A rope splashed on the sub’s skids. Alan grabbed it and started pulling them closer to a dark shape that rose out of the black water. Water droplets stung Joe’s face. He didn’t know if they were rain or seawater, and he didn’t care.
He closed his eyes. If he ignored the pitching underneath him, the smell of the sea, and the water lashing his face, he could pretend he was home, sitting in his shower with a plate of fish. That image was so ridiculous he almost laughed, and the terror receded.
Edison huddled against him. The dog’s warm form, his tongue on Joe’s cheek, even the smell of wet dog — all helped to drive away the fear. Edison was there. He heard the clank of a safety harness unfastening, and Edison moved from his side.
“Come on, Edison,” Vivian said. “You’re with me.”
The dog growled.
“Go with her,” Joe whispered. “Good boy.”
Edison whined like he wasn’t sure. His place was with Joe. Always.
“Go. I’m right behind you.” Joe ordered, and the warmth of the dog against his leg disappeared. He counted, numbers blooming behind his eyes. He shivered, and his teeth chattered. Fear swamped him.
A warm hand touched his shoulder. Vivian. She’d come back for him. “Edison’s aboard. It’s just a little jump onto the swim platform and then up onto the back deck. There’s an enclosed tent there.”
“A hop, skip, and a jump,” Joe said. Farnsworth, the vet from the circus, always said that.
“I have a syringe,” Vivian said quietly, probably hoping Alan wouldn’t hear. He’d be an ass about it if he did.
“Not yet,” Joe answered. “Not yet.”
He focused on his right hand, willing each finger to uncurl. She stood next to him, her breath warm on his neck, her hand squeezing his shoulder.
“Take your time,” she said. “I’m paid by the hour.”
“I don’t have all night.” Alan’s abrasive voice cut through the rain and the wind and the fear.
Anger flared in Joe’s chest. Without opening his eyes, he stood. He was standing outside, for the first time in months.
“Just a step here.” Vivian guided him forward.
The sub pitched up and down, and he wondered if he would fall and be crushed between the sub and the boat he knew waited next to it in the darkness. That thought wasn’t so frightening. At least then he wouldn’t be so damn scared.
Vivian lifted his hand and placed it against cold metal. Rough rope scraped his palm. He grabbed with both hands.
“One big step!” She yelled through the sound of the rain. “Hurry! Don’t leave me trapped back here with this asshole.”
He made a mental note to laugh about that later, but for now he focused only on the platform with his feet and pulling himself aboard. Nearby, Edison barked. Not far to go.
A wave drenched his legs, rain pounded his face, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting back inside.
Hands grabbed him and dumped him facedown in a pile of rope. It smelled like tar. Edison licked his ears, his neck, his cold hands.
He’d done it.
Chapter 31
Vivian hauled herself one-armed onto the deck and glanced over the side at the pitching black waves. Wright had already submerged. No going back now.
She headed across the dark deck to a bank of windows and a closed door. She couldn’t really tell the size from the sub, but it had looked like a pretty big powerboat — maybe eighty feet long. Hopefully, they’d turn on the lights soon.
A man in black cargo pants and a black sweater stepped out of the doorway in the side of the cabin. He was tall, probably about six-foot-four, and barrel-chested. He looked like he could throw her off the boat one-handed. “I’m Captain Glascoe.”
“Vivian Torres.” She held out a hand, and he shook it.
“We weren’t informed you would be boarding as well. I thought you were here to deliver the dog and Mr. Tesla.”
“It was last-minute.” Very last-minute.
“We’ll have to bring you inside to verify with Mr. Tesla before we leave.”
“Of course.”
Glascoe gestured for her to enter the darkened door ahead of him. She didn’t like turning her back on a stranger in the dark, and she held her wounded arm straight by her side so he couldn’t see the cast and tried to walk like a civilian, and a woman, instead of a retired Army sergeant with her arm in a cast carrying a pillowcase.
“What do you do for Mr. Tesla?” Glascoe asked.
“Personal assistant.” She shrugged her shoulders in what she hoped was a helpless-looking gesture. “A little of this. A little of that. And I help take care of the dog.”
The door to the main cabin opened from the inside. Someone flicked the light on when she entered like it was some kind of surprise party. She squinted. Tesla sat on a bench seat with the dog pressed up against his legs and a wooden table in front of him. Stairs behind him and a set of closed wooden doors. Lots of places for people to pop out of.
Tesla looked like death warmed over — pale and shaking. Next to him, a hairy redhead was leering at her. There had to be at least one more guy driving the boat, maybe two. Based on the boat’s size, she was guessing there were at least six crew on board.
“How are you doing, Mr. Tesla?” she asked.
“Fine,” Tesla said. “Seasick.”
“I met Captain Glascoe on my way in,” she said. “I explained I’m your personal assistant and it was decided last-minute I would come with you.”
“Will you be needing your own cabin?” The hairy guy smirked. Apparently, he thought she was that kind of assistant. As angry as it made her, she couldn’t really blame him. She’d shown up at the last minute with the clothes on her back and a sack. Her position was odd.
“She’ll need her own cabin,” Tesla said quickly. “And clothing and supplies.”
“Marshall, show Miss Torres her bunk,” barked Glascoe.
“Where is it?” the hairy guy asked.
“Next to Mr. Tesla’s cabin.”
“That’s my bunk.” Marshall’s eyes narrowed.
“And clear your crap out.” Glascoe smiled. “I hope you enjoy the voyage, Miss Torres. Welcome aboard the Voyager.”
“Thank you.”
Marshall stood. He was a good six inches shorter than Vivian, but muscular and he looked as if he’d be good in a fight. “Let’s go.”
She followed him down a set of stairs toward the stern. He was bowlegged, but his straight posture indicated a stint in the military, or maybe a back disorder.
It had been an expensive boat once, but even a landlubber like her could tell it hadn’t been well maintained. The floor in the initial cabin had looked like teak, but it was gray with age, and the metal fixtures were corroded green. She hoped they took better care of the engines and the radio. Tesla could afford a much nicer boat, so there must be another reason besides comfort to explain why he’d rented this tub.
Behind the doors was a dimly lit galley with a curved island, a table with bench seats, a stove, microwave, refrigerator, a stocked bar, and barstools upholstered in what looked like orange velvet. Everything was clean, but it looked dilapidated.
They went down a spiral staircase like the one that led to Tesla’s elevator. Marshall headed toward the bow, opened a door, and slammed it, leaving her alone in the corridor. She tried the door handle. Locked.
“Marshall?” she called.
“Just a sec.”
She looked around the corridor. Next to Marshall’s door was another one, probably to a second cabin. On the other side of the stairs was another door, probably a third cabin. Based on the hum she’d been hearing, the engines were aft of that.
Marshall came out carrying a duffel bag, a paperback, a towel that smelled like it hadn’t been washed since Edison was born, and a lamp with a half-naked hula girl on the base.