The Storm

The tinkling of more glass falling caught his attention. It was coming from the room across from him, not from down the hall.

He considered the possibility that the prisoners had escaped or the even wilder possibility that someone had broken in through the window. It occurred to him that he’d better check it out before he reported. He hung up the phone and stepped cautiously from the desk, drawing out his pistol as he approached the door.

He doused the lights in the hall and pushed the door open, swinging the gun forward.

He saw nothing but darkness. Then a breeze wafted across the room, and he saw the illuminated mist outside the shattered window.

He checked all around but saw nothing odd, and definitely no intruders. Still, something had to have broken the window.

He eased toward it, the glass crunching under his feet. Something was floating next to the hull. He stepped closer and saw a strange-looking sailboat. Another floated next to it. Neither looked like something the American Special Forces might use. He took another step, heard a strange buzzing noise and then felt his whole body tense up as if he’d been shocked with a high-voltage line.

Pain ran up and down his arms and torso. His neck stiffened, and he bit his tongue as his jaw clamped down on it. He fell to his knees, collapsing on the glass and dropping the pistol. The pain vanished as he hit the floor but the effect lingered.

A figure vaulted over the sill of the busted window, landing beside him.

The guard reached around for the gun he’d dropped, and then felt a heavy boot come down on his hand, crushing his fingers. He yanked his hand back, grunting, and then was knocked cold by the butt of a rifle that hit him in the side of the head.

FROM THEIR CELL GAMAY, Paul and Marchetti watched as Kurt and a couple of others tossed up grappling hooks and began climbing. They couldn’t see the broken window from their viewpoint, but Marchetti had no doubt it was one or two doors aft of where they were.

“Doesn’t mean they can’t get here,” he said. “All they have to do is get rid of the goons at the post and we’re home free.”

Commotion outside their door drew Gamay’s attention away. “Could it be them?”

“Too soon,” Paul said.

“Then it’s the guards.”

Gamay sprinted back toward her post beside the door. She heard the guard’s card key in the lock, heard the lock buzz and release. She dove across the floor and slid into the wall next to the power outlet just as the door began to swing open.

Paul’s plan to use the massage chair as a weapon depended on timing. As Gamay hit the wall, she grabbed the cord and jammed the plug into the outlet, hoping she wasn’t too late.

A shower of sparks blew out from the wall, while others snapped from the metal door. The guard, who still had his hand on the frame, received a heavy jolt and was knocked backward. The leads they’d pulled out of the chair and hooked to the door sparked and smoked, and a fuse blew somewhere.

Paul pounced on the guard and grabbed for the gun. A scuffle ensued, but Paul’s knee hitting the man’s groin was enough to end it quickly. He and Marchetti dragged the man back in, and Gamay unplugged the cord and grabbed the door, keeping it from shutting. A quick look told her the hall was empty.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Paul and Marchetti left the writhing guard on the floor, tied up with a bedsheet. They slipped out and went to the right.

KURT HAD REACHED the guard post in front of Marchetti’s brig. It resembled a spa’s reception area more than a post. A computer sat on one side of the stark white counter, a multiline phone on the other.

Tautog and Varu came in. Kurt pointed to a few secluded spots from which the hallway could be defended. “Watch for trouble,” he said.

He turned to run down the curving hall but spotted three figures shuffling up it toward him. To his surprise and relief, he recognized Gamay, Paul and Marchetti.

“Boy, are we glad to see you,” Gamay said. “We thought you were dead.”

Kurt pulled them behind the desk. “I was worried that you guys might be dead as well. What are you doing out of your cage?”

“We escaped,” Gamay said. “Just now.”

“And after I came all this way to rescue you,” Kurt said, smiling.

“Is Joe with you?”

“No,” Kurt said. “I put him on a truck in Yemen two days ago.”

“A truck to where?”

“That’s a good question,” Kurt said. The fact that Paul, Gamay and Marchetti had remained under lock and key rather than being rescued by some American Special Forces team told Kurt Joe wasn’t out of the woods yet. He knew Joe could take care of himself and though he’d feel better when he knew for certain that Joe was okay, there was little he could do about it now.

“What’s our situation?” he asked, focusing on the present.

“We took one guard out,” Paul said. “He’s locked in our cell now.”

“We took out the guy up here,” Kurt said.

“Who are your friends?” Gamay asked.

“I’m Leilani Ta

Gamay smiled. “And the rest of the cavalry?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Tautog said. “I am the eighteenth Roosevelt of—”

“Save it for later,” he said. “Someone’s coming.”

The footsteps approached more casually this time. It was another guard, who Kurt realized must have been sent to check on the other prisoners. The guard rounded the corner, came face-to-face with several rifles and froze.

Kurt grabbed the man’s card key and his pistol.

“What now?” Paul asked. “Do we leave?”

“No,” Kurt said. “When the moment of victory appears, it must be seized.”

They stared at him.

“Sun Tzu,” Leilani told them as if she were an old hand.

“So what does that mean in English?” Gamay asked.

“It means now that we’re on board, we’re not going anywhere except to find Ji

He turned to Marchetti. “Are your crewmen down here?”

“Most of them.”

“You and Paul take this guy and get your crew out. Lock him in the cell when you come out.”

Paul nodded and went to work.

Kurt turned to Tautog. “Let’s tie up the boats, get the rest of your men aboard. At this point we need all hands on deck.”

Moments later, with the prisoners and guards having traded places and the small flotilla tied up to a water pipe in the cabin with the broken window, Kurt commanded a force of thirty-seven armed men and women—Marchetti’s men knowing the island, Tautog’s trained in using the rifles and the Pain Makers.

Kurt had two of the machines brought aboard and found a pair of dollies to mount them on. One went with the group who was heading for the crew quarters, the other stayed with Kurt, Leilani and the Trouts. The four of them, along with Tautog and Varu, wheeled the bulky machine into the elevator like roadies moving amps backstage.

As the bulk of their force headed for the crew quarters, Kurt pla

“Which floor for the Presidential Suite?” he asked.

“You mean my quarters?” Marchetti said.

“If yours are the most luxurious on the island, then yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Top floor of course,” Marchetti said, pressing the button.

As the elevator doors closed, Kurt patted the sound box and smiled a roughish grin.

“Time to wake the neighbors,” he said.

CHAPTER 53

JOE ZAVALA WAS RUNNING FOR HIS LIFE. BAD ANKLE AND all, he was charging diagonally across the wet slope of the Aswan Dam in search of higher and safer ground. The major lagged behind, seemingly still awed by what was going on.

“I wouldn’t keep looking back if I were you.”

The major got the message and pressed forward, catching up with Joe.