Blood Cruise: A Deep Sea Thriller (21 page)

42.

The galley doors kicked open and Maggie rushed in, sweeping her pistol to the left then to the right. The place was empty. She waited, listening hard, then moved slowly down the cook line. She ducked her head over and over as she looked under the make table that split the galley in half. She didn’t expect the creature to be there, it was far too large, but she needed to make sure no one was cowering amidst the pots and pans. Even though she hadn’t seen a single one of them, she knew the yacht had a cook staff somewhere.

“Hello?” she called out. “If you are in here, show yourself.”

There was no response and she stopped as she reached the end of the line. She quickly assessed her surroundings and saw several tactical advantages to the room, which is why she’d changed her mind and gone to the galley instead of going directly to the bridge above.

Metal walls, metal floors, heavy equipment, and two six burner gas ranges with four gas ovens underneath. It would be the perfect trap if she could lure the creature to it.

She tried her earpiece again, but she didn’t even receive any acknowledging clicks. That was bad. Either her team was still too busy or they had been taken out. She doubted Tony’s men could do it, but she’d seen Niya’s dossier and knew the woman was not someone to mess with.

“Can’t worry about that now,” Maggie said to herself. “I have work of my own.”

She began to take an inventory of all the heavy equipment. The huge floor mixer, the dough proofer, the boil kettle. She made note of the distance between the two exits, one that led into the passageway and one that led into the main dining room. She started to turn on one of the burners when a clang behind her had her spinning about with her 9mm up before her fingertips touched the numbered plastic dial.

Maggie waited. She felt like most of her time was spent waiting, watching, listening, then filled with bursts of action and violence. She wasn’t thinking of just that moment, but her whole life. A tiny voice needled at her that she chose the life, not the other way around, and that a whole lot of nothing followed by a whole lot of everything was just how it went.

She took a few steps towards the latched door of the walk-in cooler. Just like the rest of the galley, the walk-in was much larger than it should have been, even for a yacht that size. But the former owner of the Lucky Sucker had loved to eat, so he’d spared no expense on the facilities that prepared his food. Maggie had done her homework on the yacht, not just the guests.

Her 9mm gripped tightly in one hand, Maggie reached out with the other and grasped the handle of the walk-in’s latch. She popped it free and yanked hard, sending the door flying out and back. She moved in fast and had her pistol sweeping the misty space as her eyes did the same.

“Don’t shoot!” a man cried, his hands out and in front of his face, warding Maggie off. “Please!”

“Chef Bermeto?” Maggie asked.

“Yes?” the man replied, his hands lowering as confusion filled his features.

“Get up,” Maggie ordered. “I need your help.”

“You what?” Chef Bermeto asked.

He was an average man, not heavy or fat as many chefs his age would have become. Life at sea had kept him in decent shape. Maggie waited for him to move, but he only cowered against a shelf filled with vegetables and cheeses.

“Get. Up,” Maggie ordered again, her voice cold and deadly.

Chef Bermeto scrambled to his feet, his hands held high, and shivered as Maggie kept the pistol pointed at him.

“What do you need?” the chef asked.

“I need you to fill every pot you have with water and get it boiling,” Maggie said. “Then I need those pots loaded onto serving carts and ready for me to use.”

The man stood there, his brow knitted together.

“Did you hear me?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, I heard you,” Chef Bermeto replied. “I just don’t know why you want me to boil water.”

“You don’t need to know why, you just need to boil water,” Maggie said, stepping out of the walk-in. She gestured with her pistol for him to follow then lowered it as he hesitated. “I’m not going to shoot you. I’m low on rounds and need to conserve ammo. You’re more valuable alive.”

“Thank you?” Chef Bermeto replied as he moved past her, hands still up.

“Put your hands down,” Maggie said and he did. “Before you start boiling, help me move the equipment in front of the passageway door. I want only one way in and one way out.”

The chef nodded his head and followed her to the heavy floor mixer. It took them a while, and the chef stopped each time they heard Ben’s far-off screams, but they managed to get the door to the passageway blocked.

“Are you clear on what I want?” Maggie asked.

“Yes,” Chef Bermeto replied, nodding vigorously.

“And what happens if the thing comes here before I’m ready?” Maggie asked.

“I lock myself in the walk-in and wait,” Chef Bermeto replied.

“That’s exactly what you do,” Maggie said. “Do not get anywhere near this thing, understood?”

The chef nodded again then shook his head. “What is it again?”

“Giant Pacific Octopus,” Maggie said. “But it’s not like the ones you’ve seen in the aquariums.”

“I suppose not if it has killed all those people you say it has killed,” the chef responded.

“I hear doubt in your voice,” Maggie said. “If you want to live through this then I advise you kill that doubt right the hell now.”

Ben screamed again and Maggie flinched. She looked at the burners that Chef Bermeto had started to light up and gave the man a serious look.

“Have those pots ready,” Maggie said. “I may need them very soon.”

43.

The bullet burst from the heavy suppressor. There was barely even a flash and only a loud cough as the round flew down the passageway and impacted squarely between Mikey’s eyes. The back of his head exploded into a thousand fragments of bone, chunks of brain, and a massive spray of blood. His body collapsed onto the mosaic of corpse parts that filled the floor outside the vault.

“Clear!” Tumbler called out. “Balls?”

“Clear here!” a man above called. “Just the two of them, it looks like.”

“I doubt that,” Tumbler said as he came out from his hide at the corner of the passageway behind the set of stairs that loomed over the bloody scene. “That son of a bitch just wouldn’t give up.”

“He had some solid training,” Balls said as he stepped onto the stairs.

“No shit, Balls,” Tumbler replied. He pressed his finger to his throat. “Tweety?”

“Yeah?” a man replied into his earpiece

“Hoedown was trying to call me during that fun little firefight,” Tumbler said. “Get in touch with her ASAP and confirm she’s alright.”

“Gotcha,” Tweety responded. “And heads up, weather is going to be shit in about forty-five minutes. We need to secure the package and lift off before that.”

“Copy that,” Tumbler replied. “We’re at the vault now.”

“Forty-five minutes?” Balls asked, coming down the stairs and moving alongside Tumbler as they stepped onto the jigsaw of body parts. “Can we make it in that timeframe?”

“Do we have a choice?” Tumbler replied.

“I guess not,” Balls said.

Again, Tumbler pressed his fingers to the disc on his throat. “Skanks? Dipstick? Status.”

“Clear,” Skanks replied in his ear.

“Clear also,” Dipstick said just after.

“On me now,” Tumbler said. “We’re at the vault and about to go in.”

“On the way.”

“Roger that.”

“This is so not cool,” Balls said as he looked down at the mess under his feet. “Are you telling me some eight-legged fish did this?”

“Mollusk,” Tumbler corrected. “Not a fish.”

“Fucked up,” Balls replied. “Not giving a shit about the difference.”

Both large men dressed in black combat gear and body armor, the two were almost indistinguishable. Except Tumbler held a heavily modified MK14 while Balls held an HK416.

The men moved slowly towards the open vault, pausing when they reached the edge. Tumbler pulled a small canister from a clip on his vest and yanked the pin free. He tossed the canister into the vault and turned his back to it, his hands clamped over his ears and eyes squinted shut. Balls mimicked the same motions and they crouched low as the flash bang went off, blinding and deafening anyone inside.

“Go!” Tumbler shouted as he sprang into motion and hurried inside the vault with Balls right behind him.

The two men swung their weapons back and forth, their highly trained senses searching for any and all threats. After they were halfway inside, and no one had fired on them or stepped into the open, Tumbler pulled up and lowered his MK14.

“Shit,” he said. “Asset is not here. No sign of any more hostiles either.”

“We better search for files,” Balls said. “Fast.”

“Get started,” Tumbler said, his hand going to his throat. “Skanks? Dipstick? The vault is empty. Sheeran isn’t here.”

“We’re on it,” Skanks replied.

“Any sign of Romanski?” Dipstick asked.

“Negative,” Tumbler replied. “So keep your eyes open. She is not to be taken for granted.”

“Aye aye,” Dipstick responded.

“Hey, T?” Balls said as he walked up to Tumbler with a tablet in hand. “Check this out.”

“Is that what’s holding the files?” Tumbler asked.

“My guess is i
t
wa
s
holding the files,” Balls answered as he turned on the tablet and swiped to the right. “But it’s been wiped. Full factory reset. I’m surprised it wasn’t smashed.”

“We probably surprised Romanski,” Tumbler said. “She got her info and took off. She had time to set it to reset, but couldn’t risk smashing it before that process was done or our techs would be able to retrieve the data.”

“Keep it?” Balls asked.

“Yeah,” Tumbler said. “Just in case.”

He sighed and held his throat.

“Hoedown, come in,” Tumbler said.

“This is Hoedown,” Maggie whispered. “But I really can’t talk right now.”

“I’ll do the talking,” Tumbler said. “Files have been purged from a tablet. We’re bringing it with, but be advised that Romanski and the asset are not here. Either they’re on the ship hiding or they’re on their way back to you. You’ll want to keep eyes open and alert because if she has the files then she’s going to kill to keep them.”

“Copy that,” Maggie replied in his ear. “She can try to kill me, but she’ll have to get in line. The creature is still at large and I’m putting something in place to flush it out.”

“Flush it out? Shit, Hoedown, be careful,” Tumbler said. “We’re supposed to retrieve it alive if possible.”

“That part of the mission has been altered,” Maggie said. “Because I really do not think it is possible. This thing is huge, hungry, and homicidal.”

“She’s so good with alliteration,” Balls said as he tapped at the tablet. “Dammit. Thing froze up on me.”

“Stop messing with it,” Tumbler snapped. “Put it in your pack and let’s get going.”

“Hurry over,” Maggie said. “I could use as many boots as possible. This thing has eight arms, I only have two.”

“Copy that and heading your way,” Tumbler said.

44.

The wind and rain pelted Niya and Nick as they stepped up onto the main deck. The ship rocked back and forth, rising up over the growing waves then crashing down the other side. Nick slipped on the wet metal deck and fell hard on his ass. Niya growled and grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him to his feet hard enough to make him cry out.

“Jesus,” he swore as he pulled his arm free. “Don’t break me trying to help me.”

“I’m not trying to help you,” Niya said. “I need you to get the speedboat back to the yacht. You do me no good if you go sliding across the deck and fall into the ocean.”

“There’s a thing called a gunwale,” Nick said. “It has this other thing called a railing on top of it. Been pretty effective for hundreds of years of nautical exploration at keeping people from falling overboard.”

A huge wave crashed up over the side of the ship and soaked both Niya and Nick.

“There are also things called waves that have been more effective at taking egotistical morons like you over the railings and gunwales,” Niya snapped. “Which way is the speedboat?”

“This way,” Nick said, pointing to port. “But I don’t think we’re going anywhere.”

“Why is that?” Niya asked.

“Because of those waves you pointed out,” Nick said. “The boat isn’t designed to handle these kinds of rough seas.”

“We get to the boat and see,” Niya said.

“If we can get to the boat,” Nick argued. “It was a lot easier before, climbing up, but getting down in this? Good flippin’ luck.”

“Shut up and move,” Niya said as she shoved him in the back.

Nick shook his head and carefully made his way across the deck to the port side railing. He grabbed ahold as the ship canted in their direction, using all his strength not to go tumbling over the side. As soon as the ship righted itself, he pushed away from the railing and hurried over to a hatch, grabbing onto the handle as he shook his head.

“What are you doing?” Niya shouted at him as she grabbed onto the handle as well.

“The boat’s gone!” Nick yelled. “It’s not tied up to the ship anymore!”

“What do you mean it’s gone?” Niya shouted. “How can it be gone?”

“I don’t know!” Nick yelled. “But it is! It may have been crushed by the ship when a big wave came or it broke loose! I didn’t tie the damn thing off, Giraldi’s men did!”

A string of Ukrainian curses flowed from Niya’s mouth as she pounded a fist against her thigh. She grabbed Nick by the shirt and almost lifted him off his feet.

“How do we get off this ship?” she snarled in his face.

“Well, we ain’t swimming!” Nick snarled back. “So, unless you can fly, we’re stuck here with whoever the new peeps are!”

Niya cocked a fist and almost sent it flying into Nick’s face, but she hesitated. Then she smiled. Nick looked from the fist to the smile and back, not sure which looked more dangerous.

“You just had a thought,” Nick said. “What is it?”

“We fly,” Niya said. “I do not know boats, but I do know aircraft. All aircraft. Including helicopters.”

“Helicopter? The thing we saw parked on the foredeck with the soldier-looking guy sitting in it?” Nick exclaimed. “That’s your solution?” He looked about and spat rain from his mouth. “Oh, yeah, what could go wrong with flying in this shit!”

“I trusted you with that boat, you will trust me with the helicopter,” Niya said. She pulled a .45 and jammed it up under Nick’s chin. “Or you can argue with me some more.”

“Done arguing,” Nick said. “Let’s fly these friendly skies.”

“Good,” Niya said. She wiped water from her face with the back of her hand, but it was instantly replaced by more. “Stay close to me and try not to be swept overboard.”

“Why bother?” Nick asked then held up his hands. “Not arguing, just wondering. Why have you kept me alive?”

“I need you to corroborate my story with Giraldi,” Niya said. “I despise the man and would rather put two bullets in his face, but he is powerful and has even more powerful friends. You will make sure he understands that his men did not die because of me.”

“What if he doesn’t believe me?” Nick asked.

“Then you are dead and I will be forced to kill him or run,” Niya said. “Neither of those choices are acceptable since they will both result in his friends coming for me.”

“Man, I need to find a different circle to run in,” Nick said. “Benny Boy always said this world would kill me.”

“Pray he is wrong for a little while longer,” Niya said, giving him a hard shove towards the fore end of the ship. “Move.”

Nick moved. He crept along the deck, making sure his footing was secure before he took a step. It was painfully slow, but Niya was doing the exact same thing so Nick didn’t worry about getting smacked upside the head for taking too long.

They wound their way around the superstructure then stopped as Niya held up her hand and pointed at the long, sleek shadow of the helicopter sitting on the deck before them.

“I need you to go talk to the pilot,” Niya said.

“Come again?” Nick laughed. “What happened to you needing me alive?”

“He won’t shoot you,” Niya said. “He’ll point a gun at you and probably knock you to the deck so he can restrain you, but he won’t shoot you. This mission is about intelligence gathering, not assassination.”

“How can you be so sure about that?” Nick asked, seriously thinking of making a break for it. Where he would go, he had no clue, but it was better than getting shot right then and there.

“Because they would have blown the ship up by now,” Niya said. “And you heard the flash bang down below. That is nonlethal.”

“Yeah, I’m not completely buying that,” Nick replied. “But you’re the one with the pistols, so I’m just going to go along and pray you are right.”

“Are you really a praying man, Mr. Sheeran?” Niya asked.

“I am now,” Nick said as he took a deep breath then stepped away from the cover the superstructure provided.

Once he was fully out in the open, and knew he was within sight of the helicopter pilot, he waved his hands over his head. He was almost to the helicopter when he was finally noticed.

“Down! Down now!” Tweety yelled as he jumped from his seat and aimed his M4 at Nick. “Get on your knees! Hands behind your goddamn head!”

“Getting on my knees!” Nick responded, dropping to the deck slowly, his hands coming up even slower behind his head. “Hands are up! I’m unarmed!”

Tweety, a lanky man with a heavy black helmet on his head and a scruff of grey beard on his chin, moved towards Nick, his M4 sweeping the area. He was five yards from Nick’s position when he stopped and swung the carbine to the left and started firing.

There was a high-pitched scream and Nick hit the deck, pressing his belly against the wet metal as more shots were fired. He squeezed his eyes shut and his body jumped with every report. Even with the weather raging around him, the shots were incredibly loud and he gritted his teeth and held his breath until they were finally over.

He waited a few seconds then lifted his head.

Lying on the deck, his blood being washed away by the rain, lay Tweety. Half of the man’s face was gone, leaving a gaping, bloody hole below the visor of the helmet he still wore.

“Shit,” Nick said as he pushed up to his feet.

“He was good,” Niya said as she limped over to Nick. “Not as good as me.”

“You’re hit,” Nick said, pointing to the wound on Niya’s right thigh.

“Superficial,” Niya replied. “In and out, just hit flesh and muscle, no bone. I will live.”

“Well, that’s good since you’re my ride,” Nick said. “Speaking of, can we go now?”

“Get in,” Niya said, pointing to the helicopter with the .45 in her hand. “You will watch for the other men while I begin the startup procedure.”

“Right. Watch for other men that now want to shoot us because we killed their buddy,” Nick said. “How long is the startup procedure?”

“A minute or two,” Niya said. “This is not a BMW that you can turn a key in and it goes vroom.”

“Beemers all have push buttons now,” Nick said then frowned and hurried to the helicopter. “But that’s not the point.”