“Maybe,” Gunnar said as he grabbed another kilo from the pallet resting in the corner of his lab. “I don’t have time to really think about it. I have work to do.”
“It’s not like we were serious, right?” Mike asked. “We had a good thing, but it was casual.”
Gunnar snorted.
“What? It was,” Mike insisted. “You had your whale thing with Chambers and I had the SEALs. Neither of us could commit.”
“If that’s what you want to tell yourself,” Gunnar said as he dropped a spoonful of cocaine into a test tube. He capped it, shook it, then set it into a centrifuge. “Whatever gets you through life.”
“Oh, good one,” Mike said. “Throw my words back at me.”
Gunnar turned on him. “Listen, thi
s
u
s
shit will have to wait, okay? You can sit there and be quiet or you can get the fuck out of my lab. But we aren’t doing this right now.”
“Just once I’d like to walk into a room on this ship, or on deck, or into a bay, and not have to listen to drama,” Ballantine sighed. “Is that so much to ask from a group of people that are supposed to be professionals? Do you hear me airing my dirty laundry every five minutes? No, you do not.”
Ballantine looked over at the pallet of coke.
“I would also like to be advised when a ton of drugs is moved about on my ship.”
“It’s Darren’s ship,” Gunnar said. “He’s captain.”
Ballantine sighed again and walked over to counter where Gunnar was working. “Debatable, as always. What do you have for me?”
“Nothing yet,” Gunnar said. “Every sample I test shows up the same. This is pure cocaine. Uncut, unadulterated. You have any idea what this is worth?”
“Probably more than you do,” Ballantine said. “But my knowledge of its market value is not what I’m interested in. Can this cocaine cause the sharks to act the way they are? That’s what
I
a
m
interested in.”
“Sure,” Gunnar said. “Why not? People lose their shit on this stuff all the time.”
“But we aren’t dealing with people,” Ballantine said. “We’re dealing with genetically altered sea life.” He looked over at Mike. “I suggest you keep that information to yourself.”
“Not a problem,” Mike said. “I’m used to keeping secrets.”
“Even taking into account the sharks’ altered genetics,” Gunnar said. “My opinion is still that this cocaine is causing the erratic behavior of the sharks. We need to hunt the creatures down as fast as possible. Considering how deadly they are when not high, these monsters could end up eating everything in the ocean.”
“No need to hunt them down,” Ballantine said. “Apparently they are staying right where they are.”
Gunnar stopped what he was doing and looked at Ballantine. “How? Sharks this size would have scared off all food sources in minutes. They could be anywhere now.”
“They’re being baited,” Ballantine said. “With cows.”
“Cows?” Gunnar asked. “They’re just dumping cows into the ocean?”
“That is what I have been told,” Ballantine shrugged.
“Okay,” Gunnar said, turning and leaning against the counter. “This is good. Keeping them fed could slow them down while they digest. It may also counteract some of the stimulant effects of the cocaine. Tell the Mexican navy to keep it up. How often are they feeding them?”
“Every thirty minutes,” Ballantine replied.
“Thirty? No, no, that won’t do,” Gunnar said. “They have to constantly chum the water. Keep the sharks engaged. Thirty minutes gives them way too much time to swim off to other feeding grounds.” Gunnar paused, lost in thought for a second.
“Gunnar?” Ballantine asked. “What are you thinking?”
“That even feeding them cows shouldn’t hold them in that area,” Gunnar said. “There has to be another reason.”
“Well, you’re the expert, you would know,” Ballantine said and waved at the cocaine samples. “Save this work for later.”
“I’ll keep working until you need me,” Gunnar said. “How’s that?”
“That is fine,” Ballantine said. He nodded to Gunnar then Mike. “Gentlemen.”
Mike waited for him to be gone before speaking. “That guy is kinda messed up, isn’t he?”
“Yep,” Gunnar said. “But it’s a messed up job.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Mike asked. “About the sharks? These sharks are different.”
“True,” Gunnar replied. “They ar
e
wa
y
different. But for right now I have to go with what I know.”
***
“Hey, bro, take a look at this,” Max said, his eye to his scope as he watched Espanoza’s ship turn about and lead them further into Mexican waters.
“What am I looking at?” Shane asked, looking through his own scope. “Spot me.”
“Just outside the bridge,” Max said. “See the guy standing there?”
“I see a few guys standing there,” Shane said. “All wearing the same uniform. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“The tall one, thin as a rail,” Max said. He pulled back from his rifle and looked at his brother. “Nasty scar across his throat.”
“Scar across…?” Shane echoed then gasped when he saw him. “Fuck no! No, no, no! Not good!”
He pulled back from his rifle and the brothers stared at each other for a second. Then both scrambled down from the crow’s nest, leaving Lucy behind.
“What the fuck, guys?” Lucy asked. “Where are you going?”
“To talk to Ditcher!” Shane yelled back. “We have a problem!”
***
Darren stared at the Reynolds, looked over at Lake, then back at the brothers.
“Are you 100% sure?” Darren asked. “You guys are pretty high.”
“Fuck that,” Shane said. “You know us, man. This isn’t high. This is focused.”
“It’s him, dude,” Max said.
“Can’t be,” Darren said as he started to pace the bridge. “It isn’t possible.”
“Afraid so, man,” Shane said. “It was him. No doubt about it.”
“We wouldn’t just throw this on you if we weren’t for sure on this shit,” Max added. “This is going to be a problem.”
“Someone want to clue me in?” Lake asked. “Or am I just the guy that drives the boat?”
“There’s a man on that ship that should be dead,” Darren said. “Because I killed him. I slit his throat from ear to ear and tossed him off a cliff.”
“Maybe he has a brother,” Lake said. “You know, one that looks just like him even though they aren’t twins?”
“Ha ha,” Max said, turning back to Darren. “It’s him, dude.”
“We saw all the wanted posters too,” Shane said. “Hell, our Team was sent to track him once in Columbia, but came up empty. We know that face.”
“Who is this guy?” Lake asked.
“One of the most ruthless killers in Mexico,” Darren said. “And a top lieutenant in the Colende cartel. Or was. Maybe still is. If it’s him.” Darren narrowed his eyes. “I have to speak with Ballantine. Where the fuck is he?”
***
“I’m sorry to do this to you,” Ballantine said as he looked into the Wiglaf II at Darby.
The mini-sub was locked into its short bay at the stern of the B3.
“If she is still alive then it has to be done,” Darby replied as she went over her instrument check for a third time. “It’s my responsibility, anyway. I lost track of her. We got lucky she surfaced.”
“It happens,” Ballantine said. “We’re all human.”
“I’m not paid to be human,” Darby said. “I save that for my vacations.”
“You never take a vacation,” Ballantine smiled.
“Maybe I will after this,” Darby said. “If I live.”
Ballantine frowned. “Don’t say that. You know if there was any other way, I’d take it.”
“There isn’t,” Darby responded, finally looking up at Ballantine. “We both know this is likely the only opportunity we’re going to get.”
“I know, I know,” Ballantine nodded. “You understand exactly what needs to be done?”
“I do,” Darby replied. “I just wish we weren’t so hurried. We were supposed to be contacted in a few months, not now.”
“Again, I know,” Ballantine said. “That’s why I’m sending you. Once we get in the thick of things, you launch. Hopefully there will be enough chaos that no one will notice.”
“Hopefully,” Darby said. “And hopefully you keep those sharks occupied so I can slip past.”
“Hopefully,” Ballantine nodded. “You need anything?”
“That vacation,” Darby smirked.
“Trying out an uncomfortable sense of humor,” Ballantine smiled. “You’re growing, Darby. I approve.”
“Close the hatch,” she said. “I’m going to take a nap until we get there. Anyone looking for me?”
“Captain Chambers keeps asking,” Ballantine said.
“No one else?”
Ballantine cocked his head. “Who else would there be? Thorne?”
“Never mind,” Darby said. “Shut your hatch.”
“You mean shu
t
th
e
hatch.”
“I know what I said.”
***
“There you are!” Darren yelled as he stomped down the passageway towards Ballantine. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Around,” Ballantine replied.
“Around?” Darren laughed. “Why am I not surprised I’m getting an evasive answer?”
“What’s on your mind? Darren?” Ballantine asked. “Must be fairly important to keep you from the bridge.”
“What’s really going on, Ballantine?” Darren asked. “Who the hell is this Commander Ricardo Espanoza?”
“You said it yourself, Captain,” Ballantine responded. “He’s part of Mexican Special Forces.”
“Bullshit,” Darren snapped. “If that were all then why is he with Diego Fernandez?”
“Who is Diego Fernandez?”
“El Serpiente,” Darren replied. “But I know you fucking know that.”
“The Serpent is dead, Darren,” Ballantine answered. “You killed him with your own blade.”
“The boys saw him,” Darren said. “On Espanoza’s ship.”
“They were high, I’m sure,” Ballantine said.
“Yeah, I tried that excuse too. We know they can smoke half of Jamaica and still not lose their edge. If anything they gain an even better edge.”
Ballantine struggled with several excuses, but finally just let out a huge puff of air.
“Espanoza is the head of the Colende cartel,” Ballantine said. “He built it up from scratch, absorbed other outfits, and has worked his way deep into the Mexican government. He’s not untouchable, but it would take some hard evidence to root him out.”
“Fuck,” Darren said. “He’s done a good job keeping his real life hidden. Has Fernandez always worked for him?”
“They’re half brothers,” Ballantine replied.
“Makes sense with the way the cartels run. Trust family first,” Darren nodded. “Then what do we do? How can we work with these assholes?”
“We don’t,” Ballantine replied. “We work around them. Let them think they have us snowed. Let them think we are here to chase our sharks. Once we handle that then we take them down.”
“How?”
“I’m working on that,” Ballantine said. “Let me put a few more pieces into place first, alright? Then I’ll let you and Thorne in on everything and Team Grendel can do what they do best.”
Darren studied Ballantine for a minute then nodded. “Okay, but the second it goes south we turn guns on the Mexicans.”
“That would be a big mistake,” Ballantine said. “We may be private, but they are not. We attack those ships in any way and we could start an international incident even the company can’t get us out of.”
Darren growled and glared.
“I know, it’s frustrating,” Ballantine said, taking Darren by the shoulder and walking him in the direction of the bridge. “Imagine how I feel? I actuall
y
kno
w
what’s going on.”
“So, since we do expect you muscle heads to end up in the water with the sharks,” Carlos said, standing in front of the armory cage, which everyone except Carlos called the Toyshop, as he showed Team Grendel a mesh wetsuit. “This will keep you from being chomped in half.”
“Chainmail,” Max said. “Whoopty shit, dude. So the shark can’t cut through me. Have you seen these fuckers? One bite and my insides will be mush.”
“Squish goes Max,” Shane nodded.
“Ingrid,” Carlos barked. “A demonstration.”
Ingrid walked from out of the Toyshop with an oversized bear trap. She set it on the ground, and with Carlos’s help, was able to pry it open and set the spring.
“The zucchini!” Carlos shouted.
“I’m standing right here,” Ingrid sighed. “You don’t have to yell.”
She went back into the Toyshop and came out with a large zucchini.
“The pole!” Carlos yelled.
“Dude!” Shane snapped. “Stop yelling!”
“You’re the one yelling,” Carlos sneered.
“Carlos,” Ballantine said coolly.
Ingrid handed Carlos a large metal pole.
“Why do you have a bear trap on a ship?” Lucy asked.
“In case of bears,” Carlos replied, completely serious. He slid the zucchini into one of the legs of the wetsuit then dramatically held his arm out across Ingrid. “Stand back!”
Everyone was not impressed. Until Carlos pressed the pole on the trigger mechanism and the bear trap snapped shut on the wetsuit. They all stared as the mesh seemed to solidify under the teeth of the bear trap. Carlos struggled to get the trap open.
“A little help, Ingrid,” Carlos ordered.
“Dude,” Shane said as he stepped up and yanked the trap open then let it snap shut after the suit was removed. “A few push-ups, maybe some curls, and you can get those arms into shape.”
Carlos just glared as he pulled the zucchini free of the wetsuit. There were some marks and bruising where the trap closed on it, but other than that the vegetable was unharmed.
“How?” Max asked, dumbfounded.
“That is propriety information,” Carlos said, a smug look on his face. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Ballantine?”
“It’s magic. That’s all you need to know,” Ballantine said. “Move it along, Carlos.”
“Ingrid!” Carlos shouted.
“Shut up!” Ingrid shouted back as she walked out of the Toyshop with a large rifle in her hands. “Yell at me again and I’ll demonstrate this on your balls.”
Shane and Max politely clapped.
“Well said, well said,” Max said in a bad British accent.
“Nicely done, love,” Shane added.
“I am not going to be abused like this,” Carlos said. “I am a genius and deserve-”
“Can I shoot him?” Thorne asked, pulling his pistol and holding it against his leg.
“No, please don’t,” Ballantine said. “At least wait until he has shown you the equipment.”
“Funny,” Carlos replied then gulped as Ballantine glared at him. “Okay, this is a Maechter 459k compression rifle. It shoots the equivalent of .50 caliber rounds, but without gunpowder or a firing pin.”
“So it’s a gas gun?” Kinsey asked.
“No, no, no,” Carlos replied. “Well, yes, but not like any gas gun you have used. Ingrid, the target, please.”
The gate around the armory lifted and rolled into the ceiling. Several shelves moved out of place and a container flipped up with a paper target inside. Carlos turned, put the gun to his shoulder and fired. The paper target flapped about, but showed no signs of being penetrated by the round.
“That was really impressive,” Max said. “Can it make a farting noise too?”
“Ingrid,” Carlos said as he sneered at Max. “The tank, please.”
A long tank of water lifted up from the floor and connected to the target container. The container sealed itself and filled with water rapidly.
“As you can now see, the target is fully submerged,” Carlos said. “Now, we’ll see who wants a farting noise.”
“I do,” Shane said.
“Me too,” Lucy agreed.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Max said. “I’d prefer more of a raspberry sound, not a full on fart noise.”
Carlos lowered the rifle into the tank and fired. This time the target was ripped to shreds as the round exploded on contact; pieces of paper slowly floated about the water-filled container.
“How the hell?” Max and Shane said at the same time as they stepped forward.
“Explosive rounds that only activate when submerged,” Carlos said. “Don’t ask me why because I’m not at liberty to say. It’s what was developed for a different client that didn’t-”
“That’s enough, Carlos,” Ballantine said.
“Right, yes,” Carlos nodded.
He pulled the rifle out of the tank, shook off some of the water, then ejected the magazine. He slid his thumb along one of the rounds and popped it free.
“See the channels?” Carlos asked, showing the round to each of the Team members. “It’s similar to the rifling in a rifle barrel, but reversed. This time the rifling is on the round itself. The round will actually pick up speed as it flies through water. The farther the target, the more damage it will do. It actually means you have more stopping power from longer distances.”
“That’s not physically possible,” Darren said. “Has Gunnar seen this? He’d back me up. It’s not physically possible.”
“Yet you saw it happen,” Carlos said. “Ingrid?”
“There are also pistols,” she said and set out eight large pistols on the Toyshop counter as the tank and container withdrew and the armory cage rolled back into place. “But we have limited rounds. Which doesn’t matter since the weapons can only hold a gas charge for a single magazine.”
“Always a catch,” Max said.
“So when the magazine is empty so is the gas?” Shane asked.
“Exactly,” Ingrid said. “You would have to bring it back to the Toyshop to be recharged. Do not try it yourself! We don’t use compressed air!”
“What do you use?” Kinsey asked.
“Proprietary information,” Carlos smiled.
“He smiled,” Max whispered to Shane. “I’m scared.”
“Boys,” Thorne snapped. “Knock off the bullshit.” He turned to Carlos. “How about above water? Anything new?”
“Nope,” Carlos said. “You all have your weapons of preference. Far be it for me to get in the way of an operator and his, or her, guns. Right, Ballantine?”
“Carlos is subtly saying that he had some ideas, but I nixed them because I wanted him to focus on the channel guns.”
“Channel guns?” Kinsey asked.
“That is what I call the submersible, pre-rifled round firing weapons,” Ballantine said. “Channel guns. Because of the channels in the rounds.”
“Stupid name,” Carlos muttered then cringed under Ballantine’s glare.
“I like it,” Kinsey said. “Easy to understand. Rolls off the tongue.”
“Thank you, Kinsey,” Ballantine said.
“Kiss ass,” Max coughed.
“Brown noser,” Shane coughed also.
“Boys, for the love of God shut the fuck up,” Thorne said. “What else do you have for us?”
“The suits and guns aren’t enough?” Carlos asked.
“Are they?” Thorne countered.
“The rebreathers?” Ballantine suggested. “Are they operational?”
“They are, yes…,” Carlos replied. “But untested.”
“We already have rebreathers,” Max said. “What’s special about these?”
Carlos sighed. “Ingrid. Will you fetch the-”
“Mustaches!” Ingrid squealed. “I love these!”
“I hate that name as well,” Carlos muttered. “Channel guns and mustaches...”
Ingrid hurried deep into the Toyshop’s shelves then came running back with two large, black cases. She flipped the catches and opened the cases, spinning them around so the operators could see what was inside.
“Try them on! Try them on!” she squealed some more. “I’m going to get a mirror!”
Max and Shane were first as they each grabbed a matte black hunk of plastic and metal about the size of a small banana connected to some seriously strange looking goggles.
“Huh,” Max said. “Where’s the rest?”
“That’s it,” Carlos said as Ingrid came back with a mirror. “Is that really needed? Seriously?”
Ingrid grabbed one up and placed it under her nose and over her eyes.
“Now, these can work in water and out. It doesn’t matter,” she explained. On her face, the part under her nose made her look like an old time villain with a thick mustache. She pulled a tab on each end.
The tabs became small chords which she wrapped around to the back of her head. She gave a quick turn and showed the Team how the chords fused together snuggly then cinched themselves up so the rebreather was secured to her face.
“Now, you’ll panic slightly at first,” Ingrid laughed. “I did. Kinda peed my jumpsuit. Freaky.”
“You really know how to sell it,” Shane said.
Ingrid smiled at him and pressed two buttons simultaneously that sat right by her nostrils. Two black tubes extended from the top and snaked their way up inside Ingrid’s nostrils. After a second, she choked and gagged a bit them seemed to relax. She took several deep breaths through her nose then tapped her ears.
“I’m activating the com system,” Carlos said. “Didn’t want you to freak out and shoot me or anything.”
“Dude, if we wanted to shoot you it would be at night and up on deck,” Max said.
“That way we could just push you overboard and no one would know,” Shane added.
“I hate SEALs,” Carlos replied.
“Hi guys!” Ingrid’s voice rang through the com. But her lips didn’t move. In fact, her mouth was wide open. “Isn’t this cool?”
“Explain it to them, Carlos,” Ballantine ordered. “We don’t have much time.”
“The tubes extend up the nostrils, through the sinuses, and down into the trachea,” Carlos said. “The rebreather actually seals off your airways from your mouth. You can swallow all the water you want, but it will just make your stomach bloated. It is impossible to drown with one of these operational.”
“How are we hearing her?” Kinsey asked.
“The tubes also work as conductors from the larynx,” Carlos explained. “Speak normally, just with your lips closed, and you will be able to hear each other over the com just like a regular mic. There are processors that clean up the diction and any distortion the placement of the tubes might create.”
“What happens if the rebreather is damaged?” Thorne asked.
“Then don’t breathe seawater,” Carlos nodded. “Or you drown.”
Ingrid pressed the buttons again and the tubes withdrew back into the mustache. She coughed a few times and smiled at everyone. “It’s a little rough, but you’ll be fine.”
Carlos pointed at the cases. “The goggles are set for multiple spectrums. Just tap the button up by the temples, either side, doesn’t matter, and you can switch between everything from infrared to night vision.”
“Night vision?” Max asked.
“It can get dark in the water,” Carlos said.
“Yes, it can,” Max nodded. “Thanks.”
Darren walked forward and picked up a “mustache” from a case. He looked it over them threw it on the ground and stomped on it. Carlos shrieked, his eyes going from Darren to the mustache and back to Darren.
“Why…why? Why would you do that?” Carlos sputtered.
Darren bent down and picked up the mustache and handed it to Carlos.
“Did I break it?” Darren asked, grinning.
Carlos snatched the mustache from him and quickly looked it over. He stared at it for a second then looked at Darren.
“Uh, no, it’s fine,” Carlos responded.
“I want one,” Max said.
“Me too,” Shane added.
“We all get one,” Thorne said as he pointed to the gear. “Get your shit together people. Meeting on deck in twenty.”
***
“Holy shit,” Darren said as he stepped onto the bridge on his way to the Team meeting. He stopped next to Lake and stared out at the water. “That’s a blockade.”
They looked out of the bridge at the dozen Mexican naval vessels that formed a rough, half mile long semi-circle in the ocean just off the coast of Playas Rosarito.
“I didn’t know Mexico had that many ships,” Lake said. “And even if they did, how’d they get them here so fast? Shouldn’t some be out on exercises?”
“I gave up trying to figure out governments a long time ago,” Darren said. “I have to meet with the Team. You got this?”
“I’ve always had this,” Lake replied. “It’s why I’m here. So someone does.”
“Thanks,” Darren said. “Just keep steaming through. We’re going to park it in the middle.”
“Right where the sharks are?” Lake asked. “Great. What could go wrong?”
“The B3 can handle the sharks,” Darren said as he walked out of the hatch. “Trust me.”