“Where are you going?” Renee asked.
“To find Robert.”
“I thought you said he was right behind you.”
“The woman said he was coming down. I’ll go see where he is.”
“You do, and you’re staying here,” Pax called from above.
They looked up. He was leaning over the upper-deck railing.
“I’m sorry, but we have to go now,” he said. “Release the lines.”
“No!” Estella shouted. “We cannot leave Robert!”
“Believe me, I don’t want to leave him, either, but he knew we only had a limited amount of time. And it’s already three minutes beyond the deadline I gave him.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Estella said.
“A few more minutes could get everyone killed. I’m sorry.” Pax raised his voice. “Release the lines!”
Someone began untying the stern line, while a man standing near Renee and Estella moved up to the one at the bow.
“I am staying, then,” Estella said, trying to twist free of Renee’s grasp. “I am not leaving him here alone.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Renee said, wrapping her other arm around Estella’s waist. “The last thing he’d want would be for you to miss the boat.”
Of the two small women, Renee was the stronger. As she tugged Estella away from the edge, the rumble of the boat’s engine increased, and the ferry began to pull away from the dock.
“Let me go!” Estella screamed. “Let me go!”
But Renee didn’t heed Estella’s request until long after the boat had passed through the channel and into the open sea.
The pilot of TR117, a Learjet 31A/ER Project Eden scout aircraft, checked the GPS and then tapped his radio switch. “Bogotá, TR117.”
“Go, TR117.”
“Commencing descent to five thousand feet. ETA Isabella Island eleven minutes.”
“Copy, TR117. Descending to five thousand feet. Eleven minutes out from Isabella Island.”
As the pilot signed off, the copilot looked back into the small cabin.
“Wake up, Freddy. Showtime.”
The technician — Freddy Marquez — opened his eyes and blinked a few times. “Already?”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“How much time?”
“Ten minutes.”
The technician stretched his arms above his head, bending them at the elbows so that he didn’t smash his hands against the ceiling like he’d done before. He then unbuckled his belt and moved over to the equipment that would allow them to get a close, detailed view of the ground from thousands of feet in the air.
Though he’d just used the system when they’d flown over Campeche, procedures dictated that he check everything again to make sure it was all working properly.
Once he’d done so, he said, “Good to go.”
Robert’s return to consciousness started with a low groan. This was followed by a slow turning of his head, which stopped only when his right cheek came into contact with a hard surface. His eyelids fluttered before finally opening all the way.
In those first few seconds, he had no idea where he was. He lifted his arm to rub his head, but his hand bumped into something. He jerked in surprise before realizing he was lying right next to a wall.
As he inched away, pain radiated from the back of his head.
What the hell?
He gingerly felt the spot, half expecting to find it wet with blood. No blood, but a nice bump that stung even though he barely touched it.
Things started coming back to him. The resort. A woman shouting. A man, too. Bertrand. Aubrey.
Robert’s eyes widened.
The boat!
Doing his best to ignore the pain, he scrambled to his feet and raced into the stairwell. Down he flew, two, sometimes three steps at a time. When he reached the bottom, he shoved open the door and ran out onto the deck surrounding the bar.
The ferry was gone.
He scanned the bay and the channel and the sea on the other side, but saw no sign of it.
How long had he been out?
He turned quickly to check the clock behind the bar, but had to squeeze his eyes shut for several seconds as a combination of pain and dizziness hammered down on him. For a moment, he thought he was going to throw up, but soon the nausea and vertigo subsided enough so that he could open his eyes again.
According to the clock, it was nearly 10:50. He tried to remember when the boat was going to leave. Pax had given Robert a five-minute deadline. That had been when? Ten fifteen? Ten twenty?
The boat had been gone at least thirty minutes.
Panic began to build in his chest. He’d been left behind. He was going to die here. He had screwed up and had no one to blame but—
Relax, a voice in his mind said. It had sounded very much like his own. Not the crazy, concussion-addled Robert who was on the brink of freaking out, but the calm, in-control Robert who had emerged over the last few weeks to lead the others in their struggle for survival.
Calm down.
After a few long, deep breaths, his panic diminished to a more controllable level.
Think, the voice said. The boat being gone is a good thing. The others are on their way to safety. But it doesn’t mean you’re stuck here.
More of the haze that had been clouding his mind began to part.
It would take the ferry no less than two hours to get back to Limón. That meant it still had somewhere between an hour and an hour and a half left to go. There were several boats on the island that could make the trip in less time. The other speedboat would get him to the mainland ahead of the ferry, and even one of the scuba boats, if he left soon, would get him there about the time the others reached the port.
He ran toward the stairs to the beach. As he reached them, he noticed someone sitting at one of the bar tables.
Bertrand. On the table in front of him was a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a nearly empty glass.
The Frenchman sneered and raised his drink. “Salut. It looks like you and I are the only ones who will not die today. You should thank me.” He took a sip.
Though Robert was loath to talk to the man, he said, “Everyone else got on the ferry?”
“You are the only other person I have seen, so it would seem so.” He poured himself another drink. “Grab a glass and join me.”
“I don’t think so.”
Bertrand’s laughter followed Robert as he ran down the steps and across the beach.
The speedboat was tied to a buoy in the bay, about a hundred feet from shore.
Robert stripped off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, then ran into the warm water until it was deep enough for him to swim. It took only ten overhead strokes for his head to start spinning again. He quickly switched from freestyle to breaststroke. It didn’t completely quell the disorientation, but he was able to keep moving. Upon reaching the boat, he grabbed the railing and hung there for a moment, letting the spinning pass.
That’s when he heard a distant drone.
He looked around, thinking maybe the ferry had come back. But the sea was empty. Odd, because the noise was getting louder. It sounded like—
Oh, God.
He looked up and scanned the sky.
There, almost due south, he spotted a small jet airplane.
Project Eden had returned, just like Pax had warned.
Robert watched as the aircraft approached the island. According to Pax, the Project would be checking for signs that the spraying had worked.