OhGod! Oh God! Oh—
Sploosh!
She’d read somewhere that hitting the water from any sort of height was pretty much the same as hitting concrete. Sure as shit, she could vouch. The wind was punched out of her by the impact, her belly and chest on fire from the blow. She was immediately enveloped in the arms of the ocean, the warm water sucking her down, down, down…
Swim, Olivia! Kick your legs!
Yep. That’s what she should be doing all right. And it’s certainly what shewantedto be doing. But her body seemed to be experiencing some sort of disconnect from her brain. The shock of the collision with the water’s surface had scrambled her synapses. Deeper and deeper she sank until the sea began to press in on her, squeezing her, lulling her with its liquid embrace even though her lungs burned.
A hard hand suddenly gripped her shoulder. And that physical human touch was all she needed to break the dark spell of the ocean, to jump-start her brain-body connection.Hip-hip-hooray!Her legs and arms were working again!
The first thing she did was let go of the binoculars that, strangely enough, she’d managed to hold on to during her free fall and subsequent brutal introduction to the sea. Then she kicked as hard as she could toward the surface, clawing against the water. She knew Bran was swimming beside her, a strong hand pulling her upward toward the light sparkling on the rippling waves overhead. Still, even with the two of them working…
Oh God! I’m not going to make it!She’d waited too long, allowed herself to sink too deep. The urge to suck in a breath was overwhelming. Her mouth opened of its own accord, filling with salty water. And just when she started to convulse against the need to breathe—“Ahhhhh!”—she broke the surface, sucking in a lungful of sweet, glorious air. Water too, from the wave that immediately slammed her square in the face.
She doubled in on herself, coughing and hacking.
“Are you okay?” Bran shouted, paddling beside her and helping her tread water as waves carelessly bobbed them up and down like so much living flotsam and jetsam.
“Y-yes,” she managed, dragging in another gulp of oxygen only to dissolve into more retching coughs.
That seemed to be all the confirmation he needed because as soon as she was able to keep herself afloat, he released her to yell, “LT! What’s doing up there, bro?”
There was no response.
Olivia brushed the water from her eyes, blinking as more dripped down from her sodden hair. They’d already drifted some distance from the salvage ship, the currents in the Straits being wickedly fast. She scanned the hull ofWayfarer-Ifor Leo, then the rail. Nothing. No shaggy blond hair. No broad, T-shirt-covered shoulders. Just a big, gray boat.
“D-did I hear him correctly?” she managed, coughing again and expelling the last of the moisture from her lungs. Her heart was pounding so hard her whole body throbbed in rhythm to it. “Did he say rocket launchers?”
“That’s what I thought he—”
BOOM!
Wayfarer-Iwas rocked by a massive explosion. Olivia felt the percussive effects in her chest, like fireworks on New Year’s Eve or mortar rounds in Syria. The displaced air blew her sodden hair back from her face.
Hehadsaid “rocket launchers.” She couldn’tbelieveit! Nor could she see exactly where the ship was hit. Somewhere low on the hull on the opposite side would be her guess, given the thin puff of smoke that drifted like a crooked, gray finger into the air. And althoughWayfarer-Istill seemed to be mostly intact, her metal hull was squealing like a dying pig.
Where was Leo? Was he anywhere near where that rocket struck? Olivia became paralyzed by fear. Her heart stopped, her lungs froze, and her muscles went completely slack. Only her vocal cords continued to work as she screamed, her throat shredding with the effort, “Leo! Where are you?”
* * *
2:15 p.m.…
Leo cursed, his shoulder slamming into the bulkhead of the stairwell whenWayfarer-Itook a direct hit to her hull. The ship groaned with the impact, shuddering and whimpering in the aftermath. The lights flickered on and off, on and off, then went out altogether. Somewhere up on the bridge an alarm sounded.
Shitonashovel! This will be the end of her.
He knew it as surely as he knew his name was Leonardo David Anderson. And all that money, all that time and effort to clean upWayfarer-Iand make her into a vessel capable of hunting for theSantaCristinahad come to naught with one well-placed, likely Soviet-era rocket launcher.
Andwhataretheodds?
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Reckoned he didn’t have time for either.
“Wolf!” he yelled, sprinting up the stairs toward the pilothouse. “Mason!” He’d only climbed two treads when Wolf appeared in front of him, dark and quiet as a shadow. A well-armed shadow. Wolf’s Colt was clutched in his right hand. In his left was Olivia’s satellite phone.Goodthinkin’, man.
Before Leo could say the words aloud, Wolf growled, “Sonofabitching rocket launcher. Can you believe it? We need to abandon—”
“I know!” Leo cut him off. “Where’s Mason?”
