Ryder climbed in behind her and scooted forward to settle into the pilot’s seat. Monk clambered in last, closing the hatch.
“Strap in!” Ryder called out.
Monk took the seat nearest the side hatch, ready to haul Susan inside when they reached the beach. Lisa climbed forward and took the seat next to Ryder.
“Hold on,” he said to her.
Ryder triggered an electronic release, and the Sea Dart rolled smoothly down the inclined tracks and dumped into the lagoon with a slight jar.
Water washed over the windshield as the boat’s bow bobbed deep.
Lisa immediately heard the rumble of engines behind her, throaty and growling with horsepower. She felt it in the seat of her pants, too.
The Dart began to glide forward across the water with a gentle burbling from the stern. Rain rattled in fits and splashes over the top of the cabin.
“Here we go,” Ryder mumbled, and throttled the speed.
The boat lived up to its name and shot like an arrow across the storm-swept water, throwing Lisa back into her seat.
Behind her an appreciative whistle flowed from Monk.
Ryder angled the boat, skimming over the water as if on ice. He sailed the boat around the cruise ship’s bow, a gnat before a whale.
Lisa stared up at the mighty ship. Away from the gunshots and screams, the Mistress of the Seas looked peaceful, gently aglow in the storm’s gloom.
But she knew the ship was anything but peaceful.
As she settled back, she could not escape a slight twinge of guilt. For Jessie, for Henri, and Dr. Miller. And for all the others. She still felt like she was running from a fight, abandoning the others for the sake of her own skin.
But she had no choice.
Ryder swung the boat and aimed for the island, where they were to rendezvous with Susan. The boat sped toward the expanse of dark jungle, trimmed by a narrow beach.
She silently repeated Henri’s last words to her.
The cure must be taken beyond the Guild’s reach.
Lisa watched the jungle swell ahead of her, the beach stretch wide.
They could not fail.
Rakao watched the strange craft sweep around the cruise ship and speed straight toward his location. Through his infrared binoculars, the boat was a hot crimson smear across the colder water.
He signaled his team to be ready. They were waiting for his first shot before launching the full assault.
Rakao lowered his binoculars and brought to his eye the telescopic sight on his rifle. He fixed again upon his target, the escaped woman. She had stepped out of the jungle, easily discernible now, and waited on the beach.
Rakao heard the rumbling of the approaching boat.
She lifted an arm. Her limb seemed to catch the moonlight as it was raised. But there was no moon.
Rakao felt a chill at the sight. Still, he did not let it distract him. He had a mission here. Answers would come later.
Out on the beach, one of the tribesmen shoved the lone dugout canoe off the beach and into the shallows. He beckoned the woman to come. She crossed to the water, climbed aboard, and sat awkwardly in the back.
Standing behind the stern, the tribesman bent down, ready to shove the woman out toward the coming boat. They did not have long to wait.
The craft swept up, turning smoothly to expose its starboard flank, idling about seven meters out.
The side hatch was already open.
Rakao spied a man inside, braced in the opening.
Perfect.
Rakao shifted his rifle, aimed, and fired.
Monk jumped at the crack of a rifle.
From his perch in the hatchway he watched the tribesman behind Susan collapse into the water. His falling body bumped the canoe, sending it drifting toward him.
A flurry of gunshots followed, tiny flashes of fire in the dark jungle.
Another tribesman stumbled out, bleeding from chest and shoulder. He held an arm out toward Susan in the water, hoping the witch queen could save him. But another crack of a rifle, and his head flew back and the lower half of his face exploded.
He fell to the sand.
This was all a trap…with Susan as bait.
A spat of rounds peppered the flank of the Sea Dart, driving Monk back inside. Ryder swore harshly. Monk scrambled to the assault rifle on the backseat, fumbling around with it.
But a barked shout stopped the strafing of the boat.
In the silence Monk warily crept back.
A man with a familiar tattooed face stood knee-deep in the water. Rakao held a spear in one hand and a Sig Sauer pistol in the other. With his arm extended, he aimed the pistol’s muzzle at the back of Susan’s head as she floated in the canoe, crouched low in the stern.
Susan’s eyes, aglow in the darkness, stared back in terror toward Monk.
Rakao yelled across the water in English. “Cut your engines! Throw out any weapons! Then one at a time, you’re going to jump and swim to me.”
Monk turned. “Lisa, I need you here. Ryder, do not cut those engines. When I yell go, you blast the hell out of here.”
Lisa struggled with her straps but finally freed herself.
Monk shifted his rifle to grip it by its stock and held it out the open hatchway. A single round pinged off the side of the Sea Dart. Rakao barked at the stray sniper, angry. No damaging the merchandise. Rakao must recognize a prize well worth preserving.
Monk climbed into view, exposing himself fully in the hatch. He held his rifle out to one side, his other hand open and high.
Lisa whispered to him. “What are you doing?”
“Just be ready,” he murmured.
“For what?”
It would take too long to explain.
Rakao noted his appearance and stepped farther into the water, his muzzle only a foot from the back of Susan’s head. The bow of the canoe pointed toward the Sea Dart, slightly tilted up from Susan’s weight in the stern.
Monk called, “We’re coming out!”
To demonstrate his sincerity he tossed his rifle to the left in a dramatic underhanded throw. It cartwheeled through the air. As he had hoped, Rakao’s eyes flicked to follow it, the reflex of a hunter toward movement.
Monk leaped a fraction of a second after it. He jumped high, like he was planning on doing a cannonball into the lagoon. Instead, he landed on the tilted bow of the canoe. His weight and momentum slammed the bow deep. The stern of the canoe catapulted up like a seesaw.
Susan flew over Monk’s head — thrown straight at the Sea Dart.
A shot rang out from Rakao, but the stern edge of the boat had clipped the Maori’s hand, sending the pistol flying.
Monk heard a splash behind him as Susan landed.
Then the canoe crashed back to the water, throwing Monk into a sprawl on the dugout’s bottom. He lifted himself up on an elbow. He caught sight of Susan’s legs as Lisa dragged the woman through the side hatch.
Good girl.
Monk bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Ryder! Go!”
But the Sea Dart just idled.
Monk prepared to yell again, when the canoe jarred.
Rakao had hauled into the canoe, rising to his feet. The canoe spun, but he expertly kept his balance. He drove his spear at Monk with both arms.
Monk reacted instinctively. He tried to block the deadly plunge by grabbing its shaft. Prosthetic fingers locked onto it.
A mistake.
A fierce jolt of electricity ripped through his body. He remembered Rakao’s earlier rescue of Lisa, striking out with his electric spear.