The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(23)

“Do you have a ham radio?”

“Of course, right there. It’s on a solar-power-generated battery pack.”

“Should work, if there’s enough juice in the batteries. I’m going to try.”

If what he’d heard was right, he had to warn the world. The ship being disabled electronically as it was, he hoped he wasn’t too late.

He lit up an emergency channel, identified himself, and started to send the message—They have a nuclear EMP—when he realized his back was hot.

“Too late!”

Broussard grabbed Grant’s shoulder and heaved him to the ground as the flames leaped and danced toward them. They elbowed their way on their bellies to the stairwell. The flames were consuming everything in their path. They were out of time. Grant steeled himself and dove down the stairs. Broussard landed on top of him. They lay there for a moment, stunned, before Grant felt water. That brought him back fast. Drown or burn up. He dragged himself to his feet.

Broussard looked dazed, a small trickle of blood streaming from his temple. Grant shook his arm. “We have to get to the lifeboats. Which way?”

Broussard pointed, and Grant thanked all the heavens above the lifeboats were in the opposite direction from the wall of fire.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


They clattered down stairwell after stairwell, the smoke thick and choking. Grant kept talking, anything to keep Broussard focused, anything to distract himself from the ship’s slow death slide into the sea. At four hundred feet, The Griffon was half the length of the Titanic—massive for a privately owned vessel—and the extensive aft ballast was keeping her afloat. The stern was missing, and the angle of the ship was becoming steeper and steeper. They were going down sooner rather than later. He kept pushing Broussard.

They burst out onto the lacuna deck, where the starboard lifeboats were docked. The boat was listing badly now. Something swung from the railing above them. Grant looked up and wished he hadn’t. Devi’s lifeless body was dangling from the rail.

Broussard cried out, “Devi!” But Grant pushed him forward again. “She’s gone, there’s nothing you can do. But I’m certain I heard someone from the chopper talking to her. Something about a nuke and an EMP.”

“EMP?”

“That’s the message I was trying to send, no idea if it managed to get out or not. The woman in the chopper said an EMP would go off, silencing the heavens, and then she would . . . fulfill her destiny? Something insane like that.”

“Someone’s planning to set off a nuclear bomb?”

“She said in four days’ time.”

Broussard’s eyes were wild, reality setting in now. “The Grail. They took the Grail?”

“I think they did.”

When he met Grant’s eyes again, there were tears. And rage.

“Why didn’t you go after them?”

“In my invisible plane? They had a helicopter and I was still reeling from the drugs. Still am, actually. Now, let’s get you onto one of these boats—”

Broussard shook his head. “Let’s take the submersible. It’s closer than the boat.” He pointed to a door.

Just what I want, to be locked in a tiny submarine.

Oh well. Grant said, “Let’s go,” and opened the door.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


The submersible wasn’t a coffin like Grant had expected, and dreaded. It was a good fifteen feet long, twelve feet wide, and seven feet tall. It had six seats—a pilot and five passengers—a wide, round bubble viewing area, and Grant knew it was rated for ten hours at a depth of up to one thousand meters. Still, he was surprised by the space. Two large men, one with weapons, had plenty of room to move inside. He stood back, let Broussard handle the controls.

Broussard efficiently detached from The Griffon and motored them twenty yards away to meet up with the rest of the boats. Four lifeboats had launched. He did a quick head count—twenty crew, three Blue Mountain, and himself and Thornton. Four of his crew were dead. Jean-Pierre felt sick. He’d sailed with this crew for years. How was it possible that anyone, much less Devi, could do such a thing? Drug his people, not care if it killed them or not, steal from him—steal all hope from Emilie. No, it wasn’t Devi. It had to be someone else. She had to have been trying to stop whoever was behind this.

He saw Cesar at the helm of the first boat. He’d seen to it all four boats were roped together.

When Broussard and Grant stood side by side on the wide ladder, their heads out of the submersible, Cesar called out, “Sir, Mr. Thornton, thank heavens you’re both all right. Listen, the transponders were deactivated on all the lifeboats. One even had holes punched in the frame. Whoever did this was trying to make sure we all died.”

“Four of our crew are missing.”

Cesar’s face became stark with disbelief and pain. “Yes, I know. We had to leave them in the dining room. Everyone else is accounted for except Devi, sir. I’m sorry—we couldn’t find her and believe me, we searched until we knew if we didn’t get off The Griffon, we’d all die. We’re damn lucky the seas are calm.”

Grant couldn’t believe this. On his watch, and everything had gone south. As to the seas being calm, he decided calm must be in the eye of the beholder because the swells were at least ten feet high, making the boats and submersible bob around like corks.