How had she managed to open the testing tank? He’d locked it down. Without the proper code punched into the programming—
His spiraling thoughts faltered.
The testing tank security was electronic. Whoever had disabled the lab security panels must have disabled the testing tank security too.
The horror shifted to fascination. He leaned into his laptop screen, absorbed by Comfrey’s behavior. What was happening inside the tank? Were the nanobots penetrating her arm? Was she giving them a ride somewhere? Or incubating them for new hosts?
She suddenly pulled her arm out of the tank and stumbled back. With robotic movements, she turned and stumbled her way across the room. Every specimen, both breathing and not, followed her.
What were they up to now?
Comfrey stopped next to the north wall. Her entourage did as well. In unison, their faces tilted up to stare at the grate over the ventilation shaft.
Chapter thirty-seven
Day 36
Middle of the Pacific Ocean
Eighteen hours after Aiden hauled the Bountiful Harvest’s drugged crew into the wheelhouse, the Chinook once again hovered over the boat. Although not over the same GPS coordinates. Aiden had piloted the trawler to the Harbinger’s grave site during one of the many refueling flights the Chinook had undertaken. This last refueling trip had been their fourth. With luck, it would also be their last. At least at the San Bernardino fuel depot.
Under the liquid calm of darkness, the seas had calmed, retreating to gentle waves. The crew, along with Winchester,showed no signs of infection. Overall, the outcome had been kinder than O’Neill had expected.
Tethered to each side of the open cargo door, O’Neill watched as the Chinook’s winch lowered a harness through a hole in the roof of the wheelhouse. The hole, which Winchester had created by attaching several breaching charges to the ceiling of the captain’s cabin, blazed like a halo beneath the Chinook’s spotlight. The new entry point allowed the chopper to lower equipment down and hoist people up without risking bot infection through touching the deck. They knew the boat’s cabin was clean. But they still weren’t sure whether the ocean spray had contaminated the decking.
“First crew member is ready for off-load.” Aiden’s voice came through the comm.
Wolf gave the whirlybird signal in the dim light of the cargo bay and the winch started to whine. The speed was microscopic at first, at least until the limp captive rose through the spotlight. The speed picked after that.
The captives had awakened hours ago, giving Aiden plenty of time to assess them for signs of bot infection. He’d also forced them to change clothes, discarding their soaked clothing and rain bibs. Turned out there was a lower cabin of sorts beneath the wheelhouse. Six bunk beds and a tiny galley. It made sense when Aiden told them about it. The Bountiful Harvest fished so far from shore it wouldn’t be able to return most nights. The crew needed somewhere to eat, sleep, and store their extra clothing. The underdeck cabin also served as shelter when Winchester blew the roof.
When their first captive reached the darkness beneath the lip of the cargo hold, Simcosky and O’Neill leaned down to haul his limp body on board. He was still bound at the wrist and ankle, but Aiden had blindfolded him too. That was new. And appreciated.
After unhooking the harness and reattaching the winch cable, O’Neill flung it back into the darkness for its trip back down to the wheelhouse roof. Two of Wolf’s warriors grabbed their sleeping captive and dragged him to the back of the Chinook.
“Looks like he’s using the right amount to knock these guys out again, without killing ‘em,” O’Neill commented, as he watched the harness appear in the halo of light below. “And without Rawlings whispering the correct dose in his ear.”
They’d lowered a basket through the hole earlier, with a med kit, stocked with sedatives.
Simcosky grunted an acknowledgement before suddenly asking, “What’s Wolfie got planned for the boat? If the hull infested with those bastards, we can’t leave it floating.”
“He’ll sink it,” O’Neill said, which would have been obvious if Simcosky knew Aiden had motored the trawler to Harbinger’s grave.
But without GPS, one wouldn’t know the Harvest had moved. Everything looked the same in the middle of the ocean, with no shore to navigate from, and celestial navigation markers hidden beneath cloud cover.
“If we sink the boat, we destroy the livelihood of five men,” Winters argued.
Mackenzie scoffed “That’s what insurance is for.”
“You’re assuming they have insurance,” Winters countered.
O’Neill was quite sure Wolf had already considered all this. Since the dude was an overgrown boy scout, no doubt he’d already found the names and bank records for the Harvest’s captain and crew. Their reimbursements were probably already sitting in their bank accounts.
“The owner of the vessel and its crew will be reimbursed for their losses.” Wolf’s placid voice broke into the comm.
O’Neill smirked. Did he know the son of a bitch or what?
As they watched the harness descend through the bright white light illuminating the hole in the roof, O’Neill grappled with a new worry. “Did Aiden find a GPS system or an emergency location beacon on board? That ship needs to disappear; in case someone comes looking for them.”
