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  "Buildings," Carter replied. "Or any big wags you see like this one. The submarine pens will be closely watched, but other sections are left open since there's nothing worth stealing. Hit as many as you can and make damned sure the timers are synchronized."

  All in the wag but Edgerton checked their chronos.

  "Midnight, and we're out of there and back to the wag. Even if all of the objectives aren't met."

  "They will be," Shauna said as the last remnants of the compassionate woman the group had first met slid away and were replaced with the mind-set of an assassin. "Ryan and I have our own assignment."

  "Sure you don't want to help us out, Edgerton?" Ryan asked. "You've seen what these blasters can do. Three of your pals down and dead. Could go eas­ier for you if you cooperate."

  "No, sir," the sweating enlisted man said.

  "Fine. Keep your secrets." Ryan said. "I've never been a man for torture."

  "Hold up," J.B. said from the front of the wag. "Coming up on something that looks like it might be the place."

  Carter stepped forward for a look through one of the Land Rover's numerous ob slits. "Right, Dix. There's the rear gate. They should be expecting us with the fish fry."

  "Okay, J.B., you and Edgerton here are going to switch places. Here's the drill. If Edgerton gets cute or tries to warn the guard at the gate in the booth, I chill him." Ryan stared the younger man down. "Edgerton takes us in and parks the wag in the nor­mal drop spot, we tie him up and he lives to drive another day."

  Ryan put on the mirrored sunglasses and helmet and took the passenger seat, aiming the muzzle of the SIG-Sauer at Edgerton's right side, just out of the field of vision if the man on the gate got too curious.

  J.B. joined Mildred, Carter and Shauna in the rear of the wag, hidden until the door was opened and they chose to reveal themselves.

  "Take us in," Ryan said coldly.

  Edgerton hesitated.

  Ryan poked him in the ribs with the blaster.

  "I said, take us in," he repeated.

  Edgerton shifted gears and let the Land Rover roll forward.

  "But if you want to live, you'll get us into the base without a firefight," Ryan growled. "If this gets fucked up, I'll chill you myself."

  Four minutes later, everything that could've gone wrong…did, and they were captured.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The metal steps rang hollowly beneath their feet as a handcuffed Ryan and Shauna were led up to the top floor of the building. They were placed in front of an ornate oak door and made to wait while one of their captors went inside to announce their arrival. He re­turned and swung open the door, crooking a finger for them to enter.

  "Welcome to Kings Point, Georgia. Home and berth to the USS Raleigh. My name is Poseidon. You may address me as 'Admiral.' "

  Ryan stared contemptuously at the man who had identified himself as Poseidon.

  The white-hot rage he always tried to keep strapped down within his soul came bubbling up freely, and he embraced it He wanted his anger worn close, sharp and hot and piercing. Krysty and Jak were dead because of this egomaniac's paranoia, and no amount of discussion of motive or happenstance or fate was going to change that inescapable fact.

  The woman at his side felt exactly the same way. Her intense hatred of Poseidon was radiating off her trim body in waves. Ryan could almost feel the heat of her dislike, like an overworked oven's door that had been left standing open.

  "My, I really haven't made either of your hit pa­rades, have I?" Poseidon murmured, steepling his fin­gers beneath his chin.

  "Come a little closer and uncuff me, and I'll beat you to death with my fists," Shauna said. "Then you'll be on my hit parade."

  Poseidon chuckled. "It's not that kind of parade, dear Shauna. Then again, I suppose music apprecia­tion is well beyond both of your savage intellects. At times such as these, I know my tiny radio station here exists for my enjoyment and my enjoyment alone."

  "Admiral?" said the sec man with the blaster who was standing behind Ryan and Shauna. "You want me to stay?"

  "Yes. For now," Poseidon said. He looked at Ryan and Shauna. "Sit down, you two."

  Neither moved. The sec man poked Ryan in the back with the nose of the weapon.

  "Go on, sit. You heard the Admiral."

  "Admiral, my ass," Ryan snorted, but he went ahead and eased into the plush chair. Beside him, a few feet away, Shauna did the same awkward move­ment since her hands were bound behind her back. Ryan rolled the word "Admiral" around in his head. He had always despised titles. Captains and kings, chiefs and colonels, bosses and barons…times changed, but the power-hungry types remained the same. Give a man enough money or power, and he always had the urge to elevate his station. Ranks didn't mean a thing when it came to living or dying, especially a self-imposed rank of authority in a long-dead military.

  "I see you doubt my credentials, Mr. Ryan Caw­dor," Poseidon said, and gave a loud booming laugh from within the cavity of his huge barrel chest. "Are you the jealous type? Does my position threaten your own sense of leadership?"

  Ryan was surprised that the Admiral knew his name, but kept his acknowledgment of the revelation close to the vest. "Not at all. Call yourself emperor of all Deathlands if that's what stokes your engine. Way I see it, an asshole's an asshole—even in a fancy uniform."

  Poseidon kept the wide smile, but a flinty spark of anger flared in his dark eyes. Ryan knew right then this was a man unused to being spoken to or chal­lenged.

  "Ah, the service could have done wonders with your aggression, Cawdor."

  "I doubt it."

  "No, no, becoming a member of the naval fleet would have molded you," Poseidon insisted. "The proper instruction and informed care could have made something more out of you than just a grubby lander with a blaster in his pocket."

  "Well, I never was much of a follower," Ryan said. "Especially if the commanding officer was a regimented old fuck like you."

  Poseidon's face was rectangular, with a wide, tall forehead topped off by a steel gray buzz cut. His eye­brows were a darker gray than the salt-and-pepper mix of his hair. Depending on how he held his head, the man's eyes seemed to be an asphalt shade of gray, but they shifted back and forth into a near blackness as Poseidon spoke, changing color with his mood.

  The eyes were shining black now.

  His cheeks appeared to be pitted with the sort of skin craters associated with chronic teenage acne, al­though the close-cut full beard he wore helped to cover any imperfections. Other than a nose that had been broken at least once in Poseidon's so-called na­val career and a pair of ears too small in proportion to the rest of his massive body, the man was more than merely impressive—he was roguishly handsome.

  Ryan wanted to pick up the nearest blunt object and begin to smash that very same handsome face into a mess of grue, but held back and instead estimated how quickly he could gut the big man from sternum to chin if given half a chance. He didn't want to shoot Poseidon. He wanted to kill him up close and personal, with his bare hands, soak the naval whites of the Admiral's uniform in bright red blood, but he curbed the impulse. Mildred, J.B. and Carter were still unaccounted for, and Ryan knew he'd have to play the game for now.

  Men such as Poseidon seemed to be compelled to strut and show off their manhood whenever someone like Ryan stumbled into their camps. They weren't content to offer either a hand of friendship or the busi­ness end of a blaster. No, their joy came in preening.

  The megalomaniacal always wanted to show off either their brilliance or their possessions.

  The chairs Ryan and Shauna had finally sat in were made of mahogany, with black padded leather on the seat and arms. The immense desk across from them was made of the same wood and glowed with a sheen of polish. The room had a nautical feel: paintings of ancient whaling ships, a tapestry of an old Western-style paddle-boat steamer, ship instruments mounted on plaques. Elaborate models of submarines of the past lined the back windowed wall, beginning with one mode
l identified as the squat Turtle, an early craft used in 1776 by the Continental army to attack the HMS Eagle.

  "I see you've noticed my display of submarines," Poseidon purred.

  "Hard to miss it," Ryan said.

  "Right so, right so. Tell me, Mr. Cawdor, did you know that the roots of the modern submarine can be traced all the way back to the days of Alexander the Great?"

  Ryan snorted. "I must've been absent that day from history class. Or asleep."

  "Legend has it that Alexander descended into the ocean in the year 332 B.C. in a primitive diving bell," Poseidon said, sounding eerily like Doc did before the old man launched into a lengthy explanation Ryan had no desire to hear. "Such courage, to allow oneself to vanish beneath the waves during such an early and superstitious time of man. I'm sure even one as brave as he must have been questioning his own sanity once he was lowered."

  "You might think about doing the same," Ryan said.

  "Me?" Poseidon laughed. "I've spent more time under water than above."

  "I think he meant the part about questioning your sanity," Shauna offered.

  Poseidon chose to ignore the insult. "As time passed, others contributed, but it took a true military mind to seize the opportunities a submarine offered. A Dutch physicist, Cornelus Drebbel, actually built a working submersible with the design specifically cre­ated to destroy his opponents. But it took an Ameri­can to actually make the concept workable."

  "Yeah, the good ol' U.S. of A. has done right by me," Ryan said. "Done right by all of us. One hell of a legacy, purple mountains majesty and all."

  "Don't bash America, Cawdor, especially if your opinion has no research to back it up."

  "America—love it or leave it, right?" Ryan said, recalling Mildred's sarcastic take on being an Amer­ican, and since she got to live the experience, he trusted her opinion a lot more than Poseidon's.

  Poseidon laughed. "That's one way of looking at this great land of ours, yes. Now, where was I? Oh, right. In the eventful year of 1776, a Yale University student named David Bushnell designed the Turtle, a simple one-man submersible boat with the ability to sneak under a ship, plant a waterproof time bomb onto the bottom of the hull and escape before the explosion. Sheer genius."

  "I'm sure it worked out fine," Ryan agreed, rolling his eye.

  "Not exactly. The sub didn't function as planned in combat. Still, the germ of the idea was there, and American inventors continued to work toward creat­ing a submarine that could actually sink an enemy vessel. Two world wars later, with the added bonus of the discovery of nuclear fuels and weapons, and the submarine became the most powerful part of any modern fleet."

  "As I understand it, they also ushered in the nukecaust," Ryan said.

  "Quite right. In fact, your presence here has en­abled me to accelerate my own timetable to test the capabilities of the Raleigh."

  "You've got nukes?" Shauna breathed.

  "A nuke. A single Tomahawk missile, but I'm ne­gotiating for more. I'm hoping Mr. Cawdor will be able to assist in that quest."

  "You go to hell," Ryan said as he got to his feet. "I don't know if anyone has bothered to point this out to you, Admiral, but the last war ended the need for submarines. I'm skipping out on the rest of the presentation about the good old days. You can save it for the starry-eyed recruits and sec men you've got running this dump."

  "Sit down, Cawdor," Poseidon said, nodding to the guard behind Ryan. The guard lashed out with the butt of his blaster, catching the standing man above the kidneys. Ryan gasped from the blow, and reluctantly took the Admiral's advice as he shakily sat back in the chair.

  "Sit down and tell me why you show such ani­mosity for me. I admit, my reputation is marred with innuendo and lies—"

  "I never even heard of you until I put in at Shauna's place," Ryan interrupted, shaking off the pain in his lower back.

  Poseidon looked offended. "I find that hard to be­lieve."

  "Believe it," Ryan said. "Your rep must need some extra promoting. Hire yourself a storyteller, plop him into one of your wags and let him travel around Deathlands singing your praises."

  "If you want to hold back even the barest whiff of a compliment, that's your business. I'm above such petty role playing," Poseidon said, still maintaining the air of civility.

  "Bullshit. Role playing is what gets you off," Shauna said. "I'm sure you're waving a giant hardon over having me tied to a chair. A helpless woman is the classic male power fantasy."

  Poseidon approached the woman. Ryan noted as he got a better look at his opponent's build that the man was big but not fat. Poseidon had never been small, even as a child. Ryan knew the man would have been noticed in any ordinary group for his height and girth. He looked to be nearly six and a half feet tall, and the man's weight had to be around three hundred pounds of solid bulk.

  "Tell me, Shauna, do you still harbor resentment over your husband's death? Is that why you've brought this man here, to assist in assassinating me?"

  Shauna was quiet.

  "What has she told you, Cawdor? That I killed her husband? Took her authority? Hah! Saved her pa­thetic little community is more like it!"

  "Yeah, I've heard about how well you've been keeping an eye on the seafood," Ryan retorted. "Not a flounder was overlooked."

  "Why are you here, anyway, Cawdor?" Poseidon said. "I know Shauna doesn't have the necessary funds to hire you."

  Ryan kept silent. He almost said To chill you but curbed the impulse.

  "Fate has placed you within my hands for a rea­son," Poseidon mused. "Yes, you might think you're here merely to take up some kind of cause against me, but I know better."

  "My boat ran up on a stinkin' mine out near the commune. It was during that storm that swept through here last week back. Mine blew my ride all to hell."

  "That was your boat, you say." Poseidon leaned on the wall, standing next to the sec man who was watching over the prisoners. "I wondered what had set off the charge."

  "Your mines killed my woman, Poseidon," Ryan finally said.

  "Nonsense. I've killed no one close to you."

  "You destroyed the most valuable piece of my life over paranoia and greed," Ryan continued. "Now I'm here to destroy you."

  "So you say," Poseidon answered.

  "There's no reason to be mining the Georgia coast­line in the first place!" Shauna said. "Who do you think is going to attack? The Commies?"

  "Actually it had crossed my mind, dear girl. How­ever, the mines were planted there not so much to keep people out, but to keep your rabble on land."

  "You're insane, Poseidon! You get more crazy every waking moment of your murderous life!" Shau­na yelled out, her body shaking in anger, causing the chair to rock slightly.

  "I knew it," Poseidon said tiredly. "You are still annoyed over the removal of your husband."

  Shauna glared at the big man with a look of unholy hatred. "I swore I'd kill you. If there's any justice in heaven, I'll see the day pass where you're dead at my feet."

  Poseidon shook his head and shrugged his massive shoulders. He looked at Ryan for agreement as he spoke. "Eric Watson challenged me. I fought back. He lost. End of transaction. Women take these things much too seriously. That's one reason I don't allow them on the base."

  Ryan snickered. "I have my own theory about that, sailor boy."

  "You're wrong, Cawdor. About a lot of things."

  Shauna was so upset, her face was a bright blush of crimson. "He came to talk with you in peace and you killed him! Admit it!"

  "I thought I already had," Poseidon said mildly, stepping closer to the bound woman. "Still, I don't need this mutie-loving slut making accusations or tell­ing me what to do."

  Poseidon's hands snapped down and clasped Shauna around the neck. Her back was half turned to him, but his freakishly large hands were able to completely envelop her throat.

  As she cried out, Poseidon stopped her voice with a squeeze so tight, his fingers began to whiten from the pressure being applie
d.

  "Who's killing who now, Shauna, hmm?" he said in a voice so calmly modulated, he might have been describing the weather.

  Ryan reared to his feet like a surprised stallion, slamming his body toward Poseidon, but the butt of the sec man's rifle caught him once again, this time full across the back of the neck, blunting his frantic thrust. Ryan fell to his knees, his breath coming in gasps.

  He watched as Poseidon's viselike hands tightened and lifted up the dying woman from the chair. Shauna barely had enough life force left to struggle. Her legs kicked once, twice, then hung limp.

  "Too late, Cawdor. Much…too…late."

  Chapter Twenty

  "Remove…that," Poseidon said, wiping his brow with an immaculate white handkerchief.

  The Admiral was once again seated behind his ma­jestic desk. He watched impassively as the sec man summoned two assistants, who arrived almost in­stantly and carried Shauna's lifeless body out of the office.

  "I do what it takes. My enjoyment of such actions is an occasional rare bonus. That bitch had been plot­ting against me for far too long," Poseidon said. "The female mind is unfathomable."

  "Well, I'm always impressed when a guy strangles a helpless woman to death. That's three I owe you for, now."

  "Three?"

  "Three," Ryan said, but didn't elaborate.

  Poseidon leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. "As I was saying earlier, my reputation is marred with innuendo and lies, but so is your own."

  "What do you mean?" Ryan said.

  "I've heard of you and your little mercenary group."

  "Don't believe everything you hear," Ryan said.

  "Oh, I never do. Besides, as they used to say back in wartime, loose lips sink ships," Poseidon replied, miming the closing of a lock on his upper lip and throwing away the key. "Still, just between you and me—"

  "And the tree trunk," Ryan added, glancing at the grim sec man who continued to hold position behind him.

  "Never mind Jonesy. He hears what I tell him to, right, Jonesy?"

  "Hear what, sir?" the sec man asked on cue.