The men scrambled for fear of getting hit by its lethal whirring propellers, but it flew past them just as Hawke had planned. On its way past the yacht he leaped from the small cockpit and grabbed hold of the yacht’s rear deck. Somewhere behind him the Seabreacher spun upside down and hit the water at full speed, sending a massive explosion of fire and sea-spray into the hot afternoon.
Half immersed in the water as the yacht raced forward, Hawke scrambled up onto the stern and clambered over the railing to the relative safety of the rear deck.
But it was only a relative safety, because a second later a man emerged from the yacht’s galley and fired an uncompromising quantity of hot lead at him from the flashing muzzle of a Heckler & Koch MP5. Hawke ducked behind the lazarette, the small storage area at the rear of the yacht. Ryan had once told him this was named after Lazarus, because he was placed on board an old sailing ship in such a place after his death. Thanks for that, Rupert, he thought as he reloaded his gun and prepared to fight back.
Hawke’s death nearly ensued seconds later when the man returned fire and his bullets punctured their way through the lazarette and drilled into the teak deck, splintering all around him. He waited until the assault was over and the man tried to reload before he spun around and fired at him, but the man had wedged himself behind the cockpit’s folding doors for cover. Hawke’s bullet smashed the panel of strengthened glass but it did no more damage than cause a spider web fracture and further obscure the man from view.
He ducked again as the man returned fire, but then the gun jammed, and Hawke took advantage of the situation by firing two more bullets at him, planting them in his chest and neck. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes and Hawke leaped to his feet and crossed the small deck to the cabin.
As he went, he saw Leon Smets and the woman with the crew cut zooming away from the Maritimo in a Nautilus 12 DLX — a luxury console tender attached to the larger yacht. They were moving away at some speed from the Maritimo, the Suzuki outboard roaring away as the vessel cut through the surface of the water. He cursed himself for letting them get away, but it was then he heard Lea screaming from somewhere below decks.
He had only seconds to make the call and went with his heart — save Lea. He knew that the Maritimo was faster than the Nautilus, so maybe Smets had made a mistake and would pay for it later. With the decision made he moved toward the cabin. It was empty, but he knew there was another man somewhere on the top deck — someone was controlling the boat after all — and this was confirmed a few seconds later when a man began firing at him from above. He dodged the burst of bullets from the goon and turned to go in the main cabin for cover.
He was now in a sumptuous open-plan room surrounded by a horse-shoe shaped white leather couch and a sparkling glass coffee table. He ran right over the top of the table, booting the centerpiece out the way as he went, and headed for the lower decks. Somewhere down there was Lea Donovan, and he prayed she was unharmed.
He kicked open a polished wooden door, gun raised, but saw nothing except a gleaming galley replete with bowls of fresh fruit and orchids. It reminded him of the catamaran Reaper had acquired back in the Ionian Sea, but if anything it was even more stunning.
He heard a noise above him and looked to his left to see a man trying to make his way down a series of steps leading to the galley from the upper portside deck. It was the goon from the wheelhouse who had been piloting the yacht. By Hawke’s reckoning this man must be the last remaining man on board, but it only took one to knock you out of the game.
Hawke fired a shot at his legs and hit the man’s knee. He screamed in agony and tumbled down the steps until landing with a smack on the hard teak decking. Hawke smiled at him before piling a fist into his face and knocking him out. “Nighty night.”
He then helped himself to the man’s machine pistol and moved through the saloon and into the lower corridor. With no one at the controls the yacht turned sharply to starboard and everything tipped to the left. Hawke had to grab a handrail to stop himself from being thrown into one of the guest cabins.
“Fuck it!” he screamed.
“Joe?”
It was Lea’s voice coming from behind a heavy wooden door opposite the guest cabin.
“Sorry about the language.”
“Is that you, Joe?”
“No, it’s King Edward the First… who do you think it is?”
“Just get on with it Your Majesty!”
He blasted the lock before moving inside and was faced with a large double bed in what was obviously the VIP suite, but there was no sign of Lea.
“Where the hell are you?” he asked.
“In the toilet.”
“If it’s at sea it’s called the head,” he said.
“Oh sorry — is that like if you’re at sea you’re called a dickhead?”
Hawke rolled his eyes and aimed the machine pistol at the door, setting it on single shot. “Stand away from the door — I wouldn’t want to accidentally hit you and deprive the world of your cutting wit.”
“Sorry,” Lea replied, her voice muffled by the heavy door. “Did you say you were a cunning shit?”
Hawke ignored the comment. “Stand back, Lea!”
He fired and blasted the lock off the door. The force of the explosion smashed the door back against the compact shower cubicle and revealed a smiling Lea Donovan. She winked at Hawke and kissed him on the cheek. “My hero!”
“All right, that’s enough of that,” Hawke said, handing her his pistol. “Here, take this.”
“Why do you get the MP5? I want the MP5!”
Hawke sighed and switched guns. “Fine, you have the MP5 if it means that much. At least with a rapid fire weapon you stand a chance of actually hitting your target.”
“Seriously now, Josiah — why did you give up your comedy career?”
Hawke held her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “You said these were the same men who attacked you in Ireland… the same men behind your father’s death. I’ll only ask you once, Lea — why did they take you?”
He watched as she agonized over her answer. “I’m sorry, I should have told you all earlier… especially you.”
“Told me what?”
“We’ve no time now, Joe — but when I went to Ireland I found something, a file containing research about the Norse legends. It was written by my Dad… I put the information on a flash-drive and…”
“And these goons just took it?”
She nodded glumly. “I think the plan was to torture it out of me or something, but when they found the flash-drive they thought all their birthdays had come at once. Please tell me you took them all down on the deck?”
“Sorry, but no… I think I know where your flash-drive is though.”
“Where?”
“Follow me!”
They ran up to the deck and Hawke cursed when he saw the Nautilus was nowhere in sight. “Damn it — they’ve gone!”
“Don’t tell me — half-man, half-ape with a Reaper tattoo?”
Hawke nodded. “That’s the one — he took off on a tender with Miss Congeniality.”
“And you let them go?”
“I made the call to save you instead.”
“And this is why I love you, Josiah Hawke.”
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to call me that?”
“We did — sorry… but talking of names — we need to run Smets through our computers.”
“Agreed. We can do it when we get back to shore — and we need to get Alex to resend your father’s research files to your phone, but in the meantime let’s get after the bastards. We can easily track them down in this.”