On the Fifth Day (50 page)

"And I'm supposed to breathe how?" she hissed.

"We'll only submerge enough to stay out of sight. A foot or two at most. You'll have your head above water."

"How come I get to sit on the outside?" she demanded.

"I know how to pilot the thing," said Thomas. "And Jim's blood will attract sharks."

There was a moment of silence broken by a snort. Jim was laughing.

"Now there," he said, his Irish brogue thickening suddenly,

"is a sentence you don't hear everyday."

Kumi looked from him to Thomas.

"Okay," she said. "But we'd better be fast. It will be light soon."

Thomas was getting up, but then stopped.

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"What about Parks?" he said.

Jim blew out his breath. "We can't get him out by our

selves," he said. "If we can get aboard the
Nara
and reach port, we can send the authorities. Our getting out of here is his best shot."

He sank back, exhausted from the exertion of speaking. Thomas nodded.

"Let's go," he said.

CHAPTER 110

The trailer was a smoking wreck. The rocket had blown right through the door and detonated inside, tearing a hole through the far wall and kicking up part of the roof, as if some drunken giant had taken a can opener to it. Rodriguez had entered shooting, taking no chances, but no one was alive inside. The technicians had been stabbed or shot at their stations before he ever took the rocket launcher to the door, so only the kid had died in his assault. His body was sitting placidly in one of the office chairs, miraculously still balanced in place though the blast had taken half of his head away. A couple of the computers were still up and running, but Rodriguez and Piloski had not been able to get past the grinning death's-head screensaver Specs had apparently installed. Most of the equip

ment was irreparable, but there was still power running and some of the comm unit might be stirred back into life.

"Can you fix it?" said Rodriguez.

Piloski tore his eyes away from the kid and studied the smoking hardware.

"You sure screwed this good," he said.

"Can you fix it?" said Rodriguez.

"It'll take time, but yeah, I think so. The radio is dead, but we can wire through the satellite dishes."

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"Do it," said Rodriguez.

There was no difference in rank between the two men, and Piloski had the neater record, but Rodriguez was in charge. It took half an hour, Piloski working the cables and check

ing readings from his laptop while Rodriguez held the flash

light and checked his watch. Neither spoke. When it was done, Piloski merely said, "Let's give it a try," and clapped the head

phones to his head. It took a further five minutes to isolate the band and raise HQ.

"Okay," he said, passing the headset to Rodriguez. "You're up."

Rodriguez gave his name and rank brusquely, cutting through all queries about why someone of his standing was using the comm system.

"We just launched three Predators," he said. "They are go

ing to make one hell of a hole in the wrong place unless you can get them down."

He said it twice and then there was a long silence. The drones had been up fifty-two, seventy-seven, and eighty-four minutes respectively. With haste, a Navy FA-18

from the aircraft carrier
CV-63 Kitty Hawk,
currently de

ployed in the Philippine Sea, might intercept the second Predator exactly twelve minutes before its scheduled beach strike, and the third twelve easy minutes later. But the first drone, which had left the airbase twenty-five minutes before the others, was already out of range. They couldn't stop it.

CHAPTER 111

It was still dark, but only just. The horizon was brushed with pale pink, and though it made little difference under the water, Thomas was sure that they had only minutes before they would 380

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be visible from the shore. Jim was slouched in his seat beside him, barely conscious, fading in and out, but not losing any more blood and not getting obviously worse. Kumi floated above them like a mermaid on a dolphin's back, her jeans dis

carded, her belt lashed to the sub's camera array, her long, slen

der legs trailing out behind them. Twice she had pounded on the plastic canopy when he had inadvertently taken her too deep, but so long as the engines held out, they might just make it. Thomas had kept the lights off because they were so close to the surface, so they were relying on sonar and on Kumi, whose head was just above the water. Now she patted the front and gestured boldly ahead; she had seen the
Nara
's lights, and the boat lay directly in front. Thomas pushed the sub as hard as it would go, feeling the painful slowness of the vessel as they chugged out to sea, but hope had begun to blossom again. It was frail yet, but it was hope nonetheless. Then Kumi was banging on the top, a frantic and urgent tat

too that sent Thomas pulling the sub up so that the top broke completely clear of the water. Before the sea had stopped run

ning down the bubble, she was working the hatch mechanism. She flung it open and moved aside so that Thomas could stand and stare out into the gray light. He started to ask what the fuss was, since the boat was still a couple of hundred yards away, but he stopped.

A plane was coming in low: a flying boat with Japanese markings and no sign of weaponry. Thomas reached inside the sub, grabbed the flare gun, and handed it to Kumi, who, drip

ping from head to foot and now sitting astride the vessel, grinned. She took it, sighted, and fired. The sky overhead burst like the Fourth of July as the flare hung in place. The plane circled back around, dropping like a gull skim

ming for fish. Thomas climbed out and held Kumi, all forgot

ten in the joy of rescue. Jim managed to stand, look out, and smile.

And then the flying boat was coming in to land, the spray kicking up around its floats so that the sub bobbled on the wake and Thomas had to hold on to keep his footing. 381

O n t h e F i f t h D a y

The aircraft came to rest between them and the
Nara
and, a moment later, the side hatch opened and a figure appeared, just visible as the sun finally pushed into the sky. A rope was thrown, and Thomas fastened it to a cleat on the submersible's bow with a practiced bowline. In minutes the plane was tow

ing them.

But it was towing them back to shore.

"No!" Thomas shouted to the plane, waving his arms.

"Take us to the boat! The beach isn't safe. I'll explain later."

The plane did not alter course, however, and as they con

tinued to move forward, Kumi's smile stalled completely and she looked at Thomas with something like desperation.

"What are they doing?" she asked.

"Not the beach!" Thomas shouted again. They were close enough to touch the plane now so his yells sounded wild, out of control.

"I'm afraid we have to, Thomas," said the man in the plane's hatchway. His voice carried. A strong and comforting voice. A familiar voice. "We have things to discuss."

Thomas leaned forward and stared at the figure as the morn

ing light finally reached his face. It was Senator Zacharias Devlin.

CHAPTER 112

Thomas stood on the beach, feeling the sleeplessness of the night suddenly weighing on him, making him somehow heavy and light at the same time, sleepy but full of nervous energy that turned his stomach. It wasn't just exhaustion, of course. It was also the surreal nature of the situation. Kumi was holding his hand, a connection without romance or promise, and Jim was sitting bandaged in the sand. Ben Parks, his eye black from some previous encounter, was 382

A. J. Hartley

standing with him doing his best to look surly. Senator Devlin, dapper in a light linen suit, carried off with the air of a man in

capable of looking effete, stood in front of them, smiling his practiced politician's smile. The flying boat's pilot stood to the side, shading his eyes, the flap of his sidearm unbuttoned, and Rod Hayes hovered formally behind like a butler, some kind of cell phone looped round his wrist. It was all oddly civ

ilized, and Thomas had to fight a sense of embarrassment, as if the last few days had been some
Lord of the Flies
dream evaporating into irrelevance as normality asserted itself once more. Except, of course, that it had been no dream. The jungle was still smoking where the chopper had come down, and the meeting on the beach was being watched closely by soldiers and spies and killers.

Brad--the man they called War--was standing to his right, submachine gun cradled loosely in his hands. The woman he had known as Sister Roberta, unrecognizable now in shorts and tank top, was sitting by the torched bungalow, smoking, watching through impenetrable shades, a large automatic pis

tol trailing from one well-manicured hand. The two surviving soldiers, a lithe and clever-looking black man and a hardfaced guy with a shaved head who seemed to be the squad leader, stood with the sea at their backs, their weapons ready. For a long time, no one spoke.

The sun was still rising, color filtering slowly into the land

scape. The sky was already blue, the sand pinkish white and the palms a vibrant green, but the sea that lapped around the lifeboat still seemed muddy.

"So," said Devlin at last. "Time to get a few things cleared up, I think."

Parks spat into the sand and Thomas saw that there was blood in his mouth. Everyone waited.

"I gotta be honest," said the senator, looking directly at Thomas. "I'm not really clear why we're here. Perhaps you can fill me in."

"I found what my brother was looking for," said Thomas.

"The reason you killed him as you will now kill us."

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Kumi gave him a sharp look, and the two soldiers ex

changed glances. Devlin only smiled and shook his head.

"Ed Knight was my friend," he said. "We didn't see eye to eye on some things, but I respected him. I certainly didn't kill him."

"I'm sure you didn't pull the trigger or toss the grenade or whatever it was," said Thomas, "but you killed him sure enough. You didn't see eye to eye with him? Isn't that some

thing of an understatement?"

"I don't think so," said Devlin.

"But you didn't want him on the school board, did you?"

said Thomas. "You thought he'd be in your corner, being a priest and all. And then you started finding out what he really thought . . ."

"The evolution thing?" said Devlin. "Yes, I admit I was surprised. Even disappointed, and you're right that that was why I didn't put him on the school board. It wasn't about that issue per se. That subject is dead, at least for now. But I didn't want him sideswiping me on other issues down the line. So we agreed to disagree and I removed his nomination from the school board."

Parks snorted. "You're all the same," he said. "Liars and fools."

One of the soldiers tensed, his weapon shifting, but Devlin gave him a look and he stood down.

"You think you can change my mind by talking?" said Thomas, genuinely surprised. "After all this?"

Devlin shrugged. "What else am I going to do, Thomas?"

Hayes stepped forward and muttered into Devlin's ear, checking his watch as he did so, but Devlin shook his head and waved him away. Hayes stepped back and looked at the ground.

"I told you before," Devlin said to Thomas, "that I didn't believe your brother was a terrorist and I still think that. I still believe that you aren't a terrorist either, but this is a strange place for a U.S. citizen to be. I happen to know that the CIA has a secret airbase not two hundred miles from here that they 384

A. J. Hartley

use for antiterrorist surveillance. Strange place to find a Chicago high school teacher, wouldn't you say?"

"Not all terrorists are foreigners," said Parks. "We grow a pretty good variety right in the good old U.S. of A."

"And where would they be?" said Devlin, smiling indul

gently.

Thomas nodded to the soldiers on either side of them.

"Right here," he said. "You're looking at them."

"These are counterterrorist agents," said Devlin, "yes?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" barked the black man.

"And those two?" said Thomas, gesturing in the direction of War and the woman.

Devlin looked to Hayes.

"Also counterterrorism agents," said Hayes. "Undercover operatives."

"That's bullshit," said Thomas, suddenly irritated. "They're killers, plain and simple, and have followed me across the damn world. Now can we cut the pretense? I'm tired and I don't want to listen to any more crap. Take us to our boat, or finish us off here."

There was another long pause and Devlin's face tightened, though whether with decision or confusion Thomas couldn't say. It took a moment to realize that he was staring past Thomas to the ocean, his eyes focused, and when he spoke it was slowly and with baffled alarm.

"Why is the water red?" he said.

Thomas turned and saw that he was right. The sea, which had been cloudy last night before the sun went down and had looked odd at dawn, was--now that the sun was properly up--clearly red, a vibrant scarlet that pinked at the shore and darkened to the rusty color of old blood as it deepened. Parks had gotten to his feet.

"They'll come ashore," he said, breathless with the real

ization.

"What will?" said Devlin.

Once more Hayes stepped up out of the background, whis

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pering and tapping his watch still more urgently, and once more Devlin waved him away.

"The fish," said Thomas, watching Devlin carefully. "The ones my brother was looking for. The fish with legs like the fossils found in Alaska. The missing link."

Devlin stared. "He found it?" he said.

"You know he found it!" Parks shouted. "That's why you and your right-wing goons killed him. That's why you are go

ing to kill us."