Chapter Thirty-Five

 

 

 

WITH A WHISTLE, the train pulled away from the depot. As the wheels clacked over the rails, Alec set his baggage on the floor of a cargo car beside crates of clucking chickens that were stacked from floor to ceiling. Shaw, Rowan and Rip did the same. A combination of steam trains, crank carts and coal carriages would carry them to points north.

He lowered himself to the floor. A slight creak emanated from his knee. A frown tugged at his lips. Dr. Morgan had fixed it. He wore the brace religiously, and it had been fine for days. He muttered a curse under his breath. One more day. He just needed his knee to last one more day.

Traveling with Isa and Moray via submersible had been the original plan, but was foiled by one Commander Norgrove who summoned Alec and the rest of the BURR team from the sea loch back to Glasgow on the very day the submersible needed to depart.

Alec had sworn until he was blue in the face.

Lord Roideach’s final words had been to name Commander Norgrove as a member of the CEAP Selkie Committee, to admit that the commander answered to Isa’s uncle, Commodore Drummond. Plans to sink the castle complex had been in place for months, plans that risked being exposed by CEAP inquiries into Davis’s death. Commander Norgrove had not been protecting the BURR team by objecting to unsafe use of aquaspira breathers, he’d been acting on Drummond’s orders to ensure that the BURR team never took their aquaspira breathers to depths that might interfere with any OctoFinn missions.

But words gasped out by a dying man weren’t proof. Logan had been working around the clock‌—‌judging by the dark circles beneath his brother’s eyes‌—‌without time to search for definitive evidence of the man’s involvement.

“He’s suspicious and rightly so,” Logan grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you fail to appear, he might manage to alert Drummond, and we’ve no way of adjusting to any changes made to the timeline.”

Resigned, they hastily cobbled together plan B. Not remotely ideal, but they had little choice.

“Go,” Logan said. “But see Miss Lourney first to pick up your new weapons and supplies. She’s been hard at work devising methods to ensure we don’t harm any Finn hosts. In particular, she has designed a contraption‌—‌a mechanical ring‌—‌that incorporates cephalopod stunning powder and physical pressure to clamp down on the biomech octopus tentacles.”

The two dozen devices that Alec collected from Miss Lourney wouldn’t physically remove the creature from a Finn, but they would subdue the octopus while isolating the two circulatory systems. True separation‌—‌requiring vascular surgery‌—‌could then be performed at a time and location more conducive to surgery.

“Use these only if the Finn are capable of keeping their heads above the water’s surface,” Miss Lourney warned, then pointed. “At lower depths, your team should use these spears. The tips are loaded with cephalopod stunning powder. Jab the creature to render it unconscious but still capable of oxygenating Finn blood.”

He was impressed. The restrictions of working under Lord Roideach’s supervision had smothered her ingenuity and innovation. If this mission was successful, the Glaister Institute really ought to offer her directorship of her own laboratory.

Isa and Moray planned to employ the experimental ring clamps‌—‌impossible to test them‌—‌immediately upon boarding the megalodon. He hated the very thought of them depending so heavily upon an unproven device, but there was little choice. To seize control of the megalodon, Isa and Moray would need to function in dry conditions. He hated everything about their plan but, most specifically, he hated her involvement. The risks were astronomical. Were this a true BURR mission, her participation would have been prohibited. Again his concerns had been noted, then overruled.

Teeth gritted to the point of molar-cracking forces, Alec gathered his teammates and reported to headquarters.

“You are on convalescent leave, are you not, Captain McCullough?” Seated behind a large oak desk, Commander Norgrove twisted his lips, unhappy at being informed that Sinclair and Moray were hospitalized, consoled only by forcing the majority of the team to stand at attention before him, a captive audience.

“I am.”

“Yet it has been brought to my attention that you have been involved in at least two BURR missions during this time period.” Commander Norgrove steepled his fingers, and Alec took note of a network of faint, white scars that ran along their inside edges.

Finn. The missing connection that explained much. What position had Drummond promised the man? Military command of his fledgling nation? A young, pure-blooded Finn bride? He frowned. With luck, they’d never know.

“Training missions, sir,” Shaw lied. “And only in a supervisory capacity.”

Not the answer Commander Norgrove wished. He frowned. “That falls under the category of restricted duty. Has Dr. Morgan authorized your return to work?”

Not a chance.

“Has the appropriate paperwork been filed?”

Given Logan was in charge? Unlikely.

“I assume so, sir,” Alec equivocated.

“Until such documentation crosses my desk, you are still on convalescent leave. No. More. Missions. Of any kind.” He looked at each BURR team member in turn, his expression pinched. “Your assignment to guard the royal wedding is cancelled so that you might attend to paperwork. Consider this a friendly warning to all of you.” Commander Norgrove tapped the top of his desk, uncertain they would follow orders. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on your activities.”

“Yes, sir.” But they worked for the Queen now, if indirectly. Norgrove’s warning altered nothing, save their travel accommodations.

“Dismissed.”

Now, hours later, Alec leaned against the rough panel of the freight car’s wall and stared at his dinner rations‌—‌tinned beef. He missed her, Isa. That first night, he’d laid out a bed roll beside her tub, unable to sleep as an aching loneliness settled deep inside his chest, as if he could feel her drifting away from him. With the creature attached, he could barely hold her in his arms. Still, despite his many apprehensions, he was proud of her. At the sea loch‌—‌though she lacked the strength and aim of a BURR man‌—‌she’d impressed everyone but Moray with her aquatic skills, learning to exit and enter a submersible with relative ease.

Without him, Isa and Moray would complete their mission by submersible, traveling in modified, aerated clawfoot tubs positioned mere feet from the exit hatch. The only way to accommodate their needs, what with the biomech octopuses attached.

Leaving her in the care of another man‌—‌even if he trusted Moray with his life‌—‌left a permanent lump of lead in his stomach. He had to force himself to eat; the upcoming operation would sap his every last calorie. Tossing aside the tin can, he leaned against his rucksack and passed a hand over his eyes, forcing himself to sleep. A restless slumber, filled with dreams of Isa hovering just beyond his reach.

They reached a small, remote fishing village on the northeast coast of Scotland the day before the royal wedding. In exchange for an ungodly sum, a local agreed to take them aboard his rusty, decrepit fishing boat, to steer past precise and defined coordinates, and not wonder when his passengers disappeared overboard.

While the fisherman kept his eyes pointed at the horizon, the BURR men geared up. Rip and Rowan flipped two flat rubber packages into the water and yanked on the inflation cord. With a hiss, the portable canoes inflated. Compressed gas canisters were attached to the stern of each, permitting a limited degree of steering capability. Two to a canoe, they boarded the inflatables and hunkered down to wait.

~~~

Though Isa had originally laughed at Alec’s insistence that she and Aron wear clothing, she’d rapidly reversed her position. Not a single sailor was able to pass them without, at the very least, taking a peek. Many openly stared. Not that she could blame them. How many humans regularly wore tightly attached octopuses upon their backs and floated leisurely in a large, bubbling tub of water aboard a submersible?

“It’s the only way to travel the north seas, mate,” Aron quipped when they ogled. “Embraced by a cephalopod, soaking alongside a beautiful woman.”

Aron joked constantly as sailors passed, drawing the attention away from her and onto himself. But no matter how funny or clever his witticisms, not a single sailor could untie their tongues or close their gaping mouths long enough to offer a rejoinder.

“There’s no need,” Isa said, “to take on the role of court jester. I’m fine, relatively speaking.”

“I’m not.” Aron closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the edge of the tank. “It’s a bad idea to marry a BURR man. We’re often away for undetermined lengths for inexplicable reasons. If I’d thought you open to the idea‌—‌”

“Don’t.” They’d cobbled together a comradery these past few days, though she’d not been blind to the extra effort he expended in an attempt to impress her. She refused to let him ruin his relationship with Alec with unwanted advances. “We’re not suited, you and I. I told you as much the night you asked me to run away with you. I thought we could be‌—‌”

“Friends?” Aron sighed. “Fine. But I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

Isa bit her lip. Would there be one, a wedding? She wasn’t at all sure it was wise. But any decisions she reached would be her own, uninfluenced by Scot or Finn expectations. It certainly wasn’t a topic she wished to discuss with a disappointed suitor.

For several long moments the only sounds came from the submersible’s engines, a soft thumping and clunking, an ever-present noise. But another faint sound added to the rhythm. Footsteps. Crepe soles upon the floor. A head poked through the doorway but not, this time, to gawk.

“We’re beneath the floating complex.” The midshipman assigned to assist them with the escape hatch handed Moray a pair of scissors. He cleared his throat and two spots of color rose high on his cheekbones. “I’m told you wish to enter the water‌—‌”

“Stark naked. Wearing nothing but a tool belt.” Aron twirled his finger. “Avert your eyes, sailor.”

~~~

The sun hung low on the horizon. A few feet away in the other canoe, Rip and Rowan rocked on the waves. Kneeling for hours in the same position made his knee ache, but Alec did his best to ignore it. Cold water splashing into the inflatable combined with a relentless, icy wind made the dull pain manageable. As if it mattered. He’d see this mission completed at any cost.

“Time until we begin deep-sea fishing?” Alec asked Shaw, wanting a more precise reckoning.

“Eighteen minutes.”

Submersibles usually arrived late. Occasionally, however, they were early. “Time to string the line.”

Shaw clipped the end of the wire cable to the nose of their canoe, testing its strength. Satisfied, he handed the roll of wire to Rip who had brought his canoe closer and held out a hand. Fifty yards of steel cable spun off the reel as they paddled their canoes apart, stretching the line taut between the two vessels.

Five minutes before the scheduled hooking, Shaw and Rip each snapped a chemical stick and touched its tip to the wire. As the bioluminescent bacteria flowed along the steel cable, it fluoresced a deep red, alerting the approaching submersible to their orientation.

Every minute passed like ten as they scanned the surface of the water, searching for an approaching periscope. The critical moment had arrived. If the periscope missed the cable, even by so much as an inch, they would miss their ride. Alec didn’t relish the idea of bobbing on the North Sea, hoping the captain would see fit to turn the submersible about for another try. It was a strong possibility that he wouldn’t.

“Incoming!” Shaw called.

A blinking red light rose from the sea on the end of a gray, steel periscope that rushed toward them at high speed. Alec and his teammates gripped the sides of their canoes as the periscope snagged the middle of the cable, jerking the front ends of their canoes from the water, skipping them across the crests of choppy waves on a wild ride that shook every bone of every joint. Icy salt spray stung his face and his knee protested, but Alec couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across his face.

His smile faltered. He’d miss this. The adrenaline rush of speed and danger. But the surgeries were mounting. Eventually, Dr. Morgan might not be able to repair his knee. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but his time on the BURR team was limited. Better to accept a promotion than to risk compromising a mission and being tossed out on his ear.

On the horizon, the last rays of the sun reflected off vast sheets of metal held together with great rivets. Steel, copper, and iron‌—‌the mélange of materials that comprised the floating castle.

As they drew closer, the multi-storied structure seemed to rise from the waves. Its base, the outer perimeter, mimicked an ancient medieval wall. A ship had no choice but to dock beside a single entrance flanked by tall watchtowers. Inside the walls upon an artificial hillside, a small village crouched at the base of the castle.

Curling through the town and leading upward to the castle’s barbican‌—‌complete with a portcullis‌—‌was a road illuminated with the blue-white light of gas flames. A number of towers and turrets clustered together about a courtyard. Bright light gleamed from every window and joyful music filled the air.

A single patrol boat bobbed in the water beside the entrance to the complex, though several guardsmen marched back and forth upon its walls, bearing weapons and scanning the dark waters, ready to cut down any intruders. Not that the BURR team would venture close to test them. The greatest‌—‌and unseen‌—‌threat to the princess and the prince‌—‌along with their many guests‌—‌lurked below.

“Cut!” Alec yelled into the wind.

Shaw pulled a serrated knife from his hip and sliced through the cable connecting them to the other canoe, freeing them from the periscope as it sank back into the dark waters. Their ride was at an end. Some fifty feet below, Isa and Moray would be preparing to exit the submersible. Time to get to work.

His teammates inserted the mouthpieces of their aquaspira breathers, then slid into the cold waters of the North Sea. Cold didn’t begin to cover it. Bone-chilling came close. The vulcanized rubber suit prevented them from reaching frozen and hypothermic, but just barely. They quickly disassembled their canoes, allowing the pieces to float away, nothing more than random bits of debris on the waves.

Submerging, they stayed close as they slipped beneath the waves. Time to inspect the many pontoons, scaffolding and platforms that held the floating complex at the ocean’s surface.