Choke Point (32 page)

Mawl ignored the question. “About to Paddy’s knees, then?”

“Yeah, that’s about right.” His eyes shifted from Mawl to Atherton, then back again. What’s this about, Brick?”

“Paddy was over six foot. That’s a bloody big jump for a snake.”

“Oh, that,” Chricher said, a relieved lift in his voice.

“The snake didn’t jump. It landed on his back.”

“Landed?”

“That’s what he said. Said it dropped right on top of him.”

“Okay, that would explain it,” Mawl said, though he knew it didn’t.

“Yup.”

“Dropped from where? That’s what I’m wondering.”

Chricher’s expression went blank, a clock without batteries. “That’s a bloody good question.” He paused, thinking about it. “He did say something about a tree.”

Atherton spoke for the first time, making no attempt to hide his skepticism. “A tree inside the cave?”

Chricher nodded. “That’s what he said.”

Mawl gave Atherton a look, trying to warn him off. “Yes, that would explain where the snake came from.”

But it was too late, Chricher was already putting the pieces together. “Bloody hell, you think that’s were they’re hiding.”

“No,” Mawl said, “I don’t think that, but it’s worth checking. Can you draw me a map?”

“I’ll take you there.”

But that wasn’t what Mawl wanted. If they found Leonidovich, they would find that “worthless artifact”—something he didn’t believe for a second—and he preferred to make that discovery on his own. “No, you need to stay here. Make sure this problem with Big Patty gets handled properly.”

Atherton smiled, just a little, that I-know-what-you’re-thinking smirk. “I’ll go with you.”

Mawl nodded—that would only make it easier to get rid of the arrogant bastard—and turned back to Chricher. “About that map…?”

“Sure, Brick, but even if you’re right…even if that’s where they’re hiding…you won’t find them. Not now.”

“And why’s that?”

“The tide’s up. If they’re in there, they’re trapped until it goes out.”

“You’re sure?”

Absolutely,” Chricher answered. “The waterline was at least a meter above the opening.”

“When’s ebb tide?”

Chricher pulled a small
Tide and Pilot Guide
from one of the oversized pockets in his shorts. He thumbed through the pages, found the one he was looking for, then traced down the column with his finger until he found the right date. “Looks to me…lemme see here…yup…looks like it’ll be another four…maybe five hours before that thing opens up.”

Mawl glanced at his watch.
Midnight.
And he planned to be there.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-NINE

An Island in the South China Sea

Saturday, 14 July 20:22:14 GMT +0800

Kyra stopped her forward stroke, put a finger to her lips, and motioned for Simon to move up.

He propelled himself through the tepid water, trying to maintain that perfect point of buoyancy where he could walk on the bottom, maintain control, and not have to use his broken arm. “What’s up?”

“We’re getting close,” she whispered. “You okay?”

He nodded, feeling better now that the sun had disappeared over the horizon. “Just tired.”

“Don’t complain to me…I’m the one who wanted to stay put and get some sleep.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Fess up, Leonidovich, you were just afraid to stay in that cave with my snake.”

True enough,
but he was getting tired of hearing about it, and he couldn’t resist a little retaliation. “Despite what you
now
think of him, Atherton is no fool. He knows you’re a zoologist. He just might put you and that damn reptile together.”

“Yeah, yeah, good story. You ready to get out of here?”

He glanced at the sky, the few remaining clouds still amber-lit along the bottom. “How close are we?”

“It should be right ahead.” She pointed her chin toward an outcropping that looked vaguely familiar. “Just beyond those rocks.”

He suddenly remembered the spot, the place where they had come ashore only four days before, but which felt like another lifetime. “You sure they don’t have motion sensors around the camp?”

“Pretty sure. Thanks to that
sonofabitch
—” Her new pet name for Atherton. “—they’re concentrating all their efforts on the other end of the island.”

“I hope to hell you’re right, Rynerson.”

“Yeah, me too. Let’s get out of here before we turn to seaweed and the fish start nibbling on our toes.”

“I’ll go first.” He gave her a don’t-screw-with-me look, letting her know this issue was not open to debate. “Wait until I’m past the rocks and into the trees. Then wait another five minutes…just to be sure.” He pointed toward a lightning-struck tree among the gray silhouettes that lined the shore. “Then head for that tree.”

“Yessir, boss.”

“I mean it, Kyra. You hear anything, you swim like hell.”

She reached out, pulled him close, and kissed his cheek. “For luck.”

He nodded—had a feeling they were going to need it—and pushed off toward the shore, never taking his eyes off the tree line. He waited until his knees brushed the bottom, then stood up, waited for the initial rush of water to stream off his clothes, then as quickly and quietly as possible, made his way through the rocks and into the trees. Five minutes later, clutching the cargo bag to her chest, she dropped onto the ground beside him. “That was easy enough.”

He nodded, but
easy
always scared him; it was that old fear that some cosmic force controlled the balance of life—measuring good against evil, easy against hard—just waiting to nudge the scales in the opposite direction. He pointed up, at the burned-out hulk he had used as a target from the water. “Could you find this tree again, if you needed to?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Because this is where I’m going to leave the crest.” He pointed to a cavity near the base. “Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case we’re caught. If they get us, I don’t want them to get the crest too.” He actually had something else in mind, a little insurance in case the cosmic gods decided to tilt the scales away from easy. “If we’re able to grab one of those nice rubber boats, I’ll pick it up on the way out.”

She shrugged. “It’s your responsibility.” She fished the black case with the Smithsonian logo out of the bag. “Your call.”

“Yes it is.” He tucked the case into the hollowed-out cavity.

“But I suggest we
don’t
get caught.”

“I agree. But just—”

“Yeah-yeah, I know…just in case. You ready?”

He checked the sky, which in the last few minutes had gone from a kaleidoscope of color to a hazy charcoal. The world, he thought, might be getting darker, but it wasn’t getting any cooler. “Lead the way.”

She stood up, hooked the bag over her shoulder, and began moving in a northwesterly direction along the coast, staying well back in the trees. The ground was soft and spongy, everything saturated from four days of rain, the thick vegetation absorbing the sounds of their movements. By the time they reached the encampment, the night had settled in; that brief period after the earth had lost its color, and before the stars appeared. Kyra lowered herself to a prone position, then slithered forward to the edge of the clearing. Being careful not to put pressure on his broken arm, Simon lowered himself to the ground, edged onto his right side, then slid forward until they could whisper mouth-to-ear. “What’s going on?”

She pointed to a light about fifty yards ahead: a canopied enclosure with the sides rolled up. Sitting at a small table surrounded by boxes, were two men: James Atherton, and the man with the shaved head. “That’s Bricker, the head honcho.” She moved her finger to the left, toward a grouping of dark shapes. “Their tents.” Another finger adjustment, toward a hazy yellow light back in the trees, and the shadowed silhouettes of three men, one on his knees. “Something’s going on back there.”

Simon nodded. “That’s five. I don’t see the big guy.”

“Probably in his tent,” she whispered. “Dead or wishing he was.”

That’s when Simon realized the third man wasn’t on his knees, but in a hole. “Then I think he got his wish. It looks like they’re digging a grave.”

She leaned to the side, trying to get a better view through a gap in the undergrowth, then emitted a low grunt of satisfaction. “Snakes are
sooo
cool.”

“That’s six, then…all accounted for.”

She nodded, her lips curling into a I-told-you-so grin, and he knew exactly what she was thinking—
all here, no one sitting outside the cave
—but at least she didn’t say it.

“So where are those inflatable boats?”

She pointed toward the water. “Just beyond those trees.”

Being careful to keep a thick buffer of plants between themselves and the clearing, it took them only a few minutes to cover the short distance. As they edged up behind the last protective barrier of trees, the night seemed to grow brighter, the rocky shoreline awash beneath a galaxy of stars, the ocean a shimmering pool of oily luminescence. All four of the inflatable boats were clearly visible: the three small craft staked side by side near the water’s edge, but the fourth and largest, had been pulled onto the rocks, to within twenty yards of the canopied enclosure. “We’re screwed,” Kyra whispered. “If we can’t disable that big one…”

He nodded. “Is someone always around that shelter?”

“Always,” she answered. “That’s where they monitor their network of sensors.”

He couldn’t imagine how she got so close. “You were close enough to see all that?”

“It wasn’t like this. I swam through the mud in the middle of a typhoon. We couldn’t get within twenty yards of that place in this weather.”

It was, he realized, that perfect after-storm lull: calm sea, clear sky, quiet as a—He glanced toward the shadowy light back in the trees.
Cemetery.
“Any brilliant ideas?”

“Retreat,” she answered without hesitation. “Wait till morning. Try to signal a ship.”

But he knew what that meant—
back to the cave
—and that was not something he wanted to do. Sooner or later, Atherton would put things together—
Rynerson plus snake
—and come looking. “Why don’t we wait awhile, just—”

“Yeah, I know,” she interrupted. “Just in case.”

“That’s right. You sleep, I’ll keep an eye on things.”

“Now there’s an idea.” She curled into a fetal position, her head on one hand, and closed her eyes.

“Just tell me I don’t have to worry about snakes.”

“You don’t have to worry about snakes,” she repeated, her voice already drifting toward slumber-land. “It’s the centipedes you should worry about.”

“Damn you, Rynerson, did you have to tell me that?”

She smiled, just a small upturn of the lips, as if lacking the strength for more. “It makes me feel superior.”

In less than a minute she had drifted off, her breathing soft and regular. Though he hadn’t slept more than a few hours in three days, he didn’t feel tired, his brain too energized with plans and schemes and dreams of escape. Ironically, he felt more in control now, where he could see the enemy and take advantage of their movements. And there would be movement. He knew the laws of physics, and nothing remained static for long.

That first movement came twenty minutes later. Simon placed a hand over Kyra’s mouth, and nudged her awake. Her body stiffened and her eyes flew open, then she realized who it was and relaxed. “What’s happening?”

“Skinhead just got a call on his radio.” He pointed toward the silhouetted shapes of Atherton and Bricker as they moved toward the burial site. “I think they’re about to plant the guy.”

“You want to go now?” she whispered, her voice edgy with excitement.

A question he had already asked himself. “If I had two arms, I’d say yes, but I doubt if we’d have enough time to disable three boats and get away before they spot us.”

She nodded, a look of disappointment. “You’re probably right. We’ll stand a better chance once they’re asleep.”

They watched as the five men gathered in a circle around the light. Though too distant to make out the words, a cacophony of voices filtered back through the trees. “Can you believe that?” Kyra whispered. “They’re having some kind of ceremony…as if God would welcome one of those bastards into paradise.”

“I think it’s a military thing. Band of brothers, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, brothers, and that sonofabitch is right with them.” She rolled over and began digging through the cargo bag.

“What are you doing?” But he knew the answer as soon as he asked the question. “Don’t even think about it.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, yanking out her bag of magic mushrooms. “With all that digging, they may not have eaten yet.”

“It’s too risky. You don’t even know if there’s anything you can put them in.”

“One way to find out. We need some kind of edge if we’re going to make it out of here. If they see me, I’ll take off down the beach in the other direction.”

“Come on, Kyra, don’t be foolish.” He grabbed her wrist. “You know what these guys will do if they catch you.”

“And that’s why I won’t let them. If I have to, I’ll take my chances in the water. I can swim like a fish.” She glanced toward the burial party. “Now let go of my arm. We don’t have much time.”

Short of wrestling her to the ground—which he doubted he could do with one arm—he could only agree. “Be careful.” The words sounded hollow and foolish, like the warning to a child who thinks they’re invincible, but he couldn’t think of anything better.

She nodded. “If something happens, I’ll meet you back at the cave.”

“No. Where I hid the crest. We’re safer here, than in that damn cave.”

She nodded again, anxious to go.

“You see any guns lying around, you might consider borrowing a couple.”

“Ten-four.” She gave him another one of those nice little pecks on the cheek, then was gone, crawling straight toward the water until she had dropped below the men’s sight line, then turned, moving low and fast toward the canopied enclosure.