“Laila will save it. If only to thwart the prince in his greatest ambition. She thinks she used me, that she uses all of us. But we use her as well. What she does not see, what she cannot see, is this plan didn’t begin with the prince and it won’t end even if she kills him. Others will carry it forward. You and I must stop them.”
“How?”
“Help me get to the surface. Tesla will find you.”
“Will he?” Vivian sure hoped so.
Nahal ignored her. “Once he does, he and I can work from his boat. There are places we can post this information, ways we can frame the story so that the world understands.”
“So, I’m supposed to help you, a woman I barely know?” Her new job sounded like her old job — risking her life to help some crazy nerd save the world. Except with a greater chance than usual of drowning. “Aren’t we too deep to get out of the sub now?”
Nahal shook her head. “Laila is a Dakkar. She will want to watch the battle. I bet my life the submarine will surface to periscope depth when the torpedoes are fired. About sixty feet. Not so deep at all.”
An Olympic-sized swimming pool was only one hundred and sixty-four feet long. Vivian could swim that far holding her breath. Not that she would. She’d be in some damn suit, breathing out and praying. It still seemed like a better option than staying here.
“OK,” she said.
“But we will only stay at such a shallow depth until the Roc is sunk. After that, the Siren will dive and hide.”
“If we don’t try to escape?”
“Perhaps Laila will let us all go our separate ways. Perhaps not. I think she will not let me go so easily, because I am useful to her. But you must know that she will kill you.”
Vivian had to agree with her. Laila would kill her as soon as she got a chance. All that was left was the logistics. “Who will activate the escape trunk to let us out? Can we do that ourselves?”
“We can do it ourselves once we’re inside.”
The sub dipped.
“Did you feel that?” Nahal asked. “A torpedo has been launched.”
Vivian’s hand burned. She opened and closed it and promised it a better future.
“There are coveralls in the locker.” Nahal pointed. “Put on a pair. It is not much of a disguise, but I think everyone will be too busy to look closely.”
Vivian opened the metal door and took out the overalls. Her hands felt like flippers. Nahal helped with the zipper and tied a head scarf over her head, presumably to hide her long hair.
“Ready?” Nahal asked.
Without answering, Vivian opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
Chapter 49
Joe flew the drone in a wide circle around the Roc. The scene played out on various screens — video feed from the drone, sonar feed from the Voyager, and the view through the bridge from a camera he’d installed there. The submarine was within striking distance of the yacht. It was at periscope depth and visible from the sky.
Edison crowded up next to his folding chair. Absently, he stroked the dog’s back.
“It’s OK, boy,” he said. “They don’t care about a little minnow like us.”
He studied the black bulk of the approaching submarine. If she was still alive, Vivian was in there. She should have been back in New York babysitting some spoiled executive at a cocktail party. Bored, but safe.
A flash of white from the submarine, then a quick black line, and a massive bubble of white foam fountained up higher than the Voyager. The Siren had fired its first torpedo. The Roc lurched to the side and then righted herself.
“Detonated too soon,” he told Edison. “Close, though.”
“Back full!” Captain Glascoe’s shout came through the monitor. He wanted to run away. Joe didn’t blame him, but he couldn’t let that happen.
Joe set the drone’s controls on his makeshift desk. When left to its own devices, the drone would hover in position — right over the Roc. It continued to film and to send those images back to Joe’s computers. Whatever happened, the drone would keep recording until it ran out of battery power.
And he had more important things to do.
Edison on his heels, he sprinted through his makeshift tunnels to the bridge. They couldn’t leave.
“What are you doing?” Joe spoke from the doorway.
“Getting out of here until they’re done fighting,” Glascoe said. “Putting a few miles between us so they don’t sink my damn ship.”
Voyager was moving backward, away from the submarine. Away from Vivian. A stoic Marshall stood at the helm.
“We need to be close enough to pick up survivors,” Joe said.
He meant Vivian. She had to be alive still. She had to be.
“We can’t do anything for them right now.” Glascoe looked out at the superyacht towering over the waves. “Not till this is over. We’re not even armed.”
Technically not entirely true. They had a locker full of guns and a fire hose. But nothing that would hold off a yacht carrying who knew what and a fully armed military submarine. Joe wasn’t going to win this argument on logic. Glascoe was right. But Joe didn’t care.
“If by some miracle Vivian Torres pops out of that submarine, I want us to be close enough to get her out of the water before she gets blown to hamburger.” Joe knew he was shouting.
Worried, Edison looked between Joe and Captain Glascoe. The dog hated conflict. Glascoe turned to face Joe and put his hands on his hips. He was taller than Joe, fitter, probably a better fighter. Joe stared him down.
Marshall froze, and the ship kept moving the wrong way. But it slowed down.
“Full speed.” Glascoe roared. “You heard me.”
Marshall jumped. Slowly, his hand moved toward the controls.
Joe couldn’t let them abandon Vivian. He’d left her once, and he wasn’t going to do it again. “We stay where we are.”
Glascoe’s voice was low and deadly. “I’m the captain of this vessel. I’m in command, and I’m not putting the ship or the lives of my men at risk.”
“I’ve paid you enough to own this ship.” Joe glared at him, barely noticing the wall of bright windows now. “And she’s not going anywhere. We stay to pick up survivors.”
Edison stood firm next to him. The hair on the scruff of his neck rose, and the dog growled. Good dog.
Glascoe started toward Joe. The man moved like a fighter. Which he was. Ex-boxer. Joe’d read his file. He’d killed people, and he wouldn’t have any trouble taking out an agoraphobic programmer and his friendly dog.
Joe bent down, picked up the bow, and aimed it straight at Glascoe’s chest.
Surprised, Glascoe stopped. “You’re kidding.”
“I’ve trained on this,” Joe said. “I can hit a much smaller target than your heart from this distance.”
“You’d have to hope you got my heart with the first shot, because you wouldn’t get another.” Glascoe hadn’t moved, but he looked like he was calculating the distance between them.
“I can,” Joe said. “How about we don’t let it come to that?”
Edison growled again.
“A computer nerd with a bow?” Glascoe took a step forward. “Just like that elf in Lord of the Rings.”
He was too close. Joe wanted to step back into the tube, but he couldn’t do that. If he did, Glascoe would rush him and they would leave Vivian to her fate.
“Stop walking.” Joe used his sternest voice. That voice had driven off kids who hadn’t paid at the carnival when Joe was a kid, it had made other CEOs back down, and it had made homeless people leave him alone in the tunnels.
It made Glascoe charge.