Behind Tanner came another sound, a muffled cry. Briggs whirled around. Susanna stumbled through the doorway and onto the deck. On impulse, even as he realized his mistake, Tanner rushed forward and caught her in his arms.
Litzman stepped out of the cabin, AK held level at his waist. He gestured with the barrel. “Drop the gaff,” he ordered. Tanner did so. Litzman cocked his head, studying Tanner’s face. “Our stowaway from the Sorgia. Good swimmer.”
Tanner didn’t reply; there was nothing to say. Litzman was going to kill them. The only question was, how soon and which of them would go first? Realizing his escape plan was in jeopardy, Litzman was probably weighing options, deciding his best course. Cross him up; make him think; buy time.
“We’ve met before,” Tanner said. “Bishkek … an apartment off the Chuysky.”
Litzman nodded slowly. “That was you?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad I missed you. You lost a lot of men that day.”
“Yes.” Tanner felt the knot of rage tightening in his chest. He could feel Susanna shivering against him. He glanced at her face. Her lip was split and her chin was caked in dried blood.
Tanner looked back at Litzman. “Let her go, Karl. Put her in the Zodiac and let her go.”
“She’s outlived her usefulness.”
Tanner momentarily assumed the comment was a sexual reference, but something in Litzman’s tone said otherwise. What did he mean? Tanner wondered. From the back of his mind a word surfaced: groundwork. Like Fikret Zukic and the Bihac Istina, was Susanna nothing more than window dressing for the operation? If so, that meant …
“How did you find out?” Tanner asked Litzman. “Gunston?”
Litzman hesitated, then nodded. “After one of their meetings we followed him. He was sloppy. He went straight back to the embassy. From there it didn’t take much to realize who and what he was.”
There it is, Briggs thought. Having realized his new girlfriend was working for the CIA, Litzman had turned her into an unwitting conduit to the U.S. government. All the conversations she’d overheard, all the names, all Litzman’s side trips — all of it was meant to reach the CIA as eventual proof of Trpkova’s — and thereby Bosnia’s — attack on the Aurasina.
Having watched their exchange in silence, Susanna now spoke up. “You knew?” she cried. “You son of a bitch!” She pulled away from Tanner and took a tentative step toward Litzman, who followed her with the AK’s barrel.
Tanner reached for Susanna. She shrugged off his hands and kept sidestepping, her eyes fixed on Litzman. “You used me. My god …”
Litzman gave her a grim smile, but said nothing. Tanner watched his eyes, saw them change. He’s done talking. Which one of us first?
“Why?” Susanna murmured.
Her voice sounded distant, befuddled. Tanner knew what was happening. Faced with Litzman’s revelation, the walls she’d built up to protect herself had come tumbling down. In the space of thirty seconds, nine months of terror and humiliation came flooding back. And here standing right in front of her, was the cause of it all. Not only had Litzman driven her into the darkest parts of her psyche, but with a single bullet he’d crippled her father and swept away her childhood.
“You didn’t have to,” she muttered, staring at him. “I didn’t … I …”
Tanner saw Litzman’s hand tighten on the AK’s stock. Ever so slightly the barrel began drifting toward Tanner. Briggs readied himself. If he could wrap Litzman up, Susanna might have a—
“You bastard!”
Screaming, her arms flailing, Susanna charged Litzman. With a flick of his forearm, Litzman snapped the AK upward, the barrel catching her across the jaw. She went sprawling into the gunwale. Litzman took aim and fired. Tanner saw Susanna convulse with the impact, then slump to the deck.
Litzman spun on Tanner.
Briggs was already moving. Dropping into a crouch, he snatched the gaff off the deck and swung it in a short arc. The hook buried itself into the meat of Litzman’s calf. Litzman screamed, but kept turning, trying to bring the AK to bear. Tanner jerked the gaff. Litzman’s leg went out from under him. He crashed to the deck. He struggled to a sitting position and leveled the AK with Tanner’s chest.
Using both hands, Briggs heaved backward. The hook tore out of Litzman’s calf with a sucking pop and spun him onto his side. Litzman cried out. Tanner shortened his grip on the pole, rose to one knee, swung again. The hook smacked across the AK’s barrel, glanced off Litzman’s chest, and buried itself in the side of his throat.
Litzman let out a strangled cry. He dropped the AK. Both hands went to his throat. Blood gushed from the wound, drenching his forearms. His face showing a mixture of pain, surprise, and fear, Litzman swiveled his eyes toward Tanner. He gave a single, wet cough then rolled sideways onto the deck, dead.
Tanner snatched up the AK, tossed- it across the deck, then scrambled to Susanna.
He touched her face. She moaned. “Briggs …”
“It’s me, I’m here.”
Gingerly, he opened the front of her jacket. It was slick with blood. Litzman’s bullet had torn through her lower abdomen on the left side. He reached around her, fingers probing, until he found an exit wound.
“Is it bad?” she murmured.
Yes; honey, it’s bad. “No, not at all,” he replied. “You’ll be fine. Does it hurt?”
“Numb … sleepy. Litzman?”
“He’s gone. Let’s get you inside. Try not to move.”
Tanner picked her up, carried her into the cabin, and laid her on the deck, then spent a frantic minute looking for a light switch, which he flipped with no effect. Working from feel alone, he went from drawer to drawer until he found a flashlight. To his right against the bulkhead was a sofa. He moved her to it, found a blanket, and covered her.
“Briggs,” she murmured.
“I’m here.”
“There’s a … a … torpedo, or a mine, I’m not sure. Something about a ferry …”
“Don’t worry about that right now.”
Tanner ransacked the cabin and staterooms, collecting every sheet and towel he could find. He returned to the sofa, knelt beside Susanna, and began packing the wound. She gasped. “Hurts now.”
“I’m sorry. Can you hold that in place?”
She nodded and placed her hand over the dressing. “Where is it … the mine?”
“Don’t talk, Susanna.”
“How many people?”
“What?”
“On the ferry.”
“Eight hundred.”
Susanna’s eyes snapped open. She grabbed his hand. “You have to stop it.”
“Susanna, you—”
“No. I’ll wait here, hold this in place. I’m fine. You have to stop it, Briggs.”
She was right. His life, her life … Even without Kestrel in the equation, two lives for eight hundred was a fair trade. With Kestrel? Two lives for millions?
“I don’t want to leave you,” Tanner whispered. Left alone, she would lapse into unconsciousness and bleed to death.
“You have to,” she replied, then smiled. “I promise to wait right here.”
He smiled back; he felt tears welling in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, Susanna. I’m so sorry.”
“No reason … be okay,” she mumbled. “Go now. Hurry.”
Tanner squeezed her hand once, then turned and walked out.
49
After a brief search he found a dive locker on the forecastle. He collected a tank, mask, fins, and headlamp then dumped the gear on the afterdeck and sat down on the dive platform. A rope, knotted to the platform’s rail, disappeared into the water beneath the platform. A second rope was knotted to the opposite rail.