Chapter 13 - THE LEVIATHAN’S HEARTGabriel hauled himself over the railing of the lower catwalk just as the first spotlight swept across the wet steel deck.
Henri climbed up behind him, unhooking a pneumatic spear gun from his shoulder.
A guard rounded the corner of the companionway, rifle raised. Henri fired instantly. The heavy steel spear caught the guard in the shoulder, pinning him against the bulkhead before he could shout. Gabriel lunged forward, catching the man’s rifle before it clattered against the deck, and silenced him with a swift strike to the jaw.
Gabriel stripped the guard’s key card and sidearm, tossing the spare magazine to Henri.
“The laboratory will be on the lowest sub-deck, near the center of the ship,” Gabriel whispered, checking the ship’s evacuation map mounted inside the companionway. “That’s where the stabilization gyroscopes are. They need minimal movement for marrow extraction.”
“I’ll take the demolition charges to the engine room,” Henri said, adjusting the straps on his explosives pack. “The moment I blow the steering rudders, the ship will lose steerage and run aground on the shoals. That’ll give Alvarez time to bring the freighter alongside for extraction.”
Gabriel grabbed Henri’s arm. “Ten minutes, Henri. Don’t get trapped down there.”
“See you in the lab, brother,” Henri whispered, turning down the service stairwell into the bowels of the vessel.
Gabriel moved like a shadow through the gleaming white corridors of the Acheron.
This was no ordinary ship; it was a floating fortress of corporate depravity. High-tech security stations, biometric scanners, and clinical white laboratories lined the inner hull.
He reached Sub-Deck 3.
Through the reinforced observation glass of Surgical Suite B, Gabriel’s heart stopped.
Claire was strapped to an articulated surgical table in the center of the room, tilted forward at a forty-five-degree angle. She was conscious, but weak, her teeth gritted in sheer agony.
Evelyn Cross stood beside the table, watching dispassionately as a chief surgeon prepped an eight-inch titanium aspiration needle, positioning it over Claire’s posterior iliac crest.
“The local anesthetic will dull the initial incision, Claire,” Evelyn said smoothly through an intercom. “But bone marrow extraction is an inherently visceral process. If you provide the alphanumeric sequence verbally, I will order the surgeon to administer a general narcotic.”
Claire looked up, her face drenched in sweat, her knuckles white where she gripped the restraints.
“Go… to hell,” Claire spat.
Evelyn sighed, turning to the surgeon. “Proceed with the harvest.”
Gabriel didn't wait. He raised the captured assault rifle, aimed directly at the glass door’s magnetic lock mechanism, and emptied half the magazine in a deafening burst of fire.
The door shattered inward.
Gabriel kicked the remains of the frame aside, stepping into the room with his weapon raised.
“Step away from my wife!” Gabriel roared.
The two armed surgical guards drew their sidearms, but Gabriel fired first, dropping both men with precision double-taps to the chest.
The surgeon dropped the aspiration needle, backing away with his hands raised in terror.
Evelyn Cross, however, didn't flinch.
With lightning speed, she drew a compact chrome automatic from her coat, stepped behind the surgical table, and pressed the muzzle directly against the base of Claire’s skull.
“Drop the weapon, Mr. Moreau,” Evelyn said calmly, her finger tightening on the trigger. “Or her father’s precious genetic sequence ends right here on this linoleum floor.”
Gabriel lowered his rifle slowly, his eyes locked on Evelyn’s merciless gaze.
“It’s over, Evelyn,” Gabriel said, breathing heavily. “Your ship is entering the shoals. You can't outrun the coast guard forever.”
“The coast guard doesn't patrol international waters, Gabriel,” Evelyn mocked. “And in five minutes, this vessel will be three miles beyond their legal jurisdiction.”
Suddenly, the entire four-hundred-foot ship shuddered violently.
A deep, subterranean explosion ripped through the keel below, followed by the screech of tearing steel as the primary steering rudders detonated.
May you like
The lights flickered and died, instantly replaced by the flashing red strobes of emergency backup power.
The deck tilted sharply thirty degrees to port as the Acheron, running blind and rudderless at twenty knots, slammed directly into the razor-sharp granite spine of Dead Man’s Reef.
