The deck tilted four degrees to starboard with a sickening shriek of tearing iron.
Mac Cole planted his work boots against the wet steel grating and threw his weight back, keeping both hands clamped onto Key B. Beside him, Julian Vance held Key A with white knuckles, the brass master key buried to its hilt in the Cameron console.
“Hold the line, Jules,” Mac growled through his teeth. “Do not let that brass shift a millimeter.”
“I am not moving, Mac,” Julian said, his voice flat despite the blood trickling from his left nostril. “The interlock clause is active. If either of us breaks contact, the shear pins snap inside the tumbler.”
A blast of cold Atlantic spray whipped across the lower catwalk, stinging Mac’s scarred cheek. Below them, three severed mooring chains were already sinking into the black swell where Lin Mei’s four-digit code had blown the charges.
“Three down, one stubborn bastard left,” Mac said, glaring at the overhead status board. “Leg D4 is hanging up. The fourth chain is still locked to the wreck.”
Lin Mei dropped to her knees beside the lower telemetry terminal, pushing her cracked tortoiseshell glasses up her nose. Her fingers flew across the mechanical keypad.
