LITMIR.BIZ

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if all the parts aren’t on board the rig?”

      “They have to be. These rigs are self-supporting. And if we don’t find everything, we’ll have to jury-rig it.”

      “Say what?”

      “We’ll have to make do.”

      “Oh okay. Gotcha.”

      I grab my bag, which is always packed, and give Amy a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see ya. Be careful and don’t take any chances.”

      “I won’t.”

      “I’ll be back as quick as I can. We’ll get these things made, and then we’re out of here.” I hustle up to the deck.

      Craven is already waiting. “Let’s go, mutant.”

      Before we can board, Leif comes trotting up. “I’ll expect a full report when you get back, Craven.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Joel, I’ll expect one from you as well.” He doesn’t even look at me. His gaze never leaves Craven. The message is pretty clear. Hands off.

      “Will do.” It’ll be more difficult, but Craven is crafty. He’ll manage to find a way to make my life a living hell.

      I climb on board, Craven behind me. He turns around once in his seat to stare at me. He says nothing, but if his glare is anything to go by, he’d like to bite into my jugular. I hold his gaze. When he finally looks away, I study the choppy gray water below and let my mind drift to how to get the materials to build the jammers. The clock oscillators should be no problem. We’ll just need to snag a couple of wristwatches for the quartz crystal. There should be mini-circuit breakers in the equipment room.

      The helicopter touches down before I can finish my mental reconnaissance. “Head for the water, freak. I don’t want any more people seeing you than necessary.”

      The pilot throws Craven a startled look but says nothing.

      I bend low and run from the chopper. Once away from the whir of the blades, I head for a shadowed corner, shuck down to my trunks and toss my duffle against the wall, hoping Craven doesn’t find it and toss it overboard or add an unpleasant surprise. I’ve found everything from poisonous spiders to jellyfish in my bag. The man’s a snake.

      I climb the ladder over the side and drop into the water.

      I sink into the cool blue water and let myself drift downward, losing myself in the ripples. There’s nothing like it. I imagine it’s similar to what a baby feels drifting in its mother’s amniotic fluid. The thought reminds me of the child floating in the tank of blue liquid. My muscles tighten and I swim for the surface. I need to figure out what’s going on here. The sooner I do, the sooner I can head back and take care of business.

      Swimming around the tanker, I test every few yards, nothing but salt and fish. No oil. My ability to taste an offshore oil leak is what makes me so valuable to the company. It’s part of my dolphin DNA package.

      When I’ve been in the water an hour, I lengthen my distance from the rig. It takes me another hour. Finally, the water takes on a faint, sweet flavor. Oil. I follow the taste. I’m like a hound moving back and forth in the water, trying to catch the scent. Finally, I have it and follow it out. It’s a good five miles from the tanker.

      Ahead of me, a boat bobs on the water. It’s leaking oil, bad. It happens on occasion. Crafts leak oil. If it’s a large enough leak and there’s a tanker in the area, they usually catch flack for it.

      I find a ladder hanging over the side and pull myself on board, planning on telling the guy he’s got a leak.

      And find a gun pointed at me.

      Chapter 4

      Water drips off my fingers and runs down my legs, forming puddles on the warm wooden deck beneath my feet. Four tough-looking men face me. Survival kicks in.

      I take a quick step back onto a canvas shoe and feel a sharp prick between my shoulder blades. “Get off my foot and don’t try anything funny or I’ll slice you.”

      This isn’t good.

      I can’t see the man behind me but the four in front of me look dangerous. They appear to be in their mid-twenties and sport a variety of scars and tattoos. One with short thick hair and a mustache swaggers up to me. “Is this him?”

      Him who? What the hell is going on? “I don’t know who you’re after but you have the wrong man. I just came on board to tell you your motor’s leaking oil, lots of it.”

      The taller one, who has a skull and crossbones tattooed on his arm, gives a command. I’m spun around and one of them touches my birthmark.

      “That’s him.” In spite of the warm sun, a chill courses through me.

      I jerk my arm back and whirl around. “What’s this about?”

      The man with the knife pokes me. This time I feel a trickle of warm liquid run between my shoulder blades. I step to the side and hear the click of four triggers. Ignoring them, I turn to the man holding the knife. He’s my height and has a good twenty pounds on me. His skin is tanned but lighter than his associates. His hair is brown, slicked back from his face.

      I hold his gaze, my hands flexing at my sides. He’s got the knife but takes a step back.

      “What do we do with him, shoot him?” the man with short, thick hair asks.

      The leader considers then shakes his head. “I don’t want the noise. If we screw this up, the boss ain’t going to like it.”

      The ringleader looks at the water. “Is your sister around?”

      “My sister? What do you want with my sister?”

      He makes a remark that has the rest of them laughing uproariously. Guns or no guns, I’m going to smash his face.

      He prods me with his gun. “Is she with you?”

      “No.” Thank God. What would have happened if she had been?

      He steps closer. “So you like to swim, do you?”

      His friends step closer too. I balance on the balls of my feet trying to keep them all in sight. “We can help you with that. Georgie.”

      The man with the knife rushes me. I leap to my right. Instead of gutting me, the knife slides down my arm, bicep to elbow. Blood flows. Two of the other men grab for me. I elude them, jump overboard, and hit the water with a splash.

      Blood is streaming. God, I hope there’re no sharks nearby.

      “Want us to go after him, boss?” one of the men yells.

      “No need. With all that blood in these waters, he’s not going to survive.”

      “Goodbye, fish boy,” the leader calls. They rev the boat and take off. I swim fast and hard. How long can I go before I begin to feel light-headed?

      Two miles. I have three to go and my speed is slowing. I’m leaving a blood trail but there’s nothing I can do about it. I push harder. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a finned shadow. I flip over on my back, watching the shark approach. Preparing as best I can, I fist my hands. It streaks toward me.

      Just before it hits, a bullet of gray comes at it, two others in its wake. Dolphins! The shark may have no hesitation about taking on a dolphin but it’s not prepared for three. It swims away to easier prey.

      “Thank you,” I chatter, blowing bubbles out of my mouth.

      One floats closer and nudges me. I grab hold of a fin. Another comes below me and moves upward till I’m lying on her back.

      The lead dolphin gives pulsed squeaks before rising to the surface and turning in a circle.

      He’s asking what direction. I stretch my arm out in front of me.

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