Текст книги "Lost Empire"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Clive Cussler
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

“Capuchin?”

“Colobus, I think. Juvenile.”

From the direction of the Rinker they heard the engine turn over again. This time it caught, sputtered, then settled into a steady idle. Above them, the colobus jerked its head up at the noise, its tiny hands clamping down on the branches. It looked back down at Sam and Remi.Remi cooed, “Easy, little-”

The colobus opened its mouth and began shrieking and shaking the branches so wildly that leaves rained down on them.

Sam lowered his head and peered through the brush pile. Aboard the Rinker, both men were standing up, rifles at the shoulder, muzzles aimed in their direction. Suddenly a crack. One of the muzzles flashed. The bullet zipped through the foliage above their heads. The colobus shrieked louder and flailed at the branches. Sam groped underwater, found Remi’s hand, squeezed it.She whispered, “Are they-”

“I don’t think so. They’re looking for lunch.”

Crack! More shrieking and shaking.

Silence.

Sam could hear the colobus’s hands and feet pattering away.

“They’re turning our way,” Sam whispered. “Get ready for a deep breath.”

Through the brush they watched as the Rinker’s bow came around until it was pointed directly at them. It began gliding forward, slowly closing the gap. The second man was now standing beside the driver, rifle braced on the windshield’s frame.“Wait,” Sam rasped. “Wait . . .” When the Rinker was fifteen feet away he said, “Deep breath . . . under.”

They submerged together, each one clawing for handholds as they dragged themselves back first down the bank. When their feet sunk into the mud, they craned their necks back. On the surface, the Rinker’s bow was shoving its way into the brush pile. Sam and Remi heard muffled voices, then the cracking of branches. Leaves fluttered down and dotted the surface.

Finally, after nearly a minute, the Rinker’s propeller reversed and began churning. The boat began backing out. Sam and Remi waited until the bow swung around and the Rinker began moving away before resurfacing. They caught their breath and watched as the boat disappeared around the bend.“They didn’t get him, did they?” Remi asked.

Sam turned and smiled at her. “That’s my girl. Animal lover until the end. No, he got away. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER 17

SUKUTI ISLAND

“THERE!” REMI CALLED FROM THE BOW. “ALL STOP! BACK SLOW.”

With his view blocked by the mast, Sam throttled to neutral, let the dhow drift a bit, then reversed and eased backward around the knob of shoreline they’d been following.

“That’s good,” she called. “They’re about a mile ahead of us. Another ten minutes and they’ll make the turn north.”

Forty minutes earlier, after beaching their dhow in the cove, they’d wasted no time in getting under way. Sam and Remi hoped the Rinker was on a route that would take it along Sukuti’s southern coast and back to Okafor’s docks, as their planned approach would take them around the northern side of the island. They were anxious to reach the relative safety of the inlet that separated Little Sukuti from Big Sukuti-providing that, too, wasn’t on the Rinker’s route.

While a straight shot along the southern coast would have been the quickest route to the docks, it would also have left them exposed to any observant eyes and ears. By following the inlet north and shadowing the coast around to the western side, they would be invisible to anyone not standing atop the escarpment.They sat in silence, watching the sun on its slow downward arc to the horizon, until finally Remi checked her watch and said, “Slow ahead.”

Sam started the engines and goosed the dhow’s throttle, easing them from behind cover. On the bow, Remi lay on her belly with the binoculars trained along the coast.

“They’re gone,” she said. “We’re clear.”

Sam shoved the throttle forward, and the dhow surged ahead. Another ten minutes passed. Remi called out: “There it is.”

Sam leaned sideways over the rail until he could see, a couple hundred yards away, the mouth of the inlet. No more than fifty feet wide, the channel looked as much like a tunnel as it did an inlet, its banks overgrown with jungle and trees arcing over the water to form an impenetrable canopy, save a patch of ten-foot-wide sky down the center.Sam eased the dhow’s wheel to starboard. The bow came about.

Remi walked aft, ducked under the boom, and dropped to the deck beside Sam. “Jungle Cruise,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“The inlet. Remember the Disney World Jungle Cruise? That’s what this reminds me of.”

Sam chuckled. “My favorite ride as a kid.”

“Sam, it’s still your favorite ride.”

“True.”

Within minutes they’d closed to within a hundred yards of the inlet’s mouth. They felt the dhow shudder beneath their feet, and it leapt ahead, picking up five knots in as many seconds.“Good call,” Remi said to her husband.

Having already experienced the power of the current off Zanzibar, Sam had earlier worried about similar conditions here. Positioned as it was along the coast, with the tide surging from the south, the mouth of the inlet was a hydraulic vacuum, sucking ocean in from the south and spitting it out to the north.

Sam switched off the engine to save gas and gripped the wheel tighter. He said, “The good news is, we probably don’t have to worry about running aground. This current’s digging a pretty deep trench in there.”

The dhow bucked to the side and the stern slipped sideways. Sam corrected first to starboard, then to port, and the bow realigned on the mouth of the inlet. With both hands clamped on the rail, Remi was leaning over the side, a smile on her face, auburn hair streaming behind her.“How fast are we going?” she called.

“Ten, twelve knots,” Sam replied, laughing. This close to the water’s surface it felt much faster. “Better make your way forward. I’m going to need your eyes.”

“Aye, captain.” She made her way to the bow. “Fifty yards to go,” she called. “Steady on.”

To starboard Sam watched a four-foot wave crash over an exposed sandbar. “Surge coming,” he warned Remi and turned the wheel a few degrees to meet it. The wave hit them on the starboard bow, pushing the dhow sideways. The bow started to swing around off course. Sam muscled the wheel hard to starboard, compensating until the surge passed and the bow found the line again.“Looking good. Steady on,” Remi called. “Twenty yards.”

Sam leaned over the starboard rail and looked down. The indigo water was thirty to forty feet deep, but six feet to the right he could see the white sand bottom through the turquoise water. He leaned to port and saw the same.“We haven’t got much room to spare,” Sam called forward. “How does it look ahead?”

“Narrower still. Want a little drag?”

“Sure.”

Remi shimmied around on her belly, retrieved the Danforth anchor from its mount, tossed it over the bow, and let the line stream between her hands until she felt it skipping along the bottom. She hauled in a few inches of line and secured it to the pulpit rail. The dhow began slowing until they were moving in a jerk-and-surge fashion.“Ten yards,” Remi called.

And then, as if the sun had suddenly been eclipsed, the dhow slipped inside the inlet. To the left and right, walls of green closed in around them; above, a ragged ribbon of blue sky. Sam looked aft and felt a surge of vertigo as the entrance to the inlet seemed to close like an iris door on a spaceship.

“Turn coming up,” Remi called. “Forty-five degrees to starboard.”Sam faced forward again. “Ready when you are.”

“Three . . . two . . . one . . .Turn!”

Sam gave the wheel a quarter spin to port and held it.

“Starboard turn!” Remi shouted.

Sam spun the wheel again.

“Hold it there,” Remi ordered. A few seconds passed. “Okay, start easing back to port. Keep going . . . more . . . Good. Steady on.”

As if on cue, the current died away until the dhow was skimming ahead at a walking pace. The inlet widened out slightly, leaving fifteen feet on both beams.

“Haul anchor,” Sam called. “I think we’re okay.”

Remi retrieved the Danforth and returned to the cockpit. From the banks came the sounds of the jungle easing into twilight: the plaintive squawks of parrots, the croaking of frogs, and the buzz of insects.“It’s so peaceful,” Remi said, looking around. “A little spooky but peaceful.”

Sam grabbed the map from its compartment and unfolded it on the roof of the cabin. Remi clicked on a flashlight. Sam skimmed his index finger around the island. “We need the circumference.”

Remi retrieved the dividers and walked them around the coastline, occasionally marking headlands and landmarks with a pencil. Once done, she scribbled some calculations in the margins, then said, “Big Sukuti is nine miles, give or take. Little Sukuti, about five.”

Sam studied his watch for a moment. “We’ll reach the other mouth in twenty minutes. If that Rinker makes another patrol right away, it’ll be passing the northern side of this inlet about twenty minutes after that. If it doesn’t show up, it probably means no more patrols for the night or they’re only doing them every few hours.”“That’s a big if,” Remi replied. “If the latter, it means we might run into them somewhere along the coastline. We’d better hope we see them before they see us.”

Sam nodded. “Do me a favor. Find every nook and cranny along the coast. We’ll need to be ready to hide on a moment’s notice.”

It took Remi ten minutes to finish the task. She said, “There’re plenty to choose from but no depth markings; I can only be certain of six or seven being deep enough for our draft.”“We’ll have to play it by ear.”

“So, about your master plan . . .”

“Wish I had one,” Sam replied. “There’re too many variables. We have to assume they’ll be moving the bell sooner rather than later-either shipping it somewhere or dumping it somewhere. For that, they have three choices: one of the Rinkers, the Njiwa , or Okafor’s helicopter. We’ll start with the Njiwa. Whatever they do, that’s where the bell will stay until they decide to move it. If they use a Rinker or the Njiwa, I say we put on our pirate hats and stage a hijacking.”“And if it’s the helicopter?”

“Same plan. We just put on our flying scarves.”

“Sam, my dear, you don’t have much time logged on helicopters.”

“I think I can manage the four or five miles to the mainland. We’d be across the channel in six minutes-probably before they could even organize a posse. We find a secluded clearing somewhere, put her down, and-”Remi smiled. “Play it by ear?” Sam shrugged and smiled back. “It’s the best chance we have,” Remi agreed, “but you’ve left out a lot of big, potentially disastrous ifs.”

“I know-”

“For example, what if we’re spotted? We’ll be outgunned and outmanned.”

“I know-”

“And, of course, the biggest if: What if the bell’s already been moved?”

Sam paused. “Then the game’s over. If we don’t intercept it here, it’s gone for good. Remi, we’re a democracy. If it’s not unanimous, we don’t go.”

“I’m in, Sam, you know that. On one condition, though.” “Name it.”

“We take out some insurance.”

THE SUN WAS SETTING by the time the mouth of the inlet came into view: a rough oval of golden orange light at the end of the tunnel. When they were ten feet away, Remi steered the dhow toward the right-hand bank and jostled the throttle until the overhanging limbs draped over them. Standing atop the cabin, Sam manhandled the thicker branches around the mast and boom until the dhow was nestled against the bank. He crawled forward to the pulpit and peeked through the foliage.“Got a perfect view,” he called back.

The sun had dropped behind Big Sukuti, casting the western half of the island, including the inlet, in twilight. Sam added, “If they’re doing another circuit, they’ll be here in fifteen or twenty minutes.”“I’m going to pack our gear and do some scrounging.”

Remi went below. Sam could hear her moving about in the cabin. She returned to the cockpit, sat down, and began humming “Summer Wind” by Frank Sinatra. They got through “Hotel California” by the Eagles, “In the Midnight Hour” by Wilson Pickett, and were halfway through “Hey Jude” by the Beatles when Sam raised his hand for silence.Ten seconds passed.

“What is it?” Remi asked.

“Nothing, I guess. No, there . . . Hear it?”

Remi listened for a few moments, then there it was, the faint rumble of a marine engine. “The pitch sounds right,” she said.

“It’s coming from the northwest. Our guest may be en route.”

Of the scenarios they’d considered-a delayed second patrol, meeting the Rinker along the northern coast, or an immediate patrol that would pass before they headed out from the inlet-the third was ideal. By knowing the Rinker’s route and its average speed, they could be reasonably sure of their foe’s location at any given time. Barring the unforeseen, they would reach the docks long before the Rinker did.

Lying on his belly, binoculars raised, Sam kept his eyes focused on the headland a quarter mile away. The grumble of the engine grew in intensity until finally the Rinker’s bow appeared. As expected, it was occupied by a driver and a spotter; also as expected, the boat turned southeast, following the coastline.A spotlight glowed to life.

“We’re okay,” he said, half to himself, half to Remi. “They won’t see us unless they’re on top of us.”

“Odds?”

“Ninety-five percent. Maybe ninety.”

“Sam . . .”

“We’re okay. Keep your head down and cross your fingers.”

The Rinker kept coming. It was now a hundred yards from the inlet and heading straight for them, the spotlight skimming along the bank and over the trees.

“Anytime, boys,” Sam muttered. “Nothing to see here . . . Move along . . .”

The Rinker closed the gap to fifty yards.

Forty yards.

Thirty yards.

Sam took one hand off the binoculars, slowly reached backward, and grabbed the H amp;K from the thigh pocket of his cargo shorts. He brought the gun up and laid it on the deck beneath his shoulder. He flicked off the safety.The Rinker was twenty yards away.

Sam whispered, “Remi, you better get below.”

“Sam-”

“Please, Remi.”

He felt the dhow rock slightly as she crept down the ladder.

Sam lowered the binoculars. He wiped his right palm on his pant leg, then grabbed the H amp;K, extended it through the branches, and took aim on the shadowed form behind the Rinker’s wheel. Sam let the scenario play in his head: driver first, then the spotlight, then the second man before he had a chance to take cover or return fire. Two shots for each, then pause and wait for signs of life.The Rinker kept coming.

Sam took a deep breath.

Suddenly the Rinker’s engine revved up. The bow rose up and pivoted to port, and within five seconds the boat disappeared from view.

Sam exhaled. He knocked twice on the cabin’s roof. A few seconds later Remi whispered, “Clear?”

“Clear. Check the map. How long until they clear the northern tip of Little Sukuti?”

There came the crinkle of paper in the darkness, followed by the scratching of a pencil. Remi said, “It’s a little over a mile. Twenty-five minutes and we should be okay.”

FOR SAFE MEASURE, they let thirty minutes pass before shoving off and motoring out of the inlet. For the next forty minutes they glided along the northern shoreline, never straying more than fifty feet from the beach and never exceeding a quiet but frustrating three miles per hour.

Leaning over the map on the deck, penlight clamped between her teeth, Remi was walking the dividers. She looked up, took the penlight out of her mouth. “The Rinker should be reaching the southern tip of Little Sukuti. We’ve got at least twenty minutes on them.”They reached Big Sukuti’s northern tip, paused there for a binocular scan of the coastline ahead, then set out again.

“The docks are less than a mile away,” Remi told Sam.

“What do you think? Stop at half a mile?”

“Sounds good.”

They covered the distance in twelve minutes. To port, the island’s sloped moonscape rose from the beach to meet the rain forest. Sam slowed the dhow as Remi scanned the shoreline.

“This looks good here,” she said, then scrambled to the bow.Sam turned to port, aimed the bow at the beach, and followed Remi’s curt directions until she called, “All stop.”

Sam throttled down, then collected their packs from the deck and met Remi at the pulpit. She lowered herself over the side, then Sam grabbed her wrists and lowered her the rest of the way. The water was waist-high. He handed down their packs.“Come here,” Remi said.

“What?”

“Come here, I said.”

He smiled, then leaned his head over the side until she could crane her neck and kiss him on the cheek. She said, “Be safe. No drowning allowed.”

“Noted. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

THE NEXT PART of their plan turned out to be anticlimactic. Sam reversed the engines, brought the bow around, and took the dhow a few hundred yards off the coast, then turned off the engine and dropped anchor. He estimated there was fifty feet of water beneath the keel. He went below and opened each of the dhow’s five scuttle valves. When the water reached his calves, he went topside and dove over the side and began swimming. Five minutes later he stood up in the shallows and waded ashore to where Remi was waiting.Together they watched the dhow settle into the water and sink from view.

Sam gave it a salute, then said, “Ready?”

Remi nodded. “Lead on.”

CHAPTER 18

BIG SUKUTI ISLAND

WITH SAM IN THE LEAD THEY WALKED IN SILENCE FOR FIFTEEN minutes, keeping to the harder wet sand until they came upon a twenty-foot-high rock outcropping bisecting the beach. Sam scaled up the slippery rocks, found a flat spot below the ridge, and peeked over. After a few seconds he turned and motioned for Remi to join him. Together they poked their heads above the rocks. A few hundred yards down the beach they could see the dock jutting into the water. On one side the Njiwa was still moored, her interior cabin lights glowing yellow through sheer curtains; opposite her, both Rinkers were tied up as well. There was no sign of either the driver or passenger.“They must have cut a few corners to get back so quickly,” Remi said.

“They probably move at a pretty good clip along the southern side. With the Big Eyes we saw on the roof earlier, nobody’s going to be sneaking up from that direction.”

“And at least we know where everyone is,” Remi added. “I don’t see any activity. You?”

“Nothing. We’ve got two choices, by land or by water.”

“There’s too much loose rock on the slope and no cover,” Remi said.

“Agreed. Water it is.”

“How’re we getting aboard the Njiwa ?”

Sam zoomed his binoculars until he could see the yacht’s companion ladder. While it was less than five feet tall, its head was attached to the deck right in front of the cabin’s sliding door.“Not by the ladder,” Sam said. He thought for a moment. “Back on the dhow I saw a sea anchor in the cabin-”

Remi reached over her shoulder and patted the backpack. “In here. Improvised grappling hook?”

“You read my mind. We hook the stern rail and shimmy up.”

They climbed back down to the sand, then waded into the surf and set off, perpendicular to the beach, in a quiet, energy-efficient breaststroke. Once they’d covered fifty yards, they turned south, parallel to the beach, until they drew even with the dock. They stopped and treaded water.“Movement?” Sam asked.

“I don’t see any.” “Head for the Rinker.”

They set out again, arms sweeping them forward, their eyes scanning the dock area for movement. Soon they reached the Rinker’s transom. They took a moment to catch their breath, listening and looking. From the Njiwa’s cabin they heard muffled voices, then a pounding sound. Silence. More pounding.“Someone’s hammering,” Sam whispered. “Touch that engine.”

Remi touched the Rinker’s outboard with the back of her hand. “Cold. Why?”

“This one will have more gas. Wait here. Time for our insurance policy.”

He took a breath, ducked under, and swam alongside the first Rinker to its twin at the head of the dock. He grabbed the gunwale, chinned himself up, and looked around. No movement. He boosted himself over the side onto the deck, then crawled forward to the driver’s seat. He checked the ignition. Not surprisingly, the keys were missing. He rolled onto his back, opened the maintenance hatch beneath the dashboard, and wiggled inside. He clicked on his penlight and studied the wiring bundle.

“Just like old times,” Sam muttered. Five months earlier he’d found himself doing the same thing with another speedboat on a lake in the Bavarian Alps. Luckily, like that boat’s, this Rinker’s wiring was simple: ignition, wipers, navigation lights, and horn. Using his Swiss Army knife, Sam severed each wire, taking as much length as he could. He rolled them into a tight ball and tossed it over the side, then wriggled back out and closed the hatch. He crawled back to the gunwale, did a quick check, then rolled back into the water and returned to Remi.“Okay, if all goes well, this’ll be our getaway boat. We grab the bell, disable the Njiwa if we can, then bring the bell back here-”

“How?”

“I’ll manage it somehow. We’ll worry about the hernia later. We bring the bell back here and slip away before anyone knows what’s happened.”

“And if all goes unwell? Never mind; I already know. We play it by ear.”

THEY STROKED AROUND the dock to the Njiwa’s stern and immediately realized the yacht was bigger up close. The stern rail was ten feet above the waterline. Remi fished the dhow’s sea anchor from her backpack. Sam examined it.

“Too short,” he whispered into her ear, then gestured for her to follow. They stroked back to the Rinker’s transom. “Time for Plan B,” Sam said. “I’ll try the ladder.” Remi opened her mouth to speak, but he pushed on. “It’s the only way. If I jump from the dock, it’ll make too much noise. Get into the Rinker and be ready to take off.”“No.”

“If I get caught, run.”

“I said-”

“You run and get back to civilization and call Rube. He’ll know what to do. With you missing, Rivera will assume you’ve contacted the authorities. He won’t kill me-not right away. He’s too smart for that; dead bodies are more trouble than they’re worth.”Remi frowned and gave him a withering stare. “Let’s call all that Plan C. Plan B is you don’t get caught. We’re up to our chins, Sam.”

“I know. Keep a sharp eye out. I’ll signal you when it’s clear. If I raise my hand and spread my fingers, it’s safe to come; a raised fist, stay where you are.”

He took off his shirt and shoes, stuffed both in his backpack, and handed the pack to Remi.

“What’re you doing?” she asked.

“Clothing drips and shoes squeak.”

“Sam, have you been taking commando classes on the side?”

“Just watching the Military Channel.”

He kissed her, then ducked beneath the surface, stroked under the Rinker, and resurfaced under the dock. Another breath and another duck brought him alongside the Njiwa’s white hull. He stroked forward beneath the companion ladder, then paused. He could hear muffled voices coming from the cabin. Two men, perhaps three. He strained to catch any words or isolate the voices but failed. He boosted himself onto the dock, laid flat, waited and listened, then got up and crept up the ladder. Below the top rung he paused, poked his head up, saw nothing, and crawled onto the deck. He stood up and pressed himself against the bulkhead.

The sliding door opened. A rectangle of yellow light angled onto the deck. Heart in his throat, Sam did a rapid sidestep along the bulkhead and around the corner to the forecastle, where he froze and took a few calming breaths.

He heard the clump of footsteps on the deck. The door slid shut again, followed by footsteps clanging down the companion ladder. Sam stepped forward, peeked aft and saw nothing, so he took another step and peeked over the rail. A figure was walking down the dock. At the end of a dock, in a small clearing, sat a green gas-powered Cushman flatbed cart and, directly behind it, a white golf cart. Ahead of them, the trail curved up and away toward the helicopter pad and the main house.The figure leaned over the Cushman, removed a rake and a pair of shovels, and tossed them into the brush beside the path.

“Making room for cargo,” Sam muttered to himself.

He turned toward the Rinker, raised a “Stay put” fist for a few seconds, then ducked down and waddled back to the bulkhead.

Footfalls clicked on the wooden dock, then back up the ladder, followed by the sliding door opening and closing. Three minutes passed. The door slid open again. More clomping now. Multiple feet. Grunting. Something heavy sliding across the deck . . . Sam peeked around the corner and saw three men in the light from the cabin door: Rivera, Nochtli, and Yaotl. Between them sat a crate roughly the size of the dummy crate Sam had created on Zanzibar.

Yaotl, the biggest of the three, backed down the ladder in front of the crate while Rivera and Nochtli shoved it forward. Sam drew back into the shadows and listened as they manhandled the crate down the ladder to the dock. Sam crab-walked to the rail and peeked over.

Nochtli and Yaotl were moving down the dock, each gripping one of the crate’s rope handles. Rivera walked a few paces behind. The trio reached the clearing. The crate was placed onto the Cushman’s flatbed.Rivera began speaking in Spanish. Sam caught only snippets: “. . . take it . . . helicopter . . . there shortly.”

The Cushman’s engine started. Tires crunched on the shell path. After a few seconds the engine faded and died away. Sam risked a peek over the railing. Rivera was striding down the dock toward the ladder. Sam backed away and took cover against the bulkhead. Rivera climbed the ladder and went into the cabin.

Sam considered his options. He had little desire to tangle with Rivera, a trained and accomplished killer, but as soon as the man reached the helicopter it would lift off with the bell aboard. More important, whatever he and Remi did next would be easier with Rivera out of the equation. The H amp;K was out of the question, Sam knew, because the noise could attract the attention of the other guards. He’d have to do it the hard way.

He took a deep breath and crept aft along the bulkhead to the sliding door. He took a few moments to mentally rehearse his actions, then reached out, pressed his thumb against the door’s handle, and shoved. With a hiss, the door slid open.From inside, Rivera’s voice: “Nochtli? Yaotl?”

Sam took a half step backward, balled up his right fist, and cocked it over his shoulder.

A shadow blocked out the cabin’s light.

Rivera’s nose appeared from behind the doorjamb, followed by his chin and eyes. Sam lashed out with a straight punch, aiming for Rivera’s temple, but the man’s reflexes kicked in, and he twisted his head sideways. Sam’s fist glanced off Rivera’s temple. Wary of him recovering and grabbing whatever weapon he was sure to be carrying, Sam pivoted through the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Rivera to the right. As predicted, Rivera was reaching for something behind his back.

Years of judo training took over. Instinctively, Sam assessed Rivera’s posture and stance and saw the weak point: Still slightly stunned, Rivera was leaning against the bulkhead, trying to regroup, all his weight concentrated on his left foot. Sam ignored Rivera’s weapon hand and instead lashed out with a Deashi-Harai-a Forward Foot Sweep-that caught him just below the left ankle. Rivera collapsed sideways and slid down the bulkhead, but still his weapon hand was coming around. Sam saw the gun in it, reached up, grabbed the wrist, and used the arm’s momentum to slam Rivera’s hand against the wall. Sam heard the crack of bone. The gun fell away and bounced across the carpeted deck.

Hand still clamped on Rivera’s wrist, Sam took a big step backward, dropped his center of gravity and twisted his hips, whipping Rivera’s body flat across the floor. Sam released the wrist and dropped onto Rivera’s back. He snaked his right arm around the throat, going for a rear naked choke. Rivera reacted immediately, lashing backward with an elbow punch that caught Sam below the eye. His eyesight sparkled and dimmed. He turned his face away, felt another elbow crash into the back of his head. Sam breathed through it and curled his forearm, sliding farther across Rivera’s throat. Using his legs as counterweights, Sam rolled left, taking Rivera with him. Then Rivera made his mistake: He panicked. He stopped throwing elbows and started clawing at the forearm around his neck. Sam extended the choke, clamped his right hand onto his left bicep, then squeezed while pressing his head forward, forcing Rivera’s chin toward his chest and compressing his carotid arteries. Almost immediately Rivera’s flailing weakened. Another second, and he went limp. Sam held on for three more beats, then let go and shoved Rivera aside. Sam got to his knees and checked the man’s pulse and breathing: alive but in a deep sleep.

Sam took ten seconds to catch his breath, then climbed to his feet. He reached up and touched his cheekbone; his fingers came back bloody. He shuffled out the door, looked around to make sure all was clear, then held up five fingers. He returned inside.

Remi stepped through the door sixty seconds later. She glanced at Rivera’s motionless body, then to Sam, then dropped their backpacks. She strode to Sam and they embraced. She pulled away. She used her index finger to tilt his face sideways. She frowned.“It looks worse than it is,” Sam said.

“How do you know what it looks like? You’re going to need stitches.”

“My pageant days are over.”

Remi nodded to Rivera. “Is he . . .”

“Just sleeping. He’s going to be one angry man when he wakes up.”

“Then let’s not be here. I assume we’re going with the helicopter hijacking?”

“They were kind enough to load the bell aboard. It’d be rude to let that effort go to waste. The Rinker . . . Did you . . .”

“Jerked out the wires and tossed them overboard. What now? Tie him up?”

“No time. We’ve got surprise on our side. If anyone comes back looking for him, that’s gone.” Sam looked around. He walked forward and opened a door, revealing a ladder leading upward. “That’ll be the bridge. Go up and do some damage to their communications.”Remi said, “Ship-to-shore phone and radio, right?”