Chapter 35 - The Phantom Bridge
The interior of the *Leviathan* smelled of ozone, gun oil, and hydraulic fluid. Red emergency battlestation lights bathed the narrow, conduit-lined hallways in an ominous crimson haze.
Claire moved with the fluid, sweeping precision of an elite Navy operator, clearing corners with her weapon raised, every step calculated to produce zero acoustic signature against the steel deck plates. Dante trailed half a step behind her, covering her six, his towering silhouette radiating lethal intent.
They reached the armored bulkhead leading to the VIP staterooms. The door was a heavy sliding blast hatch, locked down with an electronic keypad.
Claire leaned close to the panel, examining the wiring harness. "Encrypted biometric lock. It’s hardwired into the central bridge mainframe. If I force it, the environmental controls inside the stateroom will vent."
"Sterling’s insurance policy," Dante growled, his knuckles white around the grip of his rifle. "He’s holding Leo hostage to force us onto the bridge."
"Then we give him what he wants," Claire said grimly. "We take the bridge, we take the master override, and we vent the syndicate into the sea."
They advanced up the central companionway toward the Combat Information Center (CIC). The air was growing colder; the climate systems were failing as the *Leviathan* continued its unauthorized dive into the trench.
As they reached the heavy double blast doors of the bridge, Claire held up a closed fist.
From inside came the cadence of voices—sharp, military, and stressed.
"Sir! Ballast controls are unresponsive!" an engineer shouted. "The scuttle timer is locked into the automated firing sequence! If we don't launch the payload within seven minutes, the reactor rods will scram and the hull will implode under crush depth!"
"Shut up and maintain firing depth!" Sterling's aristocratic, sneering voice cut through the panic. "The missiles launch on schedule. The new world order doesn't require this submarine to survive. It only requires the fire to start."
Claire looked at Dante. She held up three fingers.
Two.
One.
Dante kicked the blast door release lever while Claire tossed a stun grenade through the opening.
*BANG-FLASH!*
A blinding concussive wave of white light and thunderous sound ruptured through the bridge.
Claire breached low, her rifle barking four precise semi-automatic shots. Two syndicate operators manning the navigation consoles collapsed, eliminated before they could clear their holsters.
Dante breached high, his weapon hammering down on Sterling’s personal security detail. A mercenary raised an assault rifle, but Dante charged through the smoke, driving the barrel of the man's weapon into the ceiling before driving a combat knife into his tactical vest's seam.
The bridge descended into an absolute bloodbath of close-quarters violence.
Claire rolled behind the master tactical plot, returning fire as three guards pinned her down with concentrated bursts from behind the sonar suite. Bullets shattered glass displays, sending showers of crystalline debris and sparks raining down over the bridge.
Dante advanced through the crossfire like an unstoppable juggernaut. He took a grazing round to his thigh, but he didn't even flinch. He seized an enemy by the collar, using him as a human shield against incoming fire, and put two rounds into the third shooter.
Within ninety seconds, the bridge fell dead silent.
Smoke coiled toward the exhaust vents. Bodies littered the non-skid floor.
And in the center of the bridge, standing on the elevated command dais before the master launch console, stood Sterling.
In his left hand, Sterling held a remote detonator.
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In his right arm, wrapped in a blanket, was ten-month-old Leo.
***
