The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(84)

George shakes his head. He goes over to the cleat where the line to the raft is fastened and unties the rope. “We can’t have them back there. They’ll kill us first chance.”

I turn to Dad. He nods. “Rock and a hard place. Besides, they’ll have a rescue beacon on them.”

That makes me feel slightly better as I watch them vanish behind a wave. Just because they’re cold-blooded killers doesn’t mean I have to be one too.

Our boat shakes as something metallic hits the hull.

“What’s that?” asks George.

“The Kraken. Damn.” I run to the front of the boat and dive in with another line to stabilize the submarine before it does serious damage to both vessels.





CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

JETTY

The Kraken gets pulled into an upswell and starts to list to starboard, raising the port winglet out of the water. A tall wave crashes down on the hull like a giant’s fist, and I’m slammed into the Pelican cases, adding another bruise to my shoulder.

I’ve got to learn how to control this thing better. The trouble is, I’m trying to keep it far enough below the waves not to get tossed around in the surf while also trying to avoid hitting the bottom or, worse, getting trapped on a sandbar.

The storm is having its way with the ocean, sending wild waves back and forth and surging across the Florida coast. The last time we had something like this, they were using bulldozers for weeks to clean up the sand on A1A.

The stern camera view is only worth looking at when I’m above the waves. The last one tossed me high enough to get a glance behind me. The lights of the Fortune’s Fool were barely visible at the outer edge. I pray our little gambit works.

While we cast our would-be murderers adrift, the Vader is still out there, lurking beyond our field of view.

They tried sending ex-SEALs to take over our vessel. Now they have to know it didn’t work. With the Fool on the move, that leaves two options—rescue their men, who have undoubtedly signaled them, or chase the Fool.

Dad’s strategy, based upon a lifetime at sea and reading Patrick O’Brian novels, was a ploy to get the Kraken safely away from K-Group while also avoiding another kill team.

As soon as I tied the Kraken to the stern and swam back up onto the dive platform, Dad told me I had to pilot into the harbor alone.

“They’re going to board us,” he explained. “If they find the Kraken, we’re all dead.”

“We could sink its payload,” I replied.

“It’ll take them two minutes to locate it with their instruments.” He looked out into the distance where we’d sent the divers. “Even if they take the time to retrieve the cases, they could still beat us to shore. Especially if we’re hauling the sub.”

“I can’t leave you here.”

Stinging rain pelted our faces, and the Fool rocked so hard we had to brace ourselves on the rail.

“We have a plan,” said George.

I was sure the two of them had talked this over while I was bringing the Kraken aft. I didn’t like the idea of them making decisions without me—especially ones dedicated to putting my safety first . . . if piloting an untested undersea vehicle in a tropical gale could ever be called “safe.”

“Once you’re on the way, we’re going to haul ass for shore and call the coast guard for help,” George explained.

“But the Vader’s still jamming us,” I replied.

“They’ll have to turn it off closer to shore,” Dad said. “Either way, we’ll start sending up flares.”

“What if they catch you?” I asked.

George answered, “As long as we don’t have the money or the files, they won’t risk killing us and losing any chance of recovering them. If we stay free, the coast guard will help us in to port and either impound us or let us go. What matters is you getting the Kraken somewhere safe.”

Somewhere safe. We still hadn’t figured out where that was. Dad told me I should go with my gut. Worse case, ride the surge across Fort Lauderdale beach and park it in front of the tourist bar that always stays open during storms.

I check my compass, the one instrument I can reasonably trust as I’m bounced above and below the waves, and make sure my heading remains steady.

My only goal at this point is to get out of range of the Vader’s jammer and close enough to shore to use my cell phone. If I can get a signal, I can call for help—that is, send help to Dad and George.

I steer the Kraken down and glide over the ocean floor, watching the depth gauge. It’ll indicate my distance from the seafloor but won’t warn me about anything in front of the craft. Winston added some kind of sonar to the craft that could help, but I’m not sure how to read the display. I’m left using the porthole to keep an eye out for anything about to slam into me.

The craft bounces, and I get a view of lights along the shore. That would be the city of Jupiter. Okay, where exactly could I go?

I know there’s a big boat ramp a mile or so past the Intracoastal. There’re also a bunch of nice hotels with marinas for luxury boats.

Those are viable, but they won’t help me keep this submarine on the down low. I’d likely be swarmed by police and covert K-Group operatives in no time. While I could slip away without the Kraken, that would mean leaving Bonaventure’s evidence behind.