“We’re still alive,” he said as the bay widened around them.
“For now,” Joe grumbled from down on the main deck.
Putting a spotting scope to his eye, Kurt studied the situation up ahead. “I see three guys with guns waiting on the concrete dock beside the bridge. A couple of vehicles at the end of the road. No boats.”
“They must have driven in,” Renata said. “Does that help us?”
“Well,” Joe said. “Unless they can swim really fast, they probably can’t chase us if we flee.”
“Keep out of sight,” Kurt said. “I’ve got a possible sniper on the roof of the hotel. Just saw a reflection off of his scope.”
“You’re the one all exposed up there,” Renata pointed out.
“But I’ve got rocks in my head,” Kurt replied. “So I’ll be all right. Besides, they won’t shoot until they have what they want.”
Kurt chopped the throttle to idle and the dive boat slowed further. Drifting backward until the stern bumped against the concrete dock. One pathway from the dock led to stairs and up to the bridge. A second pathway led to a dilapidated maintenance shack.
One of the three men came forward with a rope in his hand.
“No need to tie us up,” Kurt shouted, peeking between two of the scuba tanks. “We’re not going to be staying long. Where’s your boss?”
A short, stocky man stepped from the shack. He wore mirrored sunglasses and had his hair cut close like a military man. “I’m here.”
“You must be Hassan,” Kurt said.
The man looked annoyed.
“We got that much out of your men and a little more,” Kurt said.
“It means nothing,” the man insisted. “But I’ll allow you to address me by that name, if you wish.”
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Kurt said, still ducked down behind the wall of scuba tanks. “As villainous lairs go, this one seems a little run-down.”
“Your humor is wasted on me,” Hassan bellowed. “Perhaps you’d like to stand and face me like a man.”
“Gladly,” Kurt said. “First, you’ll have to tell your sniper to throw his rifle into the bay.”
“What sniper?”
“The one on the hotel roof.”
Through a narrow gap between the tanks, Kurt could see the aggravation on the man’s face.
“Now or never,” Kurt shouted, starting the engines again in a veiled threat to leave.
The villain put a radio to his lips, whispered something and then repeated it more firmly. Up on the roof, the sniper got up from his lying position, picked up a long, heavy rifle and heaved it. It twirled slowly as it fell and then splashed into the calm waters of the cove.
“Satisfied?” Hassan said.
“Better hope he doesn’t have another gun,” Joe whispered. “Or more snipers.”
“You’re a bundle of encouragement,” Kurt replied under his breath. “Only one way to find out, though.”
Kurt stood slowly, bringing the APS rifle up with him and counting three similar weapons aimed his way. Hassan appeared to be carrying a pistol, which remained secure in a shoulder holster for now.
“Where are the D’Campions?” Kurt asked.
“Show me the tablets first,” Hassan demanded.
Kurt shook his head. “I don’t think so. To be honest, I’m not even sure what I did with them.”
The annoyed look returned. Hassan whistled sharply and movement up on the bridge caught Kurt’s eye. A pair of figures were lifted to their feet and shuffled to the edge. The D’Campions, an older couple, were chained together and forced to the very edge of the bridge, where the railing was missing. Kurt saw an object with a curved bottom in the man’s hand. It was attached by a chain to his feet.
“That’s going to be a problem,” Kurt muttered.
“What do you see?” Renata asked.
“Hostages chained together and hooked to a boat anchor.”
“An anchor?”
“That’s what it looks like. It’s not that large,” he added. “Probably no more than twenty pounds. But that’s enough to keep a good man down. A good man and his wife.”
Hassan grew impatient. “As you can see, they’re alive. Though they won’t be for long if you don’t give me what I want. I see only two of my men.”
“The rest are shark food by now,” Kurt said. It was a half-truth. Two of the injured thugs had been treated on the Sea Dragon. They’d be turned over to authorities as soon as the boat docked.
“And the tablets?” Hassan shouted.
“Unchain the D’Campions first,” Kurt demanded. “As a show of good faith.”
“I don’t operate in good faith.”
Kurt didn’t doubt that. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Here you go.”
He pulled on a nylon rope, drawing back a canvas tarp that had been laid across the aft deck. As the tarp slid back, it revealed a large trunk that was used to stow diving equipment. “The tablets are in there.”
Hassan hesitated.
“I’m not going to carry them to you,” Kurt said.
Hassan was obviously suspicious. “Where’s your friend the swordsman?”
Kurt almost smiled.
“I’m right here,” Joe shouted, opening a window at the aft of the cabin. Like Kurt, Joe was protected by a short wall of scuba tanks. Unlike Kurt’s protective barrier, two of the tanks in front of Joe were still pressurized and were connected to a hose that ran under the tarp and into a hole in the back of the trunk.
“Very well,” Hassan said. He waved two of his men forward.
They moved to the edge of the dock with rifles in hand, hopped onto the dive boat and stepped cautiously toward the waiting trunk.
“If this is a trick—” the man said.
“I know, I know,” Kurt said, interrupting him. “You’ll kill us all and drown the D’Campions. I’ve heard this speech before.”
The two gunmen approached the trunk like it was a wild animal that might roar to life at any moment. Kurt smirked as if it amused him and allowed his rifle to point away from them in a lazy manner.
Reaching the trunk, one of the men crouched down to unlatch it. The other stood guard.
Inside the cabin, Joe’s hands went to the valves on the oxygen tanks, which were already open slightly and pressurizing the fiberglass trunk, but as one of the men leaned near, Joe spun both valves to full.
The lid of the trunk flew open, hitting the man in the face. A thin layer of gasoline Joe had poured inside the trunk was splashed up into the air by the sudden rush of high-pressure oxygen while a flint he’d rigged up and taped to the hinge struck. The spark ignited a Hollywood-style flashover, a suitably impressive fireball that did little actual damage but which knocked the men backward and grabbed everyone’s attention with a wave of orange flames and a cloud of dark smoke that went billowing outward.
Kurt snapped his rifle back into position. Ignoring the men who’d been knocked over by the blast, and Hassan, who hadn’t unholstered his weapon yet, he snapped off a pair of shots, targeting the thugs who remained on the dock. Both shots hit dead center and the men crumpled without returning fire.
Kurt shifted right and triggered a third shot, this one aimed at Hassan, but the man dove away and ran to safety in the dilapidated shack.
Kurt spun to the left, hoping to get a clean line on the thug on the bridge, but before he could fire again, ricochets began hitting around him and the dull plunk of bullets hammering the depleted oxygen tanks forced him to duck down.
He took cover as additional rounds hit, ringing the tanks. Distended dents appeared in the tanks the way soft metal distorted when hit with a ball-peen hammer. Kurt rolled away just as a third impact hit home and the metal skin of the tank nearest to him split, spitting fragments his way.