Out of the darkness, the Scorpion burst into view, a dark shape charging from behind at flank speed. The massive conning tower slammed into a skiff, tossing it aside like a toy. The other pirate skiffs bounced and knocked into each other trying to get away as the Scorpion smashed into the center of the pack like Moby Dick, scattering their numbers.
The submarine slid up next to the Horizon, just off the port side of the yacht. If they were two tall ships three hundred years ago, they’d be trading broadsides and musket fire. Dr. Nassiri climbed out of the hatch at the top of the conning tower and signaled to Jonah. Behind them, the pirates attempted to regroup, falling back as they assessed the unexpected threat. Vitaly had put on a masterful performance of navigation.
Dr. Nassiri threw a sling rope over to Jonah.
My mother, he mouthed, unheard over the din of engines and waves.
“Fatima, get over here!” shouted Jonah as bullets cracked and whizzed past him, sling in his hand.
The professor crawled out of the rear hatchway and froze, not trusting her balance against the rolling waves.
“Now, goddamn it!” screamed Jonah. “We’re running out of time!”
“I… I can’t!” shouted Fatima, her knuckles white as she crouched as the edge of the fantail.
“Get your ass over here!” shouted Jonah, too distracted in his anger to see the stitch of automatic weapons fire dance up the deck towards him. Fatima sprang forward, crossing the deck with incredible speed. She struck Jonah just below his waist, driving him to the ground as three rounds whistled inches above his prone body. Glaring at the professor, Jonah lassoed her with the sling, putting it underneath her backside like a painter’s seat. He instructed her to hold onto the rope as tightly as she could.
Behind them, the pirates watched the transfer and recognized it for what it was — vulnerability. Their reduced fleet surged forward just as Horizon hit the submarine’s bow wake.
Fatima lost her balance, almost dropping into the ocean as Dr. Nassiri and Alexis strained at the rope to pull her up. She swung across the gap between the speeding vessels, slamming into the side of the submarine’s conning tower with hands outstretched as the doctor and Alexis braced against the weighted rope.
Two enterprising skiffs beached themselves at the back end of the Scorpion, disgorging nearly a dozen pirates. They ran forward, trying to reach Fatima and the conning tower. Alexis and Dr. Nassiri made one last pull, yanking Fatima over the lip of the conning tower. The hatch slammed shut just as the pirates scaled the exterior boarding ladder. The Scorpion was a superior potential prize to the recapture of the wounded Horizon.
Klea ran out to the fantail, just in time to see the Scorpion crash-dive into the water, shaking off the few pirates still clinging to the conning tower and leaving them to tumble into the foamy wake. The Scorpion was gone.
“Should have seen that coming,” said Jonah. The Scorpion wouldn’t be able to surface again, not now. Jonah and Klea were on their own. There were too many pirates, too close. And Dr. Nassiri had already gotten everything he wanted.
“I’ve put the Horizon on autopilot,” said Klea. “But we don’t have much of this speed left in us and we won’t be able to maneuver.”
“We’ll be overrun soon,” said Jonah, his gaze faraway.
As if his declaration carried with it the weight of providence, the pirates massed again, ready for their final assault. They wouldn’t be after a prize now. They’d be after revenge.
Enjoy the show, you self-serving fuck, thought Jonah. Dr. Nassiri and everyone else aboard the Scorpion could probably see everything from their periscope. That goddamn, rat-bastard doctor.
Klea looked at Jonah, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. She wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. Jonah watched as she grabbed mine after mine, flicking each switch in turn and throwing them overboard. Only one hit, splintering the entire side of a pirate skiff and throwing the crew into the water. But the rest kept coming.
The young woman pulled out the last mine, a large bottle of propane with a volatile primer charge. She prepared to throw it over, but Jonah caught her arm and took it from her.
“I’m sorry,” said Jonah. “There’s just too many of them.”
Without warning, Jonah threw the mine into the main cabin of the Horizon. The interior of the experimental yacht exploded, sending fragments of carbon fiber, metal shrapnel and burning fuel arcing through the air. Jonah held Klea in his arms, protecting her with his body against the searing wave of heat as she fought him, kicking, elbowing, punching, and screaming.
The blast transformed the Horizon into a flaming torch, a single tall pillar of fire licking upwards with blistering temperature. It was all the distraction Jonah needed. He kicked a plastic self-inflating raft overboard, held Klea in his arms, and dropped into the narrow space between the external pontoon and the main body of the yacht.
The two tumbled in a whirlwind of ocean foam, black, moonlight sky, motion and intense cold. Jonah didn’t let go of Klea, didn’t relax his grip for a moment. A propeller slashed against his arm, leaving a deep, clean cut as it churned past. Klea tried to swim up, tried to reach the surface, but Jonah pushed her deeper as multiple pirate skiffs cut through the water above their heads, still chasing the burning yacht.
Klea bucked and twitched, her body forcing her to suck seawater into her lungs as the last skiff flew by overhead. Jonah finally dragged her to the surface just before the last flicker of life left her body.
She popped her head out of the ocean, choking and spitting. Jonah wordlessly pointed to the inflated life raft. She followed and they both swam towards it. In front of them, the tailing pirate skiff slowed and broke formation, returning to inspect the raft.
Jonah willed the pirates to investigate the raft rather than just shooting it up. With luck, it’d look like one more piece of debris thrown free by the explosion. Jonah and Klea hid behind the raft as the pirate skiff slowly circled. Both ducked under the water as it slowly passed by. Moments later, the engine roared up to full pitch and the skiff sped away, satisfied the raft was empty.
Klea clambered in first, assisted by Jonah’s steady hand. Now alone in an unforgiving sea, Jonah and Klea watched wordlessly as the flaming hulk of the Horizon disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER 13
Dr. Nassiri watched from the periscope as the burning Horizon vanished into the distance like a Viking funeral pyre, remaining pirate skiffs chasing closely behind. It was fitting, in a way. The doctor tried to rationalize the probable outcome of events as an honorable death, but suspected Jonah would have preferred not to die at all.
His mother stood behind him, silently clutching her wrist. The doctor felt cheated; there was no laughter, no tears of joy, no grateful embrace. Just a lonely ship vanished into the night, chased by murderous outlaws.
Dr. Nassiri shook his head and stepped away from the periscope. The Scorpion couldn’t catch up, not while running submerged on battery power. The hit-from-behind trick was a card they could only play once.
The doctor looked at the assembled refugees standing in the cramped command compartment. His mother to his left, leaning up against the interior boarding ladder to the conning tower. Vitaly at the pilot’s console, his drugged eyes sunken with pain. Alexis, standing at the hatchway between the engine room and the command compartment.