PROLOGUE: Moonlight on Aquarius
He crept along the dimly lit hallway, the alarm still ringing in his ears. His right hand firmly gripped his Beretta while his left hand supported it by the wrist. Walking over to corner of the hall he kept his back to the wall, and then peered around the corner. The door to the outside upper-deck of the ship was within reach.
Suddenly, as he leapt from the corner to make his escape a rope flung around his head, tightened around his neck, and stopped him in his tracks. The guard behind him pulled the rope towards him sharply, dragging Smythe back. He struck Smythe’s right wrist, causing him to drop his weapon and groan in pain. Just as the rope drove into his neck, stealing his last ounce of breath, he shifted his balance forward, grabbed the man’s arms, and bent forward as he flipped the man over his back and on to the floor in front of him. Smythe kicked the guard unconscious with his boot and instinctively reached down for his gun.
Before he could grab it gunfire lit up the dark corridor in front of him, bullets ricocheting off the walls. ‘Damn,’ he cursed silently, edging away from the gun. Foreign guards yelled orders at each other and spotted him in their sights as they rounded the corner. Immediately Smythe turned back to the door at the opposite end of the hallway, but froze when he saw three more guards bursting in. Just before the three guards opened-fire on him he slipped into the hallway he came in through and ran back towards the bridge.
The alarm grew even louder as he raced into the control room, eyeing the still body of the captain on the floor in front of him. As he looked ahead of him the docks came into view, the ocean-liner was heading straight for land at full-speed.
“Sorry, Captain,” Smythe uttered to the unconscious body in front of him, “but every trip must come to an end. The Captain does go down with the ship, doesn’t he?” Smythe gave the body one final salute as he leaped through the glass, shattering it and tumbling onto the deck below.
The head officer’s eyes filled with horror as he ran into the control room. He threw down his assault rifle and dashed to the fried main controls, struggling frantically to stop the ship. As his men rolled in behind him he turned and barked at them to get down to the lower decks and kill the fallen spy. He gazed back at the scene in front of him: the harbour docks 500 feet away, and closing in fast.
A handful of guards bumbled onto the lowest deck, spread out and searched with the sights of their guns for the hidden secret agent. One of the guards near the entrance of the cargo bay at the center of the ship screamed to the others as he fired his rifle into the darkness.
Suddenly a crane swung out from the dark, knocking him 20-feet backwards onto the front deck. Smythe dashed out of the cargo bay, dragging a mini jet-ski at his side. The guards fired frantically but could only watch in shock as he leaped from the speeding ocean-liner, climbed onto the roaring jet-ski in mid-air, and hit the water at full-speed, splashing waves in every direction. Smythe sped away and weaved through the docks as three guards quickly grabbed their own jet-skis and jumped off the ship in pursuit.
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