Kronos (20 page)

Images of Laurel smashing against the viewing port in the sitting room flashed through Atticus’s mind. The chomping jaws smashing an object to bits. In his mind’s eye Atticus could now see the object for what it was—a swim fin. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Was he so blinded by his own need for revenge that his senses were dulling?

“Where’s Trevor?”

O’Shea stepped up quickly. “Why?”

“He’s a reasonable man. If he knows Remus is holding a member of the Coast Guard—my friend—he will let her go.”

O’Shea headed for the door, his desire to not be found out moving him forward. “Obviously, you don’t know Trevor very well. Look, Trevor may not know about her yet. But if your friend has been captured, it is in her interest to leave the ship
tonight.
Under the circumstances, I thought you would be the right man for the job.”

“Why tell me this? You’re obviously risking a lot by coming to me.”

O’Shea smiled. “I may be a bad priest, but I’m still a good person.” With that, he exited, closing the door silently behind him as he entered the hallway.

Atticus looked to his duffel bag of armaments, yet to be unpacked. He opened the bag and smiled.
It’s been a long time,
he thought.

Ten minutes later he was fully clothed and armed. If the woman caught on board was indeed Andrea, he would heed O’Shea’s warning and get her off the
Titan
before she was in any danger. If the woman was a stranger and had no business being on board, he’d make damn sure Remus wasn’t mistreating her. After the treatment he’d administered to the thugs who attacked Giona, his patience for deviant men threatened to boil over.

Atticus slid into the dark hallway, cloaked by his ebony Special Ops uniform. The only indication that he hid among the shadows came from a sparkle of light glinting off the .357 strapped to his hip. Unnecessary, perhaps, but Atticus had no doubt that Remus was a killer. Better safe than sorry.

30

The Titan—Gulf of Maine

It had been a month since the
Titan
had visited any port of call; hence a month since Remus had experienced the pleasures of a woman. But the skip in his step as he made his way through the underbelly of the ship revealed that his need for physical gratification would soon be satisfied.

Trevor had not been overly surprised by the woman’s appearance on board and, while he suspected there might be a connection between her and Atticus, she could not be allowed to remain. Even more, because of her status as a member of the U.S. Coast Guard, and a feisty one at that, she would have to be dealt with delicately. Why she had attempted to board the ship and what she already knew wasn’t clear, but Trevor would never risk exposing himself to the U.S. government.

Trevor’s anchoring off the coast of the United States, while not welcome, was tolerated simply because the accusations against him could never be proved. If any evidence of the artifacts contained on board were to be discovered, even Trevor Manfred couldn’t escape the clutches of U.S. law. It would undo him.

“Have you searched the rest of the ship?”

Remus nodded. “I saw nothing on the monitors. The crew checked every cabin, hold and closet. She came alone.”

Trevor grunted and twitched his mouth to the side. “Keep a close eye on her. Make certain she sees nothing, and keep her from contacting anyone.”

“And if she tries anything?”

“Just keep her occupied. I’m sure you can handle that, hmm?”

Remus nodded.

With that, their conversation ended, and Remus headed for the medical quarters. After snatching a needle and a syringe of epinephrine, or liquid adrenaline, he set out for the brig. While the woman might be exhausted and injured from her encounter with Laurel, after a shot of adrenaline, she’d be wide-awake and fighting like a champ—just the way he liked it.
Keep her occupied…hell, I could do that all night.

As Remus descended onto the lower deck and stepped onto the black-rubber-matted floor, he thought he heard a noise behind him. He spun and prepared to strangle the intruder with his beefy hands. But no one was there, and after a minute of waiting and watching the dark stairwell, he continued on.

The idea of breaking a woman who had been so impertinent earlier in the day was arousing him even as he walked through the slate gray, moist-smelling hallway. He reached the brig door and looked through the round glass window. She was still unconscious, still dressed in her skintight wet suit, and still roasting hot.
This is going to be fun.

Remus depressed his thumb on a small LCD screen connected to the locking mechanism. After a moment, the door unlocked and swung open. Remus stepped inside, ignoring the still-open door. The room was a fifteen-foot cube— large enough to hold a small band of mutineers—with flat wooden slats attached to three of the four walls. Stark white light flooded the space, shining from eight halogen bulbs recessed into the ceiling. The ultra bright lighting made those unfortunate enough to be in the brig extremely uncomfortable, not only from the light, but also from the heat they generated.

Wiping his forehead, Remus smiled.
Time to work up a real sweat.

He crouched next to Andrea, who was still unconscious on the back wall wooden slat. He ran a hand up her leg and over her hip, then lingered for a moment on the deep curve where her hip tapered to her slim belly. His eyes advanced and found her breasts. He imagined they would be much larger once freed from the constricting wet suit. Full of fiendish thoughts, Remus removed the shot of adrenaline from the front pocket on his Hawaiian shirt and, without a moment’s hesitation, plunged the needle into Andrea’s butt, where his hand had just lingered a moment before.

He could have taken her clothes off while she was unconscious. It would have been amusing to see her confusion upon waking naked, but he would enjoy tearing her clothes off her struggling body even more. Still, in the moments before the drug took effect, his hand crept toward her breasts.

As his fingers moved to cup and fondle, a flash of black moved past his eyes, to his hand. Before he could react to the sudden movement, a sharp pain burst in his pinky accompanied by a dull
crack.
As his broken finger was pulled up, his body reacted instantly and stood instinctively, hoping to lessen the pain. A tightness clenched around his throat. Then a sudden pressure and push from behind. He found himself careening forward and smashing headlong into the white-metal wall. The flash of white turned black.

With a gasp Andrea awoke and launched into a sitting position, her eyes wide, and her chest heaving with each adrenaline-filled breath. The bright white light assaulted her first, then an overwhelming sense of moist constriction. She blinked rapidly as she tried to make sense of the stark white surroundings. Her mind spun furiously as thoughts came and went before she could process them.

Then something moving toward her caught her attention. A slice of black on white. A figure hovering. A man bending down. A face etched with concern.

“Are you all right?” Atticus asked.

Andrea’s vision cleared, and she saw Atticus. His forehead was wrinkled with concern and covered in sweat. The oppressive heat of the room felt like a heavy electric blanket.

“I’m hot,” she said as she sat up straighter. A stab of pain in her ribs caused her to wince. “Think I bruised my ribs.”

As Atticus took her by the hand and began pulling her to her feet, her thoughts slowed enough for her memory to return. She had questions that needed to be answered before she went anywhere with him. She yanked her hand away. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“Now’s not the time.”

“Now or never. I’ll take my chances with the Hawaiian.”

Atticus sighed. “I guess…I thought you might talk me out of it.”

That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. How could she talk a man bent on avenging his daughter’s death out of what he believed needed to be done? Her face softened as she realized he was being truthful. “How is that even possible?”

“Remember the wallets?”

History slammed into Andrea’s mind, replaying in flashes. During their first summer together, Atticus had stolen a case of wallets from the local church basement. They were ugly and plastic, colored maroon and blue, featuring a flowered design surely created by a ninety-year-old woman. Atticus took the wallets door to door, selling them for a dollar each, far more than the hideous wallets were worth, but doing a good job of peddling them nonetheless. At the end of the day, he had made fourteen dollars, from selling wallets he had stolen from a church.

The culmination of his plan had been to buy toys with his illicit money, but Andrea had laid into him, pouring on guilt, exposing him to higher morals. In the end, she talked him into giving the money back to the church, but in a way that would not get him in trouble. That night, they attended the nighttime summer church service and sat through an awful concert. When the offering came around, he placed the fourteen dollars in the offering plate. No one missed the wallets and the church had made more money from them than they would have trying to sell them in the church bookstore.

Andrea smiled. “I still have one of those wallets.”

“Me too,” Atticus said. In fact, several still hid around the family cabin. “You always knew how to make me see things from a different perspective. I was afraid you still could.”

“And this time I’m not alone. I have something for you.” She unzipped the front of her wet suit, reached in, and pulled out a small Ziploc bag. It held a single photo; the one from the beach. Atticus took the photo, his hand immediately trembling. “Thank you—oof!”

A blur of bright colors flashed by Andrea’s vision, erasing Atticus from her view.

“I’ll kill you!”

Andrea looked down and found her Hawaiian-clad rescuer pummeling Atticus. He took the first two blows, one to the head and one on his shoulder, but quickly managed to block the next few. Frozen by the sudden violence, she watched as Atticus’s face changed from that of a kind man missing his family to a trained killer’s.

Then it happened. Atticus caught both of Remus’s hands, pulled himself farther down through his straddled legs, brought his own legs up behind the man, and looped them around his throat. With a sudden jerk, Remus gagged and was flung backwards.

As Atticus and Remus regained their feet, Remus produced a five-inch blade and grinned fiendishly. Atticus moved his hand to his waist and found the .357 holster empty.

“Looking for that?” Remus said, pointing behind him, where the revolver rested on the floor. There was no way Atticus could reach the weapon without receiving a five-inch puncture wound in his back.

Remus moved in, whipping the knife back and forth so haphazardly that Atticus couldn’t block or predict where the next attack would come from. Each slice cut air as Atticus dodged backwards. The backs of his legs bumped into the slat of wood jutting from the wall. He fell back onto the seat just as the knife swept across his eyes, missing by inches.

“Stop!” Andrea yelled, but neither man heard her. “Stop or I’ll shoot” She accented the statement by pulling back the hammer of her Coast-Guard-issue SIG P229R-DAK .40 caliber handgun.

Remus froze.

Atticus moved.

With amazing speed, Atticus twisted Remus’s wrist, dislodging the knife. As Remus was just beginning to register the pain, Atticus caught the knife and brought it up to Remus’s throat.

With a growl, he said, “Try to kill me again and I’ll return the favor.”

Remus trembled as he glared at Atticus with liquid hatred, tempted to act even with a knife to his throat and a gun to his head. He looked like an animal, barely contained in the shell of a man.

“Oh dear, oh dear. I do believe that will be quite enough of that.” Trevor Manfred slid into the room with a grin on his face. “Now that you’ve all had your fun, why don’t you explain to me what the devil is going on?”

Remus replied, “He tried to—”

“I would prefer to receive an answer from someone with more brains,” Trevor said. “It’s clear you have, yet again, offended our guest.”

“He wasn’t that much trouble. Like a fly, easily swatted.” Atticus removed the knife from Remus’s throat and shoved him away. Remus caught himself against the wall, clearly enraged and ready to continue the fight.

A strong slap on his ear shocked him out of his rage.

“Switch off, you oaf!” Trevor shouted. “You are to stay away from both Atticus and his guest. I’m docking you one month’s pay. Don’t fail me again.”

He bowed his head.

“Now sod off.”

Remus exited, his head turned down, afraid to look Trevor in the eyes.

Trevor turned his attention to Andrea. His eyes burned with anger. “You have no business being on this vessel, and if I didn’t think your government would give me the runaround, I’d press charges. In the meantime, I leave you in Atticus’s hands. However, you must first sign a nondisclosure form.”

With that, Trevor removed a folded piece of paper and a pen. “It’s fortunate I was on my way down here with this.”

Andrea was incredulous. “What!”

“Make no mistake; you are trespassing on this ship. If you do not sign a nondisclosure form, stating that everything you see, hear, and smell on this ship will be kept confidential, you will be thrown overboard.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“There are a number of technologies on the
Titan,
the nations of the world would love to get their hands on. I can’t have you leaking information.”

“More like national treasures.”

Trevor smiled. “You say tomatoes…Now sign it.”

Andrea looked up at Atticus. With a sour face, he nodded his agreement. “Any testimony you could give about what you see on board would be disallowed anyway because you broke into the ship.”

“The voice of reason!” Trevor slapped Atticus playfully on the back. “I like this man more and more every day.”

Andrea took the pen and paper and quickly signed. Trevor took the paper and pocketed it. “There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it,
my dear
?” Before Andrea could object to being called “my dear” one more time, Trevor headed for the door. “Welcome to the
Titan
. Do try to get some sleep tonight; for in the morn, we hunt!”