Chapter 33 - The Fall into the Deep
"Isabella!" Khloe shrieked.
The splash was enormous. Freezing lake water sprayed across the dock as Isabella, still strapped to the heavy iron frame, vanished beneath the churning black surface. The weight of the steel chair was dragging her straight down to the rocky bed of Lake Winnipesaukee.
I didn't think about Anthony. I didn't think about the guards.
I sprinted to the edge of the slip and dove headfirst into the pitch-black water.
The cold hit me like a physical hammer. The water was thirty-eight degrees—within seconds, my lungs locked, my vision tunneling into needles of ice. I kicked frantically downward, opening my eyes in the murky, tea-colored gloom.
Five feet down, the silhouette of the iron chair was sinking fast, bubbles trailing from Isabella’s mouth.
I grabbed the hoist cable, burning the skin off my palms as I slid down to the frame. Isabella’s eyes were wide in underwater terror, her hands bound to the armrests with thick nylon zip-ties.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my tactical folding knife, and sawed frantically at the plastic bindings. The blade bit into the nylon. *Snap!* Her left arm came free. I slashed at the right arm—*Snap!*
I grabbed her under the armpits, kicked off the iron chair, and thrust upward toward the shimmering square of dock lights above.
We broke the surface gasping for air, Isabella choking violently on swallowed lake water.
Above us on the dock, chaos had erupted.
The second guard was dead on the timber—Catherine, using her final ounces of life, had retrieved the fallen guard's combat knife and buried it in the man's femoral artery. She was now slumped against the wall, motionless, her eyes staring blankly at the timber ceiling.
On the other side of the dock, Khloe was cornered against the fuel pumps.
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Anthony, despite his shattered wrist, had retrieved a flare gun from the boat’s emergency kit. He had the red metal barrel pressed against the center of Khloe’s coat—directly over the swell where baby Nathan was strapped.
"Take one more breath, Mark, and I ignite the flare," Anthony panted, his face drenched in sweat, his eyes completely mad. "The phosphorus burns at two thousand degrees. It will burn through her coat, through the infant's skull, through the entire foundation of this dock."
