The Spear of Atlantis (Wilde/Chase 14)

by Andy McDermott

  Eddie released the wire and delivered a punishing uppercut to the other man’s jaw. Blood spurted from al-Asim’s mouth as he bit off the end of his tongue. He shrieked and tried to retreat, but the Englishman used the wire to hold him as he pounded his face again and again, breaking his nose and knocking out teeth.

  Reeling, al-Asim clawed at his watch band and released the clasp. Eddie lurched back as the wire’s tension was suddenly released. The Dhajani spat out more blood, then kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him sprawling over the helm console.

  Eddie’s empty gun had landed not far behind al-Asim. The Arab snatched it up, then scrambled for the magazine.

  Agony coursed through the Yorkshireman’s left arm where the perdida was still embedded. He could barely move his fingers, the blade having slashed muscle. He was about to pull it out when he saw al-Asim load the magazine. The Glock’s slide clacked forward, chambering the first round.

  The Dhajani spun towards him, raising the gun—

  Eddie jammed the azipod controls around, hard.

  The Pacifia rolled into a full-speed turn, the forward thruster pivoting to push the bow to port, and the rear azipods swinging the stern to starboard. The deck tipped, pitching Eddie against the console . . . and throwing al-Asim off balance.

  The Dhajani stumbled backwards, arms flailing. A burst of bullets tore into the ceiling. The liner’s turn tightened, the floor tilting ever more steeply. He grabbed a console to stop himself from falling, only to see Eddie charging down the slope at him, wounded arm raised – with the bladed perdida still jutting from it.

  The Englishman swung – and slammed the watch hard into al-Asim’s throat.

  The Arab choked, eyes bulging. Eddie pulled his arm back. Blood spouted from the deep wound. Al-Asim let out a gargling shriek and dropped the gun, clapping a hand over the gushing rent. Eddie kicked the Glock away and shoved him to the floor. ‘Watch yourself,’ he growled, extracting the perdida from his own injury and unwinding the wire.

  Nina screamed as the rotor blades sliced at her – then the helicopter reeled away as the ship rolled sideways.

  The spearhead’s case skittered down the slope, towards Alula. The Dhajani staggered for it.

  The helicopter hit the railings. A smashed section broke away and fell into the Pacifia’s churning bow wave. The S-76 rebounded and squealed back towards the superstructure.

  The ship wallowed back upright. Nina forced herself into an unsteady run down the deck as Alula closed on the case.

  The princess caught it – then the archaeologist body-slammed her to the deck. Nina rolled off her, then scrabbled for the handle. Her fingers closed around it—

  A heel slammed into her stomach. Winded, Nina fell backwards. Alula stood and kicked out again, this time aiming for her face—

  Nina swung the case to intercept the blow.

  Alula yelled as she struck metal rather than flesh and bone. She recoiled – and Nina smashed her own heel against the princess’s kneecap. Cartilage crunched. The Dhajani shrieked and toppled to the deck.

  Nina struggled upright. Alula was already trying to rise, unwilling to give up the battle—

  The case pounded down on her head like a sledgehammer. She flopped to the deck. ‘Stay the fuck down, Your Majesty,’ Nina panted.

  Ingels rushed to the controls and pulled back all the throttles, then brought the azipods back into alignment. ‘Get a medic up here!’ he shouted. ‘And radio the US base, quickly – tell them we’ve got control of the ship!’ The destroyer was clear of the headland and turning towards them.

  His crew rushed to obey, an officer grabbing a first-aid kit from a cabinet and hurrying to Eddie. ‘My God!’ he said, seeing the bloody cuts on the Englishman’s head and arm. ‘Here, let me help you.’

  ‘No time,’ Eddie replied. He glanced at the wounded, squirming Dhajani. ‘Patch that arsehole up, and get the crew to find his men and chuck ’em in the brig.’

  The officer examined al-Asim’s injury. Ingels strode to the Yorkshireman. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Name’s Eddie Chase,’ he replied, wiping more blood from his eye. ‘I save the world occasionally – but right now, I need to save my wife.’ He retrieved the gun, then went back to the broken window. Below, Nina was standing over the fallen Alula, holding the case. She had secured the spearhead, but they still had to get rid of it.

  The cabinet from which the officer had taken the medical kit also contained other emergency equipment, including a coil of rope. ‘I need to get to the helipad,’ Eddie said. ‘Someone secure that line for me – I don’t think I’ll be much good at tying knots right now.’ He could barely move his blood-soaked left hand.

  Ingels fixed the rope around a console with a mariner’s practised ease. Eddie pocketed the gun, then looped the line around his right arm and took hold of it. ‘What are you going to do?’ the captain asked.

  ‘The bomb’s still down there. We’ve got to get it clear of land before it goes off!’ Eddie climbed out of the window, taking his weight on his arm as the rope pulled taut, then started a barely controlled slide down the superstructure.

  Nina limped away from Alula and looked around. The helicopter was now slithering tail-first towards the pad’s rear. Its engine was still running, though, and she was sure the ship’s abrupt turn was Eddie’s doing. If he reached the helipad quickly enough, they still had a chance to get the spearhead a safe distance out to sea—

  Movement above. Her husband was indeed on the way, taking a short cut. She limped to meet him – then moved faster, alarm rising. The helicopter was still heading for the superstructure . . . directly beneath him.

  Eddie picked up speed down the metal slope. He gripped the rope more tightly, its coils dragging against his sleeve. With only one useable hand, he could barely restrain his descent.

  He looked down. Nina was coming towards him – and so was the helicopter.

  The buzzing tail rotor was directly in line with him. He was about to drop straight on to its blades!

  Unless—

  He rolled to the right – and released the rope.

  He was still three decks up. Eddie slid ever faster towards the bow, completely out of control.

  And the chopper remained on a collision course with the superstructure. He wasn’t far enough clear – he would still be hit by razor-sharp shrapnel as its blades smashed against the steel—

  The cable snapped tight. The helicopter jerked to a halt. Its tail swung around – towards the Yorkshireman. All he could do was yell, ‘Fuuuuuck!’ as he slithered helplessly at the whirling saw—

  The S-76 rebounded sharply on the overstretched line. Eddie slammed down on the deck as the aircraft skidded back across the pad. But any thoughts of celebration were overpowered by the resurgent pain in his left arm, which was now joined by a new spike of agony through one ankle.

  He tried to move his leg. Faint relief: it wasn’t broken. But he wouldn’t be moving faster than a hobble for a while.

  ‘Eddie!’ Nina reached him, holding the case. ‘Oh my God! Are you—’

  ‘I’ll be okay,’ he gasped, trying to stand, only to slump back. ‘Not right this second, admittedly . . .’ His eyes went to the case. ‘You got the spearhead?’

  ‘Yeah, but can you fly the chopper?’

  ‘I’ll have to. Might need you to help, though. How long’ve we got?’

  She opened the container. The lights inside the spearhead had taken on a new fury, the crystal quivering as subatomic explosions ate it away from within. ‘It can’t be long.’

  ‘Help me up, and get me to the—’ He broke off as he looked back at the helicopter.

  Alula, blood running down her face, had managed to get back up – and had released the last cable before staggering to the Sikorsky. ‘Shit!’ Nina gasped. ‘If she takes off, we’re stuck with the spearhead!’

  Eddie hurriedly reached for the Glock, but found his pocket empty. ‘I had a gun – where’s the fucking thing gone?’

&nb
sp; Nina spotted it wedged against a light fixture a deck above, out of reach. She turned back, to see Alula climbing into the helicopter. ‘Okay, either she can fly a chopper, or she’s putting a lot of faith in beginner’s luck!’

  ‘Get me up so I can—’ Eddie began – but she had already slammed the case shut and was running with it after the Dhajani. ‘Nina, wait!’

  She didn’t stop. The chopper’s engines roared as Alula increased power; she did know how to fly. But the door was still open. If Nina could reach it, she might be able to drag the other woman out—

  The helicopter shifted, its landing struts extending as the pressure on them lessened. The nose tipped upwards, the Sikorsky rolling back on its rear wheels for a few metres as Alula balanced the controls, then it left the pad.

  Nina was still short of the door. Instead she leapt at the starboard rear landing leg – and hooked an arm over the wheel.

  The chopper tilted with the extra weight, sideslipping across the bow. Still clutching the case, Nina struggled to pull herself higher. Alula leaned out of the open door and saw her. Pure hatred flared on the princess’s face. She shouted something, but it was lost in the wind. The Sikorsky climbed, ten feet up, twenty. Nina twisted, swinging her other arm at the landing strut—

  Hydraulics skirled – and the leg began to retract into its well, the streamlined door slicing down at her like a guillotine.

  And now the helicopter was sweeping her over the broken bow rails, and the sea far below—

  She released her hold – and fell.

  49

  Eddie got to his feet – or more accurately foot, barely able to take any weight on his aching ankle – and hobbled in pursuit of his wife. But he was still fifty feet away when Nina let go, trying to drop back on to the deck instead of into the ocean—

  She hit the bow’s edge with a crack he heard even over the helicopter. Ignoring the S-76 as it tipped into forward flight, he hurried towards the slumped figure. But before he could reach her, she rolled limply over the side.

  ‘No!’ Eddie screamed – but she had already disappeared.

  He reached the gap and looked down to see her hit the water eighty feet below. Even though the Pacifia’s thrusters had stopped, the ship was still moving, needing miles to drift to a halt. The bow wave swept over her splash.

  Without a second thought, he dived after her, head down, arms outstretched—

  And hit the water.

  The impact as he hit the water was punishing, all the more so against his injuries. His left wrist and forearm burned, the salt water like molten metal against the bloody cuts, and the slash across his head stung as if doused in acid. But he forced himself to ignore the pain, bringing himself upright.

  He breached the surface, drawing in a gasping breath – only for the bow wave to pound him back under.

  Churning turbulence threw him helplessly over and over. Then the widening hull struck him with a bang that almost knocked him unconscious. He spun, bringing his arms up to cushion another collision with the towering metal wall, and kicked himself away.

  The undertow was pulling him down. He swam harder. Waves shimmered above him, for a terrifying moment receding as he was dragged deeper, then he broke loose.

  Coughing, tasting blood as well as brackish water, he surfaced. The Pacifia sliced past, impossibly huge. Its horn began to sound, three long blasts – the bridge crew had seen him and Nina fall and sounded the person-overboard alarm. But where was Nina? He turned in the water, desperately searching.

  The alarm sounded again. Something smacked down into the sea behind him. He saw a bright orange life vest bobbing fifty feet away. If he swam for it, he would survive long enough for someone to reach him in a boat, but doing so might take him further away from Nina. A few seconds could mean the difference between life and death . . .

  A dark shape bobbed briefly into view between the wave crests. Eddie fixed his eyes on its position and started to swim. It might just be a piece of floating flotsam – or it could be the woman he loved. But he didn’t know which, the mystery object still out of sight—

  There! The liner’s expanding wake had pushed it further away. He swam harder to catch up.

  Fear struck him. It was Nina – face down, unmoving.

  He reached her and hurriedly rolled her over. ‘Nina, can you hear me? Nina!’

  No response. Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t breathing.

  He tipped backwards, holding her clear of the surface as he swam for the floating vest. The Pacifia’s horn sounded another triple blast, the noise now almost funereal. He caught sight of the helicopter, but Alula’s escape was no longer of any concern to him. Only one thing mattered. ‘I’m not giving up,’ he raspily assured Nina, reaching for the life vest.

  There wasn’t time to don it properly. All he could do was shove his injured arm through the straps, then he manoeuvred Nina over it and tilted her head back to open her airways.

  Recovery training had been drummed into him in the SAS, the procedure instantly leaping to mind even after two decades out of military service. He squeezed her nostrils closed, then turned her towards him, letting water drain from her mouth before locking lips and beginning resuscitation. Four strong breaths into her lungs, then he withdrew and checked for movement. She remained still, no sounds of respiration. A second round of mouth-to-mouth – again with no result.

  Fighting back horror that he might have lost her, he tried once more, driving another four breaths deep into her, willing her to breathe—

  Nina convulsed. Eddie pulled away, turning her on to her side. She coughed out brine, then vomited. ‘I’ve got you, I’ve got you!’ he said, letting her expel another mouthful before easing her upright so he could put the vest on her. ‘I’m here . . .’

  She was in no condition to reply. He secured the vest, then kept hold of her, treading water.

  The Pacifia continued past like a gold-trimmed iceberg. A boat came around its stern from the marina, three crew aboard. One man held out a boathook. Eddie painfully closed his wounded hand around the pole and allowed himself to be pulled closer. ‘Are you hurt?’ another man asked.

  ‘Take a guess,’ was the bloodied Yorkshireman’s sarcastic reply. ‘We need to get her to your hospital, fast . . .’ He trailed off. ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘What is it?’

  He hadn’t seen the spearhead’s case on the bow – which meant it must have fallen into the water with Nina. ‘I don’t think a hospital’ll make much difference. For any of us!’

  Alula checked the instruments. The helicopter was at ten thousand feet and climbing, heading out over open sea at one hundred and fifty-five knots. It was travelling at almost five kilometres every minute, and she had taken off more than five minutes ago.

  While her brother and Lobato had investigated the potential of antimatter as an energy source, she had done her own research on its more destructive applications. If there was enough antimatter inside the spearhead to equal the fifty-megaton force of the Soviets’ Tsar Bomba, to be clear of the blast she would need to be at least fifty-five kilometres from the Pacifia; another six minutes of flight. There was the risk that the Atlantean artefact could blow up at any moment, but every passing second brought her a little closer to safety.

  The blue sea rolled past far below. For the first time since leaving the ship, Alula smiled, a hard smirk of triumph. She had overthrown Fadil, taken control of the country that should have been hers by birthright, and was on the verge of smashing its rivals. Victory was almost hers – and nobody could keep it from her.

  Not even Nina Wilde.

  ‘Come on, come on!’ Eddie shouted as two crewmen carrying Nina on a stretcher hurried along behind him. He in turn was ignoring the pain in his leg as he followed another man to the Pacifia’s medical centre. ‘Get her in here!’

  They rushed into the ward. It was packed, tending to passengers injured in the collision with the Atlantia, but a space was found for the new arrival. Eddie waited beside her as a har
ried nurse began an examination. ‘She went overboard and wasn’t breathing,’ he told the woman. ‘I gave her mouth-to-mouth.’

  She nodded, checking Nina’s pulse before looking for other injuries. Even barely conscious, the archaeologist still jerked in pain as the nurse touched her right shin. ‘I think it’s broken,’ the woman said. ‘Hold on, I need to cut off her trousers.’ She bustled away to find scissors.

  Eddie took a closer look at his wife’s leg, seeing an ugly bulge beneath the wet fabric. He held her hand. ‘Hey, it’s okay, I’m here. You’re on the ship, they’ll take care of you,’ he whispered, but his attempt to sound reassuring didn’t even convince himself. ‘Until the fucking spearhead blows up.’

  To his surprise, Nina laughed. It was only quiet, but genuine, not a final expression of resigned despair. He squeezed her hand more tightly. ‘Are you okay? What is it?’

  ‘Oh, I’m definitely not okay,’ she whispered. ‘But I might be. We all might be.’

  ‘How? The spearhead fell into the sea – it’s right behind us!’

  She managed a faint smile. ‘It’s not right behind us . . .’

  From thirteen thousand feet up, the Persian Gulf spread out below Alula like a sapphire carpet. Bahrain and Qatar’s northern headlands were now a long way behind, the shores of Iran a faint line on the distant horizon. Far away, she saw dark motes on the sea, oil tankers from Iraq and Kuwait, but there was nothing below her. She was alone, almost sixty kilometres from land – and from the spearhead. She was safe.

  All she had to do now was keep flying, wait for the spear-head to explode, then, once the danger had passed, return to Dhajan to take control. Her people would need strong leadership in the disaster’s aftermath, and through her, they would have it . . .

  A noise rose over that of the engines. She had subconsciously registered it a few minutes earlier, but now it was loud enough to demand her attention. No warnings on the instrument panel; all the engine gauges displayed normal readings. But there was definitely something rattling in the fuselage behind her, with increasing force—