About to curse the God of all living things, Atticus paused when he saw a sliver of blue sky forming a crescent where the glass met the hull. He jumped into the chair and pushed up on the glass bubble. It gave way slowly, then, all at once, burst away from the sub’s hull and rattled to the Titan’s deck.
After hoisting himself out of the sub and sliding down to the wooden deck, Atticus freed his SEAL dive knife from its sheath and ran toward the bridge. He knew he wouldn’t be able to accomplish much with the knife, especially if he found the bridge well guarded, but he’d dispatched enough enemies using a blade during his time with the SEALs to know he wouldn’t die alone.
Images of Giona’s darkened form moving inside the belly of the beast flashed through Atticus’s mind, lending him strength, purpose, and determination. As he found his feet striding up the stairs that led to the bridge, Atticus offered a small prayer to the God he was about to curse just moments before. “Give me strength.”
With that, Atticus burst through the door and with a snap of the wrist, sent the knife soaring.
39
The Titan
After the burst of gunfire from the submersible sitting on the Titan’s front deck, Trevor realized two things: Atticus was coming…and he was pissed. He leaned forward and peered out the bridge’s front window, taking in a view of Ray resting below. He could see Atticus pulling himself through one of the lexan viewing ports. Atticus slid onto the deck, reached down, and pulled a long knife from a sheath attached to his belt.
“Oh hell,” Trevor whispered to himself.
He had no illusions about what Atticus could accomplish with the single blade. And he felt sure that the instrument of death would find him first if the attack on Kronos persisted. He was, of course, the man who had given the order to attack while Atticus was in the danger zone and his daughter…
Yes, he’s coming for me, Trevor thought.
Remus took a look through the bridge window as well and immediately took action. He drew a 9mm Beretta and snatched Andrea by the hair, pulling her roughly into the center of the bridge. Andrea let out a squeal of pain, but she was manhandled so roughly that the words she tried to form were knocked out of her along with her breath.
In that moment, as Remus began raising his weapon toward Andrea’s head, and Atticus’s footsteps clanged on the stairs to the bridge, Trevor became inspired. He imagined that Mozart or van Gogh must have felt something akin to this at times. When time either slows or the mind speeds up and all things become clear. The bridge door opened and for a fraction of a second his eyes looked into Atticus’s. It was like staring into a tiger’s eyes before being eaten. In that infinitesimal moment, Trevor felt he might die, but then set his visionary plan into action.
Nothing on Trevor’s face revealed he had seen Atticus. Rather, it exploded with surprise as he twisted toward Remus, raising his hands and shouted, “Remus, no!”
With those words, a quick facial expression and a flail of the hands, Trevor transferred Atticus’s attention to Remus. He didn’t even see the knife leave the former SEAL’s hand but he heard the clang of metal on metal as the knife struck the gun from Remus’s hand.
Remus cursed and screamed, loosening his grip on Andrea, who ducked to the floor. Before Remus could recover from the attack—before the dropped gun landed on the floor—Atticus took to the air and extended his leg like a piston. Atticus’s foot slammed into Remus’s sternum with a crack that sent the brightly clad behemoth soaring back into the control console.
Trevor blanched as Remus slumped over unconscious. The ease with which Atticus had knocked the giant unconscious disturbed him. Trevor raised both his hands over his head, yet remained cool and collected. “I pose no threat to a man like you, good sir.”
Atticus whipped around toward Trevor and stalked him like a silverback gorilla bent on destruction. Their faces were inches apart.
“You ordered the attack. Why?”
Trevor nodded, knowing a lie would be seen through and result in a painful experience of some sort.
“To kill the beast. That is what we’re here to do, is it not? You had obviously given up on the task.” Trevor took a breath and when he didn’t get strangled or punched in the gut, continued. “You knew the risks. When you descended into the deep, you were quite prepared to die if I recall corr—”
Atticus’s hand rocketed out, took Trevor’s black-silk shirt in tight, and yanked him even closer. Trevor could feel his hot breath washing over his face. “My daughter is alive.”
A quiver entered Trevor’s voice as he spoke, and this time it was genuine. “Atticus, please…think logically for a moment. Your daughter is in the belly of a sea creature…a predator of enormous proportions. She has been there for days. It is simply not possible that she is still alive.”
“But I saw—”
“What you wanted to see. It was a shape. A silhouette. The odds of the shape being your daughter’s dead body shifting inside the creature’s gullet is beyond remote, but I would more quickly believe that than the ludicrous idea of your daughter still living…still breathing inside Kronos. Please believe that I was acting on what I thought your desires were—to kill the beast or die trying. I—”
A squawking voice from the radio interrupted. “Target is in range. Permission to fire?”
Trevor froze as the helicopter’s pilot spoke the words. Kronos was injured, bleeding in the water. The torpedoes would find their mark and could quite possibly exploit the newly formed chink in the beast’s armor. If he gave the order, the fight could be won. The prize claimed!
But the tightening fist on his shirt told him that Atticus had yet to give up hope. How could he? Trevor had merely planted a seed of doubt, but he’d seen the images himself. Even he knew that somehow, for some reason, Atticus’s daughter still lived. Atticus would not give up, and if Trevor gave the order to fire, the words he spoke might be his last.
Atticus stole a glance at the big gun’s target screen, where the bloodied body of Kronos rose and fell through the waves. A pool of red had formed around the creature’s body, but it moved steadily away. Then the screen shifted, moving through the sky until it landed on the helicopter, fitted with four torpedoes. Trevor looked to see who was controlling the gun. Andrea sat behind the controls, her finger on the trigger. “Tell them to stand down, or I’ll do it for you.”
While Trevor would feel no remorse over the death of the men on board the chopper and cared little for the vehicle’s worth, he knew to do anything but issue a stand-down order would end in disaster.
Trevor nodded.
Atticus let go of Trevor, picked up a headset, and handed it to Trevor. “Stand down.” Trevor said into the mike. “Do not fire. I repeat, do not fire. Return to the Titan. The fight is over.”
Trevor put the headset down as the pilot replied without question, “Yes, sir.”
“Now then,” Trevor said as he turned to face Atticus again, “I will cease my assault on the beast if you truly believe there is merit to the images we saw. If your daughter is still alive, we will find a way to get her back. If not…I will have my prize.”
Trevor wasn’t sure if speaking with such confidence would go over well, but he was Trevor Manfred, and this was his ship. While he might compromise for the moment in order to save his life, he would not be given another order. He knew what Atticus wanted and would grant it to him for the time being. But he would not suffer the indignity of being told what to do.
“Giona is alive. I’m sure of it. If you help me get her back, I swear to you, I’ll kill Kronos for you after she’s safe.”
Trevor chewed on the proposal. Atticus, it seemed, could think clearly regardless of the adrenaline no doubt pumping through his veins. The offer was reasonable, but would Atticus hold to his end of the bargain once his daughter was freed? Better yet, how would they retrieve the girl from the belly of the beast without first killing it or themselves in the process? Questions for another time, Trevor thought. He would truly make u
p his mind about what to do later. First, Atticus needed to be placated. “Agreed,” Trevor said with a smile. “You’ve managed to raise the stakes yet again. Well done!”
Atticus stepped back, satisfied. “Are you okay?” he asked Andrea.
“Peachy,” she said, rubbing her head where Remus had yanked her hair. “Just your average day on the Love Boat.”
Remus stirred and Trevor saw his opportunity to bring things to a close. “I believe it best if we all retire to our quarters for the remainder of the day. Some time apart will allow heads to clear and plans of action to be formulated. We will talk again in the morning.”
Trevor could see that Atticus was about to protest, but a gentle hand on his shoulder and a calm voice put an end to it. “I think he’s right, Atticus. Nothing productive can be done today. We’re all too…shook-up. Especially you.” O’Shea pointed to the sonar screen. The large green mass that represented Kronos had gone deep—out of their range. “And Kronos is out of our reach.”
Trevor had never been happier to have O’Shea on board. The man had become indispensable at disarming confrontations. While Remus’s techniques proved entertaining, O’Shea’s gentle touch had a far more profound effect in volatile situations. The priest deserved another bonus.
Atticus relented with a nod and moved toward Remus, who was rubbing his head and looking around in a daze. Atticus bent down, picking up his knife and the Beretta. He held the gun up in front of Remus’s eyes. “Thanks for the gift.”
“Go to hell,” Remus grunted with a cough that caused him to wince and clutch his ribs.
With that, Atticus turned to Trevor, and said, “In the morning we’ll talk. If I don’t like what you have to say, you’re packing it up and leaving.”
And there it was. Another order. It was said so coolly and confidently that a lesser man would have simply agreed and left it at that. But Trevor was not a lesser man. His insides became a roiling caldron of fury. Atticus transformed from an admired warrior to insolent whelp in Trevor’s eyes. A very dangerous whelp, Trevor reminded himself.
“Enjoy the night…” Trevor said through a tight smile as O’Shea led Atticus and Andrea off the bridge.
It will be your last.
40
The Titan
Atticus paced in front of the long window that stretched along the outside wall of his cabin’s living room, agitated eager for action. With every glimmer of light reflecting off the ocean outside, he would glance up, hoping to catch sight of Kronos rising and falling—alive. The creature he’d fought so passionately to kill could live without fear of death at Atticus’s hands. In fact, he would do everything he could to make sure Kronos survived. He’d promised Trevor he would kill Kronos once Giona’s safety had been ensured, but he knew he couldn’t do it. His thirst for revenge, now squelched, had been replaced by concern for his daughter and a renewed interest in preserving the ocean’s life, of which Kronos represented the pinnacle.
A modern mystery. An unknown species. Primal yet intelligent. What did it want? Why would it swallow Giona if it had no intention of digesting her? And why did it let him live?
Answers to his questions did not exist, so he buried them, ignoring their repetitious chant. But in the absence of questions came a torrent of emotions. Self-loathing over wrecking the submersible, preventing him or anyone else from returning to the deep, pummeled his nerves. Relief that Kronos and Giona had survived the battle gave him hope but twisted a knot in his gut. Giona sat alone, inside a giant sea creature. She needed him more than ever, and he couldn’t get to her. And fear, the most powerful of the emotions torturing him, fueled his doubts. Giona might have been alive earlier, but she could already be dead. The shell fired from the big cannon could have hit her. Kronos could have spat her out, deep underwater. Stomach juices could have finally done her in. A lack of oxygen…The many ways Giona could die inside the belly of the beast numbered so high they overwhelmed Atticus.
He pictured his girl, terrified, sitting in Kronos’s belly, knowing she would eventually die there, alone. Images of her crying throughout her life filled his mind’s eye. Age three after a toy had been stolen. Age six after stubbing a toe. Age ten when she fell off her bike. He’d always had trouble seeing her cry. Her face had a way of looking so sad and desperate for comfort. The memory of her face haunted his imagination and distracted him from the question at hand.
What do I do now?
A hopeful glance at a distant wave found nothing but the setting sun. Night would soon arrive, then the morning. By that time he’d need a course of action that would allow him not only to retrieve Giona, but also convince Trevor that Kronos would die soon after. With the return of his daughter’s life also came his previous values. But with this renewed moral compass came guilt. He’d betrayed all that he held dear for an act of vengeance. Killing had once been a part of his life, but Maria had changed that. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she would have been ashamed of him.
One look at Andrea as she entered the living room from the bedroom told him he was wrong. Andrea had forgiven him, and Maria would have as well. As Atticus continued his internal monologue, he failed to notice Andrea toss a water bottle to him and shout, “Catch!”
The bottle caught him in the side of the head and bounced to the floor. Atticus, caught off guard, staggered backward and nearly fell over. Once stable, he looked to the floor to see what hit him and turned to Andrea, who had her hands clasped over her mouth. Atticus couldn’t tell if she was afraid she’d hurt him or if she was hiding a smile.
Atticus chuckled. “You trying to finish me off?”
“I said, ‘catch,’” Andrea pointed out, allowing her own infectious giggle to escape. She moved over to him and examined the mark left by the bottle. “You’ll be fine.” She stood on her toes and kissed his forehead. “See? All better.”
“Gee, thanks. You’d make a great mom”
Andrea’s smile faded, and Atticus cursed himself as he realized what he’d said. “Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Andrea said. A slight smile returned to her lips. “And for the record, I was a great mom.”
Atticus looked into Andrea’s eyes as their bodies moved closer. Like a ship caught in a whirlpool, he slid toward her, unable to stop. In that moment, all his concerns, worries, and self-torture disappeared. “Maybe you will be again?”
Andrea’s smile grew, and she was about to respond when a quick knock came at the door. Atticus’s hand went to his side and rested on the reloaded .357. He and Trevor might have an understanding, but Remus would be trouble again. His ego had been bruised too many times to see clearly and was too stupid to know when to quit.
Moving silently over the smooth, hardwood floor, Atticus reached the door and peered through the peephole. His hand came away from the magnum when he saw O’Shea standing outside the door looking about nervously.
Atticus opened the door and greeted the black-clad priest with a half smile. “Come on in, Father.”
When O’Shea didn’t move forward, Atticus frowned. “What?
“All of the rooms have hidden cameras,” O’Shea said softly. “Trevor is on the bridge right now, so no one is watching, but I guarantee he’s recording your room.”
Atticus squinted. He wasn’t surprised Trevor had surveillance, but he was a little taken aback that O’Shea didn’t want to be seen. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll explain in my quarters,” O’Shea said, taking a step back.
Atticus knew when to shut up and follow someone. He stepped out into the hall, followed by Andrea.
“You’re not under surveillance?” Atticus asked as they moved down the hall.
“Trevor trusts me more than most, but that’s like saying you’d prefer baby poop on a blanket over dog crap on the rug. Either way, it’s still a pile of shit.” O’Shea glanced over his shoulder with a smile. “Something my father used to say.”
“A wise man,” Andrea said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
&n
bsp; “What I mean,” O’Shea said, “is that while Trevor trusts me, he really trusts no one. He’s had my quarters under surveillance since I came on board.”
“Then why—”
“Are we going to my quarters over yours?” O’Shea finished. “I rerouted the video feed from my room so it plays back old loops of my quarters at the same time of day. When I’m not doing something…fishy, I let the cameras watch. But when I need to, I can sync a loop in and do as I please without Trevor or the Hawaiian gorilla knowing what I’m doing.”
“And what would a priest being doing that shouldn’t be seen?” Atticus asked, his interest growing.
“Honestly, at first I was just looking at pornography, but lately I’ve been selling corporate secrets.”
O’Shea paused as Atticus and Andrea froze, their faces flat. “Well, c’mon,” he said. “We don’t want to be found out.”
O’Shea unlocked the door to his quarters and swung it open. He motioned them within. Sensing O’Shea’s urgency, they moved inside without another word. But once the door closed behind them, Andrea spoke as she looked up at the massive crucifix hanging on the wall. It hung above a U-shaped desk with three laptops, which filled the darkened room with an electric glow. “So you’re a computer-savvy, porno-loving, corporate-secrets-selling priest?”
“Not all men of the cloth are pure, Ms. Vincent.” O’Shea laughed. “Of course, to be a man of the cloth, I’d have to be a priest. And that, good lady, I am not.
41
The Titan
“That’s a real shocker,” Andrea said with a snort. “You’re no more a priest than I’m Mother Teresa.”
O’Shea smiled as he sat in the black-leather swivel chair. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “And yet here I am, taking confession from one of the world’s most sinful men.”
Kronos Page 20
