The Steel Shark

Chapter 49

Joe flew the drone in a wide circle around the Roc. The scene played out on various screens — video feed from the drone, sonar feed from the Voyager, and the view through the bridge from a camera he’d installed there. The submarine was within striking distance of the yacht. It was at periscope depth and visible from the sky.

Edison crowded up next to his folding chair. Absently, he stroked the dog’s back.

“It’s OK, boy,” he said. “They don’t care about a little minnow like us.”

He studied the black bulk of the approaching submarine. If she was still alive, Vivian was in there. She should have been back in New York babysitting some spoiled executive at a cocktail party. Bored, but safe.

A flash of white from the submarine, then a quick black line, and a massive bubble of white foam fountained up higher than the Voyager. The Siren had fired its first torpedo. The Roc lurched to the side and then righted herself.

“Detonated too soon,” he told Edison. “Close, though.”

“Back full!” Captain Glascoe’s shout came through the monitor. He wanted to run away. Joe didn’t blame him, but he couldn’t let that happen.

Joe set the drone’s controls on his makeshift desk. When left to its own devices, the drone would hover in position — right over the Roc. It continued to film and to send those images back to Joe’s computers. Whatever happened, the drone would keep recording until it ran out of battery power.

And he had more important things to do.

Edison on his heels, he sprinted through his makeshift tunnels to the bridge. They couldn’t leave.

“What are you doing?” Joe spoke from the doorway.

“Getting out of here until they’re done fighting,” Glascoe said. “Putting a few miles between us so they don’t sink my damn ship.”

Voyager was moving backward, away from the submarine. Away from Vivian. A stoic Marshall stood at the helm.

“We need to be close enough to pick up survivors,” Joe said.

He meant Vivian. She had to be alive still. She had to be.

“We can’t do anything for them right now.” Glascoe looked out at the superyacht towering over the waves. “Not till this is over. We’re not even armed.”

Technically not entirely true. They had a locker full of guns and a fire hose. But nothing that would hold off a yacht carrying who knew what and a fully armed military submarine. Joe wasn’t going to win this argument on logic. Glascoe was right. But Joe didn’t care.

“If by some miracle Vivian Torres pops out of that submarine, I want us to be close enough to get her out of the water before she gets blown to hamburger.” Joe knew he was shouting.

Worried, Edison looked between Joe and Captain Glascoe. The dog hated conflict. Glascoe turned to face Joe and put his hands on his hips. He was taller than Joe, fitter, probably a better fighter. Joe stared him down.

Marshall froze, and the ship kept moving the wrong way. But it slowed down.

“Full speed.” Glascoe roared. “You heard me.”

Marshall jumped. Slowly, his hand moved toward the controls.

Joe couldn’t let them abandon Vivian. He’d left her once, and he wasn’t going to do it again. “We stay where we are.”

Glascoe’s voice was low and deadly. “I’m the captain of this vessel. I’m in command, and I’m not putting the ship or the lives of my men at risk.”

“I’ve paid you enough to own this ship.” Joe glared at him, barely noticing the wall of bright windows now. “And she’s not going anywhere. We stay to pick up survivors.”

Edison stood firm next to him. The hair on the scruff of his neck rose, and the dog growled. Good dog.

Glascoe started toward Joe. The man moved like a fighter. Which he was. Ex-boxer. Joe’d read his file. He’d killed people, and he wouldn’t have any trouble taking out an agoraphobic programmer and his friendly dog.

Joe bent down, picked up the bow, and aimed it straight at Glascoe’s chest.

Surprised, Glascoe stopped. “You’re kidding.”

“I’ve trained on this,” Joe said. “I can hit a much smaller target than your heart from this distance.”

“You’d have to hope you got my heart with the first shot, because you wouldn’t get another.” Glascoe hadn’t moved, but he looked like he was calculating the distance between them.

“I can,” Joe said. “How about we don’t let it come to that?”

Edison growled again.

“A computer nerd with a bow?” Glascoe took a step forward. “Just like that elf in Lord of the Rings.”

He was too close. Joe wanted to step back into the tube, but he couldn’t do that. If he did, Glascoe would rush him and they would leave Vivian to her fate.

“Stop walking.” Joe used his sternest voice. That voice had driven off kids who hadn’t paid at the carnival when Joe was a kid, it had made other CEOs back down, and it had made homeless people leave him alone in the tunnels.

It made Glascoe charge.

Joe moved the bow a fraction down and shot Glascoe through the thigh. The arrow buried itself in the wooden console behind him. Joe pressed a button to release the fishing line from the bow and stooped to load another arrow.

Glascoe howled, but he couldn’t move without pulling the arrow all the way through his leg. Marshall picked up the bloody fishing line and tied it off to a metal handrail. Glascoe couldn’t move.

“You shot me!” he bellowed. “You fucking elf.”

“Legolas,” Joe said. “His name was Legolas.”

Marshall started laughing. He laughed so hard he practically fell down.

“Cut me loose,” Glascoe roared. “Get your Marine ass over here and cut me loose.”

“Semper fi,” Marshall said.

“Then get your faithful butt over here and cut me loose.” Glascoe pressed his hands against his leg. From what Joe could tell, he’d missed the major arteries, but blood still seeped through his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

Joe moved the bow in Marshall’s direction. Marshall held up his hands and sauntered to the first aid kit on the other side of the bridge. “Just getting some supplies for that hole you made in our captain.”

He took out gauze and a pair of blunt scissors, leaned under the console and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid.

Joe tensed. “What do you have there?”

“Medical and medicinal items only.” Marshall returned to Glascoe’s side.

“What now?” Joe asked.

“Cut me free,” Glascoe said in the same breath.

“No man left behind.” Marshall handed Glascoe the whiskey. “Or woman. I agree with Tesla here. We’ll stay close, pick up Sergeant Torres when she arrives.”

“If she arrives.” Glascoe took a long pull on the whiskey, and his face relaxed a little.

“If,” said Marshall. “But she’s a tough lady. If anybody can get herself out of that sub, it’s Vivian. I know I’d feel like an asshole if her ride weren’t there to pick her up. Wouldn’t you?”

Eyes fixed on Glascoe’s, Joe held the bow steady.

Glascoe took another long sip of whiskey. “If you guys think there’s a chance she can get out, we’ll stay.”

Marshall handed the captain the gauze and scissors and went back to the controls. The boat reversed its course.

Joe let out a long breath and lowered the bow.

But he didn’t put it down.

Another explosion came from the water.