Plague Ship

Max jumped the supine guard like a professional wrestler, only the elbow he smashed into the man’s gut wasn’t for show. The guard’s eyes bulged from his head, and his cheeks expanded as every bit of air in his lungs exploded out of his body.

A few seconds later, another round from the ship’s main gun hit just in front of the pickup truck. The driver slowed and veered left, giving Juan a chance to pull up alongside the vehicle.

“Max, stop screwing around and jump!” Juan shimmied forward on his seat to give Hanley as much room as possible.

Max crawled over the rear gate to crouch on the bumper. He reached out with a leg, getting it over the saddle seat before throwing his weight. He landed solidly, clutching at Juan’s waist to keep himself firmly planted.

Nigel, the English guard driving the truck, chose that moment to look in his rearview mirror. Realizing the prisoner was escaping, he swerved toward the ATV, forcing Juan to slam on the brakes. Nigel jammed on his, and then when the ATV started to scoot away he went after it.

With two big men astride the quad bike, the vehicles were evenly matched for speed over the rough ground. Juan couldn’t pull more than a few feet ahead of the pickup, and, no matter how sharply he turned, the driver kept with him. The Responsivist had to have realized that if he stayed close to the fleeing four-wheeler, the big ca

“He’s toying with us,” Juan spat, glancing over his shoulder to see the truck’s flat grille less than five yards from their rear wheels. “And we don’t have time for this. By the way, it’s good to see you, and, boy, is your face a mess.”

“Good to see you, too,” Max yelled over the wind. “And it feels worse than it looks.”

“Hold on,” Juan warned, and sent the ATV over the hill that led back to the road. They roared down it at a breakneck pace, Juan turning the handlebars so that the bike skidded onto the macadam. He cranked the throttle, as the pickup fishtailed behind them.

They gained fifty feet, tempting Juan to call in a shot from the Oregon , but the pickup was much faster than the ATV on the smooth road and closed up the gap again before he could issue the order.

“Wepps, prepare to fire HE at the end of the dock.”

“Standing by.”

“What are you doing?” Max called anxiously.

“Plan C.”

They flew down the road, although not at the ATV’s top speed. Cabrillo needed to keep a little in reserve. They shot past the still-flaming ruin of the guardhouse, threading around smoldering sheets of corrugated metal. Juan hit the dock and opened the throttle as far as it would go, expertly judging speed, distance, and time.

“Fire.”

The pickup’s driver hung back, not understanding why the ATV would intentionally corner itself on the pier, but when he realized it wasn’t slowing he hit the gas to keep close.

“George,” Juan shouted into his radio. “Prepare to pick us up in the water.” The pilot replied something that was lost to the wind.

Juan and Max rocketed down the length of the dock, coming up on fifty miles an hour.

Max finally realized what Juan was doing and shouted, “You crazy son of a biiiii . . .” They flew off the end of the dock, sailing out almost twenty feet, before splashing into the sea. An instant later, the pickup screeched to a halt in a four-wheel drift that almost flipped it on its side. Before the truck fully settled on its suspension, the door flew open and the guard raised his assault rifle, wanting nothing more than to kill the two men as soon as they surfaced.

The high-pitched whistle lasted less than a second, giving the guard no time to react.

The explosive shell actually hit the dock and not the truck, but it hardly mattered. Both were disintegrated by the blast, sending debris arcing across the sea.

Juan helped Max claw his way to the surface. He spat out a mouthful of water and surveyed the damage behind them. Half of the dock was simply gone, while the rest had become splintered timber and destroyed pilings.

“Was that strictly necessary?” Max grumbled.

“Remember me telling you about one of my first missions with the Company?”

“Something about a Russian satellite.”

“An Orbital Ballistic Projectile weapon.” Juan pulled his arm out of the water to check his watch. “It’s going to obliterate this island in thirty-eight minutes. I, for one, want to be as far from here as possible.” The Robinson R44 was trailing smoke when it appeared over the cliff, beating its way to the dock. That must have been what George had tried to tell us, Juan thought, that their helo was damaged. Adams deftly swung the chopper over the two men, hovering just above them, the downdraft kicking up a choking mist of roiled seawater. He came down even lower, until the skids were awash. Juan reached up to open the door and helped Max clamber into the chopper. It dipped dangerously as his weight upset the center of balance.

He was about to follow Hanley when a stream of autofire bracketed the helo.

“Go!” he shouted, and clutched the skid.

George didn’t need to be told twice. He revved the engine and tore away from the dock, where another pickup truck had appeared with two men in its bed, hammering away at them with AKs.

Hanging by his arms and legs like an ape, Juan clung to the Robinson’s skid for all he was worth. The wind buffeting him was brutal, and his wet clothes felt like ice, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The Oregon was only a couple miles out, and he didn’t want George to slow down for him to climb in the cabin.

Adams must have radioed ahead about the situation, because every light on the ship was ablaze and extra crewmen were on deck to assist in the landing. The helmsman had already turned the bow away from Eos Island, and the old girl was under way.

George gave himself plenty of clearance as he came over the fantail. He ignored the warning lights flashing and horns sounding in the cockpit that indicated his beloved chopper was in her death throes. He imagined the oil burning away in the overheated transmission, as he gently reduced his altitude.

Juan let go of the skid when he was a just above the waiting hands of the deck crew. They caught him easily and lowered him to his feet. They scrambled out of the way to give Adams the room he needed to set the Robinson on the deck.

“Helm, flank speed,” Juan ordered the instant the skids kissed the pad. “Sound general quarters and rig the ship for collision.”

Adams killed power as soon as he felt the skids bump down, but the damage was already done. Flames erupted from the engine cowling and around the rotor mast. Crewmen were standing by with fire hoses, and he and Max jumped from the chopper amid a torrent of spray.

George looked back when he was a safe distance away, his handsome face drawn. He knew the chopper was a total loss.

Juan clamped a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get you a shiny new one.” They went inside before the wind became too strong. In the Oregon ’s wake, Eos Island crouched in the sea, an unsuspecting ugly lump of rock that was not long for this world.

CHAPTER 38

THOM SEVERANCE WASN’T SURE WHAT TO DO. THE guards at the dock had reported capturing Max Hanley as he tried to escape the facility through the exhaust vent, of all things, and then they said they were being attacked by a black helicopter. For a brief instant, he feared the UN was behind the assault, what with rumors of their squadrons of black choppers. He caught a few snippets of garbled conversation over the walkie-talkie and then everything had gone silent. The cameras mounted atop the guardhouse were out, so he finally ordered a vehicle to check out the dock.

“They escaped, Mr. Severance,” the guard captain reported. “Hanley and another man in the chopper.