killed, please?”
“We can try,” Shane said, bracing himself as Max whipped around a corner onto a one way street. “But Max is driving so no promises.”
***
Mike kept the sub at 500 feet and pushed it as hard as the thing would move. Adolescent blue whales top out at twenty miles per hour, but the sub could only manage fifteen. Mike didn’t care, as long as he was moving away from the hell behind him.
He couldn’t get the image of what he saw in the monitors out of his mind. Sharks. Really fucking big sharks.
He’d lost com with Bart and John a while back, but at that point he was more concerned with himself than the other two sub pilots. Either they made it or they didn’t. SEAL brotherhood was strong, but so was the instinct to stay alive. Which brought a very critical thought to mind.
Did he still try to rendezvous with the cartel’s fishing vessel or not?
All of his systems still worked and he watched his navigation system specifically as he piloted the sub into US waters, passing the international boundary without a problem. Certainly a lot faster and easier than the land crossing in Tijuana. After a mile, a beep sounded and his GPS showed a small dot about thirty miles out to sea.
The fishing boat.
But he also realized he was only fifteen miles from a place he knew well. A hidden place. A place he could call for help.
A debate raged in his head as he looked at the GPS map and the small dot then at the San Diego coastline and the other possible destination.
If he took the sub to San Diego, would he be able to get it where he needed? And could he get help before the cartel found him?
He stared at the screen for a few seconds more then made his decision.
***
“Are you seeing this?” Kinsey asked, sitting cross legged in front of Gunnar’s huge flat screen TV. “Some psychos started shooting up I-5.”
“They what?” Gunnar asked, looking up from the sandwiches he was throwing together for them both since the pancakes didn’t work out so well. He sliced the two sandwiches, placed them on plates and hurried into the living room. “Where?”
“Here,” Kinsey replied, seeing the sandwiches. “Hand me mine, will ya?”
“No,” Gunnar said, setting the plates on the coffee table as he sat down on the couch. “You’ll come eat over here so you don’t get crumbs all over the carpet.” He took a big bite of his sandwich and kept talking around the food. “And you’re sitting too close. You’ll ruin your eyes.”
“I used to blow random guys for smack cash,” Kinsey said, as she stood up, unwinding gracefully from the floor. “Ruining my eyesight doesn’t even register as one of my worries.”
“Well, it should,” Gunnar said. “You need strong eyes if you want to stay on Team Grendel.”
She sat down next to Gunnar, bumping him over with her hip, and picked up half a sandwich. She took a bite bigger than Gunnar’s and focused back on the TV.
“They think it’s drug related,” Gunnar said.
“Yeah, I can read the ticker on the bottom,” Kinsey said. “Turn it up.”
Gunnar looked for the remote, but when he couldn’t find it he stood up and searched the couch.
“You’re sitting on the remote,” he snapped, yanking it out from under Kinsey’s ass. He was about to turn up the volume when the doorbell rang. “That must be the boys.”
“Come in!” Kinsey yelled.
“It’s my condo,” Gunnar said as he turned up the volume too much. “COME IN!”
The news reporter’s voice blared from the TV and Gunnar turned it down as the two of them watched a helicopter view of the carnage on I-5.
“Ooooh, looks like they found one of the cars,” Gunnar said, pointing to the TV as the view changed from the freeway to residential neighborhoods close by. “Don’t the boys have a Jeep like that?”
The doorbell rang again.
“COME IN!” Kinsey yelled. She nodded at Gunnar and watched the footage. “Yeah, they have a Wrangler. Silver, I
“We can try,” Shane said, bracing himself as Max whipped around a corner onto a one way street. “But Max is driving so no promises.”
***
Mike kept the sub at 500 feet and pushed it as hard as the thing would move. Adolescent blue whales top out at twenty miles per hour, but the sub could only manage fifteen. Mike didn’t care, as long as he was moving away from the hell behind him.
He couldn’t get the image of what he saw in the monitors out of his mind. Sharks. Really fucking big sharks.
He’d lost com with Bart and John a while back, but at that point he was more concerned with himself than the other two sub pilots. Either they made it or they didn’t. SEAL brotherhood was strong, but so was the instinct to stay alive. Which brought a very critical thought to mind.
Did he still try to rendezvous with the cartel’s fishing vessel or not?
All of his systems still worked and he watched his navigation system specifically as he piloted the sub into US waters, passing the international boundary without a problem. Certainly a lot faster and easier than the land crossing in Tijuana. After a mile, a beep sounded and his GPS showed a small dot about thirty miles out to sea.
The fishing boat.
But he also realized he was only fifteen miles from a place he knew well. A hidden place. A place he could call for help.
A debate raged in his head as he looked at the GPS map and the small dot then at the San Diego coastline and the other possible destination.
If he took the sub to San Diego, would he be able to get it where he needed? And could he get help before the cartel found him?
He stared at the screen for a few seconds more then made his decision.
***
“Are you seeing this?” Kinsey asked, sitting cross legged in front of Gunnar’s huge flat screen TV. “Some psychos started shooting up I-5.”
“They what?” Gunnar asked, looking up from the sandwiches he was throwing together for them both since the pancakes didn’t work out so well. He sliced the two sandwiches, placed them on plates and hurried into the living room. “Where?”
“Here,” Kinsey replied, seeing the sandwiches. “Hand me mine, will ya?”
“No,” Gunnar said, setting the plates on the coffee table as he sat down on the couch. “You’ll come eat over here so you don’t get crumbs all over the carpet.” He took a big bite of his sandwich and kept talking around the food. “And you’re sitting too close. You’ll ruin your eyes.”
“I used to blow random guys for smack cash,” Kinsey said, as she stood up, unwinding gracefully from the floor. “Ruining my eyesight doesn’t even register as one of my worries.”
“Well, it should,” Gunnar said. “You need strong eyes if you want to stay on Team Grendel.”
She sat down next to Gunnar, bumping him over with her hip, and picked up half a sandwich. She took a bite bigger than Gunnar’s and focused back on the TV.
“They think it’s drug related,” Gunnar said.
“Yeah, I can read the ticker on the bottom,” Kinsey said. “Turn it up.”
Gunnar looked for the remote, but when he couldn’t find it he stood up and searched the couch.
“You’re sitting on the remote,” he snapped, yanking it out from under Kinsey’s ass. He was about to turn up the volume when the doorbell rang. “That must be the boys.”
“Come in!” Kinsey yelled.
“It’s my condo,” Gunnar said as he turned up the volume too much. “COME IN!”
The news reporter’s voice blared from the TV and Gunnar turned it down as the two of them watched a helicopter view of the carnage on I-5.
“Ooooh, looks like they found one of the cars,” Gunnar said, pointing to the TV as the view changed from the freeway to residential neighborhoods close by. “Don’t the boys have a Jeep like that?”
The doorbell rang again.
“COME IN!” Kinsey yelled. She nodded at Gunnar and watched the footage. “Yeah, they have a Wrangler. Silver, I
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