Текст книги "Deep Fathom"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

The tread of boots, now running, aimed right for their hiding place. Two men.

Jack bit his lip. With the sun so low, the channel was thick with shadows. Under the bridge it was even darker. Still, if they thought to flash a light…

The pair hit the bridge and stopped. Their shadows could be seen on the far wall of the canal.

“Any sign?” Spangler asked harshly.

“No, sir. We’re still combing the building. They won’t get away. With the island under surveillance, they won’t be able to leave here without being spotted.”

“Good.”

“Sir, I’m getting a report from Rolfe over the radio.” A pause, then the man’s voice grew more excited. “He found a tunnel!”

“Goddamn it! Why didn’t someone spot this earlier? C’mon. Have Rolfe ready with the grenades.”

“Yes, sir.” The echo of boot steps retreated from the bridge and headed back toward the large structure.

Jack did not wait. He thumbed for Mwahu to continue.

One after the other the group swam toward the distant fortifications. No one breathed. All of them clung to the deepest shadows of the channel. As they neared the wall, Jack spotted where the creek ended. He saw no way forward.

Mwahu waited for them to gather. Once Jack was near enough, the islander made a diving motion with his hand. Then, to demonstrate, he sank under the water and vanished.

Karen whispered to Jack, “The creek must connect to the canals, or the channel would have dried out.” But she eyed the wall of stacked basalt logs with concern.

“You can do it,” he said.

Karen nodded, unhooking her backpack so it was loose in her hands. “I’ll go next.” Taking a deep breath, she ducked under the stagnant water. With a kick, she vanished into the underwater tunnel.

Miyuki looked too frightened to move. Jack slid beside her. “We’ll go together.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m not the strongest swimmer.” But she held out her hand, her eyes determined. He took it.

“On three,” he said.

“On three,” she repeated.

Jack counted it off, and they both dove under. He found the passage easily. It was quite large. Kicking off the nearby creek wall, he led Miyuki through the tunnel. It was no longer than two yards. Light filtered ahead.

Jack popped out and found himself in one of the surrounding canals. Miyuki surfaced beside him, wiping back her wet hair. The group was hidden in an overhang of ferns.

Jack heard a vague whining. The noise grew as he listened. “Shit.”

“What?” Karen asked.

“How long can everyone hold their breath?”

Karen shrugged. “As long as we need to.”

The whining was now a high-pitched screaming. It came from just around the corner.

“What is—” Karen started to ask.

“Take each other’s hands,” Jack said. “Duck underwater until I signal you.”

They obeyed, and their heads vanished. Holding his breath, Jack sank until only his eyes were above the water. Peering between the fern fronds, he watched a sleek black jet ski turn the corner with a roar. It angled down the canal toward them, sweeping back and forth, lightly bumping the walls to either side. Jack pressed himself against the stones.

Half standing, the driver glided his jet ski along the passage. He studied the walled island, slowing as he puttered past Jack’s hiding spot. The man, in a black wet suit with his mask pushed up on his forehead, wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

Keep going, asshole. Jack knew the others could not hold their breath forever. In the reflection of the man’s sunglasses, Jack spotted his own face hidden by leaves. His skin, pale, seemed to shine in the shadows. He should have smeared his face with mud, he thought. But it was too late now.

The jet ski inched past him, its fiberglass edge almost grazing his cheek as it swept by him. The man remained unaware of his presence. As he drifted away, Jack recognized the automatic weapon strapped to the man’s back. A Heckler & Koch MP5A3 assault weapon. The SEALs’ weapon of choice.

He kept an eye on the gunman until he disappeared around the corner, then pulled the others up. They gasped for air.

Jack strained to listen. Another whine arose from across the ruins. A second jet ski! He surmised there were two guards, circling in tandem around the island. He had maybe three minutes to come up with a plan.

“We need to get out of here,” he said. “Now.”

Mwahu pointed toward an islet fifty yards down the waterway. “More tunnels. Go over to shore.” But he seemed unsure of himself.

“Are you certain?”

Mwahu stared Jack down, then shrugged.

Jack sighed. “You make a very good point.” The group had no other choice. They’d have to take their chances. “Move fast, folks. We’ve got more company coming.”

The sound of the second jet ski grew louder.

Mwahu led the way. Here, the water was deeper. They were forced to swim. Jack cringed at the amount of splashing. If the second guard should turn the corner now, they would be spotted easily.

Positioned at the rear, Jack kept glancing over his shoulder. The whining began to roar, echoing off the walls. “Faster,” he urged the others.

The splashing worsened, but their progress only improved slightly. Jack realized they would not make it. Ahead, he spotted a narrow side channel jutting from the main canal. “Turn in there!”

With a kick, Mwahu led them into the tight alley.

Jack swam after them into the cramped space. Bare walls surrounded them on either side – and the canal dead-ended only a couple yards away. They were boxed in. Jack swung around. “We’ll have to hold our breath again.”

Resigned nods answered him.

Jack judged their waning strength, knowing they were all growing cold and exhausted. The rising scream of the jet ski drew his attention around. “He’s coming.” He knew he could not risk even peeking out. He listened, trying to time it, grabbed Karen’s hand and raised his other arm.

The noise drilled his ears. He held his breath, waiting, tense. Then he lowered his arm, and the others sucked air and dove. Again Jack lowered his face to eye level with the water.

The jet ski roared up to the opening of the side channel, but the driver, a clone of the other, maintained a watch on the larger island across the canal. Standing, the man had a hand pressed to an ear, listening to his radio, reporting in. His words were muffled by the jet ski’s engine.

Jack willed him to continue past.

As if hearing his silent plea, the man swung around. Jack just barely managed to duck underwater in time. From under the surface he stared up. He could see the man’s watery image, saw him pause, floating the jet ski in place.

Jack felt Karen tug on his hand. She and the others were running out of air. He squeezed her hand, then released his grip and slipped away from her side. Karen tried to grab the back of his shirt, but he knocked her hand aside.

Overhead, the jet ski turned in their direction. Jack saw the man reach for his rifle. Exhaling slowly, Jack sank deeper. He slid out of the side channel, scuttling under the starboard edge of the ski. He hated to abandon the others, but he needed a moment’s distraction.

Crouching down on the bottom of the canal, he positioned his feet and squinted up. C’mon, he urged the others. Then he heard a frantic kicking as one of his group ran out of air and was forced to surface.

Jack did not wait. He shoved with all the strength in his legs and shot out of the water.

The driver, still facing the channel, had his weapon pointed in the wrong direction. He noticed Jack’s attack a moment too late.

Jack knocked him off the jet ski’s seat. The man grabbed the handlebars and twisted around, but by then Jack’s elbow had smashed him in the face, crushing his nose, driving the bone into his brain. Instant death.

Jack did not pause. His old instincts arose. He relieved the guard of his rifle and radio headpiece, then shoved the man into the canal.

As he swung back into the jet ski’s seat he found Karen staring up in shock from the canal.

“Kill or be killed,” he grumbled, then gunned the jet ski. “C’mon.”

Karen held out a hand, and Jack pulled her into the seat behind him. There was not enough room for the other two.

“Grab the edge of the jet ski,” he instructed them. “I’ll drag you both.”

Miyuki and Mwahu swam to either side, fingers clutching for handholds.

“Ready?”

“Y-Yes,” Miyuki said, shivering.

Jack edged the ski forward. Over the noise of his own watercraft he heard the growing roar of the other jet ski. He increased his pace, but a squeal of protest from Miyuki forced him to throttle down. The professor gagged out a mouthful of seawater.

“Sorry,” he said, twisting around and watching for the other guard. Jack clutched the handles in a tight grip. “We can’t outrun them like this.”

Karen nodded down the canal. “What about Mwahu’s tunnel?”

They should have just enough time, Jack thought, and slowly throttled up. “Hold your breath.”

Gliding the jet ski, he headed toward the islet Mwahu had pointed out. Once abreast of it, he ducked the ski into another side canal and parked it out of sight.

“Is this the place?” Karen asked Mwahu.

Half drowned, the islander indicated the rear side of the islet’s single squat building.

Shouldering the rifle, Jack hopped to shore and helped the others up onto the weed-choked island. He quickly led them around the building, where he stumbled to a stop. “Goddamn it!” The entrance to the building was blocked by a large basalt boulder. He sagged and turned. “Is this your entrance to the tunnels?”

Mwahu crossed and placed a hand on the boulder. He looked near tears. Answer enough.

Karen joined the islander. “We can move it,” she said, wiggling out of her wet pack. “It’s basalt. We have the crystal.”

Jack looked at the boulder. It was deep in shadows as the sun hovered at the horizon. “We need sunlight.”

Karen passed him the crystal. “I’ll get it for you.” She removed a plastic compact from her pack, opened it and broke off the mirror. Stepping back to the corner, she aimed the mirror toward the sun and deflected a beam toward the boulder so a spot of sunlight danced on the boulder’s surface.

Jack smiled. “It’s worth a try.”

He crossed to the boulder and slapped on the star, still sticky with gum. It failed to adhere to the uneven surface, but he found he could hold it in place and push with his shoulder. He nodded to Karen.

It took her a few tries to hit the star with the reflected sunlight. Jack pushed each time the star burst with radiance. The boulder, much more massive than the crypt’s lid, was still heavy. Jack dug in his heels, straining against the rock, fighting it. Mwahu joined him and pushed, too. Slowly, the boulder shifted.

“I don’t hear the other jet ski,” Miyuki said.

Jack paused. She was right. Silence lay over the ruins. “He must have discovered the body. He’s probably reporting in.” He hunkered down again. “C’mon, we’re running out of time.”

Karen tilted her mirror. The star flashed brilliantly. Jack and Mwahu groaned, against it. The boulder rolled a full foot. The gap opened enough for a small person to crawl inside.

“That’ll have to do,” Karen said. “We can squeeze.” She passed Jack her pack and crouched down, slithering into the space. Once through, she called back. “Mwahu was right. There is a tunnel. It leads steeply down from here.”

Jack waved for Miyuki and Mwahu to follow. The pair quickly squeezed inside, into the stone building, while Jack backed to the far side of the boulder. The stone’s far edge, now pushed beyond the shelter of the building, was bathed in sunlight.

“Now you,” Karen called out to him. “Jack?”

He hooked Karen’s pack to his own shoulder and placed the crystal star against the sunlit edge of the boulder.

“Jack?”

The crystal glowed brightly. Jack crouched down and shoved against the boulder, legs straining. The large stone rolled back into the shadows. Then he straightened and walked back around. Without sunlight, the boulder was now impossible to move any farther.

“What are you doing?” Karen asked from the other side. The crack was no wider than the palm of his hand. Her face was pressed to the gap.

“We can’t leave the way open,” he said. “They’ll find the jet ski and quickly discover the opening. They’ll hunt us in the tunnels.”

“But—”

The roar of a jet ski echoed over the water. First one, then another, then another.

“They’re coming,” Jack said, standing. “I’ll try and lead them away.” He stepped back and tucked the crystal into the pack on his shoulder. “But if they catch me, I’ll have what they want – the crystal. Either way, they should leave you all alone.”

“Jack…” Karen wiggled a hand through the crack.

Jack knelt and took her hand. “Try to get to someone in authority.”

Karen nodded, eyes moist. “I will.”

Jack turned her hand and gently pressed his lips to her palm. “I’ll see you soon.”

She closed her hand, savoring his kiss. “You’d better.”

Jack pushed back up. There was nothing else to say. He hitched Karen’s pack higher on his shoulder and hurried to the lone watercraft. The screams of the other jet skis echoed across the ruins.

Jack settled into the jet ski’s seat, hooked the radio headset in place and strapped the assault weapon over his shoulder. Ready, he gunned the jet ski, adding its voice to the chorus of others. Opening the throttle, he shot forward.

Across Nan Madol the sun was sinking below the horizon. As darkness descended, Jack remembered Mwahu’s earlier warning.

An old superstition.

Death lay among the ruins at night.

8:45 P.M.

David Spangler stood atop the stone roof of the central keep, one of the tallest points in Nan Madol. He had a comprehensive view of the entire megalithic city. Using a night vision scope, he watched the chase begin. He saw Jack’s jet ski suddenly burst from out of hiding behind one of the islets.

“He’s in quadrant four,” David radioed his men. “Circle the area and keep him contained.” On his command, the other three jet skis swung around, circling toward the designated region. He listened to the chatter over the radio as his team closed the noose.

David allowed himself a hard smile. Darkness was Omega team’s ally. While Jack stumbled around blindly, his own men, equipped with goggles and UV lanterns, moved with skill and certainty. He watched the trap tighten. He would end this tonight.

He touched his microphone. “Jeffreys, check out the island where Jack was hiding. Make sure he hasn’t left anyone behind.” David knew it was not above Jack to play hero, leading his team on a wild goose chase while the real prize lay hidden.

Below, he heard a jet ski throttle up. He had held Omega team’s last jet ski in reserve, for emergencies and backup. Now, the jet ski roared away, angling toward the tiny islet.

Sighing, David returned his attention to the chase. When they first arrived, he had ordered his men to capture Kirkland and the others alive. But the man was proving more of an adversary than he’d imagined. As a consequence, he adjusted his estimation of Kirkland and upgraded his order to “Kill on sight.”

Still, he found it frustrating. His team had been outwitted. He’d spent many hours planning the day’s mission. He had commandeered a local police cutter and the six jet skis. “Drug runners” was the official explanation. He had stationed the boat outside the reef and awaited the arrival of Jack and the others. Once they were there, he had watched them paddle around the ruins and finally beach their canoes. From that point it was a simple matter to jet-ski into the ruins through the sea gates and sneak onto the island silently. He had then ordered the area cordoned off, while he and his extraction team hunted Jack’s group.

Even now David was not entirely certain how Jack and the others had escaped his trap. Rolfe and Handel had sketched a story of Jack using some sort of stone shield to flee into hiding. Then he apparently disappeared down some secret tunnels, where Kirkland killed one of his men as he escaped. It was a sorry excuse all around, and he would demand a full debriefing on his men’s failure once this was over.

From his vantage point, David watched as Jack’s jet ski was encircled within an especially cramped section of the ruins. All exits from the area were blocked by his men. Jack was trapped. He would not escape a second time.

“Get him!” David ordered. “Shoot to kill!” Gleefully, he watched his men close in. If he couldn’t be there personally, this was the next best thing – watching Jack hunted down like a dog and shot.

“I see him!” one of the men shouted over the radio. The jet ski in the background made it difficult to hear.

Rifle fire rang out, the sound echoing over the ruins. Off to the left a flurry of birds took flight from their nests, frightened by the blast. But David’s scope remained fixed on the glowing mote of Jack and his jet ski.

The spot flared brightly, stinging his eyes like a camera flash. Swearing, David shoved away the night vision goggles and blinked away the glare. He stared across the ruins.

Noises of victory sounded over his radio. David clenched a fist of satisfaction. Across the dark islands a bonfire burned high into the sky, reflecting off the waters.

The radio squelched, and Rolfe’s voice whispered in his ear, “We got him, sir. Blew his ass out of the water. The target’s eliminated.”

9:05 P.M.

Down in the tunnels, Karen heard the gunshot. She cringed, then heard an even more ominous sound: a muffled explosion. The noise thundered through the tunnel system, echoing and reverberating from everywhere. Sound traveled strangely through the low passages. Even their own echoing footsteps sounded more like a score of people tromping throughout the tunnels. It made her edgy…as if they weren’t alone.

And now the gunshot and explosion.

Karen held a fist at her throat, praying Jack was okay.

Ahead, Mwahu crouched in the low passage. He held her small penlight. It was their only source of light.

“Keep going,” Miyuki said, voice trembling. “There’s nothing we can do to help Jack.”

Mwahu nodded. Karen followed them.

The tunnels had been carved out of the coral itself. The walls and roof were coarse, and they had to be careful not to brush against it. Only the floor was smooth, worn by centuries of feet and the occasional flood of water. In fact, several of the passages still held trapped pools of water, chilly and oily with algae.

“Not much further,” Mwahu promised.

Karen hoped so. Rather than safe, she felt helpless and trapped down here. It seemed with each step she took, she was abandoning Jack to the murderous scum back there. If only her pistol had not been confiscated back in Japan…

Mwahu turned a corner and gestured to her and Miyuki. “Come see!”

They quickly joined the islander. Beyond the turn in the tunnel, an opening lay directly ahead. Though the sun had set, the early evening was still brighter than the dark tunnels. Together, they hurried toward the exit.

Karen was a moment too slow to realize the danger. “Wait!”

Miyuki and Mwahu were already outside.

Karen stumbled after them. She pointed at Mwahu’s light. “Turn it off!”

Mwahu gaped at his light as if it were a poisonous snake and dropped it.

Diving down, Karen retrieved the penlight and flicked it off. Straightening, she surveyed their surroundings. They had exited a squat basalt building, not far from the shore of Temwen Island. In fact, the stone quay where they had rented their canoes lay less than fifty meters away.

She looked down at the extinguished light. Had it been spotted? Had they just thwarted Jack’s attempt to draw the others away?

The answer came soon enough. Karen heard the whine of a jet ski escalate. Someone was coming to investigate. She eyed the distance between them and the coastal gate. The assassins, alerted now, would know where her group was heading – where else could they go?

She closed her eyes and made a decision, then flicked on the light.

“What are you doing?” Miyuki said.

“They know we’ll try for the exit. But if I run the other way with the flashlight”—Karen pointed in the opposite direction—“they’ll have to follow.”

“Karen…?”

She reached out and clutched her friend’s arm. “Go. I dragged you into all this. I’ll get you out.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.” She stared Miyuki down as the noise of the jet ski grew louder. “Go!”

Karen backed away, lifting her penlight high. She hopped into the canal. This close to the shore, the waters were shallow, only chest-deep. She slogged and swam away from the coastal gate. Behind her, she heard splashes as Miyuki and Mwahu jumped into the canal and made for the exit.

Alone, Karen swam through the murky water, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and the others. She soon lost sight of the exit. Only shadowy walls surrounded her.

But she was not completely alone.

She heard the growl of the jet ski as it roared toward her.

9:27 P.M.

David rode behind Jeffreys on the jet ski. He clenched his teeth in a silent curse. Kirkland had tried to play him the fool.

Shortly after the explosion, Lieutenant Jeffreys had reported in. David had almost forgotten he had sent the man to reconnoiter Kirkland’s original hiding spot. The lieutenant reported no sign of anyone else.

This news had puzzled David. Where had Kirkland stashed the others? His primary assignment, after all, had been to kidnap the Canadian anthropologist and retrieve her crystal sample. Suspicious about their absence, he had ordered Jeffreys to come and get him. Together they would search the surrounding islets. The others had to be somewhere.

It was only pure luck that he caught the brief clue to the others’ whereabouts. Donning his night vision goggles for the search, he caught the flare of brightness off by the coast, about a quarter mile away, and knew what it meant. He had read of the subterranean passages here.

While Jack had distracted him, the others had almost burrowed their way out of his trap. But Kirkland had failed, David thought with satisfaction. His sacrifice had achieved nothing.

Now, as he and Jeffreys raced through the ruins on the jet ski, David unhitched his rifle. The target was within reach. For a brief moment the light flicked out, but now it had returned.

“It’s moving away from the exit,” Jeffreys yelled to him.

“I see that. Keep following it. They must be trying to make for another tunnel. We have to catch them before they disappear.”

Jeffreys nodded, swinging the ski around, following the trajectory of their target. They whipped back and forth through the maze of islets. David kept a firm grip around the lieutenant’s waist, his rifle resting on his shoulder. As they swept around tight turns, waves broke against the canal walls, buffeting David with the spray. He ignored the dousing and urged Jeffreys to faster speeds.

Jeffreys called out, “Just ahead!” He spun around the next corner, tilting the ski savagely.

“Run ’em down if you have to!” David yelled.

Jeffreys raced down a channel and sped around another corner. The wash of the jet ski swept forward as he dug in. The source of the light lay just ahead.

David stood as Jeffreys throttled down. “Fuck!”

The tiny penlight was jammed in the crook of a mangrove branch. He searched around him. No one was here. He had been tricked… again.

His radio buzzed in his ear. It was Rolfe. “Sir, we’ve found no sign of Kirkland’s body.”

Suspicion and mistrust rode high in David’s mind, especially after this newest ruse. “Who shot him?”

“Sir?”

“Who the fuck got on the radio and yelled that he saw Kirkland and shothim!”

David listened to the radio silence. No one answered.

“Did any of you actually fire your damn rifles?”

Again silence.

It dawned on David that his murdered teammate had not only been missing his rifle, but his radio headpiece, too. Shit. Jack had staged his own death, eavesdropping over the radio and masquerading as one of his men. “Fuck!” He touched his microphone and screamed, “ Find that bastard!”

“What is it?” Jeffreys asked, cutting off the throttle.

“It’s Kirkland! He’s escaped!”

As David collapsed to his seat, he heard a small splash echo from nearby. He froze, silencing Jeffreys with a hand signal.

Someone else was there.

10:22 P.M.

On the other side of the ruins, Jack slowly surfaced. Stripped to his boxers, he silently shoved his rifle under a heavy fern at the shoreline and strained for sounds of pursuit. It was difficult to hear well. His head still rang with the jet ski’s explosion. He’d been too close – but had little choice. He had to make sure the fuel tank was hit squarely by his single shot.

But the strength of the explosion had caught him by surprise, throwing him backward, singeing his eyebrows, knocking off his radio headpiece. Dazed, he’d been forced to dive quickly and swim under the jet skis of the swarming ops team. He swam until his lungs burned, then surfaced. As he’d hoped, the others had pulled off their night vision eye-wear, the flames too bright for their equipment.

The misdirection had allowed him time to escape deeper into the ruins. As stealthily as possible, he had hurried, having no idea how long his ruse would last. He searched for some way out of the ruins. His plan was to reach the coastal mangrove swamps of Temwen Island. But he knew he had wasted valuable time, and only succeeded in getting himself lost in the dark.

A quarter mile away, hearing the jet skis rev and whine, he concluded that his pursuers had realized his ruse. He listened for a few moments. They were spreading out. Search pattern. The hunt had started again.

So far he had kept in the water as much as possible, staying hidden, trying to keep his body heat from revealing the fact that he still lived. But now he knew such subtlety was useless. He needed to find a way out of here – and quickly. The mangrove swamps were his only hope. The jet skis would be useless among the mud and dense roots.

But first to get there…

Heaving his tired body up onto the islet, Jack sprawled on his belly before crawling to his feet. A steep slope led up from there. A difficult but not impossible climb. He needed to reach higher ground to get his bearings, even if it meant exposing himself for a few seconds.

He retrieved his rifle and shouldered the pack.

Stifling a groan, he pushed up the slope, discovering it was steeper than he’d estimated. He scrabbled through clinging brush and terraces of basalt. His fingers slipped and his knees, already raw, were savagely scraped. His limbs, leaden and weak, shook with exhaustion, but at last he dragged himself onto the summit.

Staying on hands and knees, he surveyed his position. In the darkness, he had not thought freedom was so close, but under the starlight, he watched small waves pound against the artificial breakwater just thirty yards away.

Open sea lay beyond.

Out in the deeper waters, Jack spotted a small cutter, painted white with a blue light atop a tall pole. A coastal police vehicle. Its running lights were ablaze. A small figure stood on the bow deck. A tiny glint indicated the man was spying with binoculars, most likely equipped with night vision capability. Jack knew this was no friendly ship. Probably Spangler’s means of transportation.

Now that he was at the summit for the first time, Jack noticed the body of water on top. It was roughly square and looked like a small lake, and for some reason he felt drawn to it. In fact, the dark body of water was ringed by a narrow beach of sand and finely crushed coral, and Jack’s hands and knees sank into soft sand.

A grenade hit the far side of the islet, exploding and casting dirt and shredded ferns high into the air. Jack flattened himself, his ears ringing from the concussion. As the blast subsided, he heard the telltale sound of jet skis converging on his spot, then spotted the tiny figure on the police ship. The figure was frantically pointing toward him.

Another grenade sailed through the air, bounced across the stony summit of the island, and rolled over the edge, exploding in the canal. Water geysered up in a wide funnel. Someone was targeting the islet with a grenade launcher.

On his belly, Jack shimmied toward the summit’s edge. He needed to reach the canals. He’d been lucky twice, and knew the odds were running thin. Peering over, he spotted two jet skis racing his way, another arcing to circle around the back. He was about to be surrounded. Then rifle fire spattered against the stones, missing his head by no more than a foot. He pulled back, but not before he spotted his adversary.

The sniper was perched atop a low building about three islets away.

As Jack rolled away, another grenade whistled through the air, exploding in the sand and water of the summit lake. Shrapnel tore through the air.

Damn it!

Jack unhooked his weapon and remained prone on the stone, offering no target to the sniper. He positioned the rifle and crawled forward, keeping an eye focused through the scope. As the squat building on the far side appeared in his sights, he froze, hoping his submersion in the seawater had not damaged the rifle. He waited, exhaling slowly, steadying his gun. Spotting a flicker of movement, he fired a volley of shots, then rolled away. On his back, clutching the rifle to his chest, he didn’t know if he had nailed his target, but either way, it would make the sniper more cautious. And now, at least, he knew that his gun would fire.

Across the channel, something heavy hit the water with a loud splash. A voice called out from one of the jet skis, “Handel’s down! Get that shithead!”

Jack rolled back to his stomach and crawled to the far side of the islet. He would have to take his chances and leap. The canals here were only six feet deep, but the enemy was closing in too fast. He had no choice.

Reaching the edge, he prepared to jump, then spotted a jet ski directly under him. In all the commotion, he hadn’t heard it come up.

He dove away as rifle fire peppered the edge. His right ear flared with pain, but he ignored it and rolled deeper, reaching the sandy slope of the summit lake. Listening, he heard the other jet skis closing in. Blood ran down his neck. He positioned his rifle, knowing he was doomed, and edged farther back, keeping his barrel forward. His feet and ankles now dangled into the water of the lake. He had nowhere else to go. His only consolation was that Karen and the others had escaped.