“I mean, are you married?”
“No.” Stoner laughed.
“What’s so funny? Marriage is a good thing.”
“Good how?”
“In all ways you’d expect.”
“I’m not sure I expect any ways,” he told her, staring into her eyes. The raft was so small their faces were perhaps eight inches apart. If he wanted, he could lean forward and touch his mouth to her lips.
He did want to. He wanted to more than anything else.
She turned her head toward the sky. “We should see them soon. They’ll be here soon.”
“Yeah,” said Stoner. He turned his head and looked toward the sky as well.
“Not a cloud in the sky,” said Breanna.
“Great day for a picnic,” said Stoner.
He would kiss her. He must. He felt the weight of her leg leaning against his.
“Hear something?” she asked.
“Just your heart. And mine.”
“I think I heard a plane.” She jerked upright, scanned the sky.
There was no sound except the water lapping against the sides of the raft and Ferris’s breaths, now growing labored. Stoner wondered if she was hallucinating.
Or inventing an excuse not to be so close to him. He wanted to kiss her.
She leaned over the side toward Chris. “How you doing?” she asked.
“Good exercise. Come on. Water’s warm.”
“Later I think.” She lay back down, her head against the sides of the raft. She’d oriented herself a little farther from him—but their legs still touched.
“So, Mr. Stoner, you want to tell us your life story?” Breanna asked.
“No.”
“What will you tell us then?”
“Noting,” said Stoner.
“Private guy,” said Chris from the water.
“I didn’t know I was expected to perform,” he told them.
“You must have some battle stories. You were in the SEALs, right?” She leaned over, balancing on her left arm. A twinge of pain flashed across her face—her shoulder and back were undoubtedly complaining—but she kept her voice light. “Tell me a story, and then I’ll tell one. We’ve seen some shit,” she added.
“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell stories.”
“Neither are we.”
She wanted him. That’s why she was flirting.
He’d kiss her. He had to kiss her.
Stoner began to lean forward. She watched, doing nothing.
Chris Ferris screamed. The sound was loud and so distorted that it took Stoner a second to realize it was a real scream.
The raft tugged backward, and down. A huge fin appeared on the side. The raft spun fiercely to the right.
Ferris screamed again. Breanna began to move—began to slide toward him.
Water furled.
“The belts, cut the belts!” yelled Stoner.
“Chris! Chris!”
four, five fins appeared in the water and a sound like switchblades snapping open and shut filled the air. Stoner threw his upper body over her, grabbing Breanna as she slid toward the side. Teeth snapped in the air, and once more the raft spun right. From the corner of his eye, he saw a gun on the floor of the small rubber boat, and with one hand, lunged for it. A demon shrieked. Stoner emptied the magazine, but the scream continued. He pulled at Breanna and then saw a knife in her scabbard. He bent for it and felt her pulling away. Teeth and a gray snout leapt from the water. He sprang back, but managed with the knife to cut the line. They shot backward, the knife flying.
“Chris!” she screamed. “Chris! Chris!”
Stoner used all his strength to keep her at the bottom of the raft, and still she managed to squirm away. He grabbed her by the throat and pulled her so tight she began choking for air. She he held on, certain she would jump out for her copilot if he didn’t. only when her body grew limp did he finally let go, collapsing himself over her.
Taj building, Dreamland
August 28, 1997, 2100 local (August 29, 1997, 1200 Philippines)
Dog took a large gulp of the extra-strong coffee and swallowed quickly, hoping the caffeine would rush to his brain cells.
As a fighter pilot, once or twice he had come close to resorting to greenies to stay awake at crucial points; he’d always hesitated, however, fearing they might become addictive—or worse, not work as advertised. If he had some now, he’d have swallowed them without hesitation. The few hours of sleep he’d managed had left him more groggy then refreshed, and as he walked down the hallway toward the elevator with his half-full coffee cup, he felt as if his head had been pushed down into his chest. He nodded at the security detail near the elevator, took another gulp of his coffee, then got into the car, waiting for it to trundle downward to the Command Center level.
Even though his quarters were just on the other side of the base, he’d slept on his office couch. He’d never down that before, anywhere.