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Sucre
. We are currently three and a half hours from Puerto La Cruz. If the rumors are true, we will need all the firepower at my disposal. I plan to capture the vessel myself.”
    Lozada swallowed hard at her bloodcurdling tone. “I must warn you, Admiral, the
Dolos
is carrying four thousand tons of fertilizer. Ammonium nitrate is volatile. If a fire is started by gunfire, it could blow up and destroy the entire harbor.”
    â€œHow long before she is scheduled to depart?”
    â€œFour hours.”
    â€œThen we’ll lie in wait outside the harbor. Let her get her cargo on board and set sail. We’ll intercept her in open water.”
    â€œAnd if they do have all those mythical weapons on board?”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter.
Mariscal Sucre
is more than capable of sinking her.”

Once he was sure Lozada wouldn’t be returning for an even bigger bribe, the man who had introduced himself as Captain Buck Holland returned to the office and set his hat and wig on the desk, revealing a blond crew cut.
    â€œOkay, Max,” he said to the air, removing the latex prosthetic appliances from his face as he spoke. “I think we’re clear. You can turn off the odorant vents.”
    Silent fans kicked on and the foul smell was sucked from the room in seconds, replaced by a crisp pine scent. Max’s disembodied voice said, “You like my new concoction?”
    Next to go were the fake teeth and glued-on mustache. “‘Like’ is not the word I’d go with. If you were aiming for eye-watering, you blew right through it and hit vomit-inducing. I’m surprised the harbormaster didn’t lose his dinner.”
    â€œBut it worked, didn’t it?”
    Last to be removed were the brown contacts. His eyes were now back to the crystal blue that he had gotten from his mother. Juan Cabrillo smiled. “It sounds like he bought the story. I’ll see you in my cabin in a few minutes.”
    He shoved the disguise—including the rubber belly that had covered a muscled torso sculpted by a daily hour of swimming—into a trash bag. He wouldn’t be using it again.
    The black man who’d barged in during the meeting returned, carrying the rat less gingerly this time. He tossed it on the desk, where it bounced against the wall. The stuffed animal looked so real that Juan could imagine it coming to life and scurrying away.
    â€œNot a fan of rats, Linc?” Juan said, deliberately avoiding the implication that the former Navy SEAL was scared of them. If the massive Franklin Lincoln was afraid of anything, Juan sure never wanted to meet up with whatever that was.
    Linc smirked. “Are you kidding? Back in Detroit, we’d call one this size a mouse. Ours were nearly as big as raccoons.”
    â€œThey sound like they’d make great pets.”
    â€œWhere do you think I got the name Charlie for this one?”
    Juan laughed, and checked his watch. “We’re scheduled to sail as soon as our cargo of fertilizer is unloaded in three hours,” he said, leading them down the corridor, where he stopped at a tiny utility closet crammed with mops and cleaning supplies that had never been used. “What’s our equipment status?”
    â€œEverything is prepped and ready to go.”
    â€œGood. I’ll check in with Max and then meet you at the moon pool.”
    â€œYou got it, Chairman.” He continued down the corridor, humming Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The
Dock of the Bay” as he walked.
    Juan spun the handles on the faucet of the nonworking sink in a specific pattern. With a sharp click, the back wall opened wide, revealing a hallway that would have been at home on the finest cruise ship. Recessed lighting glowed softly above mahogany walls and sumptuous carpeting, a far cry from the rust and grime the harbormaster had seen. He walked through the opening and down the corridor toward his cabin.
    Juan always