by Anne Renwick
Stomach churning, heart pounding, she stepped into the hallway and began to make her way toward the brains of the mechanical shark.
Bodies littered the floor. She counted three. That left her uncle and—
“Aron!” she cried. Then clamped her hands to her mouth. He had eliminated a number of the guards, but now found himself locked in a multi-armed struggle to subdue Rupert.
“Stay back!”
The octopus upon his back had woken and was convulsing, its tentacles frantically thrashing. Aron fought to stay upright as it heaved its bulbous body from left to right, then backhanded him with a tentacle sideswipe to the head. Blinking, he attempted to control the many tentacles, but the creature was intent upon escape, yanking at the clamped tentacles still fused to Aron’s shoulder and thigh.
He hissed in pain as dark blood ran in a steady stream down his leg. The creature’s movements calmed for a moment as it peered at her over Aron’s shoulder, and she could swear its eyes narrowed as it fixed her in its sights.
“Enough.” Cursing, he pulled the TTX pistol from his holster and shot the creature between its bulging eyes. With a brief look of shock, it slumped in a gelatinous heap as Aron slid to the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. “Rupert woke,” he mumbled. “Tried to pull free. Cut it off?”
With her dive knife, she obliged. But dark blood flowed from his thigh where the tentacle connected. Yanking a length of cord from her belt and fashioning a tourniquet Isa pushed his hands—and a limp tentacle—aside.
“The ring clamps won’t help. The tentacle has pulled away from your femoral vein. The damage is deep inside your leg.” As she twisted, the seeping blood stopped, but his face was far too pale. Between the injury and the hirudin that had flowed from the octopus’s beak into his circulatory system, thinning his blood, he’d lost a significant amount of blood. He needed more help than she could provide here.
An alarm began to blare. Red lights began to flash. And the floor of the submersible tipped. They were rising.
Isa gently slapped Aron on the cheek. “Wake up,” she begged. “What do I do?”
No response. But she knew the answer: stop her uncle.
“Avra!” she yelled, waving to the girl when she peeked about the corner. “Come. Hold the tourniquet. Don’t release the pressure on his leg, or he’ll bleed to death.”
Wide-eyed, Avra complied.
Isa loaded more darts into her pistol, slid Aron’s own loaded weapon into her holster, and began to creep down—or rather up—the slanted hallway. Heart pounding, she peered around each corner before moving forward, trying to imitate the way she’d seen the BURR team move. At the end of the hallway was a room. She could see a periscope, a control panel—its expanse covered with buttons and dials—and an empty captain’s chair. She was about to step forward when a familiar form rushed from a room into the hall and skidded to a halt.
Miss Russel stared at Isa, her jaw slack. “You!” Her eyes narrowed. “I should have left you to die from that amoeba infection.”
“But you didn’t.” Isa lifted the TTX pistol and—doing her best not to close her eyes—fired at the woman’s heart. Thunk. The dart struck her midsection. Good enough.
“What!” Miss Russel yanked the projectile from her abdomen as she staggered sideways. “Commodore Drummond!” she yelled, lifting her skirts and turning on unsteady feet to lurch down the hallway.
Ice flowing through Isa’s veins at the memory of the torment she’d suffered at this woman’s hands, she followed, firing again. Whoosh. The second dart skewered Miss Russel’s gastrocnemius just above her Achilles tendon. Screeching, she fell to the floor and clutched her calf. “Please!”
Isa recalled Alec’s words. “One bullet slows a man down. Two will drop him. Three will kill.” Mr. Black and the BURR team would want to question Miss Russel. Extensively. Resisting the temptation to end Miss Russel’s life, she lowered the pistol.
Her mistake.
A fist struck her wrist, knocking the TTX pistol from her grip. She glanced sideways in time to see fury contort her uncle’s face a moment before his arm lashed out again. He wrapped his fingers about her neck and pushed her backward against the wall, cutting off her air. He yanked the other pistol from her holster and threw it away. It clattered as it skittered across the floor. Her dive knife followed.
“Unexpected visitors.” Her uncle’s chiding voice held a dark note. “How very rude. I presume you have arrived to inform me that Maren divulged my plans and all is lost?” He released the pressure on her throat ever so slightly.
“How could you?” she rasped, clawing at his chest, her fingernails catching at his leather waistcoat. “You betrayed your own family, your own people!”
“I beg to differ, niece.” He leaned closer, his nostrils flaring, his voice edged with blades. “I work—tirelessly—to steer the Finn people back onto the path from which they should have never strayed. My sister, you—all those who are the product of interbreeding with Scots—are impure and unworthy. Some of you are, however, useful and will be allowed to live, should you agree to serve.”
“Not a chance! It’s you who should surrender.” She kicked at his legs, but without enough oxygen, her blows did little but inconvenience him. “You’ll regret this!”
He barked a laugh. “Unlikely. If reliable, capable help was available, they wouldn’t have sent you.” He glanced at her shoulder, at her leg where stubs of tentacles protruded from raw and bloody entry wounds. “Stealing my creation. Boarding my vessel. Attacking my men. You have an overinflated opinion of yourself. Barely worth keeping alive. After all that effort I went to marry you to a man who would use your talent for the greater good of Finnfolk.” He shook his head. “Anton was forever complaining about his infertile wife, so upset his laboratory work suffered, but I tolerated it all because you were brilliant.”
He pushed harder against her neck and spots began to dance in her vision. She tried to fight back, but her kicks, her punches were feeble protests in the face of his anger.
“Look at you now, martyr to a lost cause.” Her uncle’s lips twisted. “Same as your husband. He had the gall to defy me, to refuse to hand over the results of your work—work I enabled—citing ethical concerns. He was warned not to defy my orders.”
Anton had taken a stand against her uncle? That would explain why her husband had been so anxious the last weeks of his life, pacing in his study, restless and uncommunicative.
Her uncle snarled, his eyes filled with pewter ice. “Yet someone had to be the first to trial the attachment procedure. Torturous and prolonged, that groundbreaking experiment generated a plethora of data, even if it was, ultimately, a failure. I’d rather hoped he would survive.”
Stars flickered on a field of black velvet as a tear ran down her cheek. Poor Anton. Their marriage might have failed, but he’d been a decent man. He didn’t deserve such a death, alone and in pain. Had her uncle not shoved such a wedge between them, might they have found their way to a happy marriage? Might they have eventually grown to love each other? But they’d never had a chance, not with her uncle manipulating their lives.
Beneath her feet, the megalodon shuddered. Metal rivets creaked and groaned as the submersible shot its way toward the surface. Her uncle grabbed hold of a metal handle bolted to the wall, the only warning she received before they were airborne, lifted off their feet for the briefest of moments before the vessel slammed back onto its stomach.
She crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Her uncle crossed the room to a metal box mounted to the wall. He opened a small door in its side, exposing a glowing white-blue orb within. Coiled wire connected it to a dial. To a timer. His fingers flew over a tiny control panel, flicking a series of levers.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Do you think I’d let my ship fall into the hands of the Royal Navy? I’d rather see this vessel sink to the bottom of th
e sea.”
A bomb? Heart racing, she forced herself onto her hands and knees. Did he intend to go down with his submersible? No. Otherwise he’d not have brought it to the surface. He planned to escape.
Her uncle slammed the door shut, then strode in her direction as she scrambled across the floor, grabbing her dive knife, slashing him as he drew close. Her blade caught at the cloth of his trousers, slicing through his flesh beneath.
With a roar, he struck the side of her head. Blackness exploded and the world disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
WEARING BIOACTIVE NOCTURNAL goggles, Alec and his swim partner, Shaw, completed their circuit beneath the floating castle complex, sweeping the faint light of a red decilamp over its underwater framework as they hunted for any signs of mussel mine clusters and found nothing.
The giant pontoons were the most obvious targets. But a determined man—and Drummond had gone to great trouble—might also see value in destroying the giant, caged propellers that constantly turned on and off, forcing seawater downward as they spun, an essential system that helped to stabilize the complex above. The propellers kept everyone standing upright. If they stopped working, everyone aboard, from kings to kitchen boys, would land on their arses. This event was so politically charged that any number of high-ranking gentlemen might take offense at having their billiard balls rearranged or their cards scattered. And the ladies could not withstand the social trauma of having their unmentionables exposed or their finery ruined by a sudden upending of the punch bowl.
Amusement hitched up the corner of his mouth.
Alec and Shaw were joined by Rip and Rowen. There was a quick exchange of hand signals. Neither had found any sign of tampering. As planned, they’d arrived before the OctoFinn.
Nothing to do but begin another circuit.
Beneath the third pontoon, Alec tapped Shaw on the shoulder and pointed. Faint blue lights trained over a distant pontoon. A classic mistake. Blue light—though it illuminated surfaces nicely—was all too easily detected by the human eye. Following protocol, Alec and Shaw extinguished their red decilamps. Red light didn’t travel as far into the dark water, making it far more difficult for enemies to detect.
As the OctoFinn utilized a tube of bissel thread glue to attach a mussel mine to the pontoon, he and Shaw swam closer. The OctoFinn never saw them coming. A blow to the side of the head. A quick jab with the spearhead to the body of the biomech octopus, and the creature fell limp.
Shaw flipped on his lamp and swept a red decilamp overhead. Several mussel mines hung from bissel threads at regular intervals from pontoons and propellers. Quickly removing them, Alec and Shaw attached UP bags and blue locater beacons to both the OctoFinn and the bag of explosives, dragged them from beneath the castle and sent them to the surface. If Moray had done his job—eliminating one of the six OctoFinn Lady Roideach insisted would be sent—four remained.
They found a second OctoFinn easily enough and repeated the procedure, sending him and his parasite to the surface. While doing so, they passed Rip and Rowan with their own limp OctoFinn in tow.
A quick conference via hand signals told Alec that five of the presumed six OctoFinn had been dispatched. He and Shaw had snagged two, Rip and Rowan another pair. Rowan had sighted a fifth unconscious OctoFinn floating at the water’s surface, his UP bag flashing a green light.
Relief washed over him. Moray had been assigned the green beacon. That meant he and Isa had successfully intercepted the final OctoFinn to exit the megalodon. Alec hoped their entry and the rest of their tasks had met with equal success.
One sole OctoFinn remained to be captured.
A decision was reached. Rip and Rowan swam for the surface, intent on commandeering the patrol boat attached to the castle guard. Alec and Shaw headed back beneath the castle.
Long, cold minutes passed as they swam, searching for a glimmer of faint blue light.
There.
Alec tapped Shaw’s shoulder and pointed. The final OctoFinn, a sack of mussel mines suspended from the belt about his waist. Not enough explosives to collapse the structure entirely, though there would be significant damage.
Finning for all he was worth and ignoring a growing pain in his knee, he surged forward, keeping pace with his swim partner. Shaw hoisted his spear into position, jabbed the creature’s body. But this time, the cephalopod stunning chemical failed to subdue the biomech octopus.
Instead of falling limp, it began to thrash. Those four tentacles not occupied with holding onto the Finn man—who glanced over his shoulder with alarm and drew his dive knife—whipped through the water, reaching for them. A tentacle lashed Alec’s arm, striking the rubber of his suit with a force that was certain to leave a bruise. Shaw wasn’t as lucky. One of the flailing tentacles ripped the aquaspira from his mouth, snapping a return valve and flooding the breathing loop. Another tentacle wrapped about his ankle as he finned away.
Alec’s mind flashed to Davis’s death. But Shaw was conscious, even now grabbing the bailout bag breather from his chest harness and shoving the mouthpiece into place. Drawing his own dive knife, Alec sliced through the creature’s tentacle, freeing Shaw from its grip. Go! he signaled. With just enough oxygen in reserve to make the surface, Shaw kicked away.
Blue octopus blood gushed from the severed tentacle into the sea water, and Alec jabbed his own spear into the body of the octopus, hoping that a second dose might subdue—but not kill—the creature. Or exert an undue effect upon the Finn man to which it was attached. Either way, he needed to place a ring clamp about the injured octopus’s limb so that it might continue to breathe as Alec dragged its host to the surface.
The Finn man moved with startling agility, lunging at him with his serrated knife. Nor was the biomech octopus through fighting. Dodging both tentacles and the man’s blade proved impossible. The creature caught Alec by the wrist, squeezing tight, attempting to force him to drop his knife. The Finn man slashed through Alec’s rubber suit, and a deadly cold trickle of water flowed across his skin. He was on borrowed time.
He maneuvered away. But the creature lashed out, its eyes glinting in the white-blue light the Finn still held, and wrapped another tentacle around Alec’s knee. His mechanical knee. With an effortless flex of its muscles, the octopus squeezed, and Alec felt a vague pop—then excruciating pain.
One of the bolts holding the artificial knee joint in place had snapped.
Agony made every movement a struggle. Alec rammed his elbow into the man’s jaw with a bone-jarring crunch then—ignoring the cold icicles piercing his skin—punched the octopus directly in the eye.
Biting on his mouth piece, gritting against the pain, Alec forced himself to take several long, deep breaths. Hyperventilation would lead only to death. His and the OctoFinn’s, for the creature had finally fallen limp.
Quickly, Alec clipped an UP bag and an active beacon to the man. He clamped a clotting cuff around the bleeding tentacle. He reached for the sack of remaining mussel mines—
Gone.
During the fight, it must have been jarred loose. Currents would have carried the sack of explosives away. No telling if they were beneath the castle complex, lodged in the blades of a stabilizing propeller, or lost to the sea. Either way, they were irretrievable.
He grabbed the unconscious OctoFinn and began to swim. Progress was slow with only one leg fully functional and the frigid water creeping into his suit, but at last he cleared the castle complex. Punching the UP bag, he let it haul them to the surface.
Shouts rang out. An engine roared. Moments later he was dragged from the water onto the deck of the patrol boat. Alec ripped his goggles from his face and found himself staring up at Shaw. “Situation report?”
Shaw tipped his head toward the cabin. “All OctoFinn retrieved, the attached creatures cuffed with ring clamps. No deaths. All mussel mines recovered, save any this last one carried.” An eyebrow lifted.
“Gone.” Alec sat up and—with a grimace—yanked the swim fins from his feet. His knee throbbed. “There might be damage. Probably not enough to compromise the structure. I wouldn’t risk ordering an evacuation.” Particularly given the paucity of life boats and the panic such an order would create. “But I’d advise we move some distance away from the structure.”
Shaw swore. “Better to leave them in their palace.”
“Isa and Moray?” Alec asked.
“Sent up the expected OctoFinn, so contact was made. No sign yet of the megalodon.”
“I’ll speak to the captain.” Shaw started to move away, when his eyes dropped to Alec’s leg. Only the brace had saved it from total destruction. “Shit. The octopus?”
“A minor inconvenience.” It was a trick to relax his jaw enough to speak as bolts of lightning shot through his leg with the slightest movement. He waved a hand. “I just need a few minutes. Go. Move us out of range.”
The minute Shaw’s back was turned, he pulled a medic bag toward him. Fished out a syringe and rummaged through vials of medications, searching. He pulled a glass vial of a local painkiller from the supply box and filled the syringe. He jabbed the needle into his leg, shoving the plunger home. Blessed numbness overtook his knee.
Pain faded, only to be replaced by growing worry.
Who was he kidding? With each beat his heart whomped its dread against his rib cage. The woman he loved was on her insane uncle’s submersible, hundreds of feet below icy waves. Far from where he could do anything to help her.
Or Moray.
The boat began to pull away, moving a safe distance from the castle. Impossible to calculate the damage the mussel mines might cause.
“Bad plan,” Rowan said, frowning down at the syringe he still held. Caught. “If I thought for one second you intended to stay off your feet, I’d approve. But from the moon eyes you’ve been making at that woman and the way you’re staring off into the dark…”
“I need to be ready.” Alec lifted a hand. “Help me up.”