Thinking they were safe behind locked and sealed hatches, the men found out the hard way they weren’t as the metal exploded in at them and bullets followed. Blood and the acrid odor of C4 filled the passageways as Espanoza’s men blasted their way from deck to deck.
***
Thorne burst from the surface and spun about, trying to look in all directions at once.
“Where is it?”
“Did you see it?”
“Daddy? What’s wrong? Did you see Darren?”
Thorne looked over at his daughter and two nephews as they treaded water. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?” Kinsey asked. “Don’t know if you saw the shark? If you saw Darren? What don’t you know?”
“Shadow!” Max yelled as he looked down into the water. He ducked his head below for a better look then came up spluttering. “It’s coming at us!”
“On it!” Shane said as he dove under, his channel pistol in hand.
He saw the shark coming up fast and emptied the magazine. It was a rookie move, but he knew he didn’t have time to take careful shots.
The rounds sped at the shark and the monster swam out of the way, but three hit their mark and exploded against the shark’s side. The creature jerked and flipped about, changing directions instantly.
By the time Shane saw what was about to happen, it was too late.
The shark’s tail slammed into his body and he found himself flying up out of the water. He would have laughed at the look on his brother’s face as he soared over his family, but he was too busy screaming. And bleeding.
***
Popeye hustled through the passageways as fast as possible, leading the other men from hatch to hatch. As boatswain his biometrics were loaded into the ship’s system so the hatches opened for him. He didn’t want to think what would have happened to the men if he hadn’t been there. The ability for “authorized” personnel to only be able to access hatches during lockdown was an argument Popeye had heard Darren and Ballantine have on more than one occasion.
They hit a set of stairs and slid down to the next deck then proceeded down the passageway to the next hatch, opened it, hit the next set of stairs, the passageway, the hatch, more stairs.
Finally, Popeye held his hand to the hatch to the mini-sub bays. The hatch opened and he hurried everyone inside, making sure the hatch sealed behind him. One of the bays was still purging water from Darby’s launch, so Popeye pointed at the hatch to the other bay.
“In there,” he said as he pressed a hand against the scanner. It didn’t open.
“Pop?” one of the men asked.
“Hold on,” Popeye said as he tried again.
It still didn’t work. He slammed his considerable fist against the scanner again and again until the high impact plastic cracked. The hatch slid open and Popeye smiled.
“Technology got nothing on these ham hocks,” he grinned as he pointed at the mini-sub docked in the bay. “Get your asses inside! Now!”
***
Diego grinned as he figured out how to override part of the ship’s systems. He couldn’t gain control of the helm, or unlock the hatches, but he could make sure all hatches stayed locked. He’d watched as hatch after hatch below deck had opened then closed. He knew it was the crew escaping, and after some study, he realized where they were escaping to.
He pulled a radio from his belt and put it to his mouth.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Getting close to the galley,” a man replied. “Should we bother with that?”
“Are you hungry?” Diego asked.
The man paused then replied cautiously. “No?”
“No, you are not hungry,” Diego responded. “So why would we bother with the galley?”
“We wouldn’t, sir,” the man replied.
“Then leave the galley alone,” Diego replied. “You need to get to the sub and the product. You are not there yet. Get there.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied.
An alarm sounded and Diego looked at the monitor. Someone had opened a hatchway to the mini-sub bay despite Diego’s override.
“Get to the mini-sub bays first,” Diego ordered. “There’s a breach.”
“The mini-sub bays?” the man asked. “Is that not where we are going?”
“No, you are going to the specimen bays,” Diego replied as he studied the schematic of the ship on the monitor in front of him. “The mini-sub bays are fully aft and just above the specimen bays. Go there now. I don’t want to have to come down there and do your job for you.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied. “I mean, no, sir. You do not have to come down here. It is handled.”
Diego placed the radio back on his belt then started to try to hack into the navigation systems, and hopefully, the helm.
***
The mess was dark and empty. Except for Chief Steward Beau McWhitt.
After what had happened in Somalia, Beau had pretty much kept to himself, occupying his time running the galley, the mess, and making sure the Beowulf III was well supplied with whatever the men needed.
At five feet six, he had the features of a teenage boy. But, being twenty-four, Beau wasn’t a boy and had been through hell like a man. He had constant nightmares of the galley filling with water, ready to drown him and take him down deep below the surface of the sea. When the Beowulf II had encountered the monster sharks off the coast of Somalia, and the ship had started to sink from the shark attacks, Beau had been left behind.
No one came looking for him as he tried to get his mess crew out the hatches and up to safety on the deck above. They’d fled, but he’d stayed behind to make sure no one had been forgotten.
Turned out he had.
The ship had fallen apart around him and he’d made a mad dash through the flooding passageways until he found himself in front of the Toyshop. Hands grabbed him and he had been yanked inside just as the Toyshop became something else.
All of those thoughts went through his head as he hid in the shadows of the B3 mess and watched as brown faces appeared at the hatch, looked about, then went away. He had heard a man speaking to someone in Spanish, so he figured the Mexican Navy had boarded the B3, he just didn’t know why.
And didn’t really care. Because here he was, forgotten again. He’d sent his crew out as soon as the claxons blared. Then the explosions started. And gunshots. He had no idea if anyone had survived or not.
But Beau planned on surviving.
He looked at the meat cleavers he gripped in each hand then looked at the hatch. He counted to ten then walked towards the hatch, took a deep breath, stuck one of the cleavers in his belt, and pressed his hand against the biometric scanner. Nothing happened. He flipped a cleaver around and smashed the scanner. The hatch opened, he grabbed the other cleaver from his belt, and stepped out into the passageway.
***
All of the men were crammed into the Wiglaf III and Popeye started to close the top hatch when Espanoza’s men rushed into the mini-sub bay. They saw Popeye and opened fire. Bullets pinged off the Wiglaf III as Popeye ducked inside, slammed the hatch closed, and locked it tight.
Bullets kept hitting the mini-sub as Popeye went through the launch protocols.
“Pop?” a man asked.
“I know, I know,” Popeye said as he struggled to get the mini-sub operating. “Give me a damn minute!”
More bullets hit the mini-sub and the distinct sound of gas escaping some valve reached everyone’s ears.
“There!” Popeye yelled as he pressed a button and a claxon rang out in the bay.
Espanoza’s men fired some more then quickly retreated from the bay and behind the hatch that sealed tight as soon as they were through it. One of the men, the one that had spoken to Diego before, watched through the porthole as the bay filled with water. Bubbles streamed from the end of the Wiglaf III once the water had completely filled the bay then the far wall opened and the mini-sub shot out, gone from sight in seconds.
The man didn’t want to, but all eyes were on him and he knew what had to be done. He took the radio from his belt and put it to his mouth.
***
Diego slammed his hand on the control panel again and again, ripping part of his palm open. He looked at the wound then put it to his mouth and sucked on the blood, savoring the salty flavor.
“Get to the specimen bays,” Diego said into the radio. “I will join you there shortly.
***
“What’s the plan?” Lake asked, looking from Ballantine to Carlos to Ingrid. “This thing can become an escape pod, right? Then let’s escape.”
Carlos looked over at Ballantine and glared. Gone was the look of embarrassment and subservience from before. Lake was puzzled by the look of rage that now clouded the man’s features.
“What did I miss?” Lake said. “No, let me guess. This doesn’t turn into an escape pod, does it?”
“Those modifications weren’t completed,” Carlos said. “Against my protests.”
“There was other work that needed to be finished first,” Ballantine said, matching Carlos’s glare. “Such as the specimen bays. I told you we would complete your modifications once we returned to the company’s Manila facilities. They have the skills to do it right.”
“I did it right on the Beowulf II,” Carlos snapped.
“Excuse me?” Ingrid said.
“With some help,” Carlos said, waving Ingrid away.
“Fuck you too,” Ingrid said and stormed off into the shelves.
“Then why didn’t you complete the mods yourself again?” Lake asked.
“Because he specifically told me not to,” Carlos snarled, pointing at Ballantine.
Ballantine stepped closer, letting the accusatory finger stab him in the chest.
“Whoa, whoa, knock it off,” Lake said. “None of this bullshit matters now. We need to figure out how we’ll get out of here. Eventually, they’ll blow their way inside.”
“Not hardly,” Carlos snorted. “You can’t get into the armory.”
“Carlos doesn’t like to share his toys,” Ballantine said.
“Don’t call them toys!” Carlos yelled.
“Knock it off!” Lake shouted, shoving the men away from each other.
“Hey, guys?” Ingrid asked, coming back to where they stood, her face white with fear. “Where’s Moshi? I can’t find her.”
“Just yell for her,” Carlos said, putting his hands to his mouth. “Moshi! MOSHI!”
“Not like she can respond,” Lake said.
“She’s shy, not mute,” Ingrid said.
“Really? I didn’t know that,” Lake replied. “I thought she couldn’t speak at all.”
“Moshi!” Carlos yelled again.
“Moshi!” Ingrid echoed.
“Stop,” Ballantine said, but was drowned out by the others’ yelling. “Stop!”
“What? Why?” Ingrid asked.
“I know where she is,” Ballantine said. “I kno
w
exactl
y
where she is.”
***
The sounds from above made Moshi cringe and shake with fear. She was a weapon smith and she knew immediately that C4 was being detonated and AK-47s were being fired. There was small arms fire as well -9mms, .45s, .38s, and even a couple of .22s- but those sounds were sporadic and Moshi knew they could be from the attackers or the B3’s crew. But the explosions and machine guns were not.
Her hands flew across the controls of the whale sub and she began flipping switches and turning knobs. The sub powered up, but she didn’t engage the tail motor since the specimen bay was empty of water and the sub was dry docked. If she engaged the motor without the tail being submerged, she’d warp the sub and most likely rip it completely apart.
She heard the hatch above on the catwalk open and she froze, terrified to move or even breathe. Boot steps echoed through the bay and she pressed her body as far into the sub’s cockpit as possible, hoping she was out of sight from whoever was coming. Her view out of the sub was limited, since the hatch was so small, and she hoped the view into the sub was just as obscured.
Men’s voices called out in Spanish and she picked out a few choice curse words here and there. She heard boots descending a ladder then land on top of the sub. There were more curse words and then a loud thump.
Someone was inside the cargo hold. She hadn’t closed the hold doors after the cocaine was removed and the men must have decided to double check to make sure none of the cargo was left behind. Her teeth began to chatter as her heart crawled into her throat. She stank of fear and hated herself for it, but she didn’t break. She stayed quiet, her natural default mode anyway, and waited.
The sub shook as she heard the man leave the cargo hold and begin to make his way atop the sub to the cockpit hatch. She could hear him speaking to someone over a radio and the voice that replied was very angry. Moshi almost lost it, but shoved the fear down, as she looked about the cockpit, desperate for an answer to her predicament.