Page 195 of Wolf Roulette

On the underwater cameras, I watched my stewards holding up their oxygen tank dials to approaching Luthers. I hissed ayesas the pack abandoned their nets and swam any unconscious stewards to the surface.

Of course, I could partially shift and listen in on Sascha’s orders, but the pack would sense Booker’s presence too.

She was an ace I couldn’t reveal yet.

I drew out my saxophone.

There were diving masks that used the ultrasound technology to communicate, but Luthers had no trouble picking up the signal. I could also communicate with my stewards through walkie technology, but being underwater, they couldn’t reply.

Under the surface, they communicated with hand signals—much as divers did. But we’d always,alwaysbeen caught off guard in this grid because my stewards couldn’t see what the Luthers were doing.

From here, I could.

First, I connected the new microphone to the bell of my sax, and then turned on the portable speakers that three stewards lugged up for me.

I peered over the railing of the observation tower and double-checked the situation on the cameras again.

The pack were converging on my south stewards.

Standing, I took a breath.

This is for you, Mum.

I blew two short notes. They blasted through the speaker. My stewards had spent the last four days memorising this code system.

Go south.

Jet ski and boat engines revved. The east and west teams closed in on the south to provide back up.

Crouching over the tablet, I watched the swimming Luthers spin to face the incoming threat.

There was another benefit to the pack strategy Sascha used in Water. While the wolves were busy in the south, they weren’t watching anywhere else.

I raised my saxophone again. Three sharp notes and one long.

North. Medic.

They’d administer a tranquiliser antidote to any fallen stewards they could reach.

“We came out on top of that,” Pascal announced.

Sascha would split the pack up.

My south, east, and west stewards packed unconscious Luthers into the boats and jet ski trays. We’d take them to pontoons dotted around the lake—heavily guarded pontoons.

The pack split into two groups as seamlessly as a school of fish.

I placed the mouthpiece against my bottom lip.

West and east.

One sharp note. I waited a beat and then blasted four.

North and south would both supply backup.

The majority of our jet skis and boats had just reached the pontoons to unload knocked-out pack members, but the rest raced to help too.

I winced as a Luther grabbed hold of a jet ski and shoved the steward driving into the water.

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