“Sir!”
The voice came from right behind him. Another master-at-arms.
“You need to be in quarters, sir!”
The moment he’d heard the captain’s announcement, Lewis had leapt over Jackson’s body, hit the door, and sprinted in the direction of the brig, calculating furiously as he went. The SEAL was out and on the move. Which meant what? He couldn’t exactly go break out a prisoner who was already broken out!
Don’t panic, Lewis.
Assess.
Formulate.
Execute.
As he fast-walked down a level and aft to the sector where the brig was located, he ran through his new story, probing for holes.
The SEAL set up Papadakis, but when Jackson’s investigative team got too close he broke out and tried to kill them all. Why he also killed Halsey, we may never know. Maybe Angler had told her something, the two were close. The only reason I survived was I managed to grab at his gun while he was attacking Lieutenant Desai—we struggled, it went off.
Rickety, but doable. He could sell it. As long as he could locate the SEAL before Mac’s MAs did and force him back up to his own office.
Tall order.
But Lewis had superpowers.
Obviously, he was no match for the SEAL physically. The man could snap him in half like a matchstick. But if he could maneuver him into the right situation, he knew exactly how to subdue him, make him malleable as putty. Given the chance to talk to him, Lewis could snap him in half—
These were the thoughts swirling through his mind when the voice from behind surprised him.
“Sir! You need to be in quarters, sir!”
Lewis was about to turn when he remembered: that gouge the witch left in his face! Impossible to hide, but difficult to explain away—how could he bear scratches from a struggle he hadn’t had yet?
Assess.
Formulate.
In a flash of inspiration a new tactical element dropped into his mind, the winning silver dollar in a slot machine.
Cha-ching!
He whipped around and faced the MA, a look of startled terror on his face.
“Oh, thank God!” he said, clutching his hand to his cheek.
“Sir, you all right?”
Lewis tottered for a moment and leaned against a bulkhead for support, catching for a solid breath.
“The SEAL,” he gasped. “Saw him—attacked me—just…”
“Easy, sir.” The guard helped Lewis to a sitting position. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Just—a minute—maybe two. Oh, God…” He put his head between his knees.
“Did you see which way he was headed?”
Lewis gestured vaguely down the passageway. “Ladder—heading below—the nukes, I think—something about—blowing up the ship.” He looked up at the young guard, his face suddenly full of alarm. “Can he do that?”
“Jesus,” the young man muttered. “You sit tight, sir, all right?” He grabbed his radio, pushed a button. “Callan here, just fore of the brig, got a wit here says subject headed for reactor compartments. May have sabotage in mind.”
Callan’s radio squawked back.
In moments the ship’s entire security force had been rerouted below to make a meter-by-meter search of decks 5 and 6.
Leaving Lewis free to work the upper decks.
The perfect diversion.
Recalibrate.
Halsey first. Easier to find—and she might even lead him to the SEAL. There was some kind of connection there. He’d observed them talking.
Think.
She wouldn’t be in her squadron’s ready room—with the ship’s flight ops shut down, the captain’s order would have evacked her to quarters as “nonessential personnel.” But she wouldn’t be in her stateroom; she was too stubborn and too personally involved to retreat to quarters, orders or no orders. She’d be someplace where she could stay mobile, waiting to hear from either Scott or Jackson.
She’d be in her office.
Lewis waited a few seconds until his little passageway was empty. Then he stood. With a quiet chuckle, he headed above to the hangar deck.
People were so easy to read.