Blood Cruise: A Deep Sea Thriller (19 page)

She held up a tablet and grinned. The grin slipped slightly.

“What?” Niya asked. “Did you find something as well? What is it?”

“I found that no matter how beautiful the company, I can still embarrass myself by nearly pissing my pants,” Nick said. “Warn a guy before you call out like that.”

Niya sighed and shook her head. “Weak,” she muttered as she pulled out a USB drive of her own and plugged it into the tablet. “This will only take a minute then we leave.”

“What about Giraldi’s men?” Nick asked.

There were some loud shouts and couple of gunshots.

“I do not believe they are our problem any longer,” Niya said, grinning from ear to ear.

37.

Jessica pressed herself up against the wall of the shower, her hand to her arm as blood flowed from the gunshot wound. With every creak and groan of the ship, she jumped a little and had to bite down on the inside of her cheek in order to not cry out in fear and pain.

She looked past the glass door at the underwear glad rump of Maggie. Jessica had dragged the unconscious woman into the bathroom, gotten her into the bathtub, and locked the bathroom door before hiding herself in the shower. Maggie hadn’t made a peep the entire time, only rolled onto her stomach and pushed her butt in the air. Every passed out drunk was different. Jessica had learned that in her many years navigating an underworld run by idiots and men. She barely distinguished between the two.

She shifted her weight, trying to find a comfortable position, but each movement sent waves of pain through her. She knew she needed to tie off the wound, but she was afraid the pain would be too much and she’d pass out. Getting Maggie into the bathroom was a product of the adrenaline that had been pumping through her. But that adrenaline was gone, or the strength part was, at least. Instead, she felt a heaviness caused by fear and shock start to overtake her.

There was a creak from above and Jessica’s eyes instantly went to the air vent in the center of the bathroom’s ceiling. She watched closely, waiting for the vent to be shoved open and one of those hideous tentacles to come out at her. Or at Maggie. Jessica realized she could put herself in the idiot category. She’d left the woman out there unprotected.

Hell, she wasn’t even protected. The thing was in the ventilation system. How could anyone hide from that?

Jessica forced herself to think through the terror she felt overcoming her. She’d been in worse situations. Nearly beaten to death by Somali pirates. Tortured by a Columbian drug lord. Physically violated for days by a woman that never did tell her her name. Left to be sold as a sex slave in Malaysia. Even buried alive in the African savannah.

She’d lived and fought her way back to the top each and every time.

So, what, she’d let some mutant calamari freak her out?

Jessica pressed her back harder against the shower stall and then pushed up with her legs, carefully coming to a standing position as her eyes stayed locked on the vent, her pistol held at her side.

Another creak, louder than before, and Jessica froze. She counted to ten, counted to ten again, then slowly pushed open the shower door. Being of the quality it was, the shower door swung open like it was made of air; not a hint of a hinge squeak.

She set one foot out onto the bathroom floor, waited, counted to ten twice more, then set the other foot out. Jessica held her breath, her ears trying to parse what was the thing and what was just the boat’s normal noises as it rocked in the ocean’s waves.

Waves that seemed to be getting stronger by the minute, Jessica discovered as she had to brace her pistol hand against the ornately decorated wood paneling of the bathroom’s wall. A part of her was sort of pissed that the blogger and his girlfriend, that couldn’t handle her drinks, were given a better cabin than she was. Her bathroom wasn’t nearly as nice.

Jessica smiled to herself as the thoughts flitted away. Some of her old strength was returning if she could waste a moment’s thought on trivialities like whose bathroom was better.

A creak and heavy groan, but not above her.

In the wall.

Jessica turned slowly, her eyes tracking where her ears thought the sounds came from. By the linen closet then over the sink. Under the sink, under the floor, in the wall behind her.

“Too big,” she thought to herself. “It’s too big to be in the walls.”

A cabinet exploded open and two tentacles shot at her from her left. Jessica dove to the side, her pistol falling from her weak grip, and screamed as she felt one of the tentacles grab her around the ankle. She twisted in its grasp, kicking at it with her free leg. But that free leg was quickly grabbed and she found herself being yanked towards the shattered cabinet and what looked like a huge parrot’s beak.

Instinct kicked in and Jessica’s hands scrambled about for anything she could use as a weapon. Her right hand closed around a hunk of wood, thick on one end, sharp and pointed on the other. She was glad for her almost religious need to work out, and bent up at the waist, jamming the giant splinter into the tentacle that had her right leg.

Blue blood spilled out across the floor and the tentacle darted out of sight, withdrawn almost faster than Jessica could track. The other tentacle tightened its grip and there was nothing Jessica could do since her makeshift weapon had been yanked away from her by the wounded tentacle.

Her body reached the cabinet and she braced her free leg on the frame. She pushed as hard as she could, but the tentacle that had her was so much stronger than her fatigued leg. Still bent at the waist, she clawed at the tentacle around her ankle, her nails digging deep furrows in the rubbery skin.

Before her eyes, she watched as those furrows filled in with fresh tissue then disappeared completely as the thing healed in less than a couple of seconds. The shock of watching that happen sapped her of her remaining strength and she screamed as her body was bent in ways it wasn’t meant to be bent.

She was pulled inside the cabinet and towards the huge parrot beak. Her screams continued for several minutes until the blood loss was too much and she passed out, her life slipping away in a flow of dark red across the expensive marble-tiled floor.

38.

Tony pointed out into the dark night with one hand while the other gripped Captain Staggs’s shoulder like a vice.

“You get us closer,” Tony ordered. “I saw something land on that ship and I want to know what it is.”

“I cannot get us any closer without risking a collision,” Captain Staggs said. “I don’t know if you have noticed or not, Mr. Giraldi, but we are not being blessed with calm seas. These waves are at least six feet and growing stronger.”

“Do I seem like a man that cares about your excuses?” Tony snarled. “Do you think I didn’t do my homework on you too, Cap? One phone call and everyone you care about gets their throats slit.”

Captain Staggs, hands firmly grasping the ship’s wheel, turned and gave Tony a stern look. It was the look of an angry school teacher or football coach. It was the look of a person that was used to having authority over his small domain.

“I have a brother and he is currently doing five years in prison for embezzlement,” Captain Staggs said. “I haven’t spoken to him in two years. If he dies, I will assume it is you, but it is not like I wouldn’t be expecting the call. He stole money from bad people and his clock has been ticking down for a long time now.”

“Look at you, Cap,” Tony laughed. “I never thought you’d have brass balls so big.”

“It’s a nice yacht,” Captain Staggs said. “Everything is brass and everything is big.”

Ben snorted from his spot on the bench then tried to act casual as Tony turned on him.

“Something to add?” Tony asked.

“No,” Ben said. “Sorry.”

Tony pressed his thumb to his radio’s transmitter. He started to speak, but a squeal of static roared from the radio and Tony quickly let it drop from his hand onto the dash before him.

“What the hell?” he muttered as he picked the radio back up. He turned down the volume and tried again, but the static was still there only quieter. “Radio is dead.”

“Probably jammed,” Ben said, nodding out the window. “If that was a helicopter that you saw landing on the ship then it wasn’t a sightseeing tour. No lights, able to fly in this weather, and landing on a ship that is holding some special killer project? I’m thinking black ops. CIA? NSA? Something like that.”

“That what you’re thinking, Blogger Boy?” Tony asked. “Based on what? All your years of experience in covert intelligence?”

“No,” Ben said and shrugged. “I watch a lot of History Channel programs.”

Tony’s lip curled up in a vicious-looking snarl and he shook his head.

“You are a strange man,” Tony said. “Hard to get a read on. You seem soft then you talk shit. You act hard then fold the second things get violent. Back and forth, back and forth.”

“I’m a mystery,” Ben said. “So my ex-wife has said a trillion times.”

“You said the Guillotine had your daughter, yes?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “Agent Mulgrew said he was your man.”

“Not my man,” Tony said. “Which means he’s someone else’s man.” Tony pointed out the window in the direction of the NCDC ship. “I’m betting he’s whoever just landed’s man. Why?”

“What? How should I know?” Ben asked.

“Because you are the key to all of this,” Tony said, spreading his arms wide. “I needed a ride out here to find this ship without arousing suspicion. Your friend Nicholas had this yacht available and I suddenly get an invitation. Nicholas set up a poker game with you as the draw and several power players in the underworld came to play cards with you. One of the most deadly assassins in the business has been sent to watch your daughter.”

“To kill my daughter if I get out of line,” Ben said.

“Is that so?” Tony asked. “The man isn’t working for the rogue INTERPOL agents, he’s not working for me, and I can guarantee you he’s not working for Garfield, Whittier, or Holstein.”

“Maybe Niya,” Ben suggested.

“No, I doubt that even more than the others,” Tony said. “Ms. Romanski does not deal with men like the Guillotine. She prefers to keep things in house, as do I. As do the others, from what I know of their reputations. The Guillotine has been hired by someone else, Mr. Clow. And I will wager everything I have that that someone else is connected to that helicopter that landed on that ship.”

“I feel like we’re in an eighties detective show,” Ben said. “All the wild guesses are being thrown out there before the big reveal. Care to make another guess as to what the reveal is?”

“No,” Tony said. “I’m done guessing. It’s time you started talking.”

Tony slid a very large knife from inside his suit jacket. He made sure Ben saw the fine edge it held.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ben yelled. “I have no idea what’s going on! I swear to fucking God, man!”

“I actually believe you,” Tony said. “But I also still believe you are at the center of all of this somehow. You’re an asset whether you know it or not. And in my experience? Assets are never left alone without a handler.”

“You’re crazy, dude,” Ben said as he looked around the bridge for an escape. But Tony’s body language showed him that no matter how fast he thought he was, the big man was faster. His eyes lit on Captain Staggs. “Captain? A little help?”

“I let go of this wheel and we all die,” Captain Staggs said. “Get yourself out of your own mess, Mr. Clow.”

“Great,” Ben grumbled. “Just great. Nice attitude, asshole.”

39.

In the bathtub, butt still at full attention, Maggie stirred.

The voices in her ear told her Ben was in serious trouble, but the heavy smell of blood told her she wasn’t exactly out of the woods, either. Slowly, still acting as if she was completely shitfaced, she rolled onto her side and cracked one eye open. From the sound of how everything went down, Maggie knew what she would see.

The bathroom was a shambles, destroyed. Mirrors cracked, cabinets broken, blood everywhere.

She eased her hand to her head, making it look like she was nursing a brutal headache, and carefully pressed her finger to her ear, muting the shouting she heard coming from Giraldi and Ben. It broke her heart that Ben was being harmed for something he knew nothing about, but that was the risk of the job she’d taken. She’d known she was putting a good man in a bad situation.

With the shouting muted, Maggie listened hard for sounds of the creature’s movements. After a couple of very long minutes, she guessed it had left to go find new prey, leaving her alone for some reason. Probably because she’d made sure she was doused in the stink of alcohol and piss. The piss part hadn’t been fun and she cringed at the yellow puddle that was underneath her in the tub, but she knew it had probably saved her life.

Unlike Giraldi, Maggie had known exactly what she would encounter during the operation. She just hadn’t known Giraldi would make things so difficult for her.

Her eyes watching the blood-covered, shattered cabinet carefully, Maggie pushed up into a sitting position. Again, she listened and waited a couple of minutes for tentacles to come flying out at her. When they didn’t, she pressed her fingers on a hard spot just above the inside of her left ankle. She held it for three seconds, let go, held it for three more seconds, then let go again.

After three seconds, the hard spot under her skin vibrated for five full seconds then stopped.

They’d arrived. Her team was in place.

She started to unmute her earpiece to hear how bad things were for Ben, but she didn’t get the chance as a tentacle burst from the air vent in the ceiling and grabbed her about the wrist. Maggie screamed and lurched back, her butt hitting the huge faucet on the side of the bathtub. Scalding hot water came pouring out instantly and she screamed again as the water hit the bare skin on her legs.

White hot pain ripped through her like an electric jolt causing her to pull hard against the tentacle and jump back from the faucet as fast as possible. The angle of her body brought the tentacle directly under the stream of boiling water and there was a clicking hiss from above. The tentacle detached itself immediately and withdrew back into the vent.

Maggie bit down on her lower lip as she endured the agony of the water, her eyes locked onto the vent. After almost thirty seconds, she couldn’t take the pain anymore and shut the water off. Maggie waited with her hand gripping the faucet’s hot water handle, ready to turn it back on the second even a hint of an octopus body part showed itself.

Twenty seconds, forty, a full minute went by before she dared to stand up and take a cautious step out of the tub. When nothing came for her, she hurried from the bathroom and into the cabin. She grabbed her suitcase out of the closet, tossed it onto the bed, and started ripping the bottom seam open.

With the material gone, she placed her hand against the cold metal of the suitcase’s bottom and a hatch popped open. She pulled out a Browning 9mm pistol, a small metal box, and a thin wire with a black circle attached. Maggie put the wire around her neck with the circle directly over her voice box. She pressed her earpiece, but instead of the sounds of Ben screaming, she heard the chatter of gruff voices.

“This is Hoedown,” Maggie said out loud. “Do you copy?”

“We copy, Hoedown,” a voice replied in her ear. “This is Tumbler. We are in place on the NCDC vessel.”

“Get off there,” Maggie said. “The creature is no longer in place. It is active and on the Lucky Sucker.”

“Shit, seriously?” Tumbler responded. “You okay?”

“Not sure,” Maggie said. “It’s already killed two people and came close to grabbing me. I need you and the rest to get over here and help me with containment as soon as you are done there.”

“We’re leaving right now,” Tumbler responded.

“Negative,” Maggie said. “The mission is to obtain the creature as well as all pertinent research files. You search that ship first, find those files, then come get me.”

“Come on, Hoedown,” Tumbler said. “All we need is the creature. We’ll let the lab geeks study it. We’re coming to get you.”

“No!” Maggie snapped as she pulled a large combat knife from the compartment under the suitcase and set it on the bed. She flipped the suitcase upright and pulled out a pair of jeans. “I am giving you an order, Tumbler. You find the files then torch the ship before you even think of coming to get me.”

“Roger that, Hoedown,” Tumbler replied. “We’ll move fast and be there shortly. Stay safe and keep the thing occupied until we can contain it.”

Maggie slid on her jeans and glanced up at the vent in the cabin ceiling. She fumbled around and found a t-shirt then slipped that over her head.

“I don’t think keeping it occupied is a problem,” Maggie responded. “As long as someone is alive on this yacht, it’s going to stay right here.”

“Copy that,” Tumbler said. “We’ll be in contact. Tumbler out.”

There was an audible click and the earpiece instantly switched back to its original channel. Ben’s screams filled Maggie’s ears and she winced.

“I am so sorry, Benjamin,” she whispered as she strapped the knife to her thigh and looked around the room for her shoe bag. She found it, yanked it open, and pulled out a pair of heavy duty black sneakers.

Shoes on, knife on her thigh, pistol in her hand, Maggie moved slowly to the cabin door, which was wide open and smeared with blood. She peeked into the passageway, confirmed it was clear, then started moving in the direction of the bridge and Ben’s pleading voice.