Chapter 26
Off Tanzania’s Coast, Indian Ocean
Knowledge was power. And power kept his dad alive. Dillon had deliberately not told Rasulov the triggers were at the bottom of the Indian Ocean until they had hit Tanzania.
“Just leave my dad here. He doesn’t have to come.”
“Do you think I am stupid?” Rasulov demanded.
Def. “I have to dive. He can’t help—make him dive and we both die, because he’s not strong enough to dive, and I won’t leave him to die alone.”
Rasulov shoved the weapon at Dad’s head. “He is your motivation.”
Dillon clenched his jaw.
“We understand each other.” Rasulov motioned with his weapon, indicating his men to carry Dillon’s feverish, perspiring dad aboard the dive boat they’d hired. He’d been too incoherent since last night to tell Dillon where on the trawler he’d hidden the triggers and just kept saying “all.”
The ship’s captain, Chiku, had been distressed at having his son and ship commandeered by Rasulov and his men.
Not for the first time did Dillon thank God he’d left Cove behind.
She didn’t need to see the coward her father was, nor did he want her used for leverage the way they were his dad.
If she hated him, it meant she was alive to do it.
He’d take that any day over the other option.
“Tell us where.”
“No,” Dillon refused, assisting his dad into the covered, sheltered wheelhouse. “I’m not giving you the coordinates so you can have more thugs out there. You’ll shoot us and make the dive on your own.”
Logic wasn’t a hundred percent, but it’d do for now. Helping Dad onto a stool bolted to the deck, Dillon stayed in the wheelhouse with Chiku and his son, Faraji, until they were at the designated spot. That’s when he moved to the stern, where Faraji helped him suit up with scuba gear.
“You really know my Cove?”
Dillon didn’t look past the man’s slick slacks. He wanted this piece of work to suffer for what he’d put his daughter through. “You call her Lupina.”
The man drew in a breath and shuffled closer. “This is not what you think,” he whispered.
Straightening to shrug into the tanks, Dillon squinted at the billionaire.
“Talk is cheap.” He fastened the straps over his chest. “She believed in you.” In his mind’s eye, he saw her on that bed, pale, lips cracked from dehydration, and would never forgive this man for what he’d invited into her life, the violence.
Again, he breathed in relief that she was with Omen.
“Where is she?”
“You don’t think I’ll really answer that, do you?”
“She is my daughter!”
“Should’ve thought of that before you risked her life.” He clenched his teeth. “She’s safe. That’s more than you deserve to know.”
“Swear it.”
“I said it. Unlike you, I’m a man of my word and don’t lie.” He stepped backward off the boat and dropped into the water. Bobbed there for a second to test his rebreather.
“If you don’t come back, I will kill your father,” Rasulov snapped.
Dillon would not justify that with a response.
He gave a thumbs-up to Faraji, then slid goggles over his head.
He submerged and swiveled around, glanced at the depth meter on his forearm, tapped on the shoulder lamp, and kicked to descend.
The trip down gave him plenty of time to worry about Dad, whether Rasulov would kill him, and how much Cove hated him for leaving her.
That’d pale next to learning her dad was working with Rasulov.
There was that seed of hope that she’d forgive him, and he chastised himself for focusing on their feelings for each other, but it was what kept him going.
After all, part of what he loved about her was that uncanny knack for being reasonable.
Seeing past her own preferences and conceding when things were right, even if she didn’t like them.
The woman was perfection. Everything he didn’t know he needed or wanted.
But how…how could they make it work? She was Italian and lived in a villa. He was from Virginia and had moved back home to live with his mom and siblings after Dad went MIA.
Hold on, Mom. I’m close. Dad will be home soon. Please, God.
His pulse skipped a beat when the haunting hull of the trawler came into view. Glad he’d worn gloves, Dillon used the rail to pull himself toward the front.
He had to think like his dad or he’d never locate them. Couldn’t imagine Dad had been below—that didn’t track. The lower levels were largely tanks for the fish. Then again, Dad would want to make sure this wasn’t easily found.
With precision and care, he searched the main deck, avoiding the broken, rusted swing arm that was still anchored by a thread and floated above the deck.
He swam under it. Spotted a couple of wood lockers with barnacles that were anchored down.
A rusted lock prevented him from checking inside, but he scoured around and found a metal rod tangled in netting.
He extracted it and returned to the locker.
Smashed it against the lock, which was a muted effort because the water fought his momentum.
The lock jangled and barnacles broke free.
A third blow finally met with success. The lid floated up, along with something black.
He tensed—backpack! He snatched and caught it, only to realize it wasn’t a backpack but a black slicker. Tossing it aside, he resumed his search.
C’mon, Dad…where would you hide nuclear triggers?
A squid floated out of a door at the wheelhouse. Okay…that would make sense. At least they would be protected against impact or being dislodged, right? But would Dad have gotten into the wheelhouse?
Def. Dillon had come by his skills and instinct honestly, and if Dad wanted to get into something, he did. Yeah, like a fight against Iranian nuclear proliferation.
Catching the jamb of the missing door, Dillon let the shoulder lamp clear the way inside first. When he didn’t see any sharks or stingrays, he pulled himself into the confined space. Holy fire, this was nearly as bad as the tunnels.
Nearly.
But he’d take the tunnels over this any day due to one factor: Gelato.
Light skimmed wooden steps and the wheel with seaweed coiled around it. He checked his air levels. Twenty minutes left. Where…where was the backpack?
What if someone had already gotten it?
No way. This had to be why Dad was still alive.
Maybe he had gone below, hidden it… Dillon angled around.
An eel slithered through the crack in the front deck windshield.
Likely a bullet hole, but time had widened it, broken and splintered it more.
Maybe from settling on the seafloor. Wheeling around to avoid the eel, he noticed his lamplight hit something below a work shelf with a chained, floating logbook.
His heart tripped as he dove in for a better view.
Couldn’t believe it—on the gray panel wall, someone had drawn in black permanent ink a black flower.
The nightshade flower—Dad!
Dillon surged at the panel, hands frantically tracing the rectangular shape.
Its corners. Found a missing screw. Dug his fingers into the sliver of space.
Tugged. It came loose with a groan that startled him.
But it was enough to shove his hand in. His heart skipped when he felt the rough treads of a nylon strap.
He pulled it from the tight space, adrenaline coursing through him, jacking his excitement.
He unzipped the bag and saw a wad of plastic secured and protected with duct tape.
Dad had thought of everything. Dillon had never felt so proud of his dad as he did right now.
He zipped it back up and threaded his arms through the straps so the pack rested against his chest, tied the loose strap around his waist, surprised and grateful they were still strong despite having been down here, soaking in seawater, for years.
Angling his wrist to see the depth, he twisted the round dial four clicks to the right, then three back, then pressed the side button.
A dull blue light appeared around the 6, then disappeared.
To his right, a shadow bisected the light cast by his shoulder lamp, shoving his pulse into overdrive.
Dillon whipped in that direction, realizing his situational awareness was lousy.
That something had cut through the beam of light meant it was close.
And in a split-second he registered the shape.
The distinctive back-and-forth swimming pattern jammed his heart in his throat even as he saw the fin slice around the half wall, turning back toward the wheelhouse. Shark!
Shoving himself backward, he felt the jarring impact of the tank against something metal clang down his spine. Backed into a corner, he had nowhere to go as the marine predator banked into the wheelhouse.
Holy fire, I am dead.
Her fury at the chief had not abated in the hours following his cruel words.
But the team packed up and boarded a Saudi cutter provided by the Central Kingdom’s royal family.
When she’d asked why they were going after the triggers and not after Dillon, she’d just been told the triggers had to be secured.
War thwarted. As much as she hated the answer, she understood. Mostly.
Sitting in a command room belowdecks with the team, Cove tried to avoid the root of bitterness digging through her mood and heart. She glowered at Dante and another guy when they left the room.
“Tracker died,” someone said.
Pike nodded, a visible tension in his tanned face. “Deploy the drone.” He pressed a button on something. “Squid 1 and 2, you are clear.”
Luther disappeared for a few minutes, then returned.
“Halo1 online,” Dade reported from his laptop.
“Put it on the wall,” Pike instructed.
The screen came to life.
The other members of the team moved toward the screen, effectively blocking most of her view. But that was fine. She had been told to come because she did not have any other options.
“Rig sighted.”
Tempted not to care about this effort, she noticed a strange energy thrum through the team as they watched. A stark-white ship came into view on the screen.
“Zoom in,” Pike ordered.
For a second, she thought she saw someone on the surface. But when she blinked they were gone. Three men were on the back of the boat.
What…was going on? “Is someone else diving?”
“Back off,” Pike said, patting Dade’s shoulder. “If they spot Halo1, it’s over. Luther, have the captain move within striking distance.”
“Striking?” Cove balked. “Why are we striking them? Are they stealing the triggers?”
“Miss Galtieri, I’ll have you removed if you can’t remain quiet.”
Anger dug in harder, but something told her—warned her—to be patient.
To…trust. Which made zero sense. The chief had been so cold and callous.
“You would not help Dillon, and now you just stand by while someone is getting nuclear triggers that could save my dad and his? Why are you not doing anything?”
Pike’s gray eyes bored into her. “Get her out of here.”
“No!” She stamped around him and went to the chief. “I know you did not like him, but I did not—”
The man straightened and faced her, and it was not unlike confronting a hurricane. “You do not know the first thing about me—”
“Except that you are evil, a mostro!”
“—or his plan.”
“I understand now why he would not work with…” Her brain tripped over his last two words and finally caught up with her.
“Plan?” A blazing beacon signaled the truth that rang her like a bell.
What Pike had said. “His plan.” A strangled cry worked up her throat as realization washed through her.
“This was Dillon’s plan.” He hadn’t just left her.
It wasn’t that simple. It was far more complicated and nuanced. “You knew…”
His gaze returned to hers. “An educated guess when he asked me to make sure you had credentials.” A half smile appeared and vanished just as quick.
“Our team doesn’t need credentials to travel.
” He gave a small nod. “Gotta give the guy credit—he’s got some serious chutzpah. Knew RHB would come after him.”
“But why would he do that? They will kill him!”
“That’s what I’m trying to prevent.” He pointed to the screen and moved to check on something.
Again, it took her brain too long to catch up. “Wait—Dillon is here? In the water?”
“Yes,” Luther said as he returned. “Jacobs baited Rasulov into finding him at the Aden airport. They took him to the one place we had never been able to discover—where they were holding his dad: Lebanon. He convinced them to bring him here. Just like he predicted.”
“Wait—his dad? What about mine?”
Something flickered through Pike’s expression.
And scared her. “Wh-what is that?”
“Beacon’s back online!”
Pike jerked toward the screen and grabbed a handheld. “Squid 1 and 2, go go go!”
In the split-second as the shark barreled at him, Dillon recalled the hole in the windshield.
The way the glass bowed. If he dove at it, would it give?
He had no other way out. Toeing the opposite wall, he shoved up and away—but got jerked back.
Only as he tried again did he realize the tank had caught on something.
The gray shark came unyielding. Jaws opened, revealing the teeth aimed straight at Dillon’s chest.
God, help me!
Punch it!
With no time to spare, he drew back his fist. Knew this had to be hard and true. Used every ounce of his strength to drive down on the nose of the shark. The thing thrashed and swung up and away.
He would not get another chance to escape.
If he had time, he’d shed the tank, but with the triggers strapped on, it’d take too long.
He shoved off again and felt a modicum of give.
With all his might, he shoved up. Tic-tacked up the wall, flipped, and felt the tanks give.
Drove his feet at the window. It surrendered easily.
Thank You, God.
He shot through the opening and kicked hard, aiming for the surface. Knew so many little things had to have worked for him to escape without—
He felt more than saw the incoming shark. Apparently, SharkTooth hadn’t given up. Probably ticked after being punched. Dillon swung a right hook. SharkTooth angled aside—but that put Dillon’s right leg right in its path. It chomped down. Searing fire seized his leg even as he pummeled the shark.
Somehow, it let go.
Blood plumed in the water around him. Dillon knew it would be aromatic to other predators and shot upward, kicking for all he was worth. Please…God…if I die, Dad dies. He couldn’t let that happen, no matter the excruciating pain.
Spitting the rebreather out a meter from the surface, he fought the urge to scream at the agony. Focused on the faces looking down from the boat, not on the water churning around him. No doubt they’d seen the crimson stain. He surged free of the water. “Pull me up, pull me up!”