Free Virus by S. D. Perry Page A

anything, not sure how she felt about the sudden turn of events; the crew was probably dead, but no one seemed to care. Whatever had happened had obviously been over for a while, but it was a big ship, lots of places to hide—they could be in danger. And Everton had glossed right over all of it, acting like he was somehow responsible for this great fortune . . .
    Richie rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, come on—”
    Squeaky’s bright gaze was encouraging. “Go for it, easy money.”
    “There is no such thing as easy money,” she said carefully, but she already knew that she wasn’t going to turn it down. It wasn’t like they were going anywhere on the Sea Star; and three million—
    Everton nodded briskly at her. “I’ll take that as a yes. Baker, find the ship generators, we’ll need power to the bridge. See if you can get the main engines running. Squeaky, go with him.”
    Steve was already rummaging through his bag, producing flashlights and additional walkie-talkies to hand out. He strapped an ammo belt around his shoulder as Everton continued.
    “Richie, throw a line to the tug, have her turn the ship in to the wind. Foster, see if you can get some of this navigational equipment working.”
    Steve and Squeaky started out the door, Richie right behind them, and Foster hesitated, watching Everton. He fairly bristled with excitement; she could almost see the dollar signs in his pale blue eyes.
    “Captain, my father was an admiral and I know something about salvage law—if there’s anyone alive on this ship, we can’t take custody of her.”
    Everton barely glanced at her, fumbling for his walkie-talkie. “Then let’s not find anyone alive.”
    She stared at him, not sure what she’d just heard. “What does that mean?”
    Everton turned and met her gaze evenly. “Just that I hope we don’t find anyone alive.”
    He clicked the unit and turned away, dismissing her. “Woods, come back . . .”
    Foster watched him for another moment, then walked through the debris of the shattered bridge to the radar console, wondering what they had gotten themselves into—and whether their captain realized the implications of what he’d just said.

• 9 •
    S teve and Squeaky moved through the still darkness of the Volkov’s A deck with only their flashlights to guide the way; the twin beams darted ahead of them down the long corridor, showing them an empty, sterile white hall and the occasional sign lettered in Russian. Nothing moved and there was no sound except for their own footsteps, echoing hollowly in the cool, still air.
    Steve was worried; whoever had trashed the bridge had been almost methodically thorough in their attack; he didn’t much like the idea of running into such a person, down here in the dark. In fact, he’d go so far as to say that he was scared shitless at the prospect; the ship seemed empty, but what if they were wrong?
    The corridor ahead turned sharply to the left, and they edged up to it cautiously, Steve’s finger under the trigger guard of the twelve-gauge. There was still no sound, no sense that anything was moving, and they went ahead.
    Their lights quickly strafed the short hall and both of them stopped, staring at the door at the end. The thick metal hatch had been bent off its hinges.
    “Jesus!” Squeaky whispered.
    They moved through the entry, Steve trying not to think about what it would take to bend steel like that.
    “Stay close, Squeak.”
    Doesn’t matter, it already happened, whatever it was—heat, maybe somebody was welding—maybe the typhoon . . .
    He shook his head, putting the ridiculous thoughts out of his mind. He wasn’t thinking straight; it had been too long since he’d gotten more than a few hours’ sleep. Besides, knowing what had happened wouldn’t change anything; they had to get to the engine and get the power back on, first things first.
    There was an open door ahead on their right and they edged up to it, shone their lights across some kind