James Axler – Watersleep

Ryan wished he had his own small rad counter for reference, the same one that had been attached to his coat’s lapel for many a year. Dozens of times he had taken a deep breath and gazed at the tiny device, hop­ing the color indicator wouldn’t shift drastically from the cool end of the spectrum into the high end. If the glowing arrow veered erratically across the scale and wavered uncomfortably in the orange sector or near red, Ryan knew the area was “hot.”

Here, all he had to go on was the submarine’s own warning devices, and from the looks of the detectors, he had to wonder if they were functioning at any ca­pacity. He stepped closer to the one nearest him when he heard a slight clatter. Ryan had quickly discovered the Raleigh was by no means a quiet ship. The ancient hull and interior had groaned and pinged since they had first left port.

But this noise was new, and his keen ears believed it to be the sound of a footstep on a loose metal step or plate.

Ryan crept away from the rad counter and chose a cubby area to slink into. The space was off to one side of the reactor, half-hidden by a bank of dials and other gauges. He crouched and waited to see if his mystery man would make an appearance.

There had to be submariners on board, even if the sub was running with a skeleton crew. Ryan would think the reactor room would be the first place for engineers and the like. Twice, as he had made his way down deeper into the Raleigh, he’d confronted Poseidon’s enlisted men. Apparently, as Alan Carter had said, the hired sec squads weren’t allowed on the sub, yet another reason for the apparently small num­ber of fully trained personnel.

Both times, the men Ryan had faced had turned tail and run. He’d slammed one over the head with the stolen AK-47, but the other had been too far away.

Now, here was a possible third.

Again there was a slight clattering noise.

Then Ryan knew that his foe wasn’t on the deck, but was on top of the reactor itself. He risked a glance around the side of his hiding place and spotted what he was looking for: an aluminum ladder leading up to the top of the great machine. He had no desire to climb up and take a closer look.

He reached out and touched the side of the reactor, feeling it thrum beneath the palm of his hand. What Ryan knew about the actual upkeep and function of nuclear reactors was very little. His own experience— and the one-two punch of an experience the entire planet had endured—was that no matter how good any nuke might initially seem, eventually it chilled your sorry ass.

The sailor started to come back down the ladder, and he wasn’t going slow. The man was dressed in dark blue trousers, light blue buttoned shirt and a white T-shirt. Various hand tools were hanging from a worn and cracked leather tool belt. He was carrying a small box that appeared to be some sort of hand comp. A wire was dangling from the device. At the other end of the line was a minuscule oblong-shaped gadget. Ryan wasn’t sure, but he assumed the entire rig was some sort of rad detector. Apparently the sailor didn’t fully trust the wall-mounted counters, ei­ther.

Ryan remained half-crouched at the far end of the reactor. His knees were bent as he squatted, and he suddenly realized just how tired he really was. Still, he couldn’t give in to fatigue now. He’d chosen to climb into the sub as a quick retreat. He’d never imag­ined Poseidon would put the craft to sea with him hiding within.

The AK-47 was slung across his back, just in case he had to use it. He was gambling on staying one step ahead of Poseidon. The noise of the rifle would iden­tify his exact location quicker than shooting off a vol­ley of fireworks.

The submariner reached the end of the ladder and hopped down the last two feet to the deck, almost slipping in the water that had collected from one of a thousand tiny leaks. Catching his balance, he walked quickly but carefully in Ryan’s direction. A few more steps, and there would be no way for the man to miss seeing the hidden addition to the room.