Chapter 1 - The Ocean Grave
The freezing shock of the Pacific Ocean hit me like a freight train, forcing all the air from my lungs in one violent gasp.
I scrambled frantically toward the surface, fighting the heavy weight of my combat boots that threatened to drag me down into the abyss.
When my head finally broke the water, I gasped for sweet oxygen, tasting nothing but bitter salt and leaking fuel oil.
The massive gray hull of the USNS Resolute was already shrinking in the distance, leaving me completely behind in a vast wasteland of deep blue.
Colonel Victor Kane had truly left me out here to die without a single second thought.
But I was an undercover maritime interdiction specialist, and dying quietly was definitely not part of my official job description.
I treading water to keep my head above the swells, scanning the endless horizon for anything that could keep me afloat.
My muscles were already beginning to cramp from the extreme drop in core temperature.
Just as panic began to claw at the edges of my mind, a bright orange shape bobbed to the surface about fifty yards away.
It was a standard Navy emergency supply crate, likely kicked over the edge by someone in the crew who secretly hated Kane.
I swam toward it with everything I had left, my arms burning with lactic acid as I fought the unforgiving waves.
I finally grabbed the heavy nylon straps of the crate and pulled my upper body out of the freezing water.
I lay across the plastic lid, coughing up seawater and trying to force my heart rate back to a normal rhythm.
Once I caught my breath, I unlatched the heavy metal buckles to see what kind of survival gear I had been given.
Instead of flares and emergency rations, the crate was filled with classified NCIS tactical gear and a satellite communication rig.
Someone on that ship knew exactly who I was and what agency I really worked for.
I reached in to grab the satellite radio, but my hand brushed against something soft and cold snagged on the other side of the crate.
I leaned over the edge of the floating box to get a better look at what was caught in the nylon netting.
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A man in a black tactical vest was floating face down in the water, a massive knife wound piercing his back.
I rolled him over, instantly recognizing the face of my handler, Special Agent Miller, who I thought was safely stationed back in Hawaii.
