by Kathy Reichs
“Found them!” Shelton’s eyes twinkled behind his boxy black specs.
“Found who?” Hi pointed impatiently to his TV. “I’m watching Catfish, and they’re about to meet in real life.”
I felt a surge of excitement. “The Trinity?”
Shelton grinned ear to ear. “Yep!”
I experienced a moment of vertigo as Ben spun his computer, sitting upright and paying closer attention. “What? How? Where?”
Shelton blew on his nails, then buffed them on his shirt. “Which should I answer first?”
“All of them,” Ben growled, “or I’ll be down in thirty seconds to pound—”
I cut him off. “Just tell us what you’ve got.”
“The symbol on the canvas flag. Hold up.” Shelton began typing. An instant later, the image appeared in the corner of my screen. “I know what it is, and the shoe fits!”
“Keep going,” I prodded.
“I scanned the image,” Shelton explained, “then tried a Google search. No luck. It was too faded to make out.” He flashed two rows of pearly whites. “But then I got lucky. My pops saw the printout sitting on my desk.”
“Shelton!” Hi leaned in to his webcam. “How could you be so careless?”
“Relax.” Shelton’s grin never wavered. “There was nothing on it but the symbol. It’s not like he could connect it to anything. He asked if I was joining up.”
“Joining up?” Ben began gnawing his thumbnail. “That sounds military.”
“Correctamundo.” Shelton tapped keys as he talked. “I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he’s all, ‘I didn’t know you’d been out there before.’ And I’m like, ‘Out where?’”
Hi slapped his desk. “Yes, Shelton. Out where?”
Shelton lifted a finger dramatically, then pressed enter. A second, more detailed image appeared beside the faded one: an eagle, clutching a cannon in its talons, framed by a bloodred sun. The first symbol was clearly a washed-out example of the second.
“Nice work,” I breathed.
“Pops is a military buff,” Shelton explained, relishing the attention. “He recognized the emblem from one of his World War Two books. More importantly, he knew which ship it came from.”
“Ship?” Ben, Hi, and I all spoke at once.
“What you see here is—”
Shelton paused, drawing out the moment. I could’ve killed him.
“The insignia of a United States Navy aircraft carrier. The USS Yorktown.”
Silence. Then, bedlam.
Hi cackled. “That old hunk of junk?”
“I’ve been there!” Ben blurted at the same time.
“The Yorktown is just across the harbor.” I actually pointed out the window.
“Think about it.” Shelton clearly had. “The Trinity used military paint, and a piece of weathered canvas with a faded Yorktown insignia, a vessel that’s been anchored at Patriots Point for decades.”
“It’s a museum ship,” Ben added. “A national historic landmark. But she’s been closed to the public for maintenance all month. I should know—I cruise by that monster every time I cross the harbor to Mount Pleasant.”
Hiram’s eyes rounded. “I bet there’s paint on board, for upkeep and whatnot. The Trinity must’ve swiped the stuff from there.”
“No!” I nearly shouted. “More than that! The Yorktown is perfect. Closed for weeks. Docked in the harbor. Massive. Empty.”
I opened Safari and pulled up a Charleston map. “Consider the locations blitzed by the Trinity. Claybourne Manor on the peninsula. Fort Sumter in the harbor. Loggerhead Island just beyond. Our own bunker here on Morris.”
Shelton slapped his desk. “All within easy striking distance from Patriots Point.”
Recognition dawned on Hi’s face. “They’re using the Yorktown as a base of operations.”
Ben’s lips curled dangerously. “We know where the Trinity lives.”
My smile was just as fierce.
“Let’s pay them a visit.”
“Talk to me, Shelton.”
Perched in Sewee’s bow, Coop at my shoulder, I gazed up at the massive superstructure dominating the harbor. We were idling a hundred yards out, dressed in dark athletic clothing. Our ninja gear, as Hi would say.
A glance at my watch. Two thirty a.m.
Of course we went that night. Even Shelton knew we would.
I wanted to catch the Trinity in the worst way. The boys did, too.
After the bunker, we had a score to settle.
But there were practical reasons as well. The Trinity had struck somewhere every night that week. To pull that off, they needed a launching point, or a place to rally afterward. The carrier was perfect. And late night might be the only time to catch them there.
Beside me, Shelton began reciting facts from his iPhone. “The USS Yorktown is one of twenty-four Essex-class carriers built by the navy during World War Two. Named after the famous Revolutionary War battle, she’s almost nine hundred feet long and weighs twenty-seven thousand tons.”
“A big girl.” Hi whistled from the copilot’s seat. “But still sexy.”
We’d gathered as soon as everyone could sneak out. Then Ben piloted Sewee across Charleston Harbor to Patriots Point, a naval museum and park at the mouth of the Cooper River that served as the decommissioned behemoth’s permanent residence. We kept well clear of the warship—nearing the park’s marina, Ben killed the lights and pulled alongside the outermost pier.
“In 1975, the Yorktown was dedicated as a memorial on the navy’s two hundredth anniversary.” Shelton gawked up at the towering vessel. “Man, aircraft carriers are huge. They’ve had college basketball games on the flight deck.” He paused, skipping ahead. “A radio station was housed inside her for a while, but that closed down. Now she’s part of the maritime museum. There’s a destroyer and submarine over here, too.”
I scanned for any sign of people aboard. “Tell me about the ship itself.”
“The flight deck is a hundred feet above the waterline, so we won’t be climbing up. Don’t fall off, either. Bad news.” Shelton pointed to a cluster of inland buildings. “The park entrance is way over there. That fixed concrete dock has a series of ramps accessing the Yorktown.”
Ben eyed the empty stretch of pier at the foot of the carrier. “Only way in?”
Shelton nodded with a frown. “Unfortunately, yeah. Anyone watching the ramps will see us come aboard.”
“How many sailors lived on that thing?” I couldn’t imagine the experience.
“When first built, over three thousand.” Hi edged forward, anxious to show off what he knew. “And it held ninety planes, too. There’s still a dozen different aircraft parked on the flight deck for tourists.”
“Three thousand people?” I shivered. “Remind me never to sign up.”
Hi snorted. “It wouldn’t feel cramped. That boat has five acres of total space. She needs her own zip code.”
Shelton grunted. “So how are we supposed to find someone inside?”
Coop brushed against my leg. As I reached down to scratch his ears, the answer hit me.
“Chance.”
• • •
It took him an hour to arrive.
Ben fumed the whole time.
“We don’t need Chance!” The fourth time he’d repeated the words. “He only gets in the way, when he’s not tipping off the Trinity that we’re coming!”
“Ben, look at the size of that monster.” I shook my head at the scale of it. “If the Trinity really are holed up in there, they’ll know the layout. We’d never be able to track them, even with Coop’s help. But Chance might.”
“Unless he just sent them a text message,” Ben snapped. “Setting another trap.”
I didn’t respond. Wouldn’t admit that the prospect worried me, too.
> Could we really trust Chance? If he was working with the Trinity—or if they really could sense his thoughts—I’d given away our biggest advantage: surprise.
Taking a deep breath, I shoved those doubts aside. Having Chance along gave us our best shot at success. I had to trust he wasn’t playing us.
How’d that go last time?
Finally, a black BMW rolled into the marina lot and parked. Chance stepped out, wearing his sheeny black tracksuit. He looked ridiculous and amazing at the same time.
I woke my phone and waved it overhead until he spotted me. Chance climbed over a locked gate as we hustled down the dock to meet him. As we passed dozens of vessels tied up for the night, I wondered which one the Trinity used. They had to have a way to travel between targets. Only a boat made sense.
Chance called out as we approached. “You guys ready?”
“We’ve been ready for over an hour.” Ben walked past Chance, down the concrete quay leading to the Yorktown ramps. “Just don’t get in the way.”
“How about I toss you in the harbor?”
Ben stopped dead. “Excuse me?”
“Hey!” I whistled to get their attention. “Stop!”
I hurried between the two, Coop trotting at my side. Shelton and Hi hung back, sensing another blowup they wanted no part of.
“Ben.” I pointed to the ground directly before me, my meaning clear.
He tensed, but, after the briefest of hesitations, stomped over. “What?”
I crooked a finger at Chance. “You. Here. Now.”
Chance sighed dramatically, but complied.
I’d had enough of their bickering already. We didn’t need any friendly fire on this mission. I was determined to stamp it out.
The two boys waited, eyes on their shoes, looking like fifth graders caught burning ants with a magnifying glass. I almost laughed at their matching sullen expressions.
“Not tonight.” Without preamble, biting off the words.
Sensing my mood, Coop backed me with a low growl.
“On this trip, we will work as a team. No sarcasm. No fighting. No hesitation. We’re going to trust one another. Got it?”
Chance looked suitably chastened. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ben gritted his teeth, but nodded.
I gestured for Hi and Shelton to join us.
“Okay, then.” I shook out my arms, preparing for the task ahead. “If the Trinity are aboard that beast, we’ll have them cornered. We need to catch them and make them talk. Chance will track their thoughts. Coop will guard the ramps, blocking the escape route.”
“And if they don’t want to cooperate?” Ben asked, voice hard.
I matched his icy tone. “They don’t have that option anymore.”
Chance nodded, face unreadable.
Can I trust you?
Shelton shuffled his feet, wide-eyed and tugging one ear. Ben put a hand on his bony shoulder. “You stay close to me, okay?”
Shelton nodded, trying to psych himself up. “I took all that karate for a reason, right?”
I looked at Hi. For once there was no joke, just a firm thumbs-up.
Cooper pawed my leg. He was watching me, ice-blue eyes reflecting the moonlight. I had no doubt my wolfdog was ready.
My boys.
I felt a surge of love for each. Vowed to protect them as best I could.
But the Trinity needed dealing with. This crap had gone on long enough.
“All right, Virals.” I spun to face the hulking vessel we were about to invade. “Time to take care of business. Light ’em up.”
Eyes closed.
Mind unleashed.
SNAP.
• • •
We snuck down the pier single-file, like a string of ghosts. At the end of the marina we hopped a chain-link fence—security was laughably inadequate—and entered the museum park. The hardest part was passing an eighty-pound mutt over the eight-foot barrier, a sweaty task I let the boys handle.
“Just broke the law again.” Shelton was crouched beside me in the shadows, eyes glowing like incandescent lanterns. “Thought we might skip a night, just for kicks, but nope!”
I gave him a level look. No more talking, unless you need Chance.
Hi-aye, captain.
We hurried past the submarine, then the old destroyer, closing in on the park’s centerpiece. The Yorktown rose ten stories on my left, like an office block floating in the shallows.
Halfway down its length, the first metal ramp rose to meet the carrier’s starboard side. My glowing eyes probed farther along the quay. I spotted two more ramps ahead.
I knelt, gripped Coop by the sides of his furry head. Looked directly into his eyes.
You stay here. Watch for enemies.
Coop shrugged me off, tilting his head and whining in obvious displeasure.
Go. Fight. Impressions rather than words.
I shook my head. Hide. Watch. Alert the pack if enemies appear.
Coop mewled again, but reluctantly settled down on his haunches. Watch.
“Good boy,” I whispered. Then, to the others, Sound off.
This ramp should work, Ben sent. It leads to a bulkhead door in the side of the ship.
Eyes twinkling, Hi scanned the decks for any sign we were being watched. No prying eyes. Maybe we’ll catch these jerks napping.
Shelton froze, eyes closed, a look of intense concentration on his face. After a few beats: I don’t hear anyone. Or much of anything, actually. This place is spooky.
My turn.
I inhaled deeply, sifting through a bouquet of odors that poured into my nose. Algae. Seaweed. Motor oil. Wet metal. Chance’s cologne. Nothing suspicious. No trace of other people. All clear.
“What are we waiting for?” Chance hissed, unable to hear our silent conversation.
“Nothing.” Watch check—3:40 a.m. “Ben, lead the way.”
The ramp began as a series of switchbacks that climbed five stories, then arced across the shallows to an entryway in the carrier’s side. The flight deck hung another fifty feet farther overhead. Reaching the hatch, Ben pulled on its metal handle. To my delight, the door swung inward with barely a creak.
We rushed inside and shut the portal behind us. Found ourselves in utter pitch black.
Ben and Hi removed flashlights from their pockets and flicked them on. Twin beams cut the gloom, illuminating a narrow metal corridor. Pipes snaked along the ceiling and walls, flowing deeper into the mighty vessel.
Only one way to go. Ben crept forward with the light. I followed on his heels, with Shelton a step behind. Chance and Hi brought up the rear.
After a dozen yards, we reached an intersection. Ben aimed his beam down each passage.
I don’t know. I could feel his mounting frustration. They all look the same.
I glanced back at Chance. “Sense anything?”
Chance went still, eyes glazing slightly as he turned his focus inward.
Seconds ticked by. No one moved, or made a sound beyond their own breathing.
Finally, he shook his head. “I can’t hear them. They might not be here.”
Shelton tapped my shoulder. I turned and met his gaze.
There’s something to the left. He’d pocketed his glasses, and I could see the anxiousness in his golden eyes. A noise, but . . . faint. I’m not sure what it is.
Good enough for me.
Ben moved down the corridor with the effortless grace of a flaring Viral. We reached a stairwell. Suddenly, I could hear sounds, too.
Somewhere above us, a machine was humming.
There’s light up there, Hi blurted inside my head. Two levels up.
Chance tugged my elbow, then pointed up the steps. “Light.”
“I know.” Chance’s inability to connect was frustrating me. “Thoug
hts?”
“We’re deep inside the ship,” Chance whispered. “A good place to hide.”
Ben spun a finger impatiently. Let’s go already.
Fine. But be careful.
Ben led us up one flight, then a second. As we passed the first level, I thought I detected a familiar odor. The barest whiff of something stale, yet recognizable. I nearly stopped, but the scent disappeared as quickly as it came.
What was that? The aroma teased my mind, refusing to identify itself. Then Shelton tapped my shoulder, a questioning look on his face. I shook my head and moved on.
Reaching the second landing, the light source become obvious—a steady glow was leaking through the porthole of a closed bulkhead door. The humming sound emanated from within.
No one needed to say it.
In the next room, lights were on and the juice running.
Voices. Shelton’s eyes rounded, then scrunched in confusion. I think . . . it sounds like . . . He trailed off, then shook his head in confusion. I swear somebody’s singing next door. What the heck?
Chance tensed, one hand gripping his forehead. “I heard something! In my head.” His finger jabbed toward the sealed opening. “There. In there.”
Adrenaline flooded my system.
Okay. Shelton’s sending was tinged with panic. I got this. Let’s bust ’em up.
Hi started bouncing on his toes. Remember, aim for the balls.
Ben looked at me. Arched an eyebrow. Ready?
I rolled my shoulders. Squeezed my fingers into fists, then shook them out again. Ready.
Ben motioned for Chance to take point. Chance nodded, scuttled forward to crouch before the sealed entrance. Rising cautiously, he snuck a quick peek through the porthole, then turned and flashed us an A-okay. Ben blew out a breath. Then he strode straight ahead, spun the wheel to unlock the watertight portal, and yanked its bulky handle. The door swung wide, and the two fired inside.
I went next, temporarily blinded by the harsh light within. I sensed Hi and Shelton fan out behind me. The room was large—roughly twenty by twenty, the ceiling two stories overhead. A rusty catwalk circled halfway up, accessed by a narrow fireman’s ladder.
An old-school boom box sat on a folding chair in the center of the room. Taylor Swift warbled from its battered speakers. “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.”
