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Logan frowned. "Where are they being kept?"
Collins shook his head. "Not where. When."
"Christ..."
"I've seen them, once. A show of power, to keep me in line while they need me. It's near here, a mile or so that way." He nodded toward a distant ridgeline. "Before they dragged me into the block house, I saw a herd of wooly mammoths on the horizon."
Collins didn't look mad. His eyes were as sane as anyone's. Anyone whose family is held hostage by terrorists, anyway. But wooly mammoths?
Abruptly Logan stood up and stalked a few steps away. This whole business was nuts. But he was undeniably here and yesterday—five years ago—he'd been in Florida. Collins hadn't lied about that time span. Logan's presence had jarred him badly.
And if he were telling the truth about everything else, Collins would've been genuinely desperate to find out who—and what—Logan was, before Carreras did. The thunderstorm lowered ominously. Lightning struck a tree not twenty feet away. The crash of thunder deafened him.
If Collins were lying...
He turned on his heel and stood above the colonel, rifle levelled casually at Collins' head.
"What were you pla
To give Collins his due, the man didn't flinch.
"Take you with me through the portal. Dump my so-called bodyguards someplace they wouldn't come back from." His guards? Logan narrowed his eyes. He hadn't considered that.
"And?"
"Make another jump and hope I could persuade you to help rescue the hostages."
Collins was desperate.
"I've read your service records, McKee. And I've seen you fight. You're good. If we got the hostages clear, I'd be free to stop Carreras. I could just sort of lose track of you. You could go anywhere. Anywhen, for all I care. Just help me stop Carreras. Otherwise, he'll track you down wherever you go. You knew almost nothing before and he ordered us to kill you, anyway. He bloody well won't let you live now."
Logan spat something profoundly obscene.
Before the colonel could respond, a brilliant beam of white light distracted Logan. He paused to stare. Out in the clearing, a blinding crack of light had begun to open out of thin air.
"That's the doorway opening, McKee!" Collins' voice was tinged with desperation. "We're out of time, dammit! Once that closes again, if we're still on this side of it, not only will you die, I'll never get a chance to open another one. They'll probably kill Lucille or Da
"Where does it lead?"
He wanted to keep his gaze riveted on the widening crack, but glanced at Collins just as the other man's answer reached his ears.
"To the year 1883. The island of Krakatoa."
Charlie realized just how accurate Sibyl's knowledge had been when they approached the wave-battered harbor at Stabiae. The Imperial Navy rode at anchor well beyond the outermost pier, all but blocking the harbor's entrance. Decius Martis cursed and fought the tiller, but they swung inexorably toward the main harbor and the looming warships.
"Shall I try and rig the spare sail to what's left of the mast?" Charlie offered.
"No, it was too late for that five minutes ago, before we could even see the harbor. We'll just have to ride it out and pray the gods are smiling on us!"
Charlie nodded and strained to see past the pitching bow. Long, narrow, and low-slung, deadly warships rose out of the volcanic gloom like misshapen, breaching whales on some insane National Geographic Special. Massive bronze battering rams, normally hidden beneath the waterline, reared up out of the swells with each wild pitch of the triremes. The rams looked for all the world like oversized beaks on the biggest swordfish ever hooked by a Sunday afternoon sportsman. Charlie's best guess put each ram's weight at something over a couple of tons. If one of those things so much as brushed against the little fishing boat's hull...
Decius made his crippled way toward open beachfront near the edge of town. The little boat slid past the warships, crept between them. Charlie held his breath and prayed.
Almost through, almost...
A seismic jolt rocked a pier which Charlie could just make out through the gloom. The sea shook and sloshed against the beach, then sucked back again. The nearest trireme broke loose from her anchor line and swung around—
"Look out!"
Charlie yelled, stupidly, in English. The warning was too late, in any case. The trireme rose out of the swells right above their boat. Charlie heard Phillipa's high, ragged scream—
The immense bronze ram smashed downward. The rolling swells pitched them to port. The ram missed their starboard gunwale by inches. The monstrous splash all but swamped them. They rolled back to starboard, even as the trireme began its return, upward swing. Phillipa was frantically tying her son to her breast. Lucania, bewildered and crying in terror, sat in the bottom of the fishing boat. Charlie dove toward her.
The ram impaled them. For an instant, they were lifted clear of the water. Wood splintered. Charlie was hurled violently against the starboard gunwale. Pain exploded through his torso. Lucania tumbled like a doll. Charlie managed to grab the back of her tunica just as she arced out over the gunwale. He held on. Decius yelled and toppled completely out of the boat, vanishing over the stern.
Then they were plunging down again, toward the sea and death. Phillipa was thrown clear of the boat. Charlie gripped Lucania's tunica tighter and tried to jump overboard. His bad leg twisted under him. Then the boat was splintering all around him, breaking up and falling away from the ram. He fell... Tons of water closed over his head. Charlie held his breath and thrashed for the surface. He reached it, sucked down air, thrust Lucania's face above water. She coughed, choked, coughed again. Then wailed like a half-drowned kitten.
Charlie gripped the back of her tunica, keeping her head above water, and struck out for the nearby shore. He tried to find Phillipa or Decius Martis in the darkness, but saw no trace of them. "Decius! Decius Martis! Phillipa!"
No answering cry reached him.
Grief caught him. Most Romans couldn't swim. They'd come through so much, had come so close to safety... . Then heavy surf caught and hurled him forward. For a moment, all he knew was blackness and stars before his eyes and excruciating pain through his ribcage. Foaming seawater smashed across them. Charlie clung to his daughter. Pain caught his ribs again. He floundered in the surf, rolled beneath another wave and felt a treacherous undertow pull at his legs. Another breaker lifted and flung him forward. Charlie lost his grip. Lucania slid away.
"Lucania!"
Charlie smashed forward into the beach like a basketball slamdunked against concrete.
He didn't bounce nearly as well.
Charlie clung to abrasive sand with his fingers. Undertow sucked greedily at his legs. Laboriously, inch by tiny inch, he crawled forward, clear of the surf. Charlie collapsed, scarcely able to breathe against pain in his chest.
When he craned his neck around to look, he saw Lucania in the breakers. She bobbed awkwardly on a wave crest and was thrown forward. Charlie dove toward her. Undertow sucked her out of reach. She went under.
"Lucania!"
Charlie's leg brace splintered and dumped him headlong into the receding undertow. He peered through the blackness, but couldn't see anything of her.
Then...
There!
A breaker sent her tumbling toward him.
He lunged forward on hands and knees and grabbed her hair. Then he dug in, leaned backwards, and held on. The backwash sucked sand out from beneath his knees and feet. Charlie toppled backwards, dragged toward the sea on his back. Pain tore through the welts, but he held his grip on his daughter. The moment the undertow released its deadly grip, he scrambled backwards like a crab stranded at high tide.