Atlantis

Chapter 38

It was a dark day on the Atlantic. A gray blanket of storm clouds cloaked the sky, and a chill wind stirred up waves that battered Sea Foam, sending icy salt spray over her gunwales. Soaked to the bone, Matt stood on the foredeck holding a pair of binoculars. He knew he should get out of the weather, but he felt as though he were doing a penance for his failure in Naica. He wanted his revenge on the Dominion for what they had done to Joel, and right now, this was all he could do to help. He felt impervious to the cold, maybe because he found it a pleasant change from the deadly heat of the crystal caves, or perhaps his anger kept him warm. Either way, he stood fast.

The foul weather kept all but the largest ships ashore, and Willis and Professor took Remora in for a closer look at every craft that plied the waters off the coast of Savannah, but they’d met with no success. He wiped the lenses for what felt like the thousandth time and traced the dark line of the horizon — an inky divide between dark sky and darker water. Nothing.

And then he spotted a white dot. He wiped the lenses again and tightened the focus on the binoculars. Something was there! Feeling a touch of hope for the first time in hours, he turned and waved to get Corey’s attention. A moment later, Corey’s voice sounded in his year.

“Did you forget we can talk to each other?”

“I did. Still not accustomed to this high tech gear. Take us north-northwest. I think I see a boat.”

“Must be a small one. Radar doesn’t show… wait. There it is!”

Sea Foam rolled in the choppy sea as Corey turned her about. A moment later, Greg joined Matt on deck.

“Can I take a look?” The tall, lanky agent, always so unflappable, still seethed with scarcely-contained rage. Matt knew no one blamed him for what happened to Joel, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt around one of Joel’s longtime colleagues. He handed the binoculars to Greg, who took a long look before handing them back. “Keep looking. Let us know when you have a visual.” He turned and stalked back into the cabin.

Matt locked his gaze on the target and watched it grow larger in his field of vision. As they drew closer, the boat came into clear view. His heart leapt when he got his first good look at the boat.

“I think this is it!” he called into his mic.

“Dude, no need to shout,” Corey said.

“What makes you think so?” Greg asked in clipped tones.

“That boat is identical to the one Bill took us out on for the so-called fishing expedition. Who, in their right mind, would be out fishing on a day like today?”

He felt the vibration beneath his feet as Corey opened up the engine and Sea Foam crashed through the waves, making a beeline for the fishing boat.

“Willis, Professor, did you hear that?” Greg asked.

“Roger,” Professor replied.

“We’re on the mother!” Willis cried.

Nervous energy boiling up inside him, Matt hurried into the cabin and grabbed an M-16. Please let me get a chance to use it. For a moment, he wished he had the Atlantean gun Maddock had found in Japan, but Bones had only managed to generate a few waves with it. For now, its secrets remained hidden.

Returning to the deck, he watched as they bore down on the fishing boat. He could make out two figures in rain gear looking in his direction. He dropped to one knee, rested his M-16 on the gunwale, and waited.

One of the men in the boat spotted Matt. He shouted something to his comrade, who sprang to the wheel and gunned the engine.

“They’re running!” Matt called.

“Not for long,” Willis said.

Ten meters in front of the fleeing fishing boat, mechanical arms extended like a creature from the depths, Remora surfaced. The pilot yanked the wheel to the right just as a wave crashed into the boat, nearly capsizing it. As he struggled to recover, Corey cut Sea Foam across their bow.

Matt stood and trained his rifle on the pilot.

“Hands in the air! Now!”

Both men raised their hands and stared up at Matt in horror. Up close, he saw that both had the weathered features of men who spent most of their time on the water. He had a sinking feeling they’d chased down the wrong craft. Willis seemed to confirm that a moment later when he reported no weapon attached to the craft’s underside.

“Whatever you want, just take it.” The pilot’s voice trembled. “But we don’t have much.”

Greg appeared at Matt’s side and flashed his identification.

“We’re with the D.E.A. We need to inspect your boat.” It was a lie they’d agreed on at the outset of the mission.

The men’s frozen faces melted with relief.

“You two move to the stern and put your hands behind your heads,” Matt ordered. No harm in maintaining the ruse.

Greg inspected the boat, proclaimed it “clean,” and apologized for the inconvenience. The relieved men assured him there was nothing to apologize for, and headed back to port without complaint.

“Sorry,” Matt said. “I really wanted it to be them.”

“Me too.” Greg gazed out at the sea. “But we’re searching for a needle in a haystack here.” His phone rang. “It’s Tam.” He answered, listened for a few seconds, grimaced, and then hung up. “We’re aborting the mission.”

“Why?” Matt protested. “There’s no way those guys could have already complained about us. Besides, they think we’re D.E.A.”

“It’s not that.” Greg pocketed his phone and pounded his fist on the gunwale. “Bill gave you a bad tip. The Dominion just hit Norfolk.”