Authors: Kenneth G. Bennett
Kate and her father didn’t seem to notice the broader surroundings. They’d spied the hyperbaric chamber sitting midship, hard against the starboard rail, and were making for it now. The three-ton, six-person chamber’s round steel door glimmered, and a soft golden light spilled from inside. The deck crane used to hoist the chamber—as well as speedboats and runabouts—hung dormant above it, the crane’s massive steel hook swaying gently in the breeze.
Like moths toward a flame, they advanced on the light. Even the bodyguards seemed curious, wondering what further secrets might be waiting inside.
Beck Sr. reached the chamber door first, pressed his face to the porthole and scanned the tidy interior: padded seats for six divers. Gurneys with crisp white sheets. Oxygen masks. Fire extinguishers. Gauges. Radios. All the standard accouterments. Nothing out of the ordinary.
He turned back to address his son. “I don’t see anyth—
Beck Sr. froze and Kate turned to follow his gaze. So did the bodyguards.
Beck Jr. was standing with Allen Dodd a few paces away, wrapped in the glow of
Marauder
’s LED running lights. They were holding guns, pointing them at the group.
The younger Beck tugged the slide on his Colt 1911. Jacked a round into the chamber. “Hands where we can see ’em,” he said calmly, loud enough to be heard over the wind and waves.
No one moved.
Beck flicked the 1911’s muzzle a degree to the right and fired a round between his sister and the closest bodyguard. The gun roared, and his father and sister jumped. Neither bodyguard flinched.
“Hands where we can see ’em,” he repeated. “Now.”
Everyone complied.
Kate glared at her brother. “What the hell is this?”
“Sheldon,” said Beck Sr. “What’s going on? If this is a joke—”
“Shut up.” Beck leveled the gun at his father.
The elder Beck went quiet, and Beck said, “Thank you.”
He waved his gun at the bodyguards. “Boys, facedown on the deck. Arms loose at your sides.”
The bodyguards did as they were told. As soon as they were on the deck, Dodd cuffed them—hands behind their backs—then rooted around for guns and wallets, phones and radios, tossing items into a pile as he worked.
“Sheldon,” Kate yelled. “Have you lost your mind? What the fuck are you doing?”
Dodd jerked one of the bodyguards to his feet.
“I miss anything, Slim?” he asked, grinning at the outhouse-sized guard. The man had a Dutch Boy haircut that looked incongruous with his bulk. The bodyguard glared at Dodd and spat at his shoes. Dodd kicked him in the balls, hard, and the big man crumpled to his knees, groaning in pain.
The younger Beck laughed, and his father tried to catch his eye. “Sheldon! Please. I demand an explanation.”
Beck turned to his father and sister. Stared at them. Kate was hugging her arms to her chest now, trying to stay warm in the wind and spray and darkness of the weather deck.
“An explanation?” Sheldon Beck stepped closer to his father, keeping the gun between them. “Sure, Pop. How about this? I don’t like being dictated to. I don’t like being shafted by my own family.”
“Sheldon, listen,” Beck Sr. said. “If you have a grievance, let’s take it inside. Let’s talk it through.”
Beck laughed. “Tell you my grievances? That would take days, Dad. And I don’t have days.” He waved toward the front of the ship. “Got a schedule to keep.”
The elder Beck nodded. “You want to investigate the phenomenon yourself? Is that it? Fine.” He gestured toward the door leading to the lower decks. “Let’s discuss it. Like civilized people.”
“Too late for that. I know where you stand. Both of you.”
“Sheldon—”
“You make the decisions. You call the shots—”
Beck Sr. protested. “Hang on a second—I ask for your input and counsel frequently.”
The younger Beck nodded. “Yeah. And ignore it just as routinely.”
“Sheldon—”
“Now, by gosh, my crew and I find something remarkable, something truly unusual and spectacular. And—oh, surprise!—you want me out of the picture.”
“Sheldon—”
“But I don’t think so, Pop. Not this time.”
“Sheldon—”
“Sheldon, for God’s sake,” Kate yelled—the fury in her voice evident even over the relentless wind. “This is a company, remember? Erebus is a company. With a corporate hierarchy. Father is the CEO. I’m the president. You do not dictate to
us
.”
Beck Sr. put his hand on his daughter’s arm and eased her back. “Kate, please—”
“Hierarchy’s changed, Kate,” said the younger Beck. “As of tonight. As of this second.”
The tone in his voice stopped them both.
He gestured toward the door of the hyperbaric chamber. Dodd was opening the door. “Get in, Kate. We’re done talking.”
Kate looked from the door to her brother and back. “What?”
“I said get in.”
“Go to hell.”
Beck smiled. “Don’t worry, sis. It’s got all the comforts of home. Beds. Shower. MREs—all you can eat. There’s even some paperbacks. I wouldn’t call it spa-like, but you should be comfortable enough while my team and I investigate the phenomenon.”
Kate twisted away from her father and started toward her brother.
Beck twitched and fired another round, this one just over Kate’s ear—the gun discharging inches from her face.
Kate screamed, stumbling back, and Beck shoved her hard toward the opening. Dodd heaved the bodyguard with the Dutch Boy haircut in after her, then slammed the heavy steel door and levered it shut—sealing the door against the surrounding frame as he did so. Dodd slid a padlock through the lever arm and snapped it closed. Pocketed the key.
Beck turned to his father and the remaining guard.
“Sheldon—” The old man had a quiver in his voice now.
“Save it, Pop.”
Beck Sr. went quiet and his son took a step back. Breathed in the brisk sea air.
The wind was invigorating. Constant. Enveloping the ship like a lover. It was cold on the weather deck but Beck was sweating. His head was clear, though. That was for sure. Whatever Heintzel had given him was working. Keeping the bizarre thoughts and images he’d experienced earlier at bay. The monstrous eyes. The bad dream.
He wanted to think the monster was gone—vanquished—but he knew better. There was
something
with him, in his head, quiet, but there all the same. Lurking. Waiting. Hiding in a dark corner of his mind like a rabid animal.
For the moment, though, he felt in control. And he breathed, in and out.
I’ll build on this
, he thought.
Keep Dad and Sis locked up, safe and out of the way for a day or two while I examine the phenomenon for myself. Then…
He turned to his father and the remaining bodyguard, suddenly aware of a little slip in his mind, of the rabid animal creeping forward from the corner, coming into the light. He breathed, sucked in the fresh sea air, and looked his father in the eye.
No hint of the elder Beck’s usual arrogance or country-club demeanor remained. He looked pale in the glow of
Marauder
’s running lights. Worried.
Beck Sr. said, “Sheldon, you know I’m claustrophobic. Please—”
Beck Jr. smiled. “Relax, Pop, you don’t have to go in yet.”
His father looked relieved. “Good. So you want to talk?”
“No. I want you to make a phone call. To your helicopter pilot.”
Beck Sr. looked puzzled. “My pilot?”
“He won’t take an order from me.”
Beck Sr. nodded and tentatively pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Held it in his hand. “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell him he needs to make a quick flight tonight. Run a couple of people over to Port Angeles and drop ’em off.”
“Sure, but—”
“Tell him to be at the helipad in fifteen minutes. There’ll be two passengers waiting. A couple of scientists.”
Beck Sr. nodded. Then hesitated.
Beck flicked his wrist to the right, almost casually, and shot the bodyguard in the face.
The top of the man’s head exploded in a cloud of pink mist that vanished in the darkness and the wind. His body crashed to the deck.
Beck could see Kate fumbling around inside the hyperbaric chamber, struggling to see out the portholes.
“You killed him,” moaned Winston Beck. “Jesus, Sheldon, you killed an employee.”
Beck spoke calmly. “Make the call, Dad. Or we’ll bring Katie out here next.”
Winston Beck fumbled with his phone, and the younger Beck put his hand on his Dad’s arm.
“Nice and casual. We don’t want your pilot worrying about anything.”
The elder Beck ducked against the side of the hyperbaric chamber to make himself heard over the wind. He relayed his son’s instructions, then shut his phone.
“Great,” said Beck Jr., raising his gun and pointing at the old man. “Now, get in.”
He held the gun steady while Dodd opened the chamber door.
Kate lunged for the opening. “Sheldon!” she screamed. “Listen to me! This is your last chance. If—”
Beck shoved his father through the door, into Kate’s arms, and Dodd resealed it. Levered it shut and reapplied the padlock. Kate’s cries died instantly.
Beck and Dodd stepped back from the chamber, and Beck closed his eyes.
He was relieved to find that he saw only darkness as he did this. Heard only the sounds of his ship, running hard, the spray shushing over the bulwark and the wind whistling around the hyperbaric chamber.
He was relieved.
And then, he wasn’t. The rabid animal was moving again.
There’s something loose in my mind.
A kind of dreamy terror washed over him, a feeling both languid and repellent.
Someone’s watching me.
He opened his eyes to find Dodd looking his way.
“Boss?”
“Yeah?”
Dodd’s gaze fell on the dead guard. “Thinking we should move him, is all. Get rid of the body. You got people coming up here in”—he looked at his watch—“ten minutes.”
Beck felt his stomach twist.
People coming up?
He squinted at Dodd, wondering what the man was referring to.
And then it came to him, like a half-remembered dream. Dodd was talking about his father’s helicopter pilot. He’d ordered his dad to make a call.
I want you to make a phone call. To your helicopter pilot.
He remembered asking his dad to make the call, but he had no idea
why
he had done it. He stared at Dodd some more.
“Right,” he said at last, still confused. Unsure.
Did I arrange something with Phelps and Edelstein? Negotiate an agreement with them? Offer them payment in exchange for permanent silence about the phenomenon?
He couldn’t recall.
And then he felt another adrenaline rush. The same sick anticipation he’d experienced walking to the War Room to meet his father and sister. The same perverse thrill.
He touched something in his lower vest pocket. A heavy, rectangular object, slightly larger than a deck of cards, a magnet on one side.
He didn’t take it out. He didn’t need to. He knew what it was.
The dreamy terror washed over him again, loosening his bowels.
Who put this in my pocket? Did I put this in my pocket?
He couldn’t remember. He tried. Searched his mind, but found no answer.
Who put this in my pocket?
He looked at Dodd. Gestured at the dead guard.
“Help me get him on the catwalk.”
Dodd looked from his boss to the steel catwalk attached to the hyperbaric chamber and shrugged.
Dodd didn’t understand. If they were trying to hide the body, the catwalk was a poor choice. The corpse would be even more visible there than sprawled on the deck. But he knew better than to ask questions.
He bent and helped Beck drag the big guard. Grunting, they rolled him onto the catwalk, banging into the chamber as they worked.
Dodd could see Beck’s sister and dad straining to peer through the portholes, Kate slapping the glass with the heel of her hand.
“Handcuffs,” said Beck.
Dodd wondered if his boss was joking. He nodded at the dead guard. “For him?” I don’t think he’s gonna give you any trouble, boss.”
Beck offered no smile, just held out his hand until Dodd set the cuffs there.
The ship motored forward, the city of Victoria—big, golden, and glowing—to the starboard now, just a few miles away.
Marauder
was veering west, around the tip of Vancouver, toward the open ocean.
“Go inside,” Beck told his assistant.
Dodd stared at him.
“Go inside. I’ve got it from here.”
Dodd nodded and surveyed the scene: Three people locked in the hyperbaric chamber. A dead guy chained to the catwalk. More people due topside in minutes.
His boss’s behavior made no sense, but it was not his place to question. He turned and headed for the doors without looking back.
Beck stretched his arms and set his shoulders back, rolled his head on his neck in a slow circle, like he was doing an exercise warm-up. He could feel the balance of power shifting in his mind again.
It felt like he was dreaming, executing a nonsensical plan in a particularly vivid dream, surprising himself every step of the way. But part of him—the old Beck—knew that it wasn’t a dream.
This is real.
He tried to analyze the situation, but thinking made his headache flare, dull and flat behind his eyes.
He looked at the hyperbaric chamber and the hulking body of the guard—blood oozing from the remaining sections of his skull—and understood Dodd’s concerns.
His heart thumped.
People are coming.
The pilot and scientists.
What am I going to do?
The sick anticipation swelled in his belly then, and in a flash of illumination he remembered everything. The plan, tidily arranged in front of him.
Of course!
He climbed the short ladder on the deck crane and dropped into the control seat, turned a key and punched some buttons, brought the boom into position.
The crane clicked and whirred.