“They would have died in here without a drink,” O’Shea said, sounding as humanitarian as possible.
“Maybe that was the point,” the guard said.
“I do believe Remus wants them alive when he returns,” O’Shea said matter-of-factly.
The man considered this, and, while he did, O’Shea took the opportunity to roll his neck, stretching the muscles that were becoming tight with anxiety. In that moment, time slowed for Atticus. It’d been a lifetime since he had taken another man’s life, but he didn’t see how he could disarm the man without O’Shea’s being shot in the process. He also knew that the guard would soon discover that O’Shea had betrayed Trevor, and the brig would become a shooting gallery with no place to hide. Atticus’s vision narrowed. He saw nothing but the guard and O’Shea.
O’Shea’s head stretched one way, then the other. The guard spoke the words Atticus had been hoping for. “I want to see both hands.”
Atticus raised his knife hand so that the back side faced the guard, hiding the blade behind his palm and wrist. As he turned his palm toward the guard, Atticus gave his wrist a quick snap. No one saw the knife fly through the air, but a sickening sound like scissors cutting through thick fabric followed by a wet pop confirmed its passage to the man’s brain. His body fell in a slump behind O’Shea, who’d gone rigid, in mid-stretch as the reality of what had just happened dawned on him.
O’Shea spun quickly, looked down, and jumped back. “Wow!” he whispered.
“Sorry,” Atticus said to O’Shea. “I didn’t have a choice.”
O’Shea snapped out of his daze and looked to Atticus. He smiled. “You forget, I’m not a priest. And that man was a killer. He would have killed us all.”
Atticus felt relieved by O’Shea’s assessment. He took no pleasure in taking another man’s life. That there had been no other recourse eased his guilt. But he doubted the man’s death would be the last one on his hands before they escaped the Titan. The stakes had been raised again, but he doubted Trevor would enjoy these as much as those he set himself.
Atticus bent down to the dead guard, searching his body. He picked up the UMP and found two spare magazines. With twenty-five rounds each, the weapon improved their odds.
With a quick yank, Atticus extracted the dive knife from the man’s eye socket. After wiping the blade clean on the dead man’s pant leg, Atticus pocketed it and turned to Andrea.
Although she was a member of the U.S. military, she fought to save lives, not take them. She might have pulled a corpse or two from the water during her career, but she’d obviously never seen a man slain. Her eyes focused on the man’s head, where a pool of blood had collected in his deep-set eye socket.
Atticus gripped her shoulder. “Hey.”
She met his eyes.
“Don’t look at him,” Atticus said. “The nightmares will fade faster if you don’t look at his face.” He’d learned that from personal experience. While taking the UMP and retrieving his knife, Atticus hadn’t once looked at the man’s face.
Andrea gave a faint nod. Atticus handed the. 357 Magnum to Andrea. The weight of it in her hand brought her fully back to reality. “It’s got a pretty severe kick to it, so take time to aim between shots. You’ve got six rounds. Make them count.”
He felt no fear of being judged by Andrea for what he’d done. While the shock of seeing a man violently killed had taken her by surprise, she was still a member of the United States Coast Guard and no doubt recognized the need to fight and kill when necessary. She took the gun and held it firm. “I’m ready,” she said.
“We need to get out of here,” O’Shea said. “Trevor has the Titan on high alert. Every crew member is armed, and it won’t be long before someone comes looking for him.” O’Shea nodded toward the dead man. “I rigged the security system. All the cameras are running on fifteen-minute loops, and I’ve disabled the lock systems so they work for anyone. They won’t care whose thumbprint or retina they scan. If the system is reset, everything goes back to normal; so, once they notice, we’re stuck. We’re dead.”
Atticus moved to the door and checked both directions, leading with the UMP. The hall was empty. “We need someplace to hide. Someplace no one would ever go without Trevor.”
A crafty grin spread as O’Shea began to speak. “I know just the place.”
45
The Titan
With a watchful eye, Atticus guarded the opulent staircase that led to the collection room’s double doors. After gaping in awe at the three Gorgon statues standing guard, Andrea monitored the hallway in both directions. So far they hadn’t run into any other guards, and no alarms had been sounded. Atticus knew that Trevor was most likely concentrating his crew’s efforts on finding and killing Kronos, believing his captives were secure in the blazing hot brig. They needed time to form some kind of plan. Whether it would be an escape plan, or attack plan, Atticus had yet to decide.
O’Shea knelt by the collection-room doors, working on the skeleton-key lock with some small metal tools. He’d come prepared.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Andrea asked.
“Before I was a con artist, I stole my money through more conventional means.” The lock clicked and unlocked. But the small click was followed by a second and a third. “Duck!”
O’Shea hit the floor, and Andrea followed suit. Atticus learned long ago that when someone shouted, “duck!” certain death greeted those that didn’t heed the warning. As a result he reacted first and hit the floor before O’Shea. Had any of them hesitated, the spread of darts sprayed from the mouths of the Gorgon women would have cut them down. Darts coated the walls, staircase, and doors to the collection.
Atticus stood, holding the UMP ready, wary of a follow-up assault. Their freedom might have gone unnoticed, but the killer crew of the Titan would eventually stumble upon them. “Collect the darts,” he said, “but don’t prick yourself. They’re probably laced with poison.”
Atticus moved to the open doors of the collection room. “Is there another way out of here?”
O’Shea’s eyes widened. “Uh, no.”
Not good, Atticus thought. A dead end in a firefight was usually just that, a dead end.
“But,” O’Shea said hopefully, “the men wouldn’t dare fire a shot in the collection room. Trevor would have them beheaded.”
Good enough.
“C’mon,” Atticus said as he followed Andrea into the expansive chamber. “Lock the door behind you.” Atticus entered the large room and deposited the darts on the floor.
Darkness fell around them as O’Shea closed the door to the unlit collection room.
“What is this place?” Andrea asked, her echoing voice betraying the room’s size. With a blazing fury, the lights snapped on. Atticus, expecting an ambush, took aim and panned the room with the UMP, looking for targets.
“At ease, soldier,” O’Shea joked as he moved away from the light switch.
Atticus shot O’Shea an annoyed glance.
“Sorry,” O’Shea said. “I joke when I’m nervous.”
Andrea missed the exchange entirely as she scoured the room with wide eyes, her mouth slowly falling open. “Okay, that’s it. I don’t care what piece of paper I signed, this guy is going down.”
“Those waivers of his will stand up in any court,” O’Shea said. “I signed the same one a long time ago.”
“Be quiet. Both of you. And kill the lights,” Atticus said. It was an order not to be discussed.
As O’Shea immediately went for the lights, Andrea spun on Atticus. “You can’t just let this go. We have to find some way to…to protect all this!” Andrea waved her arms wildly in the air, gesticulating to the collection of treasures from around the world.
“First,” Atticus said seriously, but keeping his voice down, “I never signed a waiver. And second, your nose flares when you’re angry. It’s kind of cute.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” With that, O’Shea shut off the lights.
