Chapter Thirty-Six

 

 

 

AS ISA STEPPED FROM the tub, she felt a shift in the rhythm of clanking beneath her feat. The Navy submersible slowing. The midshipman helped her buckle a kind of utility belt about her waist. Numerous items hung from its grommets including ring clamps, a novel device that she and Aron were counting upon to isolate their circulatory systems once they boarded the megalodon.

She climbed into the airlock escape chamber beside Aron. The biomech octopus gripped her tightly, unhappy that water no longer bathed its gills. Her head spun. Her heart pounded. And she was short of breath. Fear? Lack of sufficient oxygenation? Impossible to tell where one left off and the other began.

“Ready?” Aron asked.

As if I can change my mind now.

They’d practiced this in the sea loch, over and over, exiting smoothly with every iteration. With almost no equipment to check, and only the controls to monitor, this was a relatively simple exit. Yet her mind raced with “what ifs.” What if the outside hatch door slammed closed during their exit? What if she missed the steel handholds on the outside surface of the submersible and was swept away into the giant propellers that drove the vessel forward?

She pulled the bioactive nocturnal goggles over her eyes. “Ready,” she said. But she wasn’t. Not at all. Even the biomech octopuses were apprehensive, clutching at each other’s tentacles as if they sensed that this time something was different. It was. Impossible not to feel tinges of guilt, but she would do whatever was necessary to save the women and children aboard that megalodon.

Aron flipped a lever. Pipes rattled and creaked as water gushed into the chamber about her ankles. Frothing and churning, the level rose quickly. Calves. Knees. Thighs‌—‌in seconds she was fully submerged, the pressure of one hundred and fifty feet of water bearing down on her skin, her chest. The biomech octopus hunched between her shoulder blades seemed to sigh with relief.

Aron kicked past her, his arms extending toward the crank wheel that would open the exterior hatch. His octopus also reached for the wheel, at the same time tugging her octopus‌—‌and thus her‌—‌upward.

The moment was upon them. Isa gripped the ladder as tightly as possible and was relieved to see her octopus do the same. The hatch flipped open. Aron disappeared, leaving them connected only by their octopuses, by the two tentacles that gripped each other. Hand over hand, careful never to let go‌—‌lest the current sweep her away‌—‌Isa slowly made her way out and into the depths of the North Sea. Together, she and her octopus clutched the steel rungs of an exterior ladder welded to the outside surface of the submersible while Aron closed the hatch.

For what felt like hours, but was more likely mere minutes, they scanned the waters, seeing nothing but darkness. The North Sea was cold, so frigid that even a Finn would begin to feel a chill after prolonged submergence.

There. She could see it, the megalodon. Or rather its glowing, yellow eyes. As people moved about the control center in the vessel’s “eye”, the pupil seemed to shift‌—‌as if searching the depths for an unwelcome approach.

With a tap on her shoulder‌—‌tentacle or finger she knew not‌—‌Aron indicated it was time to move. She crouched on the side of the submersible, and her octopus extended its tentacles, ready to propel her out into the water just as it had done during countless practices in the sea loch. A second tap. She shoved off the submersible into the dark water, kicking furiously away from the submersible’s wake.

An eerie stillness settled over her as they neared the mechanical fish, careful to avoid its bifurcated, jointed tail as it sliced through the water, aiming for the backside of its iron pectoral fin. Arriving before the OctoFinn departed was their best chance for entry. They planned to slip into the mechanical beast via the airlock escape chamber before the external door was resealed. If they missed this opportunity, they might find the escape hatch drained of water, making entry impossible.

According to Maren, captive host Finn‌—‌six of them‌—‌would be ejected from the escape hatch as the evening activities aboard the floating castle complex commenced. Not that they ever intended to surface. Underwater explosives‌—‌mussel mines‌—‌were another dreadful invention to emerge from her uncle’s efforts aimed at developing a Finn militia. Carefully placed for maximum effect, they would be attached to the giant pontoons that held the iron castle aloft and would, at the stroke of midnight, detonate.

Water would rush into the now-exposed hollows of the pontoons, and the entire castle would rapidly sink into the icy waters. Dressed in their evening finery and gathered together in the great hall, guests‌—‌lords and ladies, princes and princesses, the occasional king and queen‌—‌would rush from the castle gates in shock and horror, desperate to board the lifeboats. Of which there were not enough.

Her octopus caught the side of the megalodon, landing beside Aron. Ten feet away, on the other side of the pectoral fin, shadowy figures bearing sacks of mussel mines emerged from the escape hatch, rising quickly. One, two…‌ Aron held up a hand, indicating that she should stay where she was while he crept beneath the surface of the pectoral fin. Three, four, five‌—‌

He nabbed the sixth and final departing OctoFinn, bringing his fist down on the side of the man’s head rendering him unconscious. The octopus on his back jerked with alarm, until it sighted the octopus on Aron’s own back. The two octopuses tangled their tentacles, as if speaking by secret hand signals.

With practiced efficiency, Aron snapped a belt about the man’s waist, a belt attached to an UP bag and a sounding beacon. No ring clamps for this octopus. Not yet. The creature’s gills were still very necessary. With the biomech octopus breathing for him, the OctoFinn would rise to the surface. Once the BURR team had the situation beneath the castle under control, they would enlist the aid of the castle’s patrol boat to retrieve any and all reclaimed Finn.

That left four BURR agents handling five conscious and motivated OctoFinn.

Much discussion had revolved around an attempt on Aron’s part to render all six OctoFinn unconscious, but starting a fight one hundred and fifty feet below the water’s surface was deemed ill-advised and likely to fail. They were to focus on incapacitating the megalodon engine and securing the safety of the prisoners before raising the submersible to the surface.

Aron waved her into the escape hatch. Feet first, she slid into the narrow tube. He followed, closing the door and draining the water from the chamber. Her bare feet met the iron floor, and she staggered upright, pushing the goggles upward onto her forehead.

With his face a mask of determination fixed in place to avoid upsetting the two biomech octopuses, Aron unhooked two ring clamps from his belt. She did the same. With a nod, they worked in tandem to clamp the tentacles that drew blood from their legs. A faint chemical tingle rushed across her thigh. On her back, the octopus squirmed in objection, then subsided, calmed by the cephalopod stunning powder now flowing through its system. She counted to ten, then clamped the tentacle attached to her shoulder.

Mentally apologizing to the creature, she drew her dive knife and cut through the tentacles, through the braided wires. Cringing against the pain, she pried its beak from her shoulder and let the octopus fall to the floor with a wet thud. Free. Rupert, however, was allowed to ride on Aron’s back. Plans had been made to return with the creature still attached for further study. Isa shuddered.

Silently, Aron unsealed a wet bag and reached inside to withdraw two TTX pistols. He slapped one into her hand with a look of warning. Aim had not proved to be a skill she possessed; a mere three darts not nearly enough ammunition for her to hit a target.

Weapon drawn, he darted from the chamber, making a sharp left toward the stern. Priority was to incapacitate the engine. With luck, he’d find the kill switch with ease.

Isa turned right, wending her way down hallways, moving deeper into the belly of the beast as blood trickled from her neck. She started to turn right when she heard the angry shout of a man. Women and children whimpered and cried. Drawing the TTX pistol, she breathed a silent prayer to an ancient sea goddess and turned the corner. Aiming for his stomach, she pulled the trigger.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

She fired all three darts. A single one hit the guard.

For a moment, the man clutched his thigh, then dropped like a stone to the floor in front of a series of cages that held six women and three small, crying children.

“Mrs. McQuiston?”

She blinked. “Avra?” Not three weeks ago, she’d removed the webbing between this girl’s fingers and toes. “Your father?”

With tears in her eyes, Avra sobbed. “Mr. Drummond sent him to the surface. There’s this octopus creature‌—‌” Her mouth fell open. “Your leg…‌ shoulder…‌ you had an octopus…‌”

Holstering her empty weapon, Isa bent over the fallen guard, pulling a set of keys from his belt, grateful she wouldn’t need to pick the locks. “All for the purpose of rescuing prisoners.” She pushed a key into the lock, trying one after the other until the barred door fell open. “Is…‌ Mr. Drummond aboard?”

“At the helm.” Avra took the keys Isa pressed into her hands. “Five men, including our guard, should be left on board. Be careful. The woman in charge of caring for the octopuses has aspirations that have made her blindly loyal.”

There was a loud thunk. The megalodon shuddered, then fell silent. Men yelled. Loud thuds and bangs‌—‌sounds of fighting‌—‌echoed through the vessel.

“What’s happening?” a woman cried, her children stood behind her, their eyes wide.

“We’re taking this submersible to the surface where help waits.” That was the plan, but the grunts and cries issuing from the hallway weren’t promising. “Stay calm,” she said. To herself as much as to the prisoners. “Free the others.” With a rueful look at the empty TTX pistol, she slid her dive knife free. “Then stay here. Hang on to something. The naval officer with me is unfamiliar with this particular vessel and its controls. It could be a rough ride.”

Stomach churning, heart pounding, she stepped into the hallway and began to make her way toward the brains of the mechanical shark.

Bodies littered the floor. She counted three. That left her uncle and‌—‌

“Aron!” she cried. Then clamped her hands to her mouth. He had eliminated a number of the guards, but now found himself locked in a multi-armed struggle to subdue Rupert.

“Stay back!”

The octopus upon his back had woken and was convulsing, its tentacles frantically thrashing. Aron fought to stay upright as it heaved its bulbous body from left to right, then backhanded him with a tentacle sideswipe to the head. Blinking, he attempted to control the many tentacles, but the creature was intent upon escape, yanking at the clamped tentacles still fused to Aron’s shoulder and thigh.

He hissed in pain as dark blood ran in a steady stream down his leg. The creature’s movements calmed for a moment as it peered at her over Aron’s shoulder, and she could swear its eyes narrowed as it fixed her in its sights.

“Enough.” Cursing, he pulled the TTX pistol from his holster and shot the creature between its bulging eyes. With a brief look of shock, it slumped in a gelatinous heap as Aron slid to the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. “Rupert woke,” he mumbled. “Tried to pull free. Cut it off?”

With her dive knife, she obliged. But dark blood flowed from his thigh where the tentacle connected. Yanking a length of cord from her belt and fashioning a tourniquet Isa pushed his hands‌—‌and a limp tentacle‌—‌aside.

“The ring clamps won’t help. The tentacle has pulled away from your femoral vein. The damage is deep inside your leg.” As she twisted, the seeping blood stopped, but his face was far too pale. Between the injury and the hirudin that had flowed from the octopus’s beak into his circulatory system, thinning his blood, he’d lost a significant amount of blood. He needed more help than she could provide here.

An alarm began to blare. Red lights began to flash. And the floor of the submersible tipped. They were rising.

Isa gently slapped Aron on the cheek. “Wake up,” she begged. “What do I do?”

No response. But she knew the answer: stop her uncle.

“Avra!” she yelled, waving to the girl when she peeked about the corner. “Come. Hold the tourniquet. Don’t release the pressure on his leg, or he’ll bleed to death.”

Wide-eyed, Avra complied.

Isa loaded more darts into her pistol, slid Aron’s own loaded weapon into her holster, and began to creep down‌—‌or rather up‌—‌the slanted hallway. Heart pounding, she peered around each corner before moving forward, trying to imitate the way she’d seen the BURR team move. At the end of the hallway was a room. She could see a periscope, a control panel‌—‌its expanse covered with buttons and dials‌—‌and an empty captain’s chair. She was about to step forward when a familiar form rushed from a room into the hall and skidded to a halt.

Miss Russel stared at Isa, her jaw slack. “You!” Her eyes narrowed. “I should have left you to die from that amoeba infection.”

“But you didn’t.” Isa lifted the TTX pistol and‌—‌doing her best not to close her eyes‌—‌fired at the woman’s heart. Thunk. The dart struck her midsection. Good enough.

“What!” Miss Russel yanked the projectile from her abdomen as she staggered sideways. “Commodore Drummond!” she yelled, lifting her skirts and turning on unsteady feet to lurch down the hallway.

Ice flowing through Isa’s veins at the memory of the torment she’d suffered at this woman’s hands, she followed, firing again. Whoosh. The second dart skewered Miss Russel’s gastrocnemius just above her Achilles tendon. Screeching, she fell to the floor and clutched her calf. “Please!”

Isa recalled Alec’s words. “One bullet slows a man down. Two will drop him. Three will kill.” Mr. Black and the BURR team would want to question Miss Russel. Extensively. Resisting the temptation to end Miss Russel’s life, she lowered the pistol.

Her mistake.

A fist struck her wrist, knocking the TTX pistol from her grip. She glanced sideways in time to see fury contort her uncle’s face a moment before his arm lashed out again. He wrapped his fingers about her neck and pushed her backward against the wall, cutting off her air. He yanked the other pistol from her holster and threw it away. It clattered as it skittered across the floor. Her dive knife followed.

“Unexpected visitors.” Her uncle’s chiding voice held a dark note. “How very rude. I presume you have arrived to inform me that Maren divulged my plans and all is lost?” He released the pressure on her throat ever so slightly.

“How could you?” she rasped, clawing at his chest, her fingernails catching at his leather waistcoat. “You betrayed your own family, your own people!”

“I beg to differ, niece.” He leaned closer, his nostrils flaring, his voice edged with blades. “I work‌—‌tirelessly‌—‌to steer the Finn people back onto the path from which they should have never strayed. My sister, you‌—‌all those who are the product of interbreeding with Scots‌—‌are impure and unworthy. Some of you are, however, useful and will be allowed to live, should you agree to serve.”

“Not a chance! It’s you who should surrender.” She kicked at his legs, but without enough oxygen, her blows did little but inconvenience him. “You’ll regret this!”

He barked a laugh. “Unlikely. If reliable, capable help was available, they wouldn’t have sent you.” He glanced at her shoulder, at her leg where stubs of tentacles protruded from raw and bloody entry wounds. “Stealing my creation. Boarding my vessel. Attacking my men. You have an overinflated opinion of yourself. Barely worth keeping alive. After all that effort I went to marry you to a man who would use your talent for the greater good of Finnfolk.” He shook his head. “Anton was forever complaining about his infertile wife, so upset his laboratory work suffered, but I tolerated it all because you were brilliant.”

He pushed harder against her neck and spots began to dance in her vision. She tried to fight back, but her kicks, her punches were feeble protests in the face of his anger.

“Look at you now, martyr to a lost cause.” Her uncle’s lips twisted. “Same as your husband. He had the gall to defy me, to refuse to hand over the results of your work‌—‌work I enabled‌—‌citing ethical concerns. He was warned not to defy my orders.”

Anton had taken a stand against her uncle? That would explain why her husband had been so anxious the last weeks of his life, pacing in his study, restless and uncommunicative.

Her uncle snarled, his eyes filled with pewter ice. “Yet someone had to be the first to trial the attachment procedure. Torturous and prolonged, that groundbreaking experiment generated a plethora of data, even if it was, ultimately, a failure. I’d rather hoped he would survive.”

Stars flickered on a field of black velvet as a tear ran down her cheek. Poor Anton. Their marriage might have failed, but he’d been a decent man. He didn’t deserve such a death, alone and in pain. Had her uncle not shoved such a wedge between them, might they have found their way to a happy marriage? Might they have eventually grown to love each other? But they’d never had a chance, not with her uncle manipulating their lives.

Beneath her feet, the megalodon shuddered. Metal rivets creaked and groaned as the submersible shot its way toward the surface. Her uncle grabbed hold of a metal handle bolted to the wall, the only warning she received before they were airborne, lifted off their feet for the briefest of moments before the vessel slammed back onto its stomach.

She crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Her uncle crossed the room to a metal box mounted to the wall. He opened a small door in its side, exposing a glowing white-blue orb within. Coiled wire connected it to a dial. To a timer. His fingers flew over a tiny control panel, flicking a series of levers.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Do you think I’d let my ship fall into the hands of the Royal Navy? I’d rather see this vessel sink to the bottom of the sea.”

A bomb? Heart racing, she forced herself onto her hands and knees. Did he intend to go down with his submersible? No. Otherwise he’d not have brought it to the surface. He planned to escape.

Her uncle slammed the door shut, then strode in her direction as she scrambled across the floor, grabbing her dive knife, slashing him as he drew close. Her blade caught at the cloth of his trousers, slicing through his flesh beneath.

With a roar, he struck the side of her head. Blackness exploded and the world disappeared.