Chapter 15
Now that the cutter had stopped, the quiet felt wrong.
Wyatt thumbed the receiver. “She’s busy.”
A pause. Then a low chuckle through the static. “And who might you be?”
Jen tugged on his elbow. “Wyatt. I know that voice. He’s the one who shot the tech. In cold blood. Didn’t even hesitate.”
A man who killed to motivate.
Wyatt logged it without thinking.
Good.
This was a language he spoke fluently—violence without sentiment. The world was easier when it stayed that simple.
Wyatt held the radio to his mouth. “I’m the guy who’s been playing with your men all night.”
Silence. Longer this time.
“Ah, the missing Coast Guard.”
“Perhaps.” Wyatt kept his tone easy.
“An overachieving Coast Guard,” the man mused. “How rare. Former military?”
Wyatt let the silence hang.
“What branch?” There was an edge now.
“Does it matter?”
A sigh. “I’ll make you a deal,” the voice continued, smoother now. “You tell me who you are. I tell you who I am. Professional courtesy.”
Wyatt glanced over at Jen.
She stood with one arm around Caro, watching him intently, as if learning the shape of him under pressure. He turned back to the radio before she could finish whatever conclusion she was drawing.
“Petty Officer Wyatt Meyer. United States Coast Guard.”
“Ah, Coast Guard.” The man sounded almost disappointed. “I expected more.”
“Keep expecting. Your turn.”
“Captain Igor Akilov,” the man replied. “Former Russian Naval Infantry. Though I suspect you already knew that.”
Wyatt didn’t react. He’d known exactly what kind of man he was dealing with.
“Akilov. Was that your guy who went off the side of Seven? Or the one I left zip-tied to the catwalk?”
Static hissed.
“Petty Officer Meyer,” Akilov said at last. “How fortunate for Chief Engineer James that you are so dedicated. She is with you, I assume?”
Jen stiffened. Wyatt shifted just enough to put himself between her and the door.
“Quite resourceful, your engineer,” Akilov continued. “The lockdowns. The sabotage. Impressive.”
Wyatt’s jaw tightened.
“Of course,” Akilov said lightly, “systems can be undone. Given time and incentive—”
Incentive.
His vision blazed white for a split-second. Every scar on his body knew what that word meant when applied to a human being.
Rage hit him like a match to dry fuel.
“Here’s the thing,” Wyatt leveled his voice. “You’re not getting those missiles. Not tonight. Not ever.”
A soft laugh.
“You misunderstand,” Akilov said. “The hydraulics you disabled are inconvenient. Nothing more.”
Wyatt went still.
“We do not need the release mechanism,” Akilov continued. “We have cranes. Cutting tools. Missiles are steel. Steel can be moved. No matter what it takes. Those missiles will leave this platform.”
“Then you’d better hurry,” Wyatt said. “Because you’re running out of people willing to do it.”
Silence.
“You seem confident for a man outnumbered twenty to one,” Akilov said at last.
“I’ve had worse odds.”
“Have you?” There was genuine curiosity there. “When?”
“Classified.”
A soft chuckle. “Yes. As a fellow soldier, I imagine you have stories. Let me propose something. You’re a professional. I’m a professional. We both know how this ends.”
“Do we?”
“You cannot hold your position. We have cutting equipment and will access the missile bay shortly. You have a few weapons. And an engineer who should have stayed out of the way.”
Wyatt glanced over his shoulder. Jen’s hands were balled at her side.
“I’ve got everything I need.”
“Then let me be clear. Walk away. As one military professional to another, you can leave this platform alive.”
Jen started toward him.
His eyes found hers.
Stay back.
“Your word,” Wyatt said evenly. “As a man stealing nuclear weapons.”
“I’m a soldier following orders,” Akilov replied. “Same as you.”
The words slid too close to something true.
Wyatt locked down on the instinct to react. He didn’t get to pretend that obedience hadn’t once been his entire job. He’d learned too late the cost of that kind of loyalty.
Never again. “Hardly.”
“No?” Akilov’s tone sharpened. “How many men have you killed, Petty Officer Meyer? How many were just following orders when you pulled the trigger?”
Wyatt’s grip tightened on the radio as Akilov’s words found the bruise. Wyatt let them land and kept breathing.
He flexed his fingers, his knuckles popping. “Different.”
“Is it?”
Silence.
“Give me Chief Engineer James, and you walk away.”
The offer landed clean and surgical. Trade the asset. Preserve the operator.
Her hands on his thigh. The catch in her breath as she’d sealed his skin. The way she’d climbed back into gunfire because leaving him wasn’t something she could do.
He didn’t need to look at Jen to know what handing her over would mean—not just for her, but for the version of himself he’d spent years insisting was all he was good for.
Violence. Exit wounds.
But right now, Jen made him want something else. Something dangerous.
Adrenaline scalded his blood. He breathed through it. Forced it down. Akilov wanted a reaction. Wanted him rattled, emotional, making mistakes.
Not happening.
He gave it half a second because that’s what Akilov expected—some weighing of options. Except there was no debate. He wasn’t handing her over. Not while he was still breathing.
“Here’s my counteroffer,” Wyatt held the radio close. “You leave the platform. Now. Take your men. Swim for it if you have to. Leave the missiles. Leave the hostages.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then I'll kill your men one by one.”
Laughter. “Bold words.”
“Not words,” Wyatt said. “A promise.”
Akilov exhaled slowly. “Our cargo vessel arrives soon. We don’t need control systems. We only need time and when we cut through that door, we will have no option but to kill you.”
“About that,” Wyatt said, glancing at the blackened console behind him. “Your engineer—the one you’re so interested in? She didn’t just lock the system down. She destroyed it,” Wyatt continued. “Burned out the hydraulics. The missiles are going nowhere.”
The pause that followed was longer.
“A charming idea. But we will remove those missiles with whatever force is required.”
“Looking forward to it,” Wyatt said. “What should I call you when you get here? Captain? Akilov? Or the guy whose mission just failed?”
“You will call me the last face you see.”
Wyatt clicked the radio off.
The bay went quiet.
Caro released a slow, hissing breath. “Bloody hell and a half. What now?”
“We’re leaving,” Wyatt said.
“He just threatened to kill us,” Jen said faintly.
“Yeah.” Wyatt turned. “He was always going to.”
“And where exactly are we going to go?” Caro waved a hand at the steel tomb of the bay.
“I wanted coral reefs, even sharks. Not nuclear missiles and Russian psychos.” She stopped, eyes flicking upward.
“Chief. The pressure relief vents—those are rated for emergency evacuation airflow, right? Big enough for people?”
He looked at Jen. She was already scanning the overhead structure, eyes tracking lines and seams, running calculations he couldn’t follow.
“Caro’s right.” Something lifted in her voice. “The relief vents are wider than standard HVAC. Designed for rapid air displacement in a fire scenario. If we remove the internal grilles…” She trailed off, head tilting. “Yeah. We can fit.”
Her eyes met his—clear and bright, already three steps ahead—and when she smiled, it wasn’t relief.
It was recognition.
He’d spent years believing he was only useful in the dark.
Her smile said otherwise.
Jen wasn’t asking for protection.
She was already moving. And he could follow.
“Like Caro says.” He jerked his chin upward. “Let’s move.”
Her smile hit him again, somewhere dangerous. “Yeah. Let’s.”