The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(80)

George comes running down the ladder and peers over the port side of the boat. “You see something?”

“What? No.” I look around the horizon as the waves slap into us, trying to see into the dark.

George turns from the sea and whispers, “I heard a weird knock.”

“Probably driftwood . . .” My words freeze in my mouth as I see a red dot light up on his forehead.

I know it’s a laser sight from a gun, but I can’t understand how someone could keep it this steady in rough water . . . until I realize it’s because they’re already on our boat.





CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

TOW ROPE

I turn and follow George’s eyes to the space just above the bridge where the sniper is crouched. All we can see is his dark silhouette against the night sky. It would seem the renegade SEALs found us.

The boat rocks as more waves slap into the side. A gruff voice shouts from behind us, “Take your sidearm out and throw it into the water.”

Shit. I catch a glimpse behind me; two more frogmen have climbed up the dive platform. Christ, they’re good.

Both are wearing face masks with compact rebreathers and all-black dive suits. Their chests and legs are covered in pouches and tools.

George doesn’t move. His hands stay at his side. “Get the fuck off our boat.”

Damn, even under pressure he still acts the alpha.

The diver directly behind him pushes a Sig Sauer P226 into the back of his skull. “Drop the gun.”

“You can shove that all the way to my tonsils, but I’m not giving up my weapon.”

The red dot moves from his forehead to mine. “Mario up there is going to count to three,” says the diver behind George.

A wave hits the boat, and George and I stumble while the ex-SEALs don’t move. They must have some special deck shoes, or amazing balance.

The pitch of the boat sends a weight belt gliding across the deck to stop a foot away from me. I look to George.

“Fine,” says George. He takes the gun from his hip, grasps it by the muzzle, and tosses it starboard while staring straight ahead.

I realize the gun is heading for our raft and decide to distract them. “This is ridiculous. We’re all on the same side.” I step forward as I say this, raising my hands.

A powerful hand grabs me by the back of my neck, and a gun muzzle pokes behind my ear. “One more inch and I shoot.”

“I don’t think they’re on our side,” says George.

“No shit,” mutters the diver behind him.

The Fortune’s Fool is rocked by a massive wave, and George and I are thrown to starboard. The divers behind us even have to brace themselves against the rail to keep from falling.

The lead diver keeps his compact rifle on us. “Sit down! Link, cuff ’em.”

George and I follow his order—partially because it’s easier than standing. The other diver, Link, pulls plastic zip cuffs from a pouch and binds our wrists.

“Anybody inside the boat?” asks the third diver as he aims his gun into the cabin.

“No,” I reply.

“You got ’em covered?” he asks the leader.

As if in response, the red dot bounces from my chest to George’s, and the divers enter the cabin and start sweeping for people. It’s not a large boat and only takes a minute—although I can think of four hidden compartments they almost surely missed.

“What did you find down there?” the leader asks.

“Nothing,” I reply. I’m still wearing my dive suit, so there’s no point insisting that I wasn’t down there. Right now, my main concern is Dad. He could come back to the surface at any moment.

Mario, the original sniper and team leader, drops down onto the deck from the bridge with the grace of a gymnast. He can’t be more than five and a half feet tall.

“Hey, Sonic,” he says to the third SEAL, “I saw a glow stick on the bowline.”

Sonic? Mario? Christ. We’ve been taken hostage by a group of psychopath gamers.

“Do you still have a diver in the water?” the leader asks me.

“No.”

“Nice try,” says a diver.

“Take out their VHF,” Mario tells Sonic.

Sonic turns and fires at the radio on the helm. Although the sound is suppressed, the noise still hurts my ears, and I instinctively duck. My gaze lands on a fish knife Dad keeps tucked under the railing.

I glance at George and let my eyes dart back to the knife, letting him know something’s there. He twitches, signaling he understands. I think.

Mario puts his gun to my head. “Sit up and tell me who’s down there.”

I refuse to answer.

Smack! I see stars as he slaps the side of my face, hard. George bolts upright but gets a solid kick in the shoulder from Link. He falls back, making a loud groan.

“Next time you do that, I put a bullet in her,” says Mario. The barrel of his gun goes back to my head. “Who and what is down there?”

“We sent two Broward County deputies down there,” says George. “Someone gave us this GPS coordinate; it’s the fifth one we checked. So far, it’s bullshit. We got had.”

“Sonic, watch them,” says Mario. “Link, you’re with me.”

The two of them step to the edge of the dive platform and jump into the ocean. They vanish beneath the waves, and Sonic takes a seat in the captain’s chair with his gun trained on us.