Ambra stuffed her rebreather into her mouth and ended the conversation, but her dark eyes were still uneasy.
Relieved to stop talking, Laila bit down on her mouthpiece. Although she and Ambra used sophisticated rebreathers designed for Special Forces frogmen, she hated to rely on them. The specifications said their devices were foolproof. They scrubbed carbon dioxide from each exhalation and recirculated oxygen. But the oxygen generators in the sub itself were faulty, so she didn’t trust these either. They were having to surface ventilate to replenish their atmosphere in the sub, but that obviously wasn’t an option with the individual rebreathers.
Ambra wiggled, probably searching for a more comfortable position, and her hip pressed Laila’s. Laila wished she hadn’t had to bring anyone out with her, but the other women had insisted, pointing out the safety protocol of diving in pairs. So she’d relented and chosen Ambra, because she was a strong swimmer and good in a fight.
The walls threatened to close in on her, and Laila concentrated on her breathing. She didn’t dare hyperventilate and pass out. She held her nose and blew to clear her ears and felt Ambra do the same. They needed to equalize the pressure in their ears so they’d be safe to go when the door opened. If it ever opened. If they didn’t drown in the narrow tube.
She forced herself to visualize the clean white around her bunk, the blue wool blanket covering the narrow bed, her beloved Kindle resting on the pillow. Her new home. Inside the sub, for the first time since early childhood, she felt safe.
It felt good not to be frightened all the time, to not be vulnerable because she was a woman, because a man could do what he wanted with her and to her. But it wasn’t enough to run away.
She had to stop the cycle of violence, or at least stop Prince Timgad from escalating it further. She’d taken his tool, and she would use it to fight him.
After an eternity, the outer door opened. She swam out and cleared her ears. They were deep for diving, about thirty meters, which was why it had taken so long for the pressure in the escape trunk to equalize.
No sunlight could reach down here. She turned on her flashlight and shone it around. Tiny bubbles ran along the ship’s bow, farther forward than she’d expected. The Siren must have dragged the prince’s sub with her as she’d slowed, his vessel caught on the front like a camel hit by a train.
Faint light silvered the rising bubbles. The little sub must still have power. The prince must be sitting in his underwater prison, as helpless as her sister had been, as she had been. Let him marinate in his fear. Let him understand what it felt like when a larger will was imposed upon him. Let him die in pain and terror.
Ambra touched her elbow. She bobbed like a seal and pointed down toward the source of the bubbles. Ambra wanted to examine the sub’s hull. As did she.
Laila kicked off and descended. Neither woman had known how to dive before they took the sub, but one of their crew, Ambra, was a trained dive master. She’d brought training materials aboard and taught the women two by two, everyone practicing until they were as comfortable underwater as they had been above. Ambra was adept at spearfishing, and she supplemented their meager food stores with fresh fish. This was vital, because the Chinese had left them underprovisioned.
Her gun jostled her back. She was grateful to have a powerful weapon, something more than the knife sheathed at her ankle. She hoped she would be able to use it, that the prince was still alive and that she could watch the life leave his eyes by her own hand.
Ambra grabbed her arm, then pointed to her flashlight. Ambra turned hers off, and Laila followed suit. Darkness pressed against her with even more weight than the water. She felt helpless and longed to turn the light back on.
Ambra tugged on her chin, pointing it down and away.
Laila peered through the dark water ahead, unsure what she was looking for.
Slowly, she made out a faint light shining from below. She slid forward, one hand brushing the cold, smooth side of the sub so she wouldn’t get lost. Ambra rested a hand on her shoulder, and they swam forward together, silent in the sea, without even bubbles to give them away.
As she rounded the side, she spotted the light and the gangly man who held it. Long black fins flickered at the ends of his slim legs. He was swimming through the water toward the trapped sub.
She unslung the automatic weapon and touched the extra fléchettes in her wet-suit pocket.
Ambra yanked her arm, and Laila almost lost her grip on the rifle.
Another figure had slipped into view behind the swimmer. Too small to be an adult. But what would a child be doing down here?
The figure wore a bright suit, and something was odd about its outline. It took her a second to recognize it because the creature didn’t belong in the deep sea.
A dog.
The prince hated dogs. He’d thrown her sister’s puppy out of a moving limo because it had nipped at his rough fingers, and because he hadn’t wanted her to have something to love. Such a man would never go scuba diving with a dog.
Perhaps the animal belonged to one of the prince’s bodyguards. But that made no sense. She couldn’t think of a single man in the prince’s orbit who owned a dog. He would never have allowed it. Maybe someone else had been on the submarine, someone she didn’t know.
Ambra pointed back the way they’d come with an arm a shade darker than the water. If they went back, they wouldn’t be seen. A diver and a dog weren’t a threat to the Siren. They could check their submarine for damage somewhere safer, and she could find out the prince’s fate from the news. But she had an absolute need to verify personally that he was dead. She had to deal with this new threat.
She swam on. The man and the dog reached the submarine pinned under the Siren’s bow. They dove to it, and the dog’s thin legs dug up mud and silt. The silt rose in a cloud of brown, but before it obscured the tiny craft, she saw the pilot imprisoned inside the clear plastic bubble.
Not the prince.
A woman.
Laila reeled backward and jolted into Ambra. She’d hit the wrong submarine. All her work and planning, and she hadn’t even killed the prince. He wouldn’t dare to venture underwater again. She wouldn’t see him die today. She’d put them at risk for nothing. Even worse, the survivors could call for help and give their account. The Siren had to be well away when that happened.
She banked the rage and looked back the way they had come. Bubbles floated up around the middle of the sub, and a blue light flickered there, fainter than starlight. The light didn’t come from the Siren. Another craft was pinned beneath her. A second submarine.
Surely that was the prince’s gaudy craft. If so, the Siren had hit him fair and square, as planned. The submarine with the woman and the dog must have come along at the wrong moment and been struck by accident. That was their tragedy.
Not hers.
She’d found her target. The prince must be buried deep under her hull. She would check to be certain after she dealt with the new threat.
She started to swim toward the submarine with the woman and the dog. If the man could free the trapped woman, they could surface on their own and wait for help. It was a busy part of the sea. Someone would probably pick them up. But then they would know about her mystery sub, about her crew. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
Oblivious that Laila was deciding his fate, the man gestured to the woman inside and tugged on the bubble covering her as if he could yank it open on his own. Doubtful. Especially if she didn’t give him time. Laila swam near the Siren’s side, darkness an easy camouflage.