Joseph Dryden knelt over Luke, the rifle of the dead guard now in his arms. Luke was unconscious. He fired into the smoke of the engine room. Noise swamped him. Gunshots appeared from the flame. Dryden grabbed Luke and hauled him to the corner. The ship shuddered and moaned. Dryden imagined his situation report—outnumbered and overwhelmed by opposing forces, 2ic injured, Alpha suffering frostbite and burns and God knew what else. Dryden did not lower his sights. He was still squeezing the trigger when the gun stopped responding. I’m out of ammunition, and there’s a fire in the engine room. So get out of the engine room.
Dryden cast the weapon aside and lifted Luke in a fireman’s hold, yelling out as he did so, his muscles tearing. He clambered over the ruin of the door and into the hall, heat pressing behind him. He knew the remaining officers would be having the same thought—abandon ship. He just had to get to the tender garage first, the vast chamber below containing a small submarine, a limo tender, and a sports tender. Dryden moved into the hall, and almost retreated immediately. Water was flooding up the stairs. A bullet whistled by. Up, the only choice was up. Dryden took the stairs two at a time, careening into the walls, just keeping hold of Luke—until the ship lurched and Luke fell and Dryden smacked his knee on the stairs. Another bullet thumped the wall above his head. He tried to stand. His knee tore.
Luke woke with a grunt. “My turn,” he said, hauling at Dryden, lugging him up the stairs one by one, then at the bend lifting Dryden over his shoulder, making the last flight.
But Paradise’s men were closing in behind. Luke set Dryden down in the saloon, almost slipping, the floor awash. The live camera projection from the observation deck was glitching—strobes of sea grass and the shadow of sharks ate them. Both men heard a ripping and tearing—they looked up through the glass ceiling to see the masts collapsing, a terrible demolition. Luke grabbed Dryden’s hand. Dryden looked round—Luke was staring at the opening of the foredeck, at the busted cage and Paradise’s corpse—the tiger was pacing the deck, growling at the sky. Then the remaining three officers reached the top of the stairs.
The flickering footage of a sea crab closing its pincers was shadowed by rappel lines and the fan of a rotor blade. Dryden looked up. Helicopters hovered overhead. Commandos were dropping on deck. Six, twelve, eighteen of them landing on the foredeck, barking commands. Dryden couldn’t pick out their words, but raised his hands anyway. Luke did the same. Dryden waited for a last-ditch bullet, but Paradise’s soldiers were surrendering. Two of the commandos were carrying a net, which they hurled over the tiger. One drew a plastic-looking gun, shooting a dart into the creature’s flank. Then the commandos formed a diamond, protecting their own Alpha, who landed on deck with a thud, a few years perhaps since he’d been in the field. But the man removed his harness with economy. He had a big, square figure and moved powerfully through the ruin, stepping over glass and bodies, with only a lingering gaze for the tiger. His dark eyes glittered. He offered Dryden his hand, flashing a gold-toothed sunburst of a smile.
“Tiger Tanaka. Pleasure to meet you, 004.”
Dryden blinked. He lowered his arms. When he took Tanaka’s hand, his whole weight almost went, and only the steel grip kept him upright.
“M is anxious to speak with you.”
Dryden shook his head. He couldn’t keep his eyes open enough to read the man’s lips, and the words meant nothing at all. Luke got between the two men with just his shoulder, a slight guard as he said something. Tiger Tanaka nodded slowly. He spoke to Luke. Luke nodded, said something else.
Then he turned to Dryden and signed: “This is Tiger Tanaka of the Japanese Secret Service. He says your boss wants to talk to you. Medical’s on standby. Early days, but they reckon we turned the device off in time. No lasting damage. I’ve explained I was Paradise’s second-in-command. He’s going to take me and the survivors into custody.”
Dryden grabbed Luke’s hands, silencing his fingers. “Wait,” he said. “That’s not . . .”
Tiger Tanaka stood back. He ordered his soldiers to secure the prisoners and leave the Cloud Nine to burn or sink, whichever happened faster. He didn’t want it: Tiger Tanaka did not need a crystal ball to tell him the sea ice was shrinking and that their days were running short. Speak of next year and the devil laughs. He put little to no faith in shiny toys. He watched Joseph Dryden. Tiger Tanaka put his faith in other things.
Luke shook his head. Dryden felt tears on his cheeks—they were his own. He wiped his face on Luke’s shoulder. Luke’s arms came around him.