“This is all crap,” Les whispered.
“How can he prove it?” X asked. “And what is my secret?”
Imulah asked Forge, who took a step closer to the throne. Ton’s and Victor’s spears moved downward.
The colonel stopped and looked at the men in turn, then back to X.
Imulah interpreted for Forge.
“He says he knows the truth about the Lion and that you will know what he means by that. If he had let this information out, you would already be dead, but he does not want another war.”
X got out of his chair, stumbling slightly. He walked down to the edge of the platform. Michael felt a chill run through him, though he wasn’t sure whether it came from the news or seeing the two warriors staring each other down.
“The truth about the Lion?” X asked.
Forge spoke, holding the king’s gaze.
“He says Lieutenant Sloan and Colonel Vargas are not the only ones with spies on the rigs, and he’s uncovered the truth about Lieutenant Ada Winslow,” Imulah said.
X’s cracked lips moved, but no words came out.
Forge pounded his chest armor and put his hand on his sword pommel as he spoke.
“Colonel Forge says it would be customary to grant Colonel Moreto a chance to fight for her life in the Sky Arena,” said the scribe. “He also says that he will be the one to take her head if you so wish, King Xavier.”
Michael watched as X seemed to deliberate for a few seconds.
“No, I’ll let Magnolia have the honor,” he finally said. “I’ve got other plans for Colonel Forge.”
X narrowed his gaze on the stone-faced colonel. “I want him to head to the Iron Reef in Belize, secure the other fuel outpost, and bring us back a tanker.”
Imulah relayed the request and Forge nodded.
“Sí, rey Javier,” he said.
The colonel backed away, and X sat back down to take a drink of wine.
“Everyone but Michael and Les, leave me,” he said.
The rest of the room emptied, leaving only the three men.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Michael,” X said. “Les already knows.”
Michael raised a brow.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Ada… She didn’t kill herself,” he said. “I exiled her while you were away.”
“What! ”
“I don’t know if Colonel Forge knows that, but if he knows what she did to the Lion, he holds the cards now.”
“So what do we do?” Les asked.
“If Forge completes the mission and keeps what happened to the Lion a secret, he will have my trust and respect,” X said. “If not… shit, Captain, I have no idea, but it will likely be very bloody.”
TWELVE
Ada tried to wrap her broken toe, but the wobbly boat made it difficult. She waited for the craft to settle, then realized that it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
For the past day, the choppy water had grown into turbulent swells, as if her boat were a toy in a gigantic rocking bathtub. Worse, since escaping the research ship three days ago, her stomach problems had not improved. It wasn’t radiation poisoning, since throwing up was her only symptom. If she had radiation poisoning, she would be in far worse shape. This was plain old seasickness from the little boat’s wallowing and pitching. She slipped a wool sock over her foot and reached for a bucket that reeked of vomit.
She tried to resist the next spasm, but there was no stopping it once the smell hit her nostrils. By the time she finished lurching and dry heaving, everything hurt.
The lantern in the enclosed quarters illuminated flecks of blood. Maybe she had radiation poisoning after all.
That wasn’t her only new worry.
Jumping off the ship, she had broken her big toe and torn off the nail inside her boot. It hadn’t seemed bad at first, but now it throbbed with her pulse.
Without proper medical attention, an infection, even in a toe, could kill her.
For the first time since pushing the button that killed the Cazador crew of the Lion, she felt a tinge of regret. Being sick, injured, and alone in the darkness out here in the middle of the ocean was hell. And she wasn’t even sure where here was.
Her progress on this compass bearing should put her somewhere south of the island of Hispaniola, perhaps five to twenty miles from land. It was hard to tell.
She had traveled mostly by the gas motor, with maybe thirty miles from rowing. She hadn’t touched the oars for the past day, though. Her blistered hands needed the break, and the seasickness made rowing impossible.
To conserve gas, she had cut the engine. As long as she kept on the bearing X had marked on the map, she should be fine.
Ada moaned and pressed her back against the bulkhead, gripping the bucket so the contents didn’t spill. People in desperate situations often thought of their loved ones, but she didn’t have many.
The only man she ever loved had died on a Hell Diving mission when she was eighteen. She wasn’t sure she knew what love was, but at least she had experienced sex before he died.
Death was the other thing on her mind. Part of her thought about embracing it, giving up. Do it in the least painful way.
You’re not killing yourself, so forget it.
“Not yet, anyway,” she mumbled.
She woke sitting up sometime later, still gripping the puke bucket between her knees. That was good, because a swell had slammed into her boat, nearly knocking her off the bunk.
Thunder boomed in the distance, and rain pecked at the roof overhead like hundreds of fingertips tapping the metal. The storm was getting worse.
Ada opened the floor-lock hatch to dump out the puke—the same lock she used to flush shit and piss.
As soon as she stood, her stomach seemed to roll with the boat. She had to sit back down for a moment. It was time to use one of the precious antinausea pills.
She downed one of the few that remained and fell off the bunk as a wave slammed the starboard hull. Gear fell from the bulkheads.
This was it, the moment she had feared since setting off on the journey. The sea was going to swallow her and send her to the bottom.
Not without a fight, it’s not.
She had been battling Mother Nature all her life in the sky, and damned if she would just sit here and let it kill her now.
After securing her suit and helmet, she opened the hatch. The wind pushed her backward, and rain pelted her. She fought the gusts and stumbled over to the wheel, which she had locked in place. After unlocking it, she started the motor.
The waves seemed to be growing in size. Lightning captured the tips of what looked like white dorsal fins. Without night-vision goggles, the sporadic flashes were all the light she had.
A wall of waves blocked out the view to the north.
On the airships, they could go above or even below storms, but she had no other option than to go right through it in her little underpowered boat.
A raucous explosion of thunder shook the heavens and rattled her bones. In the respite, she heard a choking sound. The motor was struggling.
“Come on!” she yelled.
It felt as if she were crawling in a race that required sprinting to win.
The boat held steady for now, but the motor sputtered more often. She wiped her visor clear and turned to check for smoke.
When she turned back to the north, something caught her attention on the horizon. Cresting a wave, she got a momentary glimpse of what looked like a landmass.
But the waves were growing in size. The boat wobbled up and down over them.