Chapter 39
Iheld up at the corner when I reached the control room. I peered around and saw Mitch, Judy, Quinn, Ross, and Norrington bound about the wrists and ankles. One goon wearing black tactical gear and a black balaclava guarded them. In their present condition, they weren’t a threat.
The goon paced about the room.
There were two hatches. Two ways into the compartment.
He walked in my direction, fumbling for a pack of cigarettes. He pulled them out, slipped one loose, and grabbed it with his lips. He pulled it from the package, then stuffed the pack back in his pocket. He dug out a Zippo, flipped the lid, and struck the lighter.
The goon had a hard time getting the cigarette lit, and it didn't stay lit after he took the initial drag. This guy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
He made a sour face, not liking the way it tasted at 10 atmospheres.
But addiction is addiction. He gave it another go as he turned around and walked back the other direction.
That was my opportunity to strike.
With his back to me, I advanced to the hatch, entered the compartment, and crept behind him.
He had trouble getting the cigarette lit again. He turned back toward me before I could strike. His eyes rounded, and he grabbed for his rifle.
I stabbed at him. The knife sliced through the air.
He blocked my forearm and tried to pull my arm in and pin it against his body. With his other hand, he took aim.
I circled the knife around, swiping across his belly as I reached for the barrel.
With my hand on the handgrip of the rifle, the blade raked across his tactical vest, not getting the penetration I had hoped for.
He came across with a hard left.
I blocked, then kicked him in the balls.
He doubled over, and I stabbed the knife into his neck and stripped the weapon before he could get a shot off.
The thug dropped to his knees, blood spurting from the wound as I pulled the blade free.
He clutched at the puncture, but his feeble attempt didn’t do much good. He fell forward and bled out.
The crew watched on with wide eyes, a mix of shock and delight.
I wiped the blood on the sleeve of his tactical shirt, then moved to Ross and cut the bindings around his wrists and ankles. I pulled the duct tape from his mouth.
"Am I glad to see you," he whispered.
I told him to free the others and gave him the goon’s gun. "Move the body out of sight. Be quiet about it.”
With my heart pumping, I continued out of the control room, darted into the passageway, and moved through the curved corridor to the moon pool. I hovered at the hatch just as Jack surfaced the Neptune next to a foreign black mini-sub. It was just like the one that attacked us at the Silent Dragon.
The terror leader had his pistol to Elana's head. His second-in-command stood beside him.
With their backs to me, I had the element of surprise for the moment.
Jack opened the hatch to the Neptune and emerged with caution. All eyes were on him.
Flynn reached the moon pool, coming from the south corridor.
The second in command saw him, shouldered his rifle, and squeezed off a few rounds.
Muzzle flash flickered, and bullets streaked across the moon pool, peppering the bulkhead near the entrance as Flynn ducked for cover.
Automatic gunfire in a pressurized habitat, 300 feet underwater, is not a good move. I didn’t know how thick these bulkheads were, but I hoped they would be enough to stop a bullet.
I shouldered my rifle, took aim, and fired two shots, pelting the scumbag in his side. He twisted around and flopped to the deck.
The squad leader grabbed Elana as he backed away from the fray, the gun to her head. He backed up to a bulkhead, using her as a human shield. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go.
I took aim at his head, but I wasn’t about to pull the trigger. Too risky a shot.
"Seems like you’re in a sticky situation," I said.
"Come any closer, and she dies.”
"Then guess what happens to you.”
The sequence of events was obvious.
His nervous blue eyes glanced around, looking for the rest of his team. With a black balaclava over his head, he was anonymous.
"They're all dead," I said. "There's no one coming to save you.”
Despair tightened his face.
"Flynn, are you okay?" I shouted.
"Just riding the wave, going with the flow."
I told the squad leader to "Put the gun down, let her go, and you can walk out of here.”
He laughed. "You expect me to trust you?”
"What choice do you have?”
He didn't buy it for a second. He wouldn't have let us live, so he didn't think it was possible that we’d let him go.
Elana’s face twisted with terror.
The squad leader dug into his pocket and pulled out a remote. He clicked it and held his thumb on the button. It was a silver, metallic device about the size of a key fob. "This is a dead man switch. If my finger comes off his trigger, a bomb will detonate in five minutes on the habitat.”
He could have been bluffing, but I didn't think so.
"I'll let her go, and you give me safe passage to my submarine.”
"Where's the bomb?”
He laughed. "I'm not telling you.”
It was at that time another tremor rocked the habitat. It rattled the bulkheads and fractured a seal around a porthole in the moon chamber. Water hissed, splashing against the deck.
The momentary distraction gave Elana a chance to put an elbow into the goon’s rib cage. She spun away and darted across the compartment.
As a reflex action, the squad leader took aim at her.
With no choice, I squeezed the trigger twice. It pelted the scumbag in the chest. A geyser of crimson spewed.
He flopped back against the deck, and his pistol clattered away. His thumb let go of the detonator.
I raced to him, keeping my weapon aimed at the dirtbag.
When I reached him, I kicked his pistol away, then lorded over him with my rifle still aimed. "Where's the bomb?”
He laughed, coughing up blood as he sucked for breath. The wounds in his chest gurgled.
The scumbag bled out, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
I looked at my dive watch and noted the time. We had under five minutes to find the bomb before it put a hole in the hull.