The silhouettes of three guards filled the doorway. Two were armed with UMPs, the third had a radio to his lips. “I think they’re in the collection.”
Atticus could just make out the static-filled response from the radio. “You have permission to engage.”
Remus.
But why would he give permission for the men to fire in the collection? Were these men that good, or was something else, something more important happening? Atticus knew the answer when he trained his senses on the movements of the massive yacht. He’d grown so accustomed the motion of boats upon the ocean that he didn’t always notice changes in speed, pitch, or yaw. His body simply adjusted to the movements of the ship without conscious thought. It’d become as natural as breathing.
But now that he was paying attention, he could feel the rumble of the engines and the rapid rise and fall as the Titan burrowed through the ocean. They were moving fast. The chase had begun anew.
With little time to spare, Atticus spun from around the obelisk and flung the two darts, one after the other. The first was a perfect strike, hitting the man in the neck. He dropped in a heap as though he’d been shot.
Definitely poison-tipped.
The second dart struck the other guard in the thigh, but the poison didn’t take immediate effect. The man grunted and searched for a target, as Atticus charged him from the side. He had charged just after throwing the darts and he approached from the side of the radioman.
The man saw him coming and ducked as Atticus launched into the air, delivering a savage kick to the side of his head. Atticus wasn’t sure if it was his heel striking the man’s temple, the crack of the man’s neck, or the dart’s poison that killed the man, but there was no question the man was dead when he hit the floor.
Before the radioman could bring a pistol to bear, Atticus flew at him, shooting his legs around his neck, and twisted his body hard in the air to bring the man down on his head. Atticus felt the man’s neck pop between his knees as they hit the ground together. The entire battle began and ended in less than fifteen seconds.
Atticus moved quickly, relieving the guards of their weapons, ammo, and the radio. All in all, he collected two more UMPs with four spare magazines and a fully loaded 9mm Glock. Now, they might just be enough to cause some damage. Bearing his new arms, he entered the hallway, checked every avenue of approach, and reentered the collection.
He flicked on the lights, knowing there was no need to conceal their position, and waved Andrea and O’Shea over. When they reached him, he handed each an UMP and traded the Glock for his. 357. They weren’t exactly ready to wage war, but it was a start.
“How many crew members on board?” Atticus asked.
“Fifty,” O’Shea answered. “Forty-six, if you subtract the four you’ve killed forty-eight, if you include Remus and Trevor.”
Forty-eight to one…They were the most abysmal odds he’d ever faced in a firefight. As a SEAL he had the support of his squad, intel, satellite surveillance, and often air assaults if necessary. Here he had a con man and a Coast Guard rescue worker against forty-six armed killers, one maniac, and one rich eccentric, who might just be the most dangerous of them all. Still, for his daughter, he’d kill each and every one of them if he had to.
“You ready?” he asked.
Andrea and O’Shea nodded. Atticus kissed Andrea, and said, “Get the word out, then find a way off the Titan. I’ll catch up.” He could sense Andrea was about to argue, but there wasn’t time to stand around. He looked at O’Shea. “Take the road less traveled. Avoid confrontation.”
With that, Atticus bounded up the stairs, taking three at a time. When he reached the first landing, he paused, scanned with the UMP, then continued up-a soldier on a mission with more at stake than ever before.
46
KRONOS
The rapid undulations of the soft floor beneath her told Giona that the creature had accelerated, perhaps running from another attack. She cringed with each jolt, expecting the walls to close in on her, snuffing her out again. Since eating and learning to keep her head near the large, oxygen-providing artery, Giona’s thoughts had cleared. But with the clarity came desperation and depression over what seemed to be her fate-to die slowly inside a sea monster.
And she’d realized that was what the creature was-an honest-to-God sea monster. She had no real idea of its size. Her only view of it had been its open jaws before being sucked in, and an opposite view from the inside out just hours ago. All she could recall of those jaws, other than their grand scale, was the teeth, prodigious and needle tipped.
Sea monster or not, the creature wasn’t impervious. It had been injured in the previous attack. Giona still couldn’t fathom who could assault the creature in the open ocean or how they’d find it. But someone had tried to kill the creature, and whoever it was had yet to give up the chase. The monster’s nonstop movement told her that much. But sooner or later, the creature would slow, and the battle would commence again; she felt sure of it. No matter what happened, death seemed to be following her like a Hollywood stalker, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. If the beast died, she’d die with it. If the creature lived, she’d either be digested at some point, or she’d live for a while in this pocket, but she couldn’t live like this forever.
Better to be dead than go insane living inside this thing, she thought.
With a sigh, Giona leaned her head back on the large, pulsing artery. The slight give in the tissue, gentle pulse of the vessel and the extra oxygen relaxed her. She closed her eyes, did her best to block out the smell, and let the booming bass heartbeat calm her mind and body. Her imagination found a toehold and climbed into the forefront of her mind.
Setting her thoughts free to wander where they might was a technique she often used to find creative solutions to challenges she faced. Whether academic, artistic, or emotional, the clearing of her mind and subsequent freeing of her imagination often provided more ingenious answers to questions than her intellect could achieve. As her mind became more agile, images appeared in place of the darkness, so much so that she could see a three-dimensional world around her. First she was home, in her room. Then at the beach, building a sand castle with her parents. Then she was diving with her father.
With a quickening pulse, Giona focused on the attack. First the whales, then the herring, and then it, emerging from the gloom. She slowed the images in her mind and repeated them again and again, each time seeing it more clearly. The body was massive and moved up and down. That made sense now. It looked reptilian-like a marine reptile-but had fins and smooth, dark skin like a killer whale. She held her breath as she focused on the eyes. In contrast to the violent attack, sharp teeth, and otherworldly appearance, the eyes struck her as somehow different from those of any creature she’d ever seen. They looked like a snake’s, but there was something more… Intelligence. Then she saw the oddity. It wasn’t in the eyes themselves, but in the forehead above the eyes. Unlike any whale, shark, or reptile she’d ever seen, this monster had an expressive face. Nothing like a human or even a dog or seal for that matter, but she could see it. The expression in its eyes, the moment before it sucked her down, weren’t those of a hungry predator. They almost seemed gentle.
The images shattered and fled as Giona’s logic exploded in denial. It was ridiculous to think that this predator- this apex predator- saw her as anything but food. Yet here she was, still alive after five days, contemplating her fate. But what other purpose could there have been in eating her? Could she have simply been in the way as the creature pursued the herring? Or was there something more she had overlooked?