The Vault of Poseidon

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Lea moved long the yacht’s corridor quietly and quickly, keeping her head down and her gun ready to fire. It had been many years since her Rangers training — more years than she could remember, but some things you never forgot.

Now, her mind was clear and focused. She had to get to the helipad and sabotage the chopper. Zaugg was probably planning on taking the yacht to wherever he decided the tomb was, but the helicopter was an escape route waiting to happen and it had come down to her to take that option away from him.

As she slipped unnoticed through the enormous superyacht, she thought about the last few hours in her life — meeting Joe Hawke at the British Museum, fighting Vetsch in New York and Geneva and now a final push to thwart Zaugg’s insane attempt to secure the treasures of Poseidon.

She wondered if she could ever love a man like Hawke. She’d known enough military goons in her time, but he seemed different. Like her, he had left the service behind him and was trying to fit back into Civvy Street, into the real world.

But then she thought about Syria. She thought about the catastrophic decision she had made when she ordered the soldiers of her covert sub-unit to leave their position in order to rendez-vous with a chopper.

She had made an error on the coordinates and instead sent them into the wrong clearing. They got pinned down under enemy fire and three of them had died.

She knew how Hawke felt about officers, especially incompetent ones, as he had put it so delicately. When he found out she was responsible for the deaths of three of her soldiers it was unlikely he’d want anything to do with her.

The guilt she carried on her shoulders was enough without a jumped-up SBS sergeant adding to it. At least she could get this right — disable the chopper while Ryan and Sophie took the yacht’s engines out somehow. That way they were at least giving Hawke and his team a fighting chance when they finally worked out where they were and launched their rescue attempt.

Ryan and Sophie stared at the enormous engine in awe. Full-scale marine propulsion engines were bigger than either of them had realized, so big, in fact, that they could walk inside it.

Descending a shining stainless steel staircase into the engine room they were faced with two walls of engine pipes, wires, panels and gauges, all lit by powerful overhead fluorescent lights built into the ceiling.

“It’s like a spaceship from a science-fiction movie,” Ryan said, amazed.

“Concentrate, Ryan,” Sophie said, asserting control. “We’re here to disable the engine, not talk about sci-fi movies. Although, I do like sci-fi movies…”

Ryan glanced at Sophie’s face for as long as he could without looking weird. She was only a few years older, he considered, but her eyes had seen much more of life than his ever had, that much was obvious. The only thing that had ever gone wrong in Ryan Bale’s life was the night his wife came home from work and told him she was quitting the army and they were leaving Ireland.

Ryan was shocked, but pleased he could move home to England. When he asked why, Lea had finally told him about what had happened so many weeks ago in Syria, and he had tried to comfort her. She had changed after that tour, but never spoken of it until that moment, and then he understood.

They would be fine. His skills as a freelance computer programmer would keep them afloat. He had just finished a certified ethical hacking course as well, and that could be very lucrative. As for his wife’s change in moods, he had no idea of the train wreck their marriage was about to become.

“Ryan — let’s get on with it,” Sophie said.

“But where the hell do we start?” he said, taking in the massive engine room.

“A good question,” said Sophie, her eyes crawling over the wall of pipes and gauges. “So I think we just start wrecking it, no?”

Now, Lea was on the upper deck, and she saw an open doorway filled with sunshine. She could smell the sea air blowing on the breeze through the gap, and slipped outside on to the side of the yacht, gun at her side. Covering every angle, she moved towards the rear of the Thalassa in the bright sunlight.

Daytimes she could handle. But sometimes she would wake in the night, covered in sweat. She never saw the faces of her men in the night-terrors, only ever their screaming shadows as the enemy carbines opened up on them in the clearing and they scattered for their lives.

The bodies of those who never made it were captured by the enemy and paraded through the streets. It was all her fault. Even now she could hardly bare to think about the pain she had caused their families. Not even leaving the army had assuaged the crushing guilt she felt when her tortured mind wandered back to that terrible day.

She wanted to tell everyone that it had destroyed her life too, that her mistake that day had ended her career, that it had ruined her relationship with her husband and led to divorce, that she doubted she could ever be happy again, but none of it could weigh up against leading the men in her charge to their premature deaths.

The only slit of light in her life had been offered by Sir Richard Eden, an old family friend of her father’s, long ago before he died. He had taken her in after the disaster and given her work, looked after her, become almost another father.

Dedicating her life to Eden’s work could be her only salvation, even if it had to be kept from the world. He had offered her a way out and she had taken it. How Hawke could fit into things would not be up to her, but up to Sir Richard.

Ahead of her she spied the chopper. It was a black Bell 429, silent and still on the rear deck, glistening in the sun. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed, and when she saw she was still on her own she moved forward to the chopper.

“Agreed. I think we just start smashing things,” Ryan said.

“C’est une bonne idée, je crois,” Sophie muttered.

Ryan lifted one of the spanners and took out a gauge, smashing the glass panel to smithereens. He then hit another, and another. Sophie did the same, and a few moments later they had taken out most of the controls in the engine room.

After a few minutes of total vandalism they forgot their situation and began to enjoy themselves. Ryan made a few jokes and was pleased when Sophie laughed warmly in response.

Then Ryan located the fuel system and shut off the valves. The engines quietened and the yacht began to slow.

Lea Donovan had no aviation training at all, but she knew it couldn’t be the hardest thing in the world to make sure a helicopter never took to the air again. She glanced around the cockpit for a few seconds and decided that sabotaging the collective was the best option, because without one of those this bird wasn't flying anywhere.

She removed the panel at its base and was faced with a thick bundle of multi-colored wires. She was about to pull them out when she heard his voice.

“Come out with your hands up, Miss Donovan.”

It was Zaugg, and he sounded pleased and in control.

Lea climbed out of the helicopter with her hands raised.

“Give Herr Baumann the weapon, please.”

She tossed the submachine gun on the deck, cursing herself for screwing things up yet again.

“I want you to know I already have men searching the ship for your two friends. There’s nowhere to hide on the Thalassa and they will be caught in good time.”

“It’s too late, Zaugg. They’ve already taken out your engines.”

“We shall see about that… I’m very disappointed in you, Lea,” Zaugg drawled. “And I think we both know what happens to people who disappoint me.”

As he spoke, Baumann unfurled a length of rope from a mounted holder on the side of the yacht. For you, it is time to join Senor Grasso.”