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She squinted at it—then a sharp splintering snap made her jump. She twisted around as the roaring had cut off at the same time.
Kadir cried out. Pieces of wood scattered into the crowd. The largest flew high, passing over their heads and out to sea. It struck one of the pumice rafts, then skidded across the surrounding ash before coming to a stop.
As they all watched, one of the spiky mines rolled up, brushed against it, and spun back underwater. At its touch, the shard of wood kindled with a puff of smoke, then a moment later, it ignited into flames.
Kadir sank to his knees. “The paddle must have been too dry or had a hidden crack in it.”
Heng tried to console him, but his words were not reassuring. “It wasn’t working anyway.”
Seichan glanced back to the stirring ash, remembering the glimpse of lights. She turned around to say something, to offer a bit of hope—a role that fit her awkwardly.
A shout silenced her.
Captain Wen yelled in Mandarin. “Enough of this bullshit. Kill them all!”
Gunfire erupted.
Seichan ducked low, yanking out her Glock.
Zhuang threw himself in front of Guan-yin. A round clipped his shoulder, spraying blood. The impact jarred him backward—into Seichan’s mother.
Guan-yin tumbled over the rail and crashed into the sea.
34
January 24, 1:50P.M.NZDT
Pacific Ocean, six hundred miles NE of Auckland
With his wrists cuffed behind him, Monk marched down the long hall that crossed through the bowels of theTitan X. Two commandos flanked him, both with QSZ-92 pistols in hand and rifles slung over their shoulders. They wore full battle gear, including helmets.
He knew the ominous reason he had been hauled out of the yacht’s small brig. An hour ago, he had heard the arrival of the massive ship—the helicopter landing dock. The LHD’s lumbering engines had reverberated through the hull of theTitan X. One of his captors had been fluent enough in English to explain why Monk was being moved.
Once Captain Tse returned from her dive, the Chinese forces were going to blow up the yacht and sink it with all aboard. But Monk—as a member of DARPA—would be transferred to the landing dock, destined for some Chinese black site.
Still, he was not about to resist.
I’ve waited two long hours for this opportunity.
With his arms behind him, he unlatched his prosthetic hand from its magnetic attachments to his wrist. Like everyone else, his guards had failed to recognize the lab-grown skin over a titanium skeleton as anything but a normal hand.
The cuffs fell away from his left wrist. He coughed to cover the slightjangle of the steel chains. With his prosthesis gripped in his real hand, he willed its mechanical fingers to flex. Even with the hand detached, a wireless cortical implant allowed him to communicate with and manipulate the prosthesis.
Satisfied all was operational, Monk moved swiftly. He whipped to the guard on his left and jammed the prosthetic hand at the man’s neck. The fingers clamped to his throat, strong enough to crush bone. The strangling throttled away any scream.
The sudden attack, especially from a bound prisoner, caught his other captor by surprise. Monk grabbed the first man’s pistol, shoved it under the second guard’s chin as he turned, and fired a muffled blast. His helmet kept the gore from splattering the wall.
Both men slumped to the floor at the same time.
Monk pushed the pistol into his belt, retrieved his hand, and snapped it into place. He then hauled both men into a side cabin. Once there, he stripped the strangled soldier of his battle armor and helmet and quickly donned the gear. If he kept his face down, he hoped the black-and-blue camo would hide him.
Out in the hall, he faced the aft end, picturing the giant glass sphere of Science City. All the prisoners were under guard there.
With a shake of his head, Monk turned and headed the opposite way, while making a silent promise.
I’ll do what I can.
Still, he knew there were others whom he could not help at all.
