I had my pistol. I would have preferred an assault rifle.
“From what I saw, there are four of them,” JD said. “But there may be more.”
"Piece of cake," Flynn said.
"This isn’t a movie," I cautioned.
"I know.”
To Flynn, everything was a movie. The only difference was sometimes the cameras weren't rolling.
I pulled on the cold, damp wetsuit and prepped for yet another dive.
Jack navigated the Neptune underneath the habitat, out of view.
Flynn and I entered the lockout and sealed the hatch. Flynn had grabbed a spear gun. It was better than nothing. We gave each other a look, then I opened the bottom hatch. We donned masks and fins, filled our lungs, then plunged into the frigid water. I had barely warmed up from the last time.
Flynn followed. I finned toward the north, and he to the south. With the nodes in my satchel, along with the CPM, I swam to the lockout. I left the satchel on the sea floor, not far away, and took one of the nodes with me.
I found the bottom hatch. It took a good bit of muscle to get it open. I tried to be as quiet about it as I could. I climbedinto the lockout, the water dripping from my wetsuit. I pulled off my fins and dripped for a moment, then hovered by the hatch that led to the rest of the habitat. I drew my pistol and drained the water from the barrel before cracking open the hatch with caution.
The hallway was empty.
I slipped out of the lockout and moved forward. Like a ninja cat, I crept down the corridor and stashed the quantum node in an empty compartment.
The habitat hummed with the sound of electronics and the drone of the ocean. Commotion in the control room filtered throughout.
I ducked into a berthing compartment as footsteps approached.
A goon marched down the corridor, rifle in the ready position. They were expecting us through the moon pool and had already secured the habitat. This was a routine patrol.
With the hatch to the bunk room slightly ajar, I watched him pass. I holstered my weapon and drew my K-bar. I slipped into the corridor behind him, stalking him like a panther. With a quick strike, I had my hand over his mouth and my knife in his neck before he could make a sound.
I brought him down and pulled him into the bunk room as warm blood spurted from his carotid. Crimson dripped onto the grated deck, then flowed toward the subfloor drains. Hopefully, no one would notice if they came this way.
Now I had a rifle.
39
Iheld up at the corner when I reached the control room. I peered around and saw Mitch, Judy, Quinn, Ross, and Norrington bound about the wrists and ankles. One goon wearing black tactical gear and a black balaclava guarded them. In their present condition, they weren’t a threat.
The goon paced about the room.
There were two hatches. Two ways into the compartment.
He walked in my direction, fumbling for a pack of cigarettes. He pulled them out, slipped one loose, and grabbed it with his lips. He pulled it from the package, then stuffed the pack back in his pocket. He dug out a Zippo, flipped the lid, and struck the lighter.
The goon had a hard time getting the cigarette lit, and it didn't stay lit after he took the initial drag. This guy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He made a sour face, not liking the way it tasted at 10 atmospheres. But addiction is addiction.He gave it another go as he turned around and walked back the other direction.
That was my opportunity to strike.
With his back to me, I advanced to the hatch, entered the compartment, and crept behind him.
He had trouble getting the cigarette lit again. He turned back toward me before I could strike. His eyes rounded, and he grabbed for his rifle.
I stabbed at him. The knife sliced through the air.
He blocked my forearm and tried to pull my arm in and pin it against his body. With his other hand, he took aim.
