“Inside,” he screamed, as he grabbed hold of the door, using it as a shield as she scrambled inside the armored hull.
“Stay down!” he shouted, crouching at the base of the lifeboat, automatic gun braced.
Jen propped herself against the nearest seat, Caro huddled in her arms.
Caro clung to her. “We’re in a tin can.” Her voice fractured. “We’re literally in a fucking tin can.”
Smoke and rain merged into a thick cloud, reducing visibility through the doorway. Wyatt stopped firing and lifted his head from the sight of the gun.
He turned to face her. “Jen?—”
Smoke drifted across the deck, thinning.
A figure moved inside it.
As the haze cleared, Akilov came into view.
His jacket was torn. Blood streaked one sleeve. But he was upright.
He met Jen’s gaze through the clearing smoke and smiled.
He wasn’t done.
26
Akilov wasn’t runningfor the helicopter.
He was walking straight toward them, flanked by two of his musclemen, their weapons raised.
Wyatt lifted the M4 he’d retrieved.
He pressed the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
He threw the weapon aside. The backup handguns Max had given him were still in the dive room.
Blood from the cut above his eyebrow ran into one eye, but he ignored it. “Jen, Caro.” He kept his voice level. “Stay inside.”
Akilov was only ten feet away.
There was nowhere to go. The lifeboat was cover, not escape.
Five.
If he waited until Akilov was close enough?—
Three.
Jen burst out of the lifeboat, metal flashing in his peripheral vision. She was right beside him—too close and exposed, an emergency flare gun in her hand.
Jen—
She fired.
The world flamed crimson as the flare struck Akilov full in the face.
