A tall man, also in camo-gear, stood center stage on the semi-circle portion in front of the drapes. Pale skin. Dark hair and eyes. Mixed Asian heritage. On the ship’s manifest, he’d been identified as Chad Ting, head of Quan Security. Leo hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Ting before the siege. Now, Ting was speaking in English, with a trace of a German accent.
He spoke loudly enough for her to clearly hear that his voice was the same as Skylar’s, which she and Ace had been hearing on line sixteen. “They damn well didn’t jump in the ocean and swim away. I’ll double the pay for the man who brings Ling Wen to me.”
Leo tuned out the responses, as she focused on the closed, leather-bound folder that Skylar/Ting held in his left hand. Her gaze was drawn to, and then riveted upon, the table on stage next to him, in front of the Christmas trees. There were several dozen or more black-leather bound folders stacked neatly in piles on the table. Four men in business suits flanked the table.
Those definitely aren’t Christmas presents.
The objects looked like leather-bound portfolios. Or slender books. Or, what would have looked like a book twenty years ago. She knew better, though, and Skylar confirmed her suspicion, as he opened the folder in his hand, then glanced at the screen.
Tablets. Electronic devices.
Her veins came alive with the pump of adrenaline. “Holy crap.”
“Well, well,” Kamin said, under his breath.
“Evans,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. Ace was easing around an HVAC duct. He was moving ahead of Marks, ten feet from where she and Kamin were poised over the theater. “They’re using tablets. Like iPads.”
“Implies Wi-Fi connectivity.”
“Correct.” She and Kamin made double time crawling to the next vent so that Ace and Marks would have a view. She fell into position in time to see Skylar focus his attention on the front row, where two people were seated in front of the stage.
Keeping her gaze on the drama unfolding below, she eased her backpack straps off her shoulders. As her gaze bounced from Quan security agent to agent, she recognized several of them as people who had been part of what they had once considered to be a legitimate, Tier One security force.
Knowing the due diligence that the Howard Underwriting Group and Black Raven had performed prior to the job’s commencement, she acknowledged, with a sinking feeling, that the Quan operatives had been superior with their deception. Black Raven normally detected oddities that led to criminal behavior. When she thought of how good Quan security had been with implementation of the siege, from effectively gassing the entire ship, rounding up and killing Tier Two security and any ship employees who weren’t relevant to their objective, and corralling most of the guests into the theater, she felt queasy. Her gut told her that what they were now seeing of the Quan Security operation was just the beginning. It was going to get worse if Black Raven didn’t stop it.
Which begged the question of what was in store for the guests, and, more specifically: where was the first officer who’d given the post-gassing, repetitive, and annoying-as-hell, multi-lingual emergency instruction for the guests to proceed to the theater. “Evans? From your vantage point, do you see Raznick?”
“That’s a negative.”
With a head-nod from Skylar, a business-suited man picked up a tablet. He used the stairs at stage left to step onto the floor, as the music changed to Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas.”
“Someone turn off that damn music!” Skylar yelled as his man reached the front row of seats. The man in the suit sat next to Randy Howell and his fiancée, Miranda Lake. He handed Howell the tablet, opened it, and said something in a voice that was too low for Leo to hear.
Presley was cut off in mid-verse as Leo’s mind raced with details about Howell, who’d been playing craps across the table from her earlier that evening. The forty-nine-year-old entrepreneur had gained notoriety in his early teens as a video game designer. He’d brought new complexity to video gaming, patented his innovations, and had become a multi-millionaire by twenty. In recent years, he’d made significant investments in Chinese tech manufacturing facilities and software research and development. Black Raven’s due diligence for the cruise had confirmed rumors of hard times and crafty financing. His first wife had died in a boating accident, five years earlier. He was legendary in gambling circles. Originally from Seattle, Washington, he now lived an international lifestyle, with residences in Vegas, Monte Carlo, and Macau. He was a HUG client, with K & R coverage of five hundred million dollars.
Dressed in a tuxedo, Howell had dark hair that was graying slightly at the temples. If he’d had time to put on a tie before the ether hit him, it was long gone. His collar was unbuttoned and his shirt was rumpled. He lifted his black-rimmed glasses from his mottled face to rub his eyes, ending the gesture with a two-handed pull at his thick hair that mussed it even more.
Below them, despite the weapons aimed at him, Randy Howell gave Skylar a defiant headshake and pushed the tablet from his lap. As it fell to the carpeted floor with a resounding thud, Leo glanced over her shoulder. Ace and Marks had reached the vent. They were watching what was happening below.
Glancing again into the theater, she watched the guy in the suit reach forward and pick up the tablet. He checked the screen, then calmly handed it back to Howell, while the nearest Quan Security operative stepped forward, aiming the muzzle of his assault rifle at Miranda’s forehead.
Skylar walked close to where Howell was seated. “Mr. Howell, you will proceed as directed at the prompts.”
“How dare you! You’ll never get away with this.”
Skylar stood directly in front of Howell, looking down at him. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
Black Raven provided cyber security to businesses in the financial sector, and Leo knew that banks were constantly updating security measures to prevent hacking thefts. Personalized passcodes. Retinal scans. Live-time fingerprint scanning. Some banks used all three, and more. With access to Howell, and a weapon aimed at him, or someone he cared about, Skylar would have access to all the man’s assets. As long as Howell complied with his demands.
“At the prompts, Mr. Howell,” Skylar glanced at the audience, his gaze panning the crowd, as though he was an actor who was enjoying his performance, “and rest assured, we will get away with this.”
From further back in the audience, someone yelled, “You can’t do this!”
Focusing on pulling her laptop and tablet out of her backpack, Leo didn’t see who yelled. She glanced down in time to see a Quan operative punish Le Yarles, of Singapore, seated ten rows back from the stage, for his outburst with a closed-fist punch to his cheek. Yarles’ wife, a petite, dark-haired woman wearing a bathrobe, started sobbing. Others grumbled. A few gasped.
Leo powered up her laptop and tablet, then backed away from the vent as her screens flashed. “Evans. Kamin. I might have access for a Mayday here, piggybacking on whatever Wi-Fi connection they’re using. I’ll have to break through whatever security or firewalls they’ve established, though. Could be tricky, but once I’m on, I might also be able to re-establish our agent-to-agent comms from here. Can’t hurt if we’re trying to accomplish those tasks from two separate avenues of connectivity.”
Kamin, at her side, said, “Copy that, Leo. Evans? Looks like Leo and I should split up here.”
“Roger that,” Ace said, his voice a low whisper through her helmet mic. “Kamin, move forward to the radio room to disable surveillance. Once the cameras are down, hold position in the radio room and start working on a Mayday and our comms from there. Leo may be joining you there if she can’t accomplish anything here. If you do hear from Leo on our comms, reposition accordingly.”
“Copy,” Kamin said.
“Roger that,” Leo said, clicking on her keyboard.
As Kamin slipped away from her side, Ace shimmied forward. He fell into position with his face over the vent, his body on his side, along hers. His gaze was foc
used downwards, on the events in the theater. Leo peered down in time to see Howell jump to his feet, his cheeks flushed beet red.
Howell yelled, “I will not.”
One operative held the muzzle of a pistol steady at Miranda’s forehead, while another jabbed a rifle muzzle into Howell’s chest. All of the flush left Howell’s face, as three operatives grabbed Miranda and hauled her, shrieking as she tried to pull away from them, on to the stage. With tears falling, she yelled, “Give them what they want!”
Acutely aware of what was going to happen next if Howell didn’t act fast and comply, Leo had to fight the urge to grab her Glock. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, as she struggled with the urge to stop the killing from unfolding.
As though reading her mind, Ace reached out, gripped her right hand, and squeezed hard. Miranda’s hysterical screams filled the crawl space, joined by the screams of the other guests and Howell’s yells of indignant rage. She glanced back, through the crawl space. Marks was looking through the vent. Ahead of them, Kamin was at the entry panel that would lead to the forward service stairwell, loosening the screws. Neither seemed to be fighting the urge to lift a weapon and fire.
“Leo.” Grim resolve and steely determination glinted in Ace’s eyes as he whispered to her. “Stand down. Collateral damage would be too great. Four of us. Eighteen of them in the theater now. We know there could be at least fifty-four Quan Security operatives aboard. We’re outnumbered, which means we’re also outweaponed.”
“But our position is great—”
“No. It will delay our Mayday.” And if we don’t survive, the delay might damn well be indefinite. “Our position isn’t optimal. We don’t have a view of more than a third of the theater—”
“But—”
“The minute we start firing, surveillance cameras will pick it up. All the Quan Security operatives who are now scattered around this ship, looking for the Wens, the Blackwells, and Chloe and Zack, will return. If we try to stop this, there’s no telling how many hostages will die.”
She swallowed. Nodded. Knowing that Ace was correct didn’t make his stand-down directive easy. Below them, the pop-pop-pop of gunfire sounded. It silenced Miranda’s cries, but the yells of the other guests reached a deafening crescendo, before dissipating to harsh cries. After a few seconds, the room fell into eerie silence. It was as though they were holding their collective breaths, waiting for the next scream-worthy scene in a horror show.
“Mr. Howell.” Skylar’s tone was calm. Cool. So low, Leo almost didn’t hear him. “You have exactly five seconds to reconsider.”
Quan Security operatives dragged Howell up the stairs and onto the stage. The operatives threw Howell to the ground, next to the body of his fiancée, and aimed their weapons at him.
“Three seconds.”
Howell reached for his fiancée, cradling her face in his hands.
“One second.”
“I’ll do it,” Howell yelled, choking back a sob.
Leo shook her head, clearing her rage away as she reached for her laptop. “I’m on task.”
“I know you are.” Ace reached out and lifted her chin with his index finger. He gave her a nod of encouragement and a look that conveyed more tenderness than she’d ever thought she’d see on a job.
“If they’re getting their money from the hostages now…” Her voice trailed as she tried to predict Skylar’s next step. Glancing sideways at Ace, she met his gaze. “Maybe they’re not going to evacuate the hostages to Follower.”
He nodded. “Thought of that. However, it could be their escape route, and they’ll take a few hostages there for cover. To use as bargaining chips to guarantee an escape. Until I know what the reason is for Follower, I’m taking out their access to it, as I whittle down Quan Security’s numbers.”
He paused as he glanced in her eyes one last time before moving away.
She gave him a nod. “Be talking to you soon, sir.”
Something flickered in his gaze. What, she couldn’t tell. Then it was gone, and he was all business. Hard jaw. Flat eyes. Grim resolve in the set of his lips. He returned her nod, then turned and moved towards the entry panel. Marks nodded as he moved past her. When Kamin had the panel open, light from the forward service stairwell made the crawl space a little less dim. As they disappeared into the stairwell, Leo got to work on her laptop and tablet.
A sudden, high-pitched scream from the theater distracted her. A feminine voice said, “Let. Me. Go. You son of a bitch!”
Guests gasped, and there was a rustling of people shifting position. Mumbling. A man’s voice said, “No.”
Leo shifted so that she had a better view through the grating. Her chest tightened, as she looked at the couple who were being dragged through the theater’s center aisle. One Quan Operative had his hand wound through Nina Blackwell’s long blonde hair, pulling it as he pushed her forward. Todd Blackwell was behind her. Two burly men, both of whom Leo recognized as being in the casino earlier, walking and joking among the dead, pushed him forward. He fell and turned onto his back.
For a brief second, before one of the men hefted him up onto his feet, Leo had a view of his face. His eyes, a blackened mess of swollen flesh, were barely open. His nose was a bloody mess. His lips were split and oozing. Glancing towards the stage, where Skylar stood over Miranda’s body, Leo didn’t have to guess the fate of the Blackwells. She saw it in the grimness of Skylar’s thin-lipped smile.
“Fuck,” Leo whispered.
She glanced up. On her left, at the end of the crawl space, the entry panel leading to the ship’s stairwell in the bow had been reattached. Ace, Marks, and Kamin were on the other side, on their way to complete the tasks. To her right, Branch and Scott were long gone. They’d made it past the casino and, on the far end of the crawl space, through the entry panel that led to the stern of the ship.
“Welcome to the Calliope Theater, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell,” Skylar said. His tone, full of self-satisfaction, sounded more chilling than welcoming. “Bring them to the stage. Let’s show them, and our audience, what happens to people who kill members of Quan Security.”
A fresh scream from Nina Blackwell, loud and unrelenting, drifted through the vent and resonated in the crawl space, the horror that it carried echoing along the stainless-steel walls. Leo gritted her teeth against the urge to do something to stop Skylar and his men. She grabbed her laptop, reminding herself that she had orders, that she was powerless to stop the drama or the execution unfolding below her.
Not now.
But later…
She focused on her tasks. Mayday. Restore agent-to-agent comms. But Mayday first.
If ever a ship needed such a call, it was Imagine, now.
Chapter Thirteen
2:06 a.m.
Ace slid head first into the narrow stairwell that was between the Clio and Euterpe Decks. After the dimness of the crawl space, he had to narrow his eyes against the bright lights and the stark white composite painted on the steel walls. He sprang to his feet, then adjusted his stance for the slight roll of the ship in the two-foot seas. Bouncing action as the vessel moved in the ocean’s slight swells was more apparent in the bow than at any other point in the ship. From behind him, in the crawl space he’d just exited, a fresh round of chilling screams echoed. In the stairwell, above and below, there were no footsteps. No weapon fire. Only silence.
Marks slid out to stand beside him. He was twenty-eight years old, with an army background and two years in Black Raven. His helmet concealed most of his auburn hair. Freckles on his nose seemed dark compared to the paleness of his skin. He glanced at Ace with a grim look in his green eyes.
Stretching out kinks in his arms, shoulders, and neck, Ace said, “Damn well thrilled not to be belly crawling any longer.”
“Agreed.”
Glock in hand, Ace stayed alert while Marks bent to lift the entry panel so he could replace it. Ace allowed himself one last look down the crawl space before Marks set the entry panel in pla
ce. Fifteen yards away, lying on her belly and poised on her elbows, Leo was hunched behind the open screen of her laptop and focused on her task. As expected.
He tried to tell himself she wasn’t the woman he loved. She was simply a well-trained agent. Smart. Intuitive. With great field skills. Rationally, he knew she could handle herself as well as, or better than, any agent aboard Imagine. He tried to tell himself that his worry over her wasn’t rational. His worry, though, had nothing to do with her capabilities, and he knew there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it. The gnawing worry that was eating at his insides…he was going to damn well feel it, until the second they were reunited. And probably for a lot longer.
For now, though, she’s simply an agent doing her job. Just do yours.
Ace slipped his Glock back into its holster and unstrapped his M1A. He checked that the rifle’s 20-round magazine was secure. He had two more mags in his backpack. For his Glock, he had four mags, with 15-rounds apiece, minus the two rounds he’d fired earlier. Adjusting his backpack, he wrapped his palm around the rifle’s grip.
“We’re going two flights down, along a short hallway. We’ve got to go through the control room to get to the engine room. Perfect place to reduce their numbers.”
Stating the obvious. Just like she said I do.
Marks didn’t seem bothered. “Yes, sir.”
Even as Ace turned at the first stair landing, with Marks behind him, his thoughts were on the difficulties of Leo’s tasks. He knew enough about satellite systems, communications networking, and Wi-Fi frequency jamming technology to know that she needed to focus. Which meant she might not hear danger approaching…
Fucking hell. If she’s on her A-game, I’ll hear her voice within twenty-nine minutes, tops. Because my girl will want to boast that she managed the impossible in under thirty.
He glanced at his watch. He’d crawled away from her side a mere five minutes earlier. Twenty-nine minutes from the time that he’d left her would be at 0233 hours. Which meant he had twenty-four more minutes to go before he’d worry if he wasn’t hearing her—loud, clear, and damn well alive—on his embedded ear mic. He told himself to focus on his own shit. Because if he let it, his worry over her would awaken every one of his demons. With those demons in play, he’d freeze. He’d be no good to anyone.
Imagine (Black Raven Book 4) Page 13
