Chapter 6 #4
But before he could rescue his sister, the boat needed to be dead in the water.
Pulling himself up the back ladder, Stein crouched and slid onto the swim deck. The Jet Skis sat in the darkness, strapped onto the deck. He unstrapped them. Then he lifted one of the handguns he’d swiped from the weapons locker.
He aimed for a light over the main deck and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed across the water, but bam ! The light died. He aimed for the other one and took that one out too just as a shout erupted from the bridge.
He sprinted up the stairs and ran down the side of the boat, hugging the darkness.
The thug came out and spotted him.
Stein aimed, but a gunshot from above pinged past him. A miss.
No choice but to get into the galley, so he took the stairs down to the lower level.
Oh boy. He was the king of good plans today, wasn’t he? But if he could stop the boat, he could keep them from chasing the escapees down.
He descended to the mechanical room. He didn’t know much about engines, although he’d bent over his grandfather’s old Ford a few times.
Not quite the same setup as he stood in the massive area with its two bulky engines, generators, watermakers, and so many hydraulic and exhaust lines, it seemed like a jungle.
Shouts came from above.
Move. He spotted a couple of hoses and yanked. Steam and water sprayed out. One engine stopped moving.
More shouts.
The hot, dark engine room would be a terrible place to die. He reached for the other hydraulic hose.
The door banged open. Shots. He ducked behind a large AC unit.
More bullets pinged off the engine, and one of them pierced something that sent out steam.
Fantastic. A voice sounded from behind the shooter—probably something along the lines of “Don’t shoot in the engine room, you fool!
” But Stein didn’t know enough Russian to know for sure.
He took a peek and spied a gunman heading straight for him, another man on his tail.
He aimed for the first, but another gunshot pinged through the room, and yes, he was going to die.
And then Austen would be really, really mad.
He held up his hands. “Stop!”
The gunman came straight up and cuffed him across the face with the butt of his gun. Stein jerked back, head spinning. But he shook it off, turned, and slammed his fist into the man’s face.
The man roared, but the guy behind him shouted something, and Stein stepped back, hands up again.
The first man was bleeding from the nose, and Steinbeck tasted his own blood filling his mouth.
Then the second gunman came up, grabbed the handgun out of the other man’s hand, and shoved Stein in front of him, out of the mechanical room.
The remaining engine still hummed, impervious. Not good.
They pushed him into the galley, then up the stairs to the salon.
Austen’s eyes widened as he came into the room, and her breath caught.
All right, so maybe he looked a little rough.
But not as bad as Declan. The guy appeared worked over pretty good—black eye, bloody nose, and he was wincing a little bit. Steinbeck tried not to care.
They led him over to the sofa where Phoenix sat in her now-grimy white uniform. He lowered himself next to her and glanced at her. She rolled her eyes. Yeah, well, they weren’t dead yet. And that counted.
The first Russian, the one Stein had hit, came into the room, shouted at the guard, and then pointed his gun at Steinbeck. Uh-oh. Steinbeck raised his hands. Oh, please, not in front of Austen.
But maybe Big and Angry was just making a point, because he glared at Steinbeck, then stalked out of the salon.
“What happened to you?” Austen said. “I was so worried!”
“Stop talking,” said the Russian, but Stein ignored him.
“I went for a little dip.”
“Oh brother,” Austen said.
“This was not the plan,” Phoenix said beside him.
“Really?”
“Stop talking!” The Russian got up, walked over to Steinbeck, and it looked like he was going to hit him again, but Steinbeck held up one hand, met his eyes, and gave a try me look.
Whoever these guys were, they weren’t mercenaries.
Lousy shots and easily intimidated. So that made them who?
Maybe Mafia, although the Russian Bratva was one of the toughest, meanest in the world.
So if they were Bratva recruits, they seemed low on the ladder.
Which meant they could be overpowered, right?
Especially this guy.
Stein glanced at Declan, then at the salon door, back at Declan.
The man’s mouth tightened around the edges. Whatever Stein thought about Declan, he’d been a Marine, so he could handle himself.
And Stein’s adrenaline was still running hot. Better to attack now while they still had a chance to get away. The longer they settled in, the less momentum played on their side.
Steinbeck looked at Phoenix. She gave him a nod, and then she smiled.
He did not expect the burst of heat inside his chest. The way her smile lit him up. They weren’t friends. And maybe not enemies either, but yeah, this woman had gotten way too far into his psyche. Still, she was tough. A partner, for now.
He said quietly, nearly a whisper. “When I go, you go.”
She nodded.
“So, Declan, who are these guys anyway?” Stein directed the question to Declan but glanced at the Russian. He had answered his radio, listening to something.
Hopefully not a kill order.
Declan frowned, his voice low. “I don’t know. Russian pirates?”
“Oh, please,” Austen said, her voice also quiet. “They said they were looking for something, and then they brought you to the bridge. What were they looking for? What do they want, Declan?”
Oh, she sounded mad. As if she’d decided that Declan was a criminal after all.
Steinbeck felt a little sorry for Declan when his eyes widened. So long, Romeo.
Then Declan sighed. “In truth, they’re looking for a ship. One of my ships. It has cargo on it that they want. They found her coordinates, and they’re going after her.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Phoenix scowl.
“What kind of cargo?” Austen whispered.
“A superconductor chemical that’s mined out of the volcano in Mariposa. It’s used with AI and defense technology.”
He looked at Stein when he said it, and Stein frowned. This was the second time he’d heard this, and again, it felt like Declan was telling the truth. But Declan had gotten very good at lying over the last six months, so he wasn’t sure.
“Stop talking or I hurt her.” The Russian walked over to Austen.
Declan held up a hand. “Dude. There’s no need for that. We all want the same thing—to get out of here alive.” And he reached out to Austen as if to reassure her. She moved her hand away.
Ouch. “You got what you wanted—the coordinates of the cargo ship. Just let us go,” Steinbeck said.
The man pointed his gun at Steinbeck. “No.”
Go.
“Yes.” Steinbeck lunged at him, kicked, and pushed the gun muzzle away with his hand. Then he landed a kick against the guy’s knee.
The man jerked. Steinbeck had hold of the gun, so when the shot went off, he directed it to the ceiling. Then he slammed his open hand into the man’s jaw, snapping his head back.
Phoenix swept up a handgun that lay on the table behind them. “Let’s go!” She flung open the door.
Declan and Austen had gone through the sliding door. Phoenix looked at Steinbeck wrestling for the handgun. “Leave it! Let’s go!”
Right. Steinbeck cuffed the man, then ran out into the night, Phoenix behind him. Austen and Declan had hit the swim deck, and Declan struggled with a suitcase life preserver on the side of the boat.
“No. Get on the Jet Skis!” Steinbeck got behind one to push it into the water.
Declan pushed the other one into the sea. It slid into the water just as shots fired behind them.
Stein turned. Phoenix had dropped the gunman onto the deck. But from the bridge came shouts, and in another second, more shots.
Declan reached for Austen. This time she did take his hand and scrambled behind him.
Stein leaped on one of the Jet Skis. “Come on, Phoenix!”
She sprinted from the deck and jumped, landing behind him, like she was a bareback rider. She locked her arms around his waist, squeezed tight, and said, “Move it!”
Hoo-yah . He gunned the engine and they roared off, a plume of water spraying the swim deck. Declan and Austen had already disappeared into the night. He followed their wake, the glimmer of moonlight off the hull of their Jet Ski.
“Just couldn’t get enough of me, could you?” Phoenix said over the roar.
Steinbeck looked over his shoulder at her. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it.” But when he turned back to follow Declan’s foamy wake, all he could think was...
Yes. Maybe, definitely, yes.