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Aboard the Vendor’s Mini Sub

The Celebes Sea

The Vendor stared at the computer screen, fuming.

His island headquarters had been reduced to a slag heap. His escape sub’s photonics mast had captured the distant image just moments before he ordered it to dive below the thermocline. It was his last and only view.

All of the cameras on the Island of Sorrows had been knocked out simultaneously along with virtually every other electronic device. He knew it was the Oregon that had pulled off that feat. He assumed they used some kind of EMP device. He thanked his ancestors for the wisdom to escape before that happened, otherwise his pilotless electronic mini sub would have been paralyzed. He shuddered at the thought of sitting in chains in some vile prison cell aboard that hated vessel.

Though the Oregon had blinded him digitally, there could be no doubt what followed next. The thought of that Mendoza creature and his crew rifling through his island facilities made his blood boil. At least he had taken precautions against that eventuality. They wouldn’t find even a shred of a clue as to his network or his whereabouts. More importantly, they would learn nothing about Black Chrysanthemum or its impending launch.

Nevertheless, his nerves were shattered. It had been a close call. He put no faith in the ability of his bodyguards to destroy the Oregon and its crew. If he wanted to kill Mendoza, he would have to do it himself. But how? That infernal ship had proven to be a technological marvel. No other ship on the planet could have survived the two surprise attacks he had launched against her.

No matter. His vengeance was an unslakable thirst, and only Mendoza’s blood could quench it. If he wanted to destroy the Oregon and Mendoza, he would have to set a different kind of trap.

But the rage itself was blunting his incredible powers of concentration. He took several deep breaths and entered into a nearly trancelike state, his mind batch-processing a nearly infinite number of murderous possibilities.

Suddenly, all of the pieces came together.

He checked his weather app.

Perfect.

“Keiko, how long until we reach the base?”

“The same as you asked me ten minutes ago, minus ten minutes.”

“Keiko, erase your self-programmed sardonicism immediately or I will do it for you—and maybe a few other personality quirks you’ve developed that I don’t particularly care for.”

“Done. And to answer your question, at the current rate of speed, six point two hours.”

His vessel was crawling beneath the surface at a snail’s pace. There was no telling what kind of surveillance reach or resources Mendoza’s people had. Sailing beneath the thermocline on electric power made him practically invisible, but time was of the essence. He checked his watch. He would run this way for another twenty minutes and then surface, doubling his speed. In the meantime he would put together the technical specs for his plan to sink the Oregon and broadcast those to his island team once he was no longer submerged.

His burning rage morphed into the lusty hope of a thrilling hunt.

Mendoza had the audacity to rain chaos down onto his plans.

And he would pay dearly for it.