The Kosatka vibrated with the thrust of its engines.
In the near distance a smaller boat turned wildly to avoid being crushed. Cal could see through the window that they were quickly approaching a long line of giant stones jutting above the water's surface, the breakwater that protected the Port of Nice from the fickle Mediterranean. The autopilot would have to turn sharply to the southeast, and soon, to avoid the breakwater wall and escape into the open sea. Cal hoped that the GPS on this multimillion-dollar boat was accurate and working.
Weirdly, it wasn't.
Cal watched the massive breakwater wall grow nearer and nearer in the bridge window. Based on the speed with which it grew in the window and the thrumming of the engines beneath them, Cal estimated that they were traveling at twenty-knots, a dangerous speed in a marina even at the best of times.
"Shouldn't we be turning?" he said urgently to everyone and anyone—the gun at his side now a distant dream compared to the concrete wall growing in the window. Even Frank turned his gaze to follow. Marat Solonik looked up from his wounded brother, confused.
Cal fell to the floor, pushed hard by Zebra as the big man charged past Frank and grabbed the yacht's control wheel with both hands, abandoning his pistol on the console dash. He yelled something in Russian and threw a quick glare at Marat before sharpening his focus on the concrete breakwater too close in front of them. Zebra muscled the big boat into a sharp turn and it worked.
Eeva fell to her knees as the deck pitched to one side.
Frank stumbled into a bulkhead, catching himself with one hand.
The Russian brothers fell flat as the boat pitched, leaving only Zebra on his feet, fighting the wheel like some Hemingway hero, all forearms and grit. With a roar of effort, the big Russian thug turned the boat.
But not enough to save it.
A long line of massive, concrete blocks piled together—hundreds of them—to form the breakwater that shielded the port from ocean waves and currents. It was a modern engineering project designed to save property and save lives. But at the speed they were traveling, the safety wall acted more like an anvil.
And Cal, Frank, and all the others were riding in the hammer.
The Kosatka turned in time to avoid a head-on crash, but the sharp teeth of massive concrete blocks bit into the starboard side like it was soft, vanilla ice cream.
The fiberglass hull shattered. Everyone went flying. The Russian brothers banged into the pilot console and Zebra was thrown over the dash where he smashed against the window and sent spiderwebs racing drunkenly through the glass.
Cal was on his face but unharmed. The deck was pitched at an odd angle, and he spied Frank and Eeva heaped together, stunned but seemingly okay. They tried to stand but struggled to untangle themselves while keeping their footing. The deck was now pitched forward and listing to the starboard side, while the engines continued to churn and drive them deeper into the water with each second.
They had just moments to leave before they were trapped inside.
Cal was first to his feet. A glance out the bridge window showed only dark water instead of blue sky. Zebra lay motionless against the cracked glass and, if it broke, he'd plunge a short distance into the sea. The Russian brothers were still tangled together against the console dash.
"Come on! We have to go!" Cal yelled.
He pulled Frank to his feet and then Eeva. Neither the silver SIG Sauer nor Eeva's black pistol were anywhere to be seen, but they didn't take the time to search. It was an uphill climb towards the hallway at the back of the bridge from where they'd entered. Cal was first, gripping the angled walls for support like the yacht was some carnival funhouse. His head was certainly spinning like one.
Eeva clung to his arms as Cal braced his feet and pulled her past him, with Frank just behind. They were getting off that boat, even if they had to climb it like a child's playground, even if he had to carry both of his charges across his back. And they were his responsibility now—Frank and Eeva. Frank had gotten him on the boat and now Cal would be damned sure to get them off and to safety. The Russians, however, could drown for all he cared.
The yacht rolled heavily to its starboard side, tumbling everyone in the hallway and turning their world sideways. Zebra fell to the angled deck on top of the Russian brothers: unconscious or maybe dead. The front of the yacht continued sinking and everyone stumbled towards the wide window now cracked with spiderweb fractures with a wall of cold water rising just on the other side.
Eeva spilled into Cal's arms, and they fell down against the bulkhead, which was now the deck. Eeva's body was hot against him; their faces close and the air churning between them with each rapid breath.
"I'm sorry you keep coming back to me," she said. Her hair might be brown now, but her eyes were the same glacial blue, faintly lined at the corners with age and grief.
"It was my choice every time," he said and then kissed her. It wasn't passionate. It was a kiss of forgiveness and, maybe, a goodbye. Cal let the kiss linger, even as the sound of cracking glass was loud in his ears.
Frank was over them, bracing against the steeply pitched deck.
"Are you kidding me?" he yelled. "Let's go!"
He helped Eeva to her feet, where she wobbled before finding her footing. The yacht was nearly on its side now, with half the bridge window showing sky and the other half underwater like an aquarium window. A bright yellow fish swam past, like it was painted there by Molly's brush, right before the window shattered and the cold Mediterranean fell into the cabin.
The gush of seawater hit Frank and Eeva and knocked their legs out from beneath them, flipping them headfirst into the surge of water. Cal sucked a breath and rode the surge as it pushed him up the tilted hallway.
"Frank!" Cal yelled as the flood pushed him past the spiral stairwell in the hallway, frothing now as water gushed up from below. He tried to slow his momentum and get back to his friends, but there was nothing to grab onto and the water current was too strong. He felt like a pebble tumbling downriver.
Behind him and down the hall, Frank and Eeva miraculously surfaced together, their hair plastered to their faces. The bridge had turned into a churning pool as the cabin filled and the ceiling inched closer.
"CAL!" Eeva called to him.
And then water swallowed her and Frank with one big gulp.
Cal kicked his feet against the current, but the rushing water pushed him into the master bedroom turned sideways, the forest of liquor bottles now scattered and floating in the rising water. The king-sized mattress floated and spun in the current with its bedding billowing out on the surface like a giant jellyfish. The beige curtains along the glass wall hung downwards at a funny angle and daylight streamed through the sliding door above him.
It would only be a minute before this room flooded, too, and Cal would be trapped.
But Florida Boys know a little bit about swimming and Cal responded without thinking. He kicked off his shoes, filled his lungs with air, and let his limbs find the rhythm that would keep him buoyant. He was alive and could swim to where the deck was still angled up out of the water. It would be a slick climb up the rear of the deck still sticking out of the water, but he could make it and escape through the sliding door above him then swim clear before the Kosatka was pulled under completely.
And he'd do exactly that after he rescued Frank and Eeva.
Beneath him, the rumble of the big diesel engines finally ceased, and water stopped filling the bedroom. The sudden calm was a reprieve but there were still only moments to act.
"FRANK! EEVA!" he yelled into the silence, but the only sound that answered was his own movement in the water.
The hallway to the bridge was completely submerged. This would have to be an underwater rescue with maybe two trips even though there was only time for one. Cal sucked in several quick breaths before a big one and then dove underwater and into the gloom of the hall. This was the Florida Aquifer all over again but without scuba gear or fins. What he wouldn't give now for a flashlight or even the luminescence from his Bell & Ross—anything to see through the gloom. The hallway was like a submerged limestone cavern, pressing close and leading deeper, lightless save for a faint glow through porthole windows that were now angled away from the sun.
A pale hand reached up and Cal grasped it. Frank's face appeared from the depths, green in the dim light, his cheeks puffed with his last breath of air.
I got you, Butch.
Cal pulled Frank closer and then kicked towards the surface—but something touched his foot—a hand reaching out for help.
Eeva!
He paused to reach back, but Frank was fighting to keep his mouth shut while his limbs thrashed desperately. There wasn't enough time! Cal kicked his legs into action, but warm fingers found his ankle and clung tightly. Frank jerked in Cal's arms as the hand pulled him deeper where they all three would drown.
But not today. Not with Frank already in his arms and so close to the surface.
Cal kicked free and swam through the submerged hallway with Frank spasming under one arm. Cal's lungs burned and his vision dimmed around the edges, the blackness creeping inward until he could only see pinholes of light ahead of him.
And then air. Sweet, cool air and Cal sucked it in.
Frank clung to the floating bed and coughed up seawater. The slanted deck invited them up to the glass door, sunlight, and salvation beyond.
"Go!" Cal shouted to Frank before he plunged back into the depths of the Kosatka.
He could still save Eeva. She only had to swim towards the surface and meet him halfway. But the drowned hallway was empty and angled downward into only black water where once had been the bridge. Cal dove deeper but searching blind cost him precious moments and gained him nothing. Where was she? Still nothing. How could he abandon her? Cal's throat was thick with his own aching pulse, and his chest ached with pressure, begging for air. He should have been swimming back up the hallway, but instead he sank as the weight of losing Eeva settled over him. Even if he survived, how could he live knowing that Eeva had reached out and he'd pushed her away? Cal kept hold of his breath just barely, seconds from sobbing or drowning.
And it was all so familiar. Like he was at the funeral watching Molly's casket being lowered. It was Molly in the grave, but it was Cal being buried. Her pain was over, but his own pain had just begun. He'd stared down that open grave and had imagined all the dirt that would be piled on top, heavy like the sea was above him now. He remembered taking one last look at the casket, dreading the next morning when he knew he'd only have seconds before remembering that he'd be alone every morning for the rest of his life.
Alone like he was now in the drowned bridge of the Kosatka where the broken window had let in the sea. Cal pulled himself back through the submerged hallway, too slowly, crawling along the wall like it was a submerged funhouse at the Heartland County Fair. It was too dark. It was too far. He'd condemned Eeva to drown and now he was going to drown, too, as alone as he was when he'd finally walked away from Molly's grave.
But he hadn't really been alone, had he? At the funeral, MJ had clung to his side the entire time and Frank supported him with a firm arm around his shoulders. Even Siouxsie greeted him with warm barks as soon as he'd returned home from the memorial, and she insisted on sleeping in the bed every night thereafter. That next morning, he'd stayed in bed for an hour until her paws scratched at him and her warm nose prodded for breakfast.
Come on, Coach!
Those were the words that got him out of bed that day, his own voice from deep within. There'd been chores to do. People to see. Siouxsie needed her food and a walk, and Kip would no-doubt greet him back to the coach's office, eager to get back to the game. Even his students—how had they been fairing that week with the substitute? He'd been told they'd all signed a card for him, and that it was waiting for him back at his desk. No, he hadn't really been alone.
Cal's breath escaped his lips in reluctant bubbles. Darkness and pressure squeezed at him. He'd reached the end of the hallway and a rectangle of sunlight flickered above him, just out of reach.
Come on, Coach!
It was a chorus of his students and players cheering him on, thousands of them from across the decades, yelling and clapping together. Cal kicked with the beat of their claps towards the surface.
Come on, Coach!
And it was MJ and Ryder cheering from the bleachers. Her hair was red and thick like her mother's, and it blew wildly in the wind. Fair-skinned Ryder already had freckles on his cheeks from hours on the practice field.
Then there was Molly and she was beautiful like the sun. She held him close and whispered it beside him.
Come on, Coach.
Cal swam up for her. He swam because he'd promised.