Thankfully, none of them were in sight.

He could hear voices coming from the far side of the boat where the Kelly Maywas anchored, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. The voices sounded angry, however, which only served to reinforce his sense of caution.

Garin swam over to the side of the boat where an aluminum ladder descended from the deck down to the waterline. Grasping the nearest rung in both hands, he quickly climbed to the deck above. He didn’t want the scuba tank he wore to hinder his movements as he skulked about the boat, so he unbuckled his harness and quietly lowered the tank to the deck. He removed his flippers, too.

A quick glance told him he was still alone. Satisfied that he could move with stealth, he set out to discover just what was going on.

He crept forward, keeping his back to the wall and his head below the level of the windows. He could see a staircase ahead of him, leading to the decks above, so he made his way over to it and ascended as quickly and as quietly as he could. He passed the door to the second deck without stopping, headed for the sun deck above. At the top he peeked over the edge, looking for signs of the crew.

The deck appeared to be empty.

The voices were louder now and a few short sharp sentences were followed by the unmistakable sound of a fist striking bare flesh. Whoever they were, they weren’t there to make friends, it seemed.

Still not having seen anyone, Garin took a chance to swiftly cross the deck, threading his way through the lounge chairs until he reached the far side.

Crouched down next to the railing, he cautiously raised his head to get a look at what was happening on board the Kelly Maybelow him.

He could see Jimmy Mitchell kneeling in the middle of the deck with his hands in the air, his face battered and swollen. A large thug in a dark jacket and jeans stood looming over him, no doubt the source of the bruises. Two other thugs, similarly dressed, stood a few feet behind the pair. Both of them held automatic rifles in their hands.

A fourth man stood near the stern of the boat, watching the proceedings with a bored look on his face. He was better dressed than the other three and was clearly the man in charge. He glanced away from his captive, toward the dive line that stretched down into the water, and Garin got a good look at his face.

To his surprise, he recognized the man. He’d seen his face staring back at him from the photo in the file Griggs had handed him just a few days before.

Blaine Michaels, the man who currently headed the Order of the Golden Phoenix.

Garin was suddenly glad he’d opted for the cautious approach. By the way Michaels was watching the dive line, it was clear that Mitchell had told him that his two companions were in the water below.

Where was Annja?Garin had yet to see any indication that she’d surfaced after him and that concerned him even more than the newcomers aboard the Kelly May. She should have done so by now. Her air supply had to be running dangerously low at this point.

It seemed Michaels knew that, as well, for he kept glancing toward the dive line, watching for movement that might signal Annja’s ascendance. Garin didn’t spare a second thought for Jimmy Mitchell; the man was an uncultured bore who more than likely deserved what he had coming to him.

But Annja was another story. Michaels’s men had already tried to kill Annja once and Garin had no doubt that things wouldn’t end well if she fell into his clutches at this point.

He had to find a way to warn her off before she surfaced.

Garin turned away from the rail with some vague plan of hustling back across the deck and returning to the water half formed in his mind. He walked right into a punch thrown by the man standing behind him.

If he’d been standing, the blow would have hit him in the stomach, but because he was crouched over, it caught him on the chin. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet and sent him sprawling to the deck.

Even with his head spinning from the unexpected blow, Garin kept enough of his wits about him to sense the other man moving in to finish the job. As he drew closer, Garin spun around in a half circle and lashed out with his legs, striking his assailant behind the ankles and sweeping him off his feet.

No sooner had the other man hit the deck than Garin swarmed atop him, covering him with his body to keep the other man from getting back up and locking his hands around his throat to prevent him from shouting a warning.

The newcomer wasn’t going to go down without a fight, though. He grabbed Garin’s hands in his own, trying to pull them off his throat. Rather than wasting more of his energy and air when that didn’t immediately work, he switched tactics, pounding at the sides of Garin’s body with his big fists, alternating those strikes with attempts to land a good solid cross on Garin’s face.

Garin, however, was in excellent physical condition and he simply ignored the body strikes, knowing it would be a while before the other man did enough damage to trouble him. He tucked his head between his outstretched arms to keep it from being hit by a wayward blow and tightened his grip on the other’s man’s neck, hoping to choke his assailant into unconsciousness as quickly as possible.

As the seconds ticked past, and the other man refused to weaken, Garin’s frustration grew. He had no choice but to end this as quickly as possible.

When the solution occurred to him, he cursed himself for not thinking of it immediately.

As his attacker’s flailing continued, Garin reared back and then thrust his head forward, slamming the crown of his skull into the other man’s forehead with an audible crack.

It was like turning off a light switch. One moment the man was bucking and struggling away beneath him, the next he lay still, knocked into unconsciousness by the force of the blow.

Garin climbed off the other man, intent on making his escape, only to be brought up short by the cold touch of a gun barrel against the side of his head.

“Ne se déplacent pas.”

Don’t move.

Garin put his hands in the air, surrendering.

28

Annja fumbled at her belt with her free hand, trying to free the device, but it was no use. It had gotten stuck somehow and wouldn’t come free. She gave it one more tug as the alligator closed the distance between them and then she had no choice but to take hold of her sword in both hands as the beast was upon her.

It thrust its snout forward, jaws open wide, ready to snap them shut on her tender flesh, but Annja was no longer where she had been a second before. At the last moment she turned to her left, evading the snap of the gator’s massive jaws and stabbing with her sword.

She felt the tip of her blade bite into the creature’s flesh as it rushed past, blood spilling into the water.

While she might have drawn first blood, the alligator didn’t come out completely behind in the exchange. As it swept past, one of its legs lashed out, clawing Annja across the ribs and adding some of her blood to the mix.

She didn’t have time to worry about it, because if she didn’t do something quickly she’d be gator lunch.

Everything flashed around her in a strange liquid dance, the gator’s motions seeming oddly disjointed in the flashing light of the strobe. The creature rushed past her, slamming into the opposite bulkhead thanks to the momentum of its charge. As it righted itself it lashed out with its powerful tail, sending a stack of three cannons tumbling downward to the floor. For a moment, it was trapped behind a debris pile of its own making.

Annja saw her chance. While the alligator was thrashing about, trying to right itself in the narrow space, she turned and threw herself toward the opening, trying to get clear of the wreckage while ignoring the pain in her side at the same time.