sun’s harsh glare. She wore her natural beauty with an unadorned and easy grace and her toned body bore the healthy glow of a woman who had spent a life outdoors, especially on the water.

George “Gomez” Adams piloted the AW609 tilt-rotor, currently configured in helicopter mode. The three touchscreen cockpit displays were straight out of a video game and provided anyone in the dual-control pilot seats complete situational awareness. They’d been in the air nearly two hours.

Gomez had picked Callie up at the private jet terminal at Dubai World Central airport—one of several with which the Corporation had long-standing, discreet arrangements. With piercing brown eyes and a stylized gunfighter’s mustache, Gomez was roguishly handsome, but it was his charming cocksureness that cut most women to the quick.

Callie frowned as she pointed through her side windscreen. The Gulf of Oman was dotted with cargo vessels and oil tankers.

“Hey, Gomez. Is that the Oregon ?”

A pale blue freighter with a white stern superstructure was anchored several hundred feet below. She saw a 590-foot break-bulk carrier with four pairs of yellow cranes towering over five large green cargo hold doors. She’d seen dozens of such vessels over the years. It wasn’t at all what she was expecting.

“Yup. That’s the Oregon .” Despite the electronic microphone, Gomez’s voice was deep and smoky as a plate of West Texas barbecue brisket.

“Doesn’t look like much.”

“That’s kinda the point.” He flashed a leather-soft grin as he eased the aircraft into a gentle descent.

“Hate to ask but…Where are you gonna land this thing?” Callie asked.

Gomez opened his mouth to answer, but alarms suddenly screamed in their headphones.

Callie’s eyes widened like dinner plates. Her blood pressure spiked into her skull as her stomach puddled in her boots.

They were plummeting out of the sky.

“Wind shear,” Gomez whispered calmly in his mic as he simultaneously advanced throttles, mashed rotor pedals, and worked the cyclic and collective to generate massive lift without stalling—and yet, still maintaining control. The twin Pratt ”

“Gomez is his nickname,” Juan said. “He has a certain effect on the ladies. Well, one of the many ladies unable to resist his considerable charms was the courtesan of a Peruvian drug lord who looked a lot like Morticia from The Addams Family TV show—”

“And Gomez Addams was her husband.” Callie grinned. “Got it. Better than getting called ‘Lurch.’”

“True that.” Juan gestured toward Linda. “This is Linda Ross, my Vice President of operations, and third in command on the Oregon .”

“It’s a real honor to finally meet you,” Linda said. She and Callie shook hands.

Callie noted Linda’s shockingly bright mane spilling out beneath her ball cap. “Love the neon hair.”

Linda pulled off her sunglasses, revealing a spray of freckles across her petite nose.

“Kinda crazy, I know. I change my hair color as often as I change my socks. Can’t break the habit.”

“Linda was a Pentagon staffer and blue-water naval intelligence officer before she came to work for me,” Juan said. “I think she’s trying to color away all of those Navy regulations she used to keep.”

“Thanks, Dr. Freud,” Linda said, pulling on her aviators.

“I might have to borrow a bottle,” Callie said. “I understand you’re a sub driver as well?”

“Best on the boat—except for the Chairman.” Linda nodded at Juan. She caught the eye of one of the hangar apes, a barrel-chested fireplug in blue utilities. He jogged over.

“Ma’am?”

Linda pointed at Callie’s enormous duffel.

“Please take Ms. Cosima’s luggage to her guest suite. It’s number 311, two doors down from mine.”

“That’s not necessary,” Callie protested. “It’s rather heavy. Gear, mostly.”

“Happy to, ma’am.” The deckhand snatched up the heavy bag as if it were filled with cotton candy and turned on his heels.

By the time she said, “Thank you” he was already speeding off toward the superstructure.

Callie turned back to Juan and flashed a curious look.

“So why do they call you ‘Chairman’?”

The big hydraulic motors of the aircraft elevator whined as the tilt-rotor disappeared belowdecks.

“We run the Oregon and its operations like a Wall Street company, not a military organization. In fact, our business operation is called ‘The Corporation.’”

“You need a better marketing department.”

“I don’t disagree,” Juan said, chuckling, “because I am the marketing department. I’m the Chairman of the Corporation, Linda is Vice President, and Max Hanley is the President. You’ll meet him later.”

“I’ve Skyped with him several times. Supersmart guy.”

“He helped build the Oregon ,” Juan said. “He’s one of the best engineers I’ve ever known.”

“But the Oregon was Juan’s idea,” Linda said, “and he was the original designer.”

Callie nodded. “Impressive.”

“That’s quite a compliment coming from someone like you,” Cabrillo said. “I’ll take it and run. I bet you want to see your baby.”

“Sure do.”

“Then follow me to the janitor’s closet.”