Commander Lopez's voice was clear and steady. "Depth charges away."
"Aye, sir. Depth charges away."
They couldn't let the mini-sub escape. That was the priority. Capturing it would be proof to the rest of the world that any damage from the X-56 wasn't due to American interests. Capturing the bitch and her crew would be a welcome bonus.
Lopez's men already had the boom in play, grabbing onto the lifeboats and hauling them on board. The Rich Man's Dream had suffered a gash in her side and was taking on water; more cables were being attached to tow her into dock before she could sink. The torpedo had exploded before it could reduce the Dream to kindling, and Steve knew that Chin had sacrificed his own chance in the lifeboat to protect his country. Did you sacrifice your life as well, brother?
A low, rumbling thunder shook the waves, then a second, and a third. Steve grabbed onto the bulkhead to steady himself, recognizing the tell-tale signs of the depth charges. Had they been close enough? Fast enough? Had the mini-sub turned tail and run, once her payload was discharged? It was what Steve himself would have done, if he were on their side.
Massive floodlights scanned the waves, searching for lifeboats, for sailors tipped overboard into the water—and for one mini-sub.
More churning of the waves: the mini-sub breached, pushing a lifeboat out of reach of the boom. Steve saw instantly that the damage to the small vessel was extensive. The mini-sub had been lucky to survive long enough to surface. Lopez had done a damn fine job of positioning his depth charges.
The hatch opened, and a head popped out—followed by the long nose of a weapon.
Steve instinctively moved toward the danger, reaching for a weapons locker.
Lopez glared at him. "Mine!"
"Mine!" Steve insisted.
"Mine, McGarrett!" Lopez growled. "My boat, my water, my catch!" He tossed another glare over his shoulder. "Officer Kalakaua, tie this man down before I shoot him myself in frustration."
Kono gulped.
Lopez took pity on her, and delegated a task to her boss to keep him out of danger and out of Lopez's hair. "If you must do something, Steve, then go help look for sailors in the water. Do a head count on the Rich Man's Dream; make sure we've got everyone safe. Just stay out of the line of fire!"
Steve dashed out onto the deck, Kono a short hop behind. Sailors were running back and forth, pulling their fellows from the Rich Man's Dream on board from the ocean waters, using the boom to pull the lifeboats to safety, and above all: staying away from the lee side where gunfire was being exchanged.
Kono grabbed the sailor with the clipboard in his hand. "Headcount?"
The sailor swayed with the waves, casting his gaze over the small crowd of drenched sailors getting blankets and being hustled down below. "We got most of 'em safe. All but two: the captain, and one other. They're getting that guy out of the water right now. Everyone's accounted for, all safe." He pointed at a man swimming in the water toward his rescuers, then pointed again at a man who stood on the far away deck of the Rich Man's Dream. "Captain Davis won't leave his ship, wants to stay as it gets towed into dock."
"Is it going under?" Steve, Kono knew, had sailed all varieties of craft since he was three, and was well aware of what could happen.
"Probably not. Somebody blew up the torpedo before it hit the hull. Probably saved the ship, truth be told."
Kono could see the jagged hole in the hull of the Rich Man's Dream, and shuddered. Chin had been on that vessel, had been one of the shooters aiming at the torpedo. Had her cousin's bullet been the one to stop the torpedo? Wouldn't put it past him.
She watched her boss for signs that the concussion was getting the better of him, and saw none. Steve's attention had been caught by the sight of the mini-sub. Lopez's second in command had a bullhorn, and was urging the mini-sub's crew to give up without a fight. It was the only sensible thing to do; without assistance, the mini-sub would sink to the bottom of the harbor within the hour.
Someone on board the mini-sub was disinclined to be sensible. A shot rang out—and was returned by six men on board the Royston. The body slumped over, his weapon dropping into the briny deep.
"You're not getting out of this," came from the bullhorn. "Make it easy on yourselves."
Kono had another thought, one not directly related to the mini-sub. She tapped the sailor with the clipboard on his shoulder. "What about Detective Kelly?" she asked. "Chin Ho Kelly. He was on board the Rich Man's Dream," she added. "Did you get him on board?"
"Who?"
"Chin Ho Kelly," Kono repeated, aware of Steve turning his attention back to her. "He was the HPD man in charge of harbor security for the Newton." An icicle formed in her gut. "You got him on board, right?"
"Ma'am, he's not on the list of crew." The sailor was getting equally nervous.
"That's because he's not crew. He's guest." Steve moved in. "You pull him on board from one of the lifeboats?"
"No, sir."
"Get me the captain of the Rich Man's Dream," Steve ordered. "Get on your radio right now, sailor!"
"Got him, sir!" The sailor fumbled with his radio. "Captain Davis, I've got Lt. Cmdr. McGarrett—"
"Give me that." Steve pulled the radio out of the sailor's hand. "Steve McGarrett here, captain; Hawaii Five-0. My man, Chin Ho Kelly—where is he?"
"Isn't he with you? I thought one of the lifeboats picked him up out of the drink."
"He's not here," Steve affirmed grimly. "How about down below decks?"
"I saw him fall overboard, right after the torpedo exploded. It was his shot that took out the torpedo. If he's not with you, McGarrett, then he's in the water!"
Steve swore. "Bring those floodlights around," he bawled. "We've got another man in the water!"
"Steve, look!" Kono's keen eyes caught sight of a blob of white against the dark water the color stark alongside the barely visible orange of the life-jacket in the night. "There he is!"
It didn't matter that Steve McGarrett's only excuse for not having a concussion was that there wasn't a doctor around to provide the formal diagnosis. It didn't matter that less than two hours ago he was flat on his back on a deserted island, waiting to be rescued. It didn't matter that there were bullets flying from the sinking mini-sub with some desperate people on board.
What mattered was that Chin Ho Kelly was in the water, and he wasn't moving.
Steve took three steps before diving over the rail, slicing cleanly through the water with the expertise of a man as at home in the waves as on shore. Kono was a bare half pace behind him.
Bullets followed him into the water. Steve let the curses ring through his addled brains, and dove deep to escape them. What idiots were on the mini-sub, that they'd waste the lead trying to take out a single man in the water? Geniuses ought to be shooting back at the sailors on deck. Better yet, stop shooting all together and give themselves up.
Idiots!
Steve saw the white linen from Chin's shirt, coming up from below. Any more bullets, and they'd be putting some red blood onto that white shirt. Couldn't have that; might attract a few sharks. He reached out long arms and grabbed the shirt, dragging Chin's limp body down under the surface where they couldn't be seen.
Next step: air. Steve aimed for a piece of hull that he'd spotted. It would serve as a shield until he could get them far enough away from the mini-sub so that the bullets wouldn't reach them. A dead fish, nearly as long as his arm, floated belly up next to them. Concussive force, Steve determined. The blast from the depth charges would have killed some of the fish swimming nearby. The sharks would have a field day, eating up the remains.
Steve surfaced, Chin in his arms. Step two: was Chin breathing? Steve held his own breath, waiting…waiting…
Cough. Cough again.
Relief!
Steve ducked them both down behind the piece of hull. He noted wryly that the piece of ship's hull held the word 'Dream'.
It fit. It fit.
Kono could swim in McGarrett's wake, collecting bullets and offering a larger target for the mini-sub's crew to aim at, or she could do something more useful.
She chose to be more useful.
After years spent in the water, Kono could swim like a fish. Skimming just below the surface of the water and taking advantage of the camouflage offered by the night, she circled the mini-sub to arrive at the far side, taking note of where it was taking on water.
The depth charges had done a fine job. There was a hole in the forward hull that had already flooded one of the main compartments, and that was the one that would eventually sink the mini-sub unless Lopez was able to tow it into dry dock before that happened. After all the trouble caused by the mini-sub, Kono was pleased to see the damage.
It didn't, however, do much for capturing the bitch who had stationed herself in the mini-sub's tower, aiming shots at the sailors on board the Royston from behind the cover of the hatch. Kono had a particular bone to pick with that bitch. Anyone who blew up half of the Five-0 team deserved some grief from the other half.
She'd have to be careful. There were bullets coming from fast and furious from the Royston, and getting nailed by friendly cross-fire was not what Kono had in mind. Also, she had no gun. Bullets tended not to work particularly well when wet, and Kono was well aware that the harbor contained a massive amount of wet.
Kono considered the problem, and smiled. The solution presented itself in the form of handholds along the outside of the mini-sub. They were designed for maintenance, for workers to climb to the top of the sub when the vessel was high and dry, and they would work nicely in this situation. As an added benefit, bullets clanging against the hull of the sub covered over any noise that she made as she clambered up the side.
There was Kono's target, perched inside the mini-sub's tower, an automatic in her hands and firing at the sailors on the Royston. The bitch could keep this up, Kono realized, until she either ran out of ammunition or the sub sank. If the sub sank, it would take days if not weeks before divers could pull up enough to determine the identity of the woman and her crew. That would delay figuring out who was behind the whole operation. If they were unlucky, the salt water would so damage the evidence that they would never be able to identify the perpetrators. That, Kono decided, was this woman's goal: to protect her superiors.
Not going to happen. Kono ascended the rungs as quietly as she could, well aware that if the woman got even an inkling of her presence, all that needed to happen was one short burst of automatic gunfire to turn Kono into shark chum.
Climb a rung; freeze. Climb the next; freeze. Inch by silent inch, Kono stalked her prey. The woman's automatic rifle gleamed in the harsh floodlights from the Royston, and the air was redolent with smoke from the gunpowder. Kono wanted to sneeze.
Not in this lifetime. Any closer, and she'll feel me breathing down her neck. Kono lunged, a long arm outstretched and aiming for the hand with the automatic. She grabbed it out of the woman's hand and tossed it overboard.
The next sound out of the woman's mouth was either not a word or something vile in whatever language she spoke. Whatever it was, it was unprintable by Kono's standards.
Kono didn't have time for pleasant chit-chat. She instinctively blocked the arm descending on her head, and launched her own counter-attack. In the background she could hear Lopez shouting at the sailors to stop firing, and more than one seaman was cheering her on. You taking bets on who's going to win, me or her, sailor?
It's going to be me!
The blonde outweighed Kono by some thirty pounds or so, but Kono had the longer reach—and Kono was all muscle.
And she was pissed!
Block the arm. Return the strike, aiming for the nose—missed, but rattled the brains. Kono used the moment to climb higher, working for a better vantage point. Another block, another palm strike in return—the bitch slumped over.
Kono stared, almost hoping that the woman was faking unconsciousness. No, Kono wrapped the woman's arm behind her in an arm lock, and the woman didn't stir.
Kono raised her voice to be heard across the waves. "It's over. Send over a boat to pick us up." She considered, feeling in her back pocket. "Anybody got a pair of handcuffs? Mine are floating down to the bottom of the harbor."
