James Axler – Watersleep

“Sure you don’t want to help us out, Edgerton?” Ryan asked. “You’ve seen what these blasters can do. Three of your pals down and dead. Could go eas­ier for you if you cooperate.”

“No, sir,” the sweating enlisted man said.

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” Ryan said. “I’ve never been a man for torture.”

“Hold up,” J.B. said from the front of the wag. “Coming up on something that looks like it might be the place.”

Carter stepped forward for a look through one of the Land Rover’s numerous ob slits. “Right, Dix. There’s the rear gate. They should be expecting us with the fish fry.”

“Okay, J.B., you and Edgerton here are going to switch places. Here’s the drill. If Edgerton gets cute or tries to warn the guard at the gate in the booth, I chill him.” Ryan stared the younger man down. “Edgerton takes us in and parks the wag in the nor­mal drop spot, we tie him up and he lives to drive another day.”

Ryan put on the mirrored sunglasses and helmet and took the passenger seat, aiming the muzzle of the SIG-Sauer at Edgerton’s right side, just out of the field of vision if the man on the gate got too curious.

J.B. joined Mildred, Carter and Shauna in the rear of the wag, hidden until the door was opened and they chose to reveal themselves.

“Take us in,” Ryan said coldly.

Edgerton hesitated.

Ryan poked him in the ribs with the blaster.

“I said, take us in,” he repeated.

Edgerton shifted gears and let the Land Rover roll forward.

“But if you want to live, you’ll get us into the base without a firefight,” Ryan growled. “If this gets fucked up, I’ll chill you myself.”

Four minutes later, everything that could’ve gone wrong…did, and they were captured.

Chapter Nineteen

The metal steps rang hollowly beneath their feet as a handcuffed Ryan and Shauna were led up to the top floor of the building. They were placed in front of an ornate oak door and made to wait while one of their captors went inside to announce their arrival. He re­turned and swung open the door, crooking a finger for them to enter.

“Welcome to Kings Point, Georgia. Home and berth to the USS Raleigh. My name is Poseidon. You may address me as ‘Admiral.’ ”

Ryan stared contemptuously at the man who had identified himself as Poseidon.

The white-hot rage he always tried to keep strapped down within his soul came bubbling up freely, and he embraced it He wanted his anger worn close, sharp and hot and piercing. Krysty and Jak were dead because of this egomaniac’s paranoia, and no amount of discussion of motive or happenstance or fate was going to change that inescapable fact.

The woman at his side felt exactly the same way. Her intense hatred of Poseidon was radiating off her trim body in waves. Ryan could almost feel the heat of her dislike, like an overworked oven’s door that had been left standing open.

“My, I really haven’t made either of your hit pa­rades, have I?” Poseidon murmured, steepling his fin­gers beneath his chin.

“Come a little closer and uncuff me, and I’ll beat you to death with my fists,” Shauna said. “Then you’ll be on my hit parade.”

Poseidon chuckled. “It’s not that kind of parade, dear Shauna. Then again, I suppose music apprecia­tion is well beyond both of your savage intellects. At times such as these, I know my tiny radio station here exists for my enjoyment and my enjoyment alone.”

“Admiral?” said the sec man with the blaster who was standing behind Ryan and Shauna. “You want me to stay?”

“Yes. For now,” Poseidon said. He looked at Ryan and Shauna. “Sit down, you two.”

Neither moved. The sec man poked Ryan in the back with the nose of the weapon.

“Go on, sit. You heard the Admiral.”

“Admiral, my ass,” Ryan snorted, but he went ahead and eased into the plush chair. Beside him, a few feet away, Shauna did the same awkward move­ment since her hands were bound behind her back. Ryan rolled the word “Admiral” around in his head. He had always despised titles. Captains and kings, chiefs and colonels, bosses and barons…times changed, but the power-hungry types remained the same. Give a man enough money or power, and he always had the urge to elevate his station. Ranks didn’t mean a thing when it came to living or dying, especially a self-imposed rank of authority in a long-dead military.