Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Tempest
The cold began to seep up through the floorboards almost immediately.
Beneath the carpet, the dull, rushing roar of seawater filling the lower ballast compartments vibrated through the steel hull. The yacht leaned heavily to the port side, the angle steepening with every passing minute as tons of black Atlantic ocean flooded the belly of the ship.
"She’s scuttling the lower deck," Marcus muttered, his mind working with tactical precision. "She doesn't even need to shoot us. She’s going to drown us in our room and claim a mechanical hull breach to the insurers."
"Can we get to the upper deck?" Clara asked, fighting through the searing pain in her pelvis as she tried to stand. Her legs buckled under her weight, but Toby instantly caught her arm, his small face grim with a determination far beyond his years.
"I’ve got you, Mom. Lean on me," Toby insisted, propping his shoulder under her hip.
Marcus inspected the door. "The main corridor is likely covered by Vance and whatever crew members he bought off. But every luxury suite on the *Sovereign Lady* has a service chase—a utility duct behind the master bathroom that houses the gray-water plumbing and fire-suppression conduits. It leads directly up to the galley on Deck Two."
Marcus didn't waste another second. He kicked the decorative marble paneling beneath the bathroom sink with his heavy boot. The faux-stone shattered, revealing a cramped, vertical conduit lined with steel pipes and insulated wiring.
"It’s tight," Marcus said, shining his tactical flashlight up the dark shaft. "Toby goes first. Toby, there’s an access grate six feet up. Push it open, crawl into the pantry, and don't make a sound. Understand?"
Toby looked up into the dark, intimidating shaft, then looked back at his mother’s pale, sweat-slicked face. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir."
"That’s my brave boy," Clara choked out, kissing his cold forehead. "Go, Toby. We’re right behind you."
Marcus hoisted the nine-year-old up into the narrow space. Toby scrambled up the steel rungs like a spider, his small sneakers finding grip on the mounting brackets. A few seconds later, the faint metallic clatter of a ventilation grate being dislodged echoed down the chute.
"I’m through, Mom!" Toby’s whisper floated down. "It’s dark, but it’s empty!"
"Your turn, Clara," Marcus said, turning to her. "I’m going to have to lift you. It’s going to hurt like hell on those fractures."
"Do it," Clara gritted her teeth. "Pain is better than dying down here."
Marcus gathered her into his arms, using his immense upper body strength to hoist her into the vertical opening. A blinding flare of white-hot agony tore through Clara’s hips and lower spine as she tried to pull herself upward. She bit down on her lip until she tasted copper, refusing to scream, refusing to give Eleanor the satisfaction of hearing her torment.
Seawater was already sloshing across the stateroom floor, rising to Marcus’s ankles in an icy, gray surge. Marcus boosted Clara’s hips, shoving her through the narrow opening into the dry warmth of the galley pantry.
Just as Marcus reached up to grab the ledge to pull himself through, the stateroom door burst open with a deafening crack.
A shotgun blast shattered the darkness. Buckshot tore through the wooden doorframe, peppering the marble tiles of the bathroom.
Through the smoke stood Captain Vance, a heavy 12-gauge hunting shotgun in his hands, his eyes bloodshot and crazed. Behind him stood two burly deckhands carrying steel crowbars.
"Marcus!" Vance bellowed over the roar of the rushing water. "End of the line, son! Step down, and I won't have to blow you in half!"
Marcus didn't hesitate. Hanging by one arm from the utility shaft, he drew his Glock with his right hand and fired three rapid-fire shots through the haze.
The rounds shattered the mirror beside Vance’s head, showering the captain in glass shards. Vance stumbled backward, cursing and firing blindly into the ceiling as the deckhands ducked for cover.
Marcus used the distraction to haul his full body weight up into the service duct, kicking the loose marble panel closed behind him. He scrambled up the rungs and tumbled into the pantry beside Clara and Toby, slamming the heavy iron access grate shut and sliding the bolt home.
"They’re right on our tail," Marcus breathed, blood dripping from a shallow graze on his forearm where a piece of flying tile had caught him. "We have maybe five minutes before they realize this shaft leads to the main galley."
"Where do we go?" Clara whispered, cradling her belly, feeling the rapid, rhythmic flutter of her baby kicking against her womb. "We’re trapped on a ship in the middle of a storm!"
Marcus looked at the emergency ship schematics mounted on the pantry wall. His eyes locked onto the boat deck.
"The starboard tender," Marcus said grimly. "It’s a twenty-eight-foot enclosed, high-speed chase boat with a cabin and satellite beacon. If we can get you and Toby into that tender and hit the hydraulic release, the gravity davit will drop you into the water automatically."
"What about you?" Clara asked, terror gripping her chest.
Marcus checked the remaining rounds in his magazine. "Someone has to stay at the manual winch release on the deck to override the safety locks. Eleanor jammed the bridge controls. The only way that boat drops is if someone pulls the mechanical lever from the outside."
"No, Marcus!" Clara grabbed his tactical vest, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You jumped in the ocean to save me! You’ve risked everything! I am not leaving you behind to be murdered by those monsters!"
Marcus offered a faint, sad smile, the first she had seen on his stoic face. "Julian was my brother in arms, Clara. In the military, he saved my life twice when an IED took out our convoy in Kandahar. I swore to him that I would protect his family. I’m not doing this for the Sterling money. I’m doing this so his child can live."
Before Clara could answer, a chilling sound echoed from the dark galley just beyond the pantry door.
May you like
The sound of slow, mocking applause.
***
