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“Anything on the sub?” asked Hex, staring over the shoulder of Hiro.
“I’m working on it. We’ve got some strange locators happening, sort of like a debris field.”
“Fuck. Did she sink?”
“No. I think whoever is sabotaging the sub is taking shit out and littering the ocean floor with it. Look,” he said, pointing to the screen. “You can see the trail of debris, all with our locators in them. He either knew the locators were there and thought to get rid of them or was just getting rid of anything made by G.R.I.P.”
“Best estimate. Where are they?” asked Eric.
“Best estimate? Here.” He pointed to the dot on the map, and the men just shook their heads. The Michigan was out of Bangor, Washington. Right now, she was sitting off Yakutat, Alaska. There were no signals of distress, just sitting atop the water. Prime target for destruction and viewing.
“I hate the fucking cold,” frowned Cam.
“You chose to be a SEAL,” smirked Eric. Cam flipped him the bird, then turned back to Hiro.
“Who is the captain of the Michigan?”
“Bill Peters.”
“Okay,” nodded Cam. He looked around the room and nodded to the former SEALS. “It’s gonna be an ass-biting cold trip. Pack your long johns, and let’s pray we don’t have to get wet.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“What are they saying at command?” asked Captain Peters.
“We’re having trouble holding communication, sir. Our locators are down. Our communications are spotty. Nothing is working right. Tech is saying the parts are faulty, but they were working just fine when we left port.”
“The fucking parts aren’t faulty!” he yelled at the young man. Shaking his head, he squeezed his shoulder. “Apologies. I know G.R.I.P. and the men that started the company. Those parts aren’t faulty. Something else is happening here.”
“Captain! Captain, sir!”
“What the fuck is it now?”
“There are two small inflatables off our starboard. Twelve men, sir. All in dive gear, black face. They say they want to speak with you and said to tell you it’s RP.”
“RP? I thought…” He stared off at the screens, then turned to the younger man. “Get them on board and into my private quarters. Find that fucking tech and have him waiting for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Peters made his way as quickly as possible to his cabin, but the truth was you didn’t move fast anywhere on a sub. If you tried to run, you’d damn sure bust your head, shins, or both. The trick was moving with purpose and focus but not forcing anything.
Opening his cabin door, he quickly straightened things and waited, looking around. Realizing that he couldn’t fit twelve men inside this small space, he moved to the officers’ mess.
“Anything for you, sir?” asked the chef.
“Plenty of hot coffee and some sandwiches if you have time. We’ve got visitors.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stood at the door, waiting to see the men coming toward him. He immediately recognized two faces. Cam Dougall and Luke Robicheaux. When the men behind them towered above the two giants, he swallowed, watching them maneuver the tiny space.
“Good to see you, Captain Peters,” smirked Luke.
“Don’t fuck with me, Robicheaux. This must be big if you’re in this damn freezing water.” He turned, smiling at the other men. “Cam, I damn sure know you. Know of some of the others. When you said it was RP, I was confused, but figured you were trying to keep your new identity under wraps. Does this have anything to do with my faulty equipment that has me dead in the water?”
“Yes. And it’s not faulty,” said Cam. “We have Ryan and Thomas with us. They’re our genius engineers, along with Hiro, one of our tech experts. Can someone take them to the command and engine rooms?”
“Done and done,” he said, nodding to his lieutenant.
