Kurt and Leilani switched positions twice in the next three hours, but the rear chamber continued to deflate and the boat began to list to starboard and the aft corner settled. From time to time seawater washed over the top, soaking whoever was trying to stem the leak and weighing them down even further.
Fortunately, the Indian Ocean was the calmest of the world’s major seas and the swell was very small, only a foot at most. Kurt found that lower speeds kept the breaches to a minimum and he backed off the throttle just a bit.
As noon approached, they still hadn’t encountered anything resembling help, not even a trail of smoke on the horizon. With the sun high overhead, the outboard began to sputter and Kurt had no choice but to shut it off.
“Out of gas,” Leilani guessed.
“We have a gallon or so in the reserve tank,” he said, pointing to a stopcock on the fuel line that could be turned to access the reserve. “But we need to save that.”
“Save it for what?”
“Suppose we see a ship on the horizon,” he said. “We’ll need to intercept it, to get in front of it or at least alongside.”
She nodded. “Sorry.”
He smiled. “It’s okay.”
In the absence of the droning outboard, the silence felt oppressive and ominous, like a sign of their eventual doom. There was no wind. The only sound that could be heard was the light chop slapping against the sides of the boat.
Bathed in this silence, they bobbed up and down, wallowing in the low swells, three people aboard a sixteen-foot inflatable boat in a million square miles of ocean.
“Now what?” Leilani asked.
“Now we wait,” Kurt said patiently. “And see what fortune holds for us.”
CHAPTER 39
JOE ZAVALA HAD SPENT FIFTEEN HOURS IN THE CARGO HOLD of an unknown ship with only a group of trucks and untold billions of microbots for company. Another man might have gone stir-crazy and given himself up, banging on the doors just to get out. Joe had put the time to good use.
He’d searched each truck thoroughly. He’d found three bottles of water, drinking two of them and saving the third. He’d also discovered a plastic Ziploc-style bag filled with some type of jerky. Beef it wasn’t, but goat or camel or lamb it might have been. He ate as much as he could and put the rest back.
He’d also measured out the confines, took a look under the hoods of the trucks and come up with several alternate plans of action. He’d even considered sabotaging the engines, pulling out distributor wires, tampering with the carburetors or attempting to loosen the oil plugs so the big rigs either wouldn’t start or would break down shortly after they got going.
He chose not to. If the trucks couldn’t go, he couldn’t get off the ship. If they moved and then broke down twenty miles into whatever land they were heading to, Joe might be stuck somewhere worse than Yemen—and surrounded by angry militants to boot.
He considered breaking out. The huge doors were still pinned shut, but Joe was pretty certain he could bash them open with all the horsepower he had available. But then what? Based on what he remembered about their entry into the freighter and the thick layer of tire marks on the floor, he figured he was near the back end of some kind of dedicated transport. Almost like an auto ferry.
It wasn’t a roll on/roll off ship because there was no front exit, but it was definitely designed for vehicles. From the way it wallowed and swayed he didn’t think it was all that large either, which meant they probably weren’t taking him too far.
He decided not to break out. The only thing that would lead to was going overboard. Instead he waited, took a nap in the bed of the lead truck and woke to the sound of shouting on the decks above.
It felt as if the ship was slowing and maneuvering in smaller increments.
The sound of horns and whistles from other ships suggested they were near a port or harbor somewhere. Joe sensed the time for action approaching. If the ship docked in this mystery port, he was finding a way off even if this wasn’t the truck’s final destination.
Finally the sound of rattling came from the rear doors. Someone was working a heavy padlock. Moments later light spilled into the hold as the doors began to slide open.
CHAPTER 40
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON. THE SUN WAS SETTING IN THE western sky. Jinn had secured his ownership of the floating island, bringing on board thirty men, heavy machine guns, RPGs and even a dozen ground-to-air missiles, minus the one he’d used against Kurt Austin.
The flying boat sat, fueled and waiting, in the marina in case he had to leave quickly. He felt safe, he felt secure. He would not have to concern himself with Xhou or the other members of the consortium here, nor would he face any repercussions from the Americans who were still in the dark as to his methods and goals.
Such success had put him in a boasting mood. He stood on the observation deck that jutted out from Aqua-Terra’s control room. The annoying Americans and the Italian billionaire stood near the edge, hands cuffed to the rail in front of them. Zarrina and a couple of Jinn’s men stood behind them. Otero sat just inside the door of the control room, his fingers on the keys of a laptop.
“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re still alive,” he said to his three most important prisoners.
“We’re alive because you need us to keep up the façade,” the tall man said, apparently speaking for the others. “To pretend everything is smooth as silk here if anyone calls in. Which will happen soon and which we’re not going to help you to do.”
A smirk crossed Jinn’s face. They weren’t stupid, but they were certainly not up on current events. Jinn approached the tall man from behind.
“Paul, is it?”
“That’s right.”
It bothered Jinn that this man Paul was so much taller than him. He remembered Sabah telling him that a king’s throne was always the tallest chair in the room and that the Shah of Iran used to hold court in a room with only one chair, his. All others had to stand while he sat a full head higher than them.
Jinn swung his leg, bringing the pointed toe of his boot across the back of the American’s knees, chopping him down.
The man let out a grunt of pain and surprise. He dropped straight down, hitting his chin on the rail as he fell. He bit a chunk from his lip, and blood filled his mouth.
“That’s better,” Jinn said, towering above the man now that he was on his knees. “Don’t bother to get up.”
“You bastard,” the woman said.
“Ah, the loyal wife,” Jinn said. “This is why I know you will do as I say. Because if either one of you disobeys, I will cause excruciating pain to the other.”
“You don’t need to do this,” Marchetti begged. “I’ll pay you for our release and the release of my crew. I can give you a fortune. I have millions, close to a hundred million in liquid assets, money that Matson and Otero don’t have access to. Just let us leave.”
“A long time ago I heard someone make a similar proposal,” Jinn said. “All that I have for one child. I now realize why the offer was denied. Your bid is a drop in the bucket. It is meaningless to me.”
Jinn turned back toward the control room, making eye contact with Otero. “The time has come. Signal the horde, bring it to the surface.”
“Are you sure about this?” Zarrina asked.
Jinn had waited long enough already. “Our ability to affect the weather had been limited by keeping the horde beneath the surface. To fulfill our destiny, not to mention our promises, we need to cool the ocean more quickly.”