Clive Cussler: Wrath of Poseidon

Gianni’s gaze shifted from Adrian to Ilya, then back. “So we’re not blowing up the boat?”

“Not yet. We need to find Fargo.”

“He’s not dead?”

Adrian slammed his fist on the console, causing Gianni to jump in his seat.

He took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the overwhelming anger and frustration that boiled up each time he thought of how Fargo had managed to escape. “No. He’s not dead. He’s either already on board, or planning a way to accomplish it.” Looking out, they had an almost unobstructed, 360-degree view of the sea. He saw something move in the water on the starboard side, a few feet in front of their speedboat. The sun’s reflection prevented him from seeing much more than a quick, dark blur. He decided it was too small to be Fargo.

Adrian’s gaze lit on the remote that Ilya had returned to the console. He picked it up, then found the batteries inside Gianni’s bag. While he might not share Ilya’s confidence, there was one thing he knew with a certainty. Fargo was going to attempt a rescue. And when he did, Adrian would be ready.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

For Sam, killing the two divers, and switching out the oxygen tanks, had been the easy part. Getting up onto the Odysseus without being seen was proving to be a lot more difficult. He and Nikos had been just about to board when Adrian and Ilya suddenly emerged from the cabin, both heading up the stairs to the upper bridge.

Waiting until he heard talking on the upper bridge, Sam signaled to Nikos that he was going up. The older man hesitated, then nodded, slipping down into the water to complete the task Sam had given him.

Sam knew his reluctance. The fact that Kyril’s men had attacked them and rigged the Odysseus to explode told him that, bomb or no bomb, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill all of them. Sam wasn’t sure how many archeologists were on board, but on a vessel this size, he guessed at least four, not to mention Manos and Denéa. There was no way that Sam was going to leave any of them behind.

When Nikos swam off, Sam reached up, grasped on to the platform’s edge, pulling himself high enough to see over the top. Seeing it was clear, he hauled himself onto the platform, leaving a trail of water as he crossed the deck and opened the door. A broad-shouldered man seated at the table, his attention on the screen of his phone, looked up, saw Sam charging toward him. He stood so fast, his chair flew to the floor. As he reached for his holstered weapon, Sam grabbed his shoulder, pulled him forward, and drove his fist into the guard’s jaw.

Just Sam’s luck, the man was a southpaw, bringing in an uppercut. Sam was pushed back. Stunned, he regrouped, then threw a right hook. Sam moved in and struck him again, caught him as he stumbled back and swung him around, slamming the gunman’s head against the counter. He wavered, his unfocused gaze rolling sideward as he crumpled to the ground.

Sam kneeled next to him, taking his gun, then pulling off the man’s belt, using it to bind his hands behind his back. Gun in hand, Sam rose, headed into a passageway, then took the stairs down, opening doors until he found Manos, Denéa, and two government archeologists tied up in one of the cabins. “How many gunmen?” Sam asked, setting the pistol on the floor, then drawing his dive knife to cut their ties.

“Seven total,” one of the archeologists said. “Two were already with us, pretending to be journalists, researching shipwrecks. Gianni and . . . Piers.”

His coworker nodded. “Five came aboard from the speedboat. They put us all down here.”

“What about the Asteri ?” Sam asked Manos as he cut his ties.

“They forced us here. I only saw two of them suiting up.”

“I already met up with those two.”

Denéa rubbed at her wrists. “Where’s Remi and Dimitris?”

“I’m not sure. Yet,” Sam said, helping her to her feet.

Once they were free, he gave Manos the gun, then freed the other four archeologists in the next cabin over. “Can you get to the front hatch?”

One of the archeologists nodded. “Yes, but if anyone’s on the upper bridge, how are we going to get out without them seeing?”

“I’ll create a distraction. If you can make it to the Asteri , cut the lines and go.”

“Not without you,” Denéa said.

“I’ll be fine. Especially if I know that all of you are safe.”

The others followed the head archeologist to the hatch, but Manos looked back at Sam. “I’ll go with you.”

“Someone’s going to need to man the Asteri . You know it better than they do.”

“The gun?”

“Take it. Just in case.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “Remi and Dimitris are probably on the Asteri . Now get going.”

“But—”

“Do it. Remi will know it’s the right thing to do. Trust me.”

Manos nodded, then followed the others into the passageway.

As they were opening the door that led to the front hatch, Sam headed back up the stairs. At the top, he saw the man he’d battled with crawling along the floor toward the door. Sam dragged him back, and knocked him upside the head. At the door, he stopped to listen, surprised when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs from the upper bridge. That distraction was going to be a bit sooner than he’d planned.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

Sam ducked around the corner along the port-side passageway, pressed himself against the wall, waiting.

“Gianni. There’s water on the deck. Fargo’s here.”

Sam stepped out, seeing Ilya and a younger man at the bottom of the stairs. Gianni, Sam presumed.

Ilya calmly pointed a gun at Sam. “Check him for weapons.”

Gianni made a wide berth around Sam, finding the knife in its sheath. He pulled it out, pointing his own gun at Sam as Ilya moved closer. Ilya, holstering his weapon, gripped Sam’s left arm. Gianni, still holding his gun, took the right. As they led him to the rear deck, Sam raised both elbows, and in a one-two motion, he stepped in and struck the gun from Gianni’s hand, then rammed his elbow into Ilya’s throat. Ilya staggered back, trying to breathe. Gianni reached for the fallen weapon, but Sam kicked it away. The pistol went spinning across the deck, banked off a dive tank compressor, then disappeared down the port-side passageway. Gianni immediately gave chase. Sam followed, hoping to get to him before he saw the escaping archeologists. He grabbed Gianni by the collar, dragged him around, then flung him against the air tanks lined up in a rack. The canisters clattered to the floor, rolling in all directions. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Ilya drawing his own gun. Sam pivoted, kicked his leg out, whipped it back, slamming his foot against Ilya’s wrist. The gun went flying.

Gianni charged Sam, spinning him around. Ilya jumped on Sam’s back, crooked his arm around Sam’s neck in a carotid hold. Gianni, shoulder down, moved in again. Sam reached up, grasped Ilya’s arm, using it to carry his weight, then lifted both feet, driving them into Gianni’s gut. Stunned, the man faltered back, tripping over a loose tank and into the tank rack.

Adrian Kyril, obviously hearing the commotion, hurried down the stairs, then stopped about midway. “Kill him,” he shouted.

Unable to dislodge Ilya’s stocky arm, Sam dropped to the deck, then pulled forward, using the momentum to fling the much larger man over his head. Ilya landed on Gianni. As Ilya struggled to get to his feet, Sam hefted up a nearby dive tank, bashing it against his temple. Ilya collapsed.

Adrian looked at the two fallen men, then Sam. He drew his own gun.

Sam, still holding the tank, pivoted and swung it at Adrian, knocking the weapon from his grasp.