Chapter 42
“Status on the comms?” Braden had made it to the main communication bay and camera-control hub to disable the cameras and onboard comms while Hawk had distracted with his drone.
Suddenly the lights went out completely, leaving him in utter darkness—above deck and below. Everything came to a stop. Chains clanked outside as even lifting the ROV had halted.
He froze and remained quiet long enough to determine he was still alone. What just happened? “Who did that?” He spoke through his ear mic. “Was that you, Cole? Because it wasn’t me.”
“Negative,” Cole said.
They’d had a short discussion about using code names, but Diggins got confused, so they ditched that idea. But who cared? Braden had nothing to hide from these jerks.
The plan was, while Hawk used the drone to distract, Diggins would plant explosives to sink the vessel if necessary—sure enough, he’d found them—and Cole would assist Braden in shutting down the rig.
Braden had wanted to go in and get Cressida first, but with the crew already extracting radioactive materials, there was no time to find her first.
“Never mind who,” Hawk said. “Just go with it.”
“Heard them grumbling . . . there’s an unknown in the engine room,” Diggins said.
Cressida? “I’m going in for her.”
Flicking his headlamp on, he maneuvered out of the comms room. He’d completed his task, and even if the power came back on, the crew wouldn’t be able to see them via cameras or communicate via their radios or intersystem comms.
A guard clomped toward him, his high beams blinding.
Braden pressed forward and slammed his fist into the man who had looked like he planned to take Braden down first. But Braden had knocked him out cold.
He tugged off the man’s outerwear and donned his cap, then secured his wrists and ankles in zip ties.
He relieved the man of his Glock 19 and his Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun—now he blended in and looked like he was part of the security.
Snatching his radio, walkie-talkie, and earpiece—just in case the comms were brought back online—Braden was ready to go.
The ties would slow the man down but probably not stop him.
Braden crept forward in the hall—dimly lit by emergency power that had come on—and continued to the lower deck and engine room, where he hoped to find Cressida.
She might have found her way out of the engine room by now, if she was the one to cause the issue.
Braden hoped and yet struggled to believe Cressida could have shut the vessel down.
Then again, her father might have shared stories with her about disabling enemy vessels.
Cressida was one of the smartest people Braden had ever met.
She could do it. He might be putting too much hope in this ending well, but hope was all he had, and he wasn’t letting go.
Finally on the lower deck and near the stern, Braden suspected the heavy bulkhead to the engine room would be at the end of the hall around the corner.
He braced for facing off with another security guard or an engineer or any other crew members that would be present to restore power. He slowly peered around the corner.
Cressida stood over a man on the floor, who shook in pain.
She held a stun gun.
Despite the danger, he couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face as he stepped out from the side hall and strode toward her. Cressida Valentine Dane was amazing.
Eyes wide, she stared at him as if shocked to see him, then her eyes brightened.
She raced to him. Jumped in his arms. He caught her.
He hadn’t expected her reaction, but he welcomed it.
She eased away from him and lifted her chin, and for a moment he thought she might just kiss him—but another time.
Maybe they’d get their chance on the other side of this.
“I thought you needed my help,” he said.
“I do.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control.”
“It was a losing gamble from the start. Where am I going to go? How am I getting off this rig? But now you’re here. Can I hitch a ride?”
“That’s the plan.”
“You got her?” Diggins’s voice sounded over his ear mic.
Oh yeah. I got her. “Yes.”
He released her, rushing forward, leading with the submachine gun so he could look the part as they bounded up the steps.
The exit door was at the end of the hall.
He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
Finally, he peeked out the porthole onto the deck, then opened the door and stepped into the cool, windy night, turning to look at his surroundings.
He motioned for her to follow him to the bow.
He stopped to peer out onto the water through his night vision binoculars.
“Look out!” she shouted.
He instinctively ducked but didn’t evade the punch to his gut. At least it hadn’t been a bullet. He turned to face the traitor. Though he’d known, the shock of it still rolled through him. “Deputy Trent Riker. Why?”
Trent aimed a handgun point-blank at Braden. He stood too close. Not a wise move. The vessel rolled with the approaching storm and the clouds unleashed a torrent. One dim light illuminated Trent’s face. Braden stood between Trent and Cressida.
“Cressida, get out of here.” Diggins, Hawk, or Cole should be closing in to help her escape.
“Don’t act like you’re a detective,” Trent spat. “I know you’re here for one reason. To find the location of the Vanguard. Now both of you, lower your guns slowly and kick them over into the ocean.”
Braden and Cressida did as Trent requested, losing their weapons in the swell. Behind Trent, Braden could see spotlights out on the ocean in the distance. The Coast Guard was finally arriving, unless Trent also had reinforcements that he’d called in for assistance.
“You’re weak, Trent.” Braden shoved Trent’s weapon up as shots went off and quickly disarmed him, but Trent slammed Braden’s arm against the railing, causing him to release the gun, which slid across the deck and out of reach.
“You’re not a hero, Detective Sanders. You are just a pawn.” Trent lunged, aiming a punch at Braden’s face.
He dodged and threw his fist into Trent’s ribs. Trent hesitated for a few seconds but locked arms with Braden, trying to throw him overboard into the ocean, but that wasn’t happening.
He slammed his forearm into Trent’s throat and broke free, but Trent thrust his knee up into Braden’s gut. He tumbled against the railing, flailing as sea spray soaked him from the growing swells. In his peripheral vision, he could see that Cressida hadn’t run to escape but stayed behind to watch.
The momentary distraction had cost him. Trent came at him with a knife. Braden thrust it to the side, but it landed in Braden’s arm, sending fire through him. When Trent kicked him, he toppled to the ground.
His stance wide, Trent stood over Braden.
“It’s over, Trent!” Cressida pointed Trent’s own handgun at him. “Toss the knife in the ocean and back away from him. Now!”
Trent did as he was told but remained too near for comfort.
Gritting his teeth, ignoring the pain, Braden slowly got to his feet.
“This location—the Vanguard—was never my goal,” Braden said.
“You’re not getting out of here alive,” Trent said.
“I don’t care about what you’re doing here. Take what you want, just let Cressida get to safety.”
He said the words knowing that law enforcement was closing in on this operation. Trent and his crew had nowhere to go, and the vessel could be inoperable, depending on what damage Cressida had inflicted in the engine room.
Cressida might be holding a gun on Trent, but his men outnumbered the team Braden had cobbled together, and he didn’t want Cressida to get hurt.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective Sanders. You’re here attacking this vessel without the proper authority, and now you’re going to blow it up. You’re a rogue agent—a former federal agent who’s out of control. I’m a county deputy who came here to rescue Cressida, who sadly died.”
Did Trent seriously think he could get away with that story? He lifted a detonator and grinned at Braden.
“No!” Braden rushed at Trent, but the man jumped overboard where a small boat waited for him below.
A concussive explosion rocked the vessel, and it tilted at a violent angle. Braden was on his back sliding down but caught the rail. He reached for Cressida, but she was too far away and screamed as she slid through the railing.