Jeremy Robinson - Kronos

The nightmare left him covered in sweat and tense. He sat up in bed, controlling his breathing, attempting to move his thoughts away from the dream, away from Kronos or the impending encounter. His mind wandered to Giona, but the wound of her death was too fresh, and he felt his emotions swelling. He pushed his thoughts to Maria and found himself consumed with guilt for his actions, then sadness for having to face the loss of Giona alone. Unsure of what to focus on-it seemed every good thing had been taken from him-Atticus suddenly pictured the angry face staring at him from the Coast Guard cutter. Andrea.

His thoughts turned to their first kiss. The gazebo. Still sixteen, they stood beneath a gazebo as a torrential downpour pelted its roof and provided them with a rare moment of privacy. They’d stood in silence, awkward at first, then comfortable. The kiss came a moment later. Mutual. Soft. It ended when the rain faded moments later and neither spoke of it for weeks after. But it had been the beginning of their romance.

He smiled, picturing her scowling at him from the Coast Guard cutter. Why were they there? He imagined that the Coast Guard would take an interest in Trevor’s presence, but why watch him so closely? Before waking the previous morning he’d thought he heard her voice calling for him.

No, Atticus thought, it’s just a coincidence. She’s in the Coast Guard. It’s her job. Still, he knew that she deserved an explanation, and he resigned himself to contacting her in the morning.

Dully distracted from the nightmare, Atticus felt his eyes grow weary again, and he lay back down. Though his eyes were closed, Atticus suddenly sensed a shift in the moonlight sneaking past the shades. He listened. Feet shuffled over the floor.

Someone was in his room.

He could hear the person breathing, quick and labored. Nervous, Atticus thought.

Possibilities flooded his mind. It couldn’t be Remus. The man might be excited about killing him, but he was a professional. He wouldn’t be so sloppy. Trevor would have simply turned on the lights and announced his presence. Besides, the silhouette of the man moving toward him lacked the explosion of hair atop top his head. With a smile, he realized who it was, but the cause of his late-night visit remained a mystery.

“Atticus,” the man said. “Atticus, are you here?”

Atticus shot up and whispered, “Boo.”

Father O’Shea stumbled back against the wall with a thud. “Dear Lord!”

Atticus turned on the bedside light, smiling at the panicked priest. “I thought priests didn’t take the Lord’s name in vain?” Then, before O’Shea could speak added, “Another vice perhaps?”

O’Shea wore only loose-fitting sweatpants, revealing a cut, fit upper torso. The priest’s athletic build struck Atticus as odd. What kind of priest cursed, listened to the Stones and had a body like Bruce Lee? He thought to ask, but kept his thoughts to himself. Everything on the ship held secrets, and the good Father was only one of them.

“Sorry for sneaking up on you,” O’Shea said. “Though I suppose it was you who got the best of it”

Atticus looked O’Shea over. The man was wiggling his fingers about and glancing around the room, clearly nervous about something more than being caught sneaking into his room.

“Why are you here?” Atticus asked.

“You must swear to tell no one how you found out.”

Atticus nodded and crossed his arms over his equally bare, yet more muscular chest.

“I saw a woman today; Remus caught her trying to board the ship.” O’Shea sighed. “I just thought you would want to know.” He drew a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. It was clear he was about to share something he believed he shouldn’t.

Atticus stood straighter. “What? Who?”

“I don’t know who, but that woman from the cutter. Earlier in the day, when you were still sleeping, she confronted Trevor and asked to speak with you specifically.”

He had heard her voice. Atticus squinted. “Why didn’t Trevor tell me?”

“Why the man does anything at all is a mystery to me.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Here we are.”

Atticus stood in silent thought for a moment. O’Shea continued.

“I went for a walk to clear my head. That damned beast of yours is giving me nightmares.”

You’re not the only one, Atticus thought.

“I overheard Remus telling some crew members that a woman had been caught. His description of the woman matched the one I saw on the cutter. She’d almost been eaten by Laurel, but survived.”

Images of Laurel smashing against the viewing port in the sitting room flashed through Atticus’s mind. The chomping jaws smashing an object to bits. In his mind’s eye Atticus could now see the object for what it was-a swim fin. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Was he so blinded by his own need for revenge that his senses were dulling?

“Where’s Trevor?”

O’Shea stepped up quickly. “Why?”

“He’s a reasonable man. If he knows Remus is holding a member of the Coast Guard-my friend-he will let her go.”

O’Shea headed for the door, his desire to not be found out moving him forward. “Obviously, you don’t know Trevor very well. Look, Trevor may not know about her yet. But if your friend has been captured, it is in her interest to leave the ship tonight. Under the circumstances, I thought you would be the right man for the job.”

“Why tell me this? You’re obviously risking a lot by coming to me.”

O’Shea smiled. “I may be a bad priest, but I’m still a good person.” With that, he exited, closing the door silently behind him as he entered the hallway.

Atticus looked to his duffel bag of armaments, yet to be unpacked. He opened the bag and smiled. It’s been a long time, he thought.

Ten minutes later he was fully clothed and armed. If the woman caught on board was indeed Andrea, he would heed O’Shea’s warning and get her off the Titan before she was in any danger. If the woman was a stranger and had no business being on board, he’d make damn sure Remus wasn’t mistreating her. After the treatment he’d administered to the thugs who attacked Giona, his patience for deviant men threatened to boil over.

Atticus slid into the dark hallway, cloaked by his ebony Special Ops uniform. The only indication that he hid among the shadows came from a sparkle of light glinting off the. 357 strapped to his hip. Unnecessary, perhaps, but Atticus had no doubt that Remus was a killer. Better safe than sorry.

The Titan-Gulf of Maine

It had been a month since the Titan had visited any port of call; hence a month since Remus had experienced the pleasures of a woman. But the skip in his step as he made his way through the underbelly of the ship revealed that his need for physical gratification would soon be satisfied.

Trevor had not been overly surprised by the woman’s appearance on board and, while he suspected there might be a connection between her and Atticus, she could not be allowed to remain. Even more, because of her status as a member of the U.S. Coast Guard, and a feisty one at that, she would have to be dealt with delicately. Why she had attempted to board the ship and what she already knew wasn’t clear, but Trevor would never risk exposing himself to the U.S. government.

Trevor’s anchoring off the coast of the United States, while not welcome, was tolerated simply because the accusations against him could never be proved. If any evidence of the artifacts contained on board were to be discovered, even Trevor Manfred couldn’t escape the clutches of U.S. law. It would undo him.

“Have you searched the rest of the ship?”

Remus nodded. “I saw nothing on the monitors. The crew checked every cabin, hold and closet. She came alone.”