Midnight Sun (12 page)

Chapter Seven

Brylie trembled as she stood outside the bridge. She wasn’t quite tall enough to see through the window set in the door, not without putting herself off balance. She didn’t know for certain if her father was in there, but if the pirates were smart, they’d have him piloting his ship through these waters. And she’d given her approach a lot of consideration. She wouldn’t have exposed herself except that the crew from the Southern Ocean Patrol needed help. So she’d come to rescue her father.

She only wished she knew who else was in there with him.

Entry to the bridge was not easy—both doors were clearly visible from any part of the room. She’d have to go in low, assess quickly and not hesitate. She just couldn’t think about what she was doing when she fired her weapon. She turned the door handle slowly, crouching so she’d be hidden behind the console when she entered, on the off chance no one saw the door opened. Also, if bullets started flying, she had something to hide behind. Wouldn’t be good for the running of the ship, but…

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door inward and waited for the shout of alarm, but it didn’t come. She slipped through the narrow opening on trembling legs and pushed the door closed so it wouldn’t slam. So far, so good. No sense pushing her luck. Listening for voices to give her the locations of the terrorists and crew, she crept to the far side of the room, but no one spoke. She was going to have to chance a peek.

Cursing her red hair, she rose slowly and peered over the edge of the console. Her father stood at the bridge, and her heart kicked in relief. He was safe. But before she could see which of his crew members were present, a shout directly across from her drew her attention. One of the pirates had spotted her, and though she didn’t see him holding a gun, she raised hers in both hands and fired, striking him in the shoulder, sending him staggering. Another shot cracked the glass behind him.

Shit
. Wasted bullet, and now he was out of sight. Everyone had ducked down when she fired, so she still didn’t know how many friends or how many enemies were on the bridge.

The window beside her head splintered before she registered the sound of the gun firing, and she dropped to the floor, blood surging. A few inches to the right and she’d be dead. She couldn’t die in front of her father.

Suddenly the man himself was beside her and took the gun from her with his big, competent hands. He rose on one knee and fired measured shots over the console until he was empty, then swore.

“Ammo?” he demanded.

She shook her head but shoved the other gun at him, with no idea how many bullets it contained.

“Stay down,” he ordered, and repeated the attack. Behind him, the cracked window shattered, and icy air flowed into the room.

A movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention as one of the pirates crept around the end of the console. Someone who’d been in here the whole time, or had someone come to investigate the shooting? She hadn’t thought to secure the door against more intruders.

When the pirate raised his pistol to fire at her father, she launched herself at the terrorist with a cry, hitting him mid-body, below his gun arm. The weapon fired, and she prayed the shot went wild as her momentum slammed the guy against the wall. She grasped his arm and twisted with all her strength. Surprise worked to her advantage, and the gun dropped to the deck with a thud. Both of them scrambled for it. She felt the roughness of the grip beneath her fingertips before it was snatched away, but she didn’t give up. To do that meant she and her father would die.

A deafening shot behind her had the man she fought with bucking, then going limp. She looked up to see blood pouring from a hole in his head, his eyes glazed over, sightless. She grabbed the gun from his slack hand and scrambled back to her father.

“How many?” she asked.

“There were three.”

“Was he one?”

Her father looked over. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to secure the door.”

He made a sound of protest, but she didn’t look over her shoulder, instead stepping over the dead man on her way to the main entrance. She was shaking by the time she reached it, and her ears rang so badly from the gunfire that a moment passed before she realized there had been no more gunshots.

“Mac?” her father called.

“Got ‘im,” the bosun replied.

“Carl?”

“Yeah, he’s down.”

“Brylie?”

“I’ve got the door.” She straightened to see him crossing the room to her, his expression an odd mixture of fury and relief. He gripped her shoulders, one hand still holding the pistol, and glared at her.

“What were you thinking coming in here?”

“I was thinking you need control of the ship!” she retorted. “And now we can get those men out of the water.”

Pain flickered in his eyes, letting her know he’d seen what she had. “Where did you get the guns?”

“Marcus got one from someone when he came in to steal the satellite phone and make the distress call. I got the other—just now.”

“Just found it lying about, did you?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze and tell him the truth. “No.”

“Christ, Brylie.” He pulled her against his massive chest and curved his big hand over the back of her head.

She gave in to the comfort he offered—just for a moment before she stepped back. “We need to help those men now. Turn the ship.”

His mouth tightened. “I can’t. We’re tethered to the pirates’ ship.

“The zodiacs—Mac, Carl and I can take them out.”

Her father’s face reddened. “And get blown out of the water as well? We may have control of the bridge, but not the ship. These men are far better armed than we are.”

 “I expect them to come charging in here any minute,” Mac said, moving toward the door.

As if to affirm his prediction, one of the radios on one of the fallen men squawked. Sharp Spanish commands poured out. Not Hilario’s voice, but someone demanded to know what was going on, demanded a report. Brylie wanted to grab the radio, but didn’t want to get close enough to the man who wore it, just in case he was still alive, still strong enough to fight back.

Cal didn’t have the same qualms. He walked over, kicked the man in the head so that it lolled to the other side, and yanked the radio off his belt. He lifted the radio to his lips and pressed the button. Brylie held her breath, knowing Cal’s hot head didn’t always think things through. But before he could speak, her father crossed the bridge and held out a hand. Cal handed over the radio and her father turned it down.

Her father was right, of course. They wouldn’t be able to help the men from the S.O.P. until they could get away from the pirate ship. And they couldn’t get away from the pirate ship unless they fought back.

There were four of them, now, and three fewer pirates. Five, counting the two she shot on her way here.

But they were still outnumbered, and the terrorists had the hostages as collateral. Including Marcus. Helplessness swamped her and she dropped to the floor.

“You can’t stay here,” her father said. “They’ll be here any moment and I don’t want you caught in the line of fire.”

She opened her mouth to protest that they all needed to get out. But her father couldn’t leave the bridge. What they needed was to be better armed, and Marcus had hidden an automatic weapon. She didn’t know how to use it, but maybe Carl did. She pushed to her feet, using the wall behind her to brace herself.

“All right. But I want Carl to come with me. Mac can stay here and watch your back. Is your key card still working?”

Both crewmen turned to their captain with raised eyebrows. Her father frowned at her, knowing there was something she wasn’t telling him, before he nodded gruffly and drew out the key card. “I can reactivate it now. Give me a minute.”

With an ear tuned to hear gunfire from either the bridge or the dining room, she retraced Marcus’s steps. The weapon was in the fourth linen closet she checked, much to Carl’s annoyance.

“Hey, we haven’t heard anyone moving around yet,” she said as she handed him the weapon, which he checked like a pro.

“That’s what has me worried.” He tucked the weapon under his arm.

“Take that back to the bridge.” She closed the door, pocketed the key card and turned toward the dining room.

“And where are you going, missy?”

“I need to go get Marcus.”

Brylie went over the layout of the ship for the thousandth time since the pirates boarded. She knew of only one way to look into the dining room, to see if Marcus was in there, and how many terrorists remained. She had to get into her kitchen and look through the doors—and hope no one decided at that point to get hungry.

Now, how she’d get Marcus away without being noticed was a whole other problem. But she needed his help, or the men in the water would die.

She pressed the swinging door open as slightly as she could manage. Three men with guns stood over the passengers, who were seated on the floor, their backs to the wall separating dining room and kitchen, which made it difficult to see their faces. Damn it.

Before she could think of what to do, someone rose and moved toward the kitchen, followed by one of the guards. She hadn’t heard anything said, or seen a signal. What was going on? Was this the other person helping the terrorists?

But no, it was Monica. Brylie ducked out of the doorway, considered briefly, then slipped into the pantry. This way, she might have a chance to talk to Monica, and see where Marcus was.

She hoped Monica was a good actress.

Monica shoved through the door with more force than necessary, nearly beaning the young guard who followed her when the door made its return swing. He cursed as Monica crossed the room, stopping at the counter just to the right of the pantry, in Brylie’s line of sight. Brylie sucked in a breath, wondering if she should say something now. But no, Monica would get scared, her guard would notice, and she’d be caught. She’d wait until Monica stepped into the pantry.

Please let Monica come into the pantry
.

Monica moved out of view, then back in, assembling more sandwiches. When it looked like she’d skip the pantry altogether, Brylie reached back and crinkled a bag of chips on the shelf. Monica’s head shot up, and she met Brylie’s gaze through the door. Brylie jerked her head to motion for Monica to come inside. Monica glanced over her shoulder to see where the guard was, and muttered something about needing more mustard, before she slipped into the pantry. She pulled the door closed behind her.

The women embraced—Brylie didn’t want to let go. Her friend was shaking all over.

“Are you okay?” Brylie asked.

“I’m fine!” Monica eased back and braced a hand on her hip, her gaze searching Brylie’s face. “What about you?”

Brylie waved the question away. “What’s going on in there? Who’s in there? Is Marcus?”

Monica shook her head. “No, he tried to take out one of the guards, so they took him away. I heard him shouting down the hall. I think he’s in one of the crew’s cabins.”

The door handle jiggled and Monica smacked her hand over it. “I’ll
be
right there.” She turned back to Brylie. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get him. We’re getting you out of this, I promise.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’d better go.”

“How are you going to get there?”

“I’ll figure it out. Go, before he gets suspicious.”

Monica nodded once, and turned away, pulling the door closed behind her. Brylie waited a few minutes before creeping into the freezer to get back in the vent.

There was no direct way from the vent to the hallway with the crew cabins—her cabin wasn’t in that hallway. She had to crawl to the perpendicular hallway, lower herself into the open, and creep back down the hall.

She didn’t have to worry too much about making noise, because he was making enough for ten people. At least she knew where he was. No one stood guard in front of Marcus’s room, but how were they keeping him inside? She approached the door and tried the key card, but while the light flashed green, the handle didn’t respond. He rattled the door, so the handle must somehow be disabled from this side. She couldn’t see what was holding it in place, but she was running out of time and couldn’t spend the time to figure it out. She stepped away from the door and kicked the handle as hard as she could. Marcus shouted in alarm from the other side of the door, but she didn’t want to take the time or the energy to explain. She kicked again. And again. And felt the handle give.

Just when she raised her leg to kick one more time, the door dragged inward and Marcus surged into the opening.

“What the—?” Then he saw her, leaned against the jamb and grinned. “Come to rescue me?”

She frowned and looked up and down the hall before shoving the other gun at him. “They’ve shot the S.O.P. out of the water. My father has control of the bridge but we can’t maneuver to help the survivors with the other ship tethered to us. We need to break free of it.”

His expression sobered immediately as he palmed the weapon. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze because if she did, she’d burst into tears. She couldn’t stop to think about what she’d done over the past few hours. Even now she was shaking with exhaustion. But she couldn’t rest until those men were out of the water and everyone was safe. She nodded.

“We have to get loose from the pirate ship.”

“How are we doing that, exactly?” He scanned the hall, then curved his hand around her upper arm and drew her with him in the direction away from the dining room.

“Remember those water cannons my father told us about earlier on the cruise? You’re going to man one while I remove the lines between the ships.”

“The hell you are.”

She should have known he’d argue with her. “I can do it quickly. I’m not strong enough to use a cannon. And we don’t know if anyone will see us.”

“We’re not dressed to go out in the weather, much less get wet.”

“We’ll go by and pick up slickers. We have to do this, Marcus. Those men have been exposed too long already. They were coming to save us. We owe them.”