Dark Rule (COIL Book 3), page 2
On the surface, he gasped and splashed wildly for effect, if anyone was watching with binoculars. His leg brace had once been cumbersome, but not any more problematic to tread water than the jeans he still wore. As he climbed halfway on top of the moneybags, he watched the tail section of the plane slip below the waves.
The Materia was a half-mile away. Even at that distance, she seemed to be a large vessel, like an oversized tugboat, or a battleship without guns. A blue and white helicopter sat on a helipad near the stern, and above the control tower, a cluster of modern communication equipment clung to its tall antenna. Off the stern, the Materia's most recognizable feature was a massive A-frame crane, which Nathan knew from the printouts to be for lifting explorer submersibles in and out of the water.
An inflatable motorboat hydroplaned across the water toward Nathan. He waved one arm frantically, but in his heart, he prayed for safety from evil, not the elements. Helping God's people was Nathan's calling to serve God. When wickedness seemed to prevail, God chose to use His ambassadors to prove otherwise. Darkness would seem to win occasionally, Nathan accepted, but the safest place to be was still doing God's will.
The light outboard engine was cut and it drifted up to Nathan. Two men reached for him as another steered the boat. Instead, Nathan offered the straps of his bags to his rescuers—as he figured a bank robber would do, having already supposedly risked his life stealing the money. It took both men to drag each bag into the boat, then it was Nathan's turn. Though he was in the best shape of his life at thirty-two, he collapsed and gasped on the bottom of the tender as if he'd been in the water for hours.
"My plane . . ." He rolled over and looked over the edge of the boat. "My plane!"
"Your plane's gone, pal." One man scoffed and signaled the pilot. "You're lucky to be alive."
The man had an American accent rather than Australian. Nathan had been studious as a soldier for such details, but since being trained by Italian superspy Luigi Putelli, Nathan's senses were on extra alert—except for his olfactory sense with his nose now swollen and bleeding from both nostrils.
The outboard started up and the boat bounced back to the Materia. They approached the starboard side where an access door sat ajar in the hull, only a few feet above the surface. Above, a davit arm hung where two men operated the controls of the winch system. Others from the access door reached down as Nathan extended his arms to them. They hauled him into the ship's dive locker room where men and women gave him space after setting him on a bench.
Nathan panted and held up a hand as if he were still catching his breath. He asked God for cautious wisdom. Now that he was in the lion's den, he was all alone, though he knew God's grace wasn't absent.
"You guys . . . saved my life!" He put his hand on his chest for effect. "Thank you so much! Where are my bags?"
Instead of responding, the half-dozen people parted to allow a dark-haired man through. Nathan started to rise on supposedly shaky legs.
"No, don't stand." The newcomer had a European accent. "You're a little far out to sea for a plane like that. There's not a vessel or island around for kilometers."
"I guess . . . I got turned around." Nathan looked out the open access door. "Where are my bags?"
"My men will see to them. Look at me." The commanding man crossed his arms as Nathan pretended to have trouble focusing. "Where did you take off from?"
"Um." Nathan glanced from face to face. Someone handed him a rag for his nose. "Townsville."
"You're a long way from Townsville. Where were you heading?"
"Lizard Island, I guess."
"You're an American?"
"Uh, yeah." Nathan grinned. He knew he was being tested. "Is that a problem?"
"What's your name?"
"Patrick. Patrick Gibson."
The commander looked at a broad-shouldered, stocky fellow against the wall and nodded at him. The stocky man left the room. Nathan knew, after so many missions with COIL, that his false identity would hold up under their scrutiny.
"Well, Patrick, you're aboard the Materia of Materia International, an underwater exploration team mapping the ocean side of the Great Barrier Reef. I'm Trevor Niles."
Two of the men who'd rescued Nathan from the water entered the room with the two bags of money, and one of them whispered in Trevor Niles' ear.
"Everyone out!" Niles ordered, but the two rescuers remained as the six others exited. A watertight door closed with a clang.
"Patrick Gibson, if that's your real name, you have some explaining to do." Niles reached down and unzipped both bags, exposing the soaked bundles of money. "Do you want to tell me about this?"
Nathan opened his mouth, then closed it and looked down at the floor.
"It's probably better I say nothing."
"We heard some news from the coast a few hours ago. A bank was robbed. Five hundred thousand was stolen. These two duffel bags look to be about that amount. What do you have to say to that?"
"Speak up!" one of his goons, a younger man, shouted and slapped Nathan on the side of his wet head. Nathan took the abuse, but if he was to become a part of the crew, he'd have to project himself in such a way as to gain respect from a crowd that respected only their own kind.
"Mr. Niles asked you a question!" the young goon yelled.
"I'm sorry. I don't think I should say anything. I want to see a lawyer."
"A lawyer?"
The goons laughed together, and Nathan knew if he didn't make his move soon, the sharks would think he was bait, and they'd tear him apart. In years past, Nathan had represented Christ as a soldier armed with non-lethal weaponry. But now, as an undercover operative, there was a line he needed to cross—a dotted line perhaps—to make a point and gain access to what he'd been sent to recover—the life or body of Chen Li.
When the young rescuer lifted his hand to slap Nathan again, Nathan was ready. He caught the man's wrist and stood from the bench. The crewmember was caught off-guard and flinched away as Nathan twisted his arm and shoved him into the second goon.
Reaching behind his back, Niles drew a semiautomatic handgun from a holster that Nathan had already glimpsed. With his good leg, Nathan kicked the gun to the floor.
The goons recovered, and one charged for a tackle, his arms held wide. Nathan dropped a heavy elbow to the side of the man's head and he dropped to the floor. But the second goon now held a six-inch blade, drawn from his boot, the point aimed at Nathan's belly.
"You got me." Nathan seemed to concede. He raised his arms out wide instead of up, and stepped toward the knife. But suddenly his arms swept forward and clasped the man's wrist with both hands, then kicked him in the abdomen. The man went down, and Nathan shoved Niles into the wall as the commander reached for his scattered gun. Without hurry, Nathan picked up the gun and aimed it at the disheveled men. He'd never kill them, and he abhorred violence, but in this case, it was a means to an end.
"Look, I just want a ride to Lizard Island. That's all. A helicopter ride. I don't want any trouble."
"And what do you think Lizard Island will do for you?" Niles stood slowly and straightened his collared shirt. He combed his wavy hair with his fingers. The other two held various body parts and remained in the background, scowling.
"You're a hunted man. The news said you put a bank manager in the hospital. After what you just did here, I believe it. You're a man who knows how to cause injury. There isn't a safe place for you within ten thousand kilometers, except right here on this boat."
Nathan frowned but his gun hand was steady.
"I'm not staying on this boat when I have a retirement to enjoy on some island."
"Patrick, you can't spend that money. Not yet. You need to lay low for a while. Look at me. What if you were actually among friends right now?"
"Zip up my money! Kick my bags over here!"
"No! Listen to me!" Niles held his palms wide and seemed remarkably calm, like a man familiar with both the criminal mind as well as getting his way with them. "You're no fool, Patrick. You successfully stole thousands of dollars. You just bested two of my sharpest men. You obviously have skills few men alive can rival. Now, look around. What do you see?"
"What do you mean?" Nathan snarled. "Just take me to Lizard Island!"
"Look at me, Patrick! What's that in your hand? Go ahead. Think this out. You're not among enemies. Come on, what do you have in your hand?"
"A . . . gun." Nathan was willing to play along.
"Exactly. I carry a gun in Australian waters. You must know Australia's gun laws. I'm just an explorer—but with a gun? Look, one of my men carries a boot knife. You probably served in the military, didn't you?"
"Yeah. A long time ago."
"Exactly. See? We're not that different. We both write our own rules. I'm not mad at you. It's your money. You're among friends. Put my gun down."
"Australia does have steep gun laws." Nathan turned the gun sideways and acted like he was considering Niles' words. He couldn't seem too anxious to join them. After a moment, he ejected the gun clip. "How do I know you're telling me the truth? How do I know you won't throw me to the sharks as soon as I'm not looking?"
"Patrick, I don't care what you've done. I'm an adventurer as well. Look, we're on an underwater expedition. Your plane sank. No one knows where you are, and I run this ship. I have nothing to gain by turning you in or . . . disposing of you. To tell you the truth, I need you."
"And my money?"
"That's yours. It's pennies compared to what I spend to keep this ship afloat."
Nathan seemed to consider the offer a moment longer, then ejected the bullet from the chamber. The round clattered on the metal floor. He tossed the gun and clip back to Niles, but remained ready to move if the man aimed it at him. However, Niles replaced the clip and stuffed his gun in the holster in the small of his back.
Just then, the inner door opened and the broad-shouldered man entered.
"Mr. Niles, the information you asked for . . ."
"Well?" Niles waved expectantly at the man. "Go ahead, Marlon. You can speak freely in front of Patrick here."
"Patrick Gibson was in the US Army. He served two tours in Afghanistan, specializing in close combat and tactics. He wears the leg brace from an IED attack."
"Specialized in close combat, huh?" Niles studied Nathan. "That information is about five minutes too late. Patrick, let me show you to your quarters. You and I have some talking to do."
*~*
Chapter Two
The buzz about the newcomer on board the Materia reached Guntari's ears within minutes. As the captain's first mate and unofficial bodyguard, Guntari wasn't one to associate with the crew, at least not verbally. Though the Materia vessel was sixty-one meters long, the living quarters were close, and secrets were few since vents and corridors alike carried voices easily.
For this reason, the slender black man from Ghana waited until the plane crash victim was alone before he moved across the hallway and into the cabin where three bunks were mounted in a triangle. The newcomer emerged from the closet bathroom when Guntari signaled him. The man, tall and muscled, seemed to understand Guntari wished to speak out of hearing of the crewmembers in the hallway.
"I speak to you in confidence." Guntari nodded stiffly, questioning with his gesture whether the man understood his words through his Ghanan accent. "You are not safe on this ship. Captain Sardan and I live like hostages. I have heard you were a soldier. Is this true?"
"Yeah, years ago I was in the Middle East, but—"
"Listen carefully! Mr. Niles is a killer. This is not an expedition; this ship is a ship of death, regardless of first appearances. Do you hear me? If you must appease them to stay alive, so be it. But make an alliance with the captain and me now, or you'll be implicated in the deaths that are to come. My name is Guntari, and I wish you safety!"
The stranger frowned and scratched his head. Perhaps the Yankee wasn't very intelligent, only a soldier who'd by luck bested Niles and his two minions.
"Well, I'm not real sure what's happening on board. I'm just along for the ride."
Guntari recognized a look of amusement in the Yankee's brown eyes. This newcomer was no fool after all, even if he pretended to not understand or care about his predicament. Everyone on board was either a pawn or a piece in play.
"When it begins . . ." Guntari pointed to his eye. "You watch Guntari crush the enemy. Do not be on the wrong side. Remember that."
Before anyone could discover him talking to the new arrival, Guntari darted back to his own cabin, shared with one other man, a mechanic. Guntari made unnecessary noises with his locker space next to his bunk as several of Niles' men passed his cabin, glanced in, then moved on. But Guntari knew it was more than a glance. They were concerned he would talk to the Yankee, to inform him of the conflict on board—and the prize to be had under the water!
A pawn or a piece, Guntari mused. He left his cabin and walked up the gangway to deck four. The seed had been planted in the newcomer's ear—a potential ally. Captain Sardan would want to know a pawn was nearly in their grasp. The Yankee had to be a pawn, of course—since he and the captain were pieces in play!
On deck four, Guntari paused next to other crewmembers' quarters to listen to the talk. The Yankee was on everyone's mind. Whose side would he take? The volcano was due to erupt in a matter of days—a ship full of greedy merchants and a city full of ignorant Christians to determine the winner. No one involved could remain neutral. Well, Chen Li and the others had chosen their loyalties, and had sealed their fates with the Christians. Hopefully, the Yankee wouldn't be so foolish!
Outside the captain's suite, Guntari knocked three times, then entered. Captain Sardan was seated at his desk, a gun in his hand, but when he saw it was Guntari, he slipped the gun into a shoulder holster under his jacket.
"I need good news, Guntari." The captain was a scowling man about Guntari's age, though he looked much older because of the multitude of wrinkles. "In three more days, we'll have drilled the last sub-chamber. You know what happens then?"
"The new man may be an asset. Two of Mr. Niles' men are complaining of injuries the Yankee gave them after only minutes on board."
"Really!" Captain Sardan rose from his chair and tucked a digital notepad under his arm. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Who is he?"
"Patrick Gibson. I restored an identity scan the crew did. He's an American war veteran, thirty-two years old."
"A child, and already so bold. The one-way news feed from the coast is true, then? He stole all the money and then crashed his plane?"
"Yes, it's true."
"Hmmm. That was reckless, but he could still be useful. How certain are you of an alliance with him?"
"It's too early to know, but he's on deck two with two of Mr. Niles' men, who are certainly there to watch him. So, it may be awhile before I can speak to him again."
"You must! Who knows what kind of poison Mr. Niles will feed him about us. I know well your skills, Guntari, but to succeed, we need others to stand with us."
"I agree, and I will continue, Captain. Patrick Gibson will be ours by the time the last sub-chamber is drilled."
#######
Nathan Isaacson was still in his cabin, reviewing the words the black man named Guntari had spoken, when three of Niles' men entered the cabin. By their faces, Nathan guessed they were there to throw him overboard. One of them had been in the dive locker—the one with the knife. His wrist was wrapped as if sprained.
"Hope I haven't taken one of your bunks." He smiled broadly, intent on at least the illusion of ignorance to keep him from another brawl. The scuffle in the dive room had been to make a statement. Now, they knew he could fight. "Where can a fella find some grub around here?"
"Mr. Niles has asked to speak with you." One man hooked his thumb toward the corridor, and the other two men moved aside. "That way."
"Okay . . ." Nathan tucked in his shirt while assessing the situation. Three on one, and they wanted him to pass between them to exit the cabin? "Why don't you guys lead the way. I don't know where Mr. Niles is."
"He's in his cabin in the stern, deck two."
"Right." Nathan grinned knowingly, then clapped his hands, still unwilling to turn his back on these men. "I don't even know what a stern is. Go ahead. After you."
"Either you go," one man with red hair said, "or we drag you there. Mr. Niles doesn't like to wait."
"I care more about myself than Mr. Niles." Nathan rested his hands on his hips. "Now, I'll gladly go talk to Mr. Niles, but it won't be with you clowns behind me. I may be new on board, but I have the distinct feeling there are some who wouldn't mind if Mr. Niles is informed of my violent death on my way to talk to him. This cabin is pretty tight. If the four of us get to wrestling, someone's liable to get hurt. After what happened downstairs, I'd put my money on you bozos coming right now with more knives. And what do I have? I'm a cripple with a leg brace."
The instant their eyes dropped to his brace, Nathan shot between them—faster than a man with a leg brace should've been able to move. He reached the stairs and descended in three leaps down to the control room. As he opened the door to the quiet engine room, he heard the men stomping down the stairs after him. Nathan hustled through the engine room and down the corridor to the stern cabin—usually reserved for oilers and engine mechanics. Niles probably picked it for its solitude, Nathan guessed.
After Nathan knocked on the metal door, it was opened by the broad-shouldered man who had run the identity check on him.
"Mr. Niles sent for me."
The man moved aside to allow Nathan to enter. Nathan looked back and smiled at the three men as they caught up to him.
The cabin door closed, leaving the three in the hallway, and Nathan was directed to sit on a bunk facing Niles, who sat at a desk. Two goons were behind Nathan, but he was fairly certain he wasn't there to get jumped. According to the black man, Guntari, there was a struggle for power on board. Nathan could care less about the power struggle. What bothered him was that he hadn't seen Chen Li on board.
