by Anne Renwick
They reached a small, remote fishing village on the northeast coast of Scotland the day before the royal wedding. In exchange for an ungodly sum, a local agreed to take them aboard his rusty, decrepit fishing boat, to steer past precise and defined coordinates, and not wonder when his passengers disappeared overboard.
While the fisherman kept his eyes pointed at the horizon, the BURR men geared up. Rip and Rowan flipped two flat rubber packages into the water and yanked on the inflation cord. With a hiss, the portable canoes inflated. Compressed gas canisters were attached to the stern of each, permitting a limited degree of steering capability. Two to a canoe, they boarded the inflatables and hunkered down to wait.
~~~
Though Isa had originally laughed at Alec’s insistence that she and Aron wear clothing, she’d rapidly reversed her position. Not a single sailor was able to pass them without, at the very least, taking a peek. Many openly stared. Not that she could blame them. How many humans regularly wore tightly attached octopuses upon their backs and floated leisurely in a large, bubbling tub of water aboard a submersible?
“It’s the only way to travel the north seas, mate,” Aron quipped when they ogled. “Embraced by a cephalopod, soaking alongside a beautiful woman.”
Aron joked constantly as sailors passed, drawing the attention away from her and onto himself. But no matter how funny or clever his witticisms, not a single sailor could untie their tongues or close their gaping mouths long enough to offer a rejoinder.
“There’s no need,” Isa said, “to take on the role of court jester. I’m fine, relatively speaking.”
“I’m not.” Aron closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the edge of the tank. “It’s a bad idea to marry a BURR man. We’re often away for undetermined lengths for inexplicable reasons. If I’d thought you open to the idea—”
“Don’t.” They’d cobbled together a comradery these past few days, though she’d not been blind to the extra effort he expended in an attempt to impress her. She refused to let him ruin his relationship with Alec with unwanted advances. “We’re not suited, you and I. I told you as much the night you asked me to run away with you. I thought we could be—”
“Friends?” Aron sighed. “Fine. But I expect an invitation to the wedding.”
Isa bit her lip. Would there be one, a wedding? She wasn’t at all sure it was wise. But any decisions she reached would be her own, uninfluenced by Scot or Finn expectations. It certainly wasn’t a topic she wished to discuss with a disappointed suitor.
For several long moments the only sounds came from the submersible’s engines, a soft thumping and clunking, an ever-present noise. But another faint sound added to the rhythm. Footsteps. Crepe soles upon the floor. A head poked through the doorway but not, this time, to gawk.
“We’re beneath the floating complex.” The midshipman assigned to assist them with the escape hatch handed Moray a pair of scissors. He cleared his throat and two spots of color rose high on his cheekbones. “I’m told you wish to enter the water—”
“Stark naked. Wearing nothing but a tool belt.” Aron twirled his finger. “Avert your eyes, sailor.”
~~~
The sun hung low on the horizon. A few feet away in the other canoe, Rip and Rowan rocked on the waves. Kneeling for hours in the same position made his knee ache, but Alec did his best to ignore it. Cold water splashing into the inflatable combined with a relentless, icy wind made the dull pain manageable. As if it mattered. He’d see this mission completed at any cost.
“Time until we begin deep-sea fishing?” Alec asked Shaw, wanting a more precise reckoning.
“Eighteen minutes.”
Submersibles usually arrived late. Occasionally, however, they were early. “Time to string the line.”
Shaw clipped the end of the wire cable to the nose of their canoe, testing its strength. Satisfied, he handed the roll of wire to Rip who had brought his canoe closer and held out a hand. Fifty yards of steel cable spun off the reel as they paddled their canoes apart, stretching the line taut between the two vessels.
Five minutes before the scheduled hooking, Shaw and Rip each snapped a chemical stick and touched its tip to the wire. As the bioluminescent bacteria flowed along the steel cable, it fluoresced a deep red, alerting the approaching submersible to their orientation.
Every minute passed like ten as they scanned the surface of the water, searching for an approaching periscope. The critical moment had arrived. If the periscope missed the cable, even by so much as an inch, they would miss their ride. Alec didn’t relish the idea of bobbing on the North Sea, hoping the captain would see fit to turn the submersible about for another try. It was a strong possibility that he wouldn’t.
“Incoming!” Shaw called.
A blinking red light rose from the sea on the end of a gray, steel periscope that rushed toward them at high speed. Alec and his teammates gripped the sides of their canoes as the periscope snagged the middle of the cable, jerking the front ends of their canoes from the water, skipping them across the crests of choppy waves on a wild ride that shook every bone of every joint. Icy salt spray stung his face and his knee protested, but Alec couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across his face.
His smile faltered. He’d miss this. The adrenaline rush of speed and danger. But the surgeries were mounting. Eventually, Dr. Morgan might not be able to repair his knee. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but his time on the BURR team was limited. Better to accept a promotion than to risk compromising a mission and being tossed out on his ear.
On the horizon, the last rays of the sun reflected off vast sheets of metal held together with great rivets. Steel, copper, and iron—the mélange of materials that comprised the floating castle.
As they drew closer, the multi-storied structure seemed to rise from the waves. Its base, the outer perimeter, mimicked an ancient medieval wall. A ship had no choice but to dock beside a single entrance flanked by tall watchtowers. Inside the walls upon an artificial hillside, a small village crouched at the base of the castle.
Curling through the town and leading upward to the castle’s barbican—complete with a portcullis—was a road illuminated with the blue-white light of gas flames. A number of towers and turrets clustered together about a courtyard. Bright light gleamed from every window and joyful music filled the air.
A single patrol boat bobbed in the water beside the entrance to the complex, though several guardsmen marched back and forth upon its walls, bearing weapons and scanning the dark waters, ready to cut down any intruders. Not that the BURR team would venture close to test them. The greatest—and unseen—threat to the princess and the prince—along with their many guests—lurked below.
“Cut!” Alec yelled into the wind.
Shaw pulled a serrated knife from his hip and sliced through the cable connecting them to the other canoe, freeing them from the periscope as it sank back into the dark waters. Their ride was at an end. Some fifty feet below, Isa and Moray would be preparing to exit the submersible. Time to get to work.
His teammates inserted the mouthpieces of their aquaspira breathers, then slid into the cold waters of the North Sea. Cold didn’t begin to cover it. Bone-chilling came close. The vulcanized rubber suit prevented them from reaching frozen and hypothermic, but just barely. They quickly disassembled their canoes, allowing the pieces to float away, nothing more than random bits of debris on the waves.
Submerging, they stayed close as they slipped beneath the waves. Time to inspect the many pontoons, scaffolding and platforms that held the floating complex at the ocean’s surface.
Chapter Thirty-Six
AS ISA STEPPED FROM the tub, she felt a shift in the rhythm of clanking beneath her feat. The Navy submersible slowing. The midshipman helped her buckle a kind of utility belt about her waist. Numerous items hung from its grommets including ring clamps, a novel device that she and Aron were counting upon to isolate their circulatory syst
ems once they boarded the megalodon.
She climbed into the airlock escape chamber beside Aron. The biomech octopus gripped her tightly, unhappy that water no longer bathed its gills. Her head spun. Her heart pounded. And she was short of breath. Fear? Lack of sufficient oxygenation? Impossible to tell where one left off and the other began.
“Ready?” Aron asked.
As if I can change my mind now.
They’d practiced this in the sea loch, over and over, exiting smoothly with every iteration. With almost no equipment to check, and only the controls to monitor, this was a relatively simple exit. Yet her mind raced with “what ifs.” What if the outside hatch door slammed closed during their exit? What if she missed the steel handholds on the outside surface of the submersible and was swept away into the giant propellers that drove the vessel forward?
She pulled the bioactive nocturnal goggles over her eyes. “Ready,” she said. But she wasn’t. Not at all. Even the biomech octopuses were apprehensive, clutching at each other’s tentacles as if they sensed that this time something was different. It was. Impossible not to feel tinges of guilt, but she would do whatever was necessary to save the women and children aboard that megalodon.
Aron flipped a lever. Pipes rattled and creaked as water gushed into the chamber about her ankles. Frothing and churning, the level rose quickly. Calves. Knees. Thighs—in seconds she was fully submerged, the pressure of one hundred and fifty feet of water bearing down on her skin, her chest. The biomech octopus hunched between her shoulder blades seemed to sigh with relief.
Aron kicked past her, his arms extending toward the crank wheel that would open the exterior hatch. His octopus also reached for the wheel, at the same time tugging her octopus—and thus her—upward.
The moment was upon them. Isa gripped the ladder as tightly as possible and was relieved to see her octopus do the same. The hatch flipped open. Aron disappeared, leaving them connected only by their octopuses, by the two tentacles that gripped each other. Hand over hand, careful never to let go—lest the current sweep her away—Isa slowly made her way out and into the depths of the North Sea. Together, she and her octopus clutched the steel rungs of an exterior ladder welded to the outside surface of the submersible while Aron closed the hatch.
For what felt like hours, but was more likely mere minutes, they scanned the waters, seeing nothing but darkness. The North Sea was cold, so frigid that even a Finn would begin to feel a chill after prolonged submergence.
There. She could see it, the megalodon. Or rather its glowing, yellow eyes. As people moved about the control center in the vessel’s “eye”, the pupil seemed to shift—as if searching the depths for an unwelcome approach.
With a tap on her shoulder—tentacle or finger she knew not—Aron indicated it was time to move. She crouched on the side of the submersible, and her octopus extended its tentacles, ready to propel her out into the water just as it had done during countless practices in the sea loch. A second tap. She shoved off the submersible into the dark water, kicking furiously away from the submersible’s wake.
An eerie stillness settled over her as they neared the mechanical fish, careful to avoid its bifurcated, jointed tail as it sliced through the water, aiming for the backside of its iron pectoral fin. Arriving before the OctoFinn departed was their best chance for entry. They planned to slip into the mechanical beast via the airlock escape chamber before the external door was resealed. If they missed this opportunity, they might find the escape hatch drained of water, making entry impossible.
According to Maren, captive host Finn—six of them—would be ejected from the escape hatch as the evening activities aboard the floating castle complex commenced. Not that they ever intended to surface. Underwater explosives—mussel mines—were another dreadful invention to emerge from her uncle’s efforts aimed at developing a Finn militia. Carefully placed for maximum effect, they would be attached to the giant pontoons that held the iron castle aloft and would, at the stroke of midnight, detonate.
Water would rush into the now-exposed hollows of the pontoons, and the entire castle would rapidly sink into the icy waters. Dressed in their evening finery and gathered together in the great hall, guests—lords and ladies, princes and princesses, the occasional king and queen—would rush from the castle gates in shock and horror, desperate to board the lifeboats. Of which there were not enough.
Her octopus caught the side of the megalodon, landing beside Aron. Ten feet away, on the other side of the pectoral fin, shadowy figures bearing sacks of mussel mines emerged from the escape hatch, rising quickly. One, two… Aron held up a hand, indicating that she should stay where she was while he crept beneath the surface of the pectoral fin. Three, four, five—
He nabbed the sixth and final departing OctoFinn, bringing his fist down on the side of the man’s head rendering him unconscious. The octopus on his back jerked with alarm, until it sighted the octopus on Aron’s own back. The two octopuses tangled their tentacles, as if speaking by secret hand signals.
With practiced efficiency, Aron snapped a belt about the man’s waist, a belt attached to an UP bag and a sounding beacon. No ring clamps for this octopus. Not yet. The creature’s gills were still very necessary. With the biomech octopus breathing for him, the OctoFinn would rise to the surface. Once the BURR team had the situation beneath the castle under control, they would enlist the aid of the castle’s patrol boat to retrieve any and all reclaimed Finn.
That left four BURR agents handling five conscious and motivated OctoFinn.
Much discussion had revolved around an attempt on Aron’s part to render all six OctoFinn unconscious, but starting a fight one hundred and fifty feet below the water’s surface was deemed ill-advised and likely to fail. They were to focus on incapacitating the megalodon engine and securing the safety of the prisoners before raising the submersible to the surface.
Aron waved her into the escape hatch. Feet first, she slid into the narrow tube. He followed, closing the door and draining the water from the chamber. Her bare feet met the iron floor, and she staggered upright, pushing the goggles upward onto her forehead.
With his face a mask of determination fixed in place to avoid upsetting the two biomech octopuses, Aron unhooked two ring clamps from his belt. She did the same. With a nod, they worked in tandem to clamp the tentacles that drew blood from their legs. A faint chemical tingle rushed across her thigh. On her back, the octopus squirmed in objection, then subsided, calmed by the cephalopod stunning powder now flowing through its system. She counted to ten, then clamped the tentacle attached to her shoulder.
Mentally apologizing to the creature, she drew her dive knife and cut through the tentacles, through the braided wires. Cringing against the pain, she pried its beak from her shoulder and let the octopus fall to the floor with a wet thud. Free. Rupert, however, was allowed to ride on Aron’s back. Plans had been made to return with the creature still attached for further study. Isa shuddered.
Silently, Aron unsealed a wet bag and reached inside to withdraw two TTX pistols. He slapped one into her hand with a look of warning. Aim had not proved to be a skill she possessed; a mere three darts not nearly enough ammunition for her to hit a target.
Weapon drawn, he darted from the chamber, making a sharp left toward the stern. Priority was to incapacitate the engine. With luck, he’d find the kill switch with ease.
Isa turned right, wending her way down hallways, moving deeper into the belly of the beast as blood trickled from her neck. She started to turn right when she heard the angry shout of a man. Women and children whimpered and cried. Drawing the TTX pistol, she breathed a silent prayer to an ancient sea goddess and turned the corner. Aiming for his stomach, she pulled the trigger.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
She fired all three darts. A single one hit the guard.
For a moment, the man clutched his thigh, then dropped like a stone to the flo
or in front of a series of cages that held six women and three small, crying children.
“Mrs. McQuiston?”
She blinked. “Avra?” Not three weeks ago, she’d removed the webbing between this girl’s fingers and toes. “Your father?”
With tears in her eyes, Avra sobbed. “Mr. Drummond sent him to the surface. There’s this octopus creature—” Her mouth fell open. “Your leg… shoulder… you had an octopus…”
Holstering her empty weapon, Isa bent over the fallen guard, pulling a set of keys from his belt, grateful she wouldn’t need to pick the locks. “All for the purpose of rescuing prisoners.” She pushed a key into the lock, trying one after the other until the barred door fell open. “Is… Mr. Drummond aboard?”
“At the helm.” Avra took the keys Isa pressed into her hands. “Five men, including our guard, should be left on board. Be careful. The woman in charge of caring for the octopuses has aspirations that have made her blindly loyal.”
There was a loud thunk. The megalodon shuddered, then fell silent. Men yelled. Loud thuds and bangs—sounds of fighting—echoed through the vessel.
“What’s happening?” a woman cried, her children stood behind her, their eyes wide.
“We’re taking this submersible to the surface where help waits.” That was the plan, but the grunts and cries issuing from the hallway weren’t promising. “Stay calm,” she said. To herself as much as to the prisoners. “Free the others.” With a rueful look at the empty TTX pistol, she slid her dive knife free. “Then stay here. Hang on to something. The naval officer with me is unfamiliar with this particular vessel and its controls. It could be a rough ride.”