The Judas Strain (28 page)

“I have the electronic key to the dock’s hatch,” Ryder said. “Once I’m free, I’ll head down there, get the boat gassed up, and be ready to launch. But can you free Dr. Cummings by yourself?”

“Yes,” Monk said into the mouthpiece. “The less commotion the better.”

“And you’ve got everything prepared.”

“Yes, Mother.” Monk sighed. “I’ll be ready in a half hour. On my word, you know what to do.”

“Roger that. Out.”

Monk climbed to the next landing of the stair, crossed to a janitorial closet, and collected up the blanket, pillow, and clothes he had hidden inside earlier.

His earpiece buzzed again. “Monk?”

“Lisa?” He checked his watch. It was early. His heart thudded harder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. At least not exactly. We need a change of plans. We need room for one more.”

“Who?”

“My patient. She’s awake.”

“Lisa…”

“We can’t leave her here,” she insisted in his ear. “Whatever is happening to her is critical to everything that’s going on. We can’t risk the Guild escaping with her before we can return.”

Monk breathed hard out his nose, recalculating. “How mobile is she?”

“Weak but mobile enough. I think. I can’t judge more with the orderlies in the next room. I’m in my room where I can talk. I left her back there, feigning still being catatonic.”

“And you’re sure she’s that important.”

“Positive.”

Monk asked a few more questions, settled a few more details, revising on the fly. Lisa signed off to get ready at her end.

“Ryder?” Monk said.

“I heard,” the Aussie billionaire said. “My radio was still on.”

“We’ll have to move up the timetable.”

“No bloody kidding. When will you be here?”

Monk flipped the safety off his weapon. “I’m heading up there right now.”

8:16
P.M.

L
ISA RETURNED TO
the infirmary suite. She had donned a sweater. She had complained earlier to the orderlies that she was cold, a simple excuse to return briefly to her room and make the radio call to Monk.

As she entered, Tweedledee and Tweedledum were still engrossed in their movie. Some shoot-out was under way on the television. Life was about to imitate art.

If all went well.

Lisa turned and crossed to the bedroom—then stumbled back a step, startled.

Dr. Devesh Patanjali stood at the foot of the bed, hands behind his back. Ahead, Susan lay sprawled on the bed, under the isolation tent, eyes closed, breathing evenly.

Devesh was not supposed to be here.

“Ah,” he said without turning, “Dr. Cummings, how is our patient doing?”

8:17
P.M.

T
HE ELEVATOR DOORS
chimed open onto the level of the presidential suite. Monk, tired and irritable, strode out into the hall. He had a bundle of blankets and a pillow.

He crossed toward the pair of guards posted by the double doors.

One sat on a chair, the other straightened from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Go,” Monk said crisply into his radio’s microphone.

It was his signal.

A muffled gunshot rang out from behind the suite’s door as Ryder took out the man posted inside.

Startled, the guard who’d been standing by the wall swung to the door.

Monk was on him immediately. He swung up both arms, a pistol in each hand, one tucked into a pillow, the other bundled in the blanket. He shoved the pillow against the man’s back and pulled the trigger, taking out his spine. As the guard dropped, he fired a second round into the man’s head.

Before the body even hit the ground, Monk turned to the seated man, lifting the blanket-wrapped pistol.

He pulled the trigger…twice.

8:19
P.M.

L
ISA ENTERED THE
bedroom.

“Dr. Patanjali, I’m glad you’re here,” she said, swallowing the gall that came with the lie. She needed Devesh out of here. She had told Monk only two orderlies would be here.

Devesh turned to her.

Lisa swiped some loose hair over her ear, feigning exhaustion as her heart pounded. “I had come to get some test results on a CSF tap I performed earlier. But…” She waved to the computer. “The power surge knocked out the CPU. I was hoping to review the results before I went to bed.”

“Why didn’t you order one of the men to fetch them from Dr. Pollum’s lab?”

“No one’s there. I was hoping you might expedite matters.”

Devesh sighed. “Certainly. I was just heading over to my room for the night. I’ll call down and have Pollum send you a hard copy.”

“Thank you.”

Devesh headed away, but he stopped at the threshold and turned back to her.

Lisa tensed.

“You looked quite handsome at the cocktail party. Truly radiant.”

Lisa kept her face impassive by sheer force of will. “Th-thank you.”

Then he was gone.

Shaken a bit, Lisa hurried over to Susan. Leaning down, Lisa whispered in her ear. “I’m going to begin unhooking you from everything. We’re getting out of here.”

Susan nodded. Her lips moved, exhaling a soft “thank you.”

As Lisa set to work on the IV catheter, she noted the tear tracks leaking from the outer corner of Susan’s eyes to her pillow. Earlier, Lisa had quietly explained about the fate of the woman’s husband. Lisa had read his autopsy reports, courtesy of Devesh.

Lisa squeezed the woman’s shoulder.

Luckily, Devesh had not noted her glowing tears.

8:25
P.M.

M
ONK HURRIED ACROSS
the outside starboard deck, hunched against the wind-lashed rain. Only a few pools of light spilled to the darkened deck. Black clouds whipped and roiled above the giant net woven across the top of the island. Flashes of lightning glowed like a distant war zone. The rumble of thunder was almost constant.

After his first talk with Lisa, Monk had scouted the proper section of deck and prepared everything he needed. But he hadn’t had time to ready a second sling. He’d simply have to haul the women up one at a time.

To accomplish that quickly, Monk needed more muscle.

Ryder pounded behind him, dressed in local rags like Monk.

Gassing up the billionaire’s boat would have to wait.

“This way!” Monk yelled above the drench of rain and gusts of wind.

A deck chair skittered past him. The winds were picking up. They needed to be out of here in the next hour to escape the worst brunt of the coming typhoon.

Overhead, the island’s woven roof shook and rattled.

Monk reached the section of deck where he had rigged a rope and fireman’s sling, stolen from out of the ship’s emergency rescue gear.

Monk pointed. “Haul it to the rail!” he hollered as he leaned over the edge.

He searched below. The curve of the ship’s hull made it hard to be certain, but two levels below him should be the balcony to the cabin where Lisa had been tending her patient. It was the point of egress for this op.

Farther below, the dark lagoon reflected the ship’s few lights, rippling gently, sheltered from the worst of the wind by the high volcanic walls. As Monk turned to Ryder, he noted some flashes of light in the water. Not reflections, something deeper. Bright blues and crimson fire.

What the hell?

A crackle of lightning shattered overhead, striking the roof net, lighting up the lagoon. Monk ducked from the thunder. Where the lightning struck, sparkling blue energies shattered outward along the steel bracings of the net, leaving momentary dances of St. Elmo’s fire. The entire structure must be grounded, acting like a massive lightning rod.

Ryder joined him at the rail. He had the coil of rope over his shoulder and tossed the sling over the rail. He lowered it with the experience of a dock lineman. The sling reached the level of the balcony, swinging in the blustering wind.

“I’ll go down,” Monk yelled in his ear. “Secure the cabin. Then haul ass back up here. The two of us will have to pull the women up.”

Ryder nodded. He had already heard the plan. Monk had repeated it, just to give the man one last chance to volunteer to go down instead.

Ryder didn’t.

Smart man. No wonder he’s a billionaire.

Monk grabbed the line, hauled himself over the rail, hooked his leg, and swung out on the wet rope. Controlling his descent with his prosthetic hand, he zipped down the rope until his feet hit the sling.

He faced the open balcony, swinging in the wind. The drapes were half closed, but the bright light inside revealed Lisa. A bear of a man had her pressed against the balcony doors, hand around her neck, lifted up on her toes.

Oh, this was already going well.

8:32
P.M.

L
ISA HUNG FROM
Tweedledee’s arm, his hand clenched around her neck. His nose was in her face, and spittle flew as he yelled.

“What the fuck were you doing with the IV lines, bitch?” The last word was spat at her in heavily accented English.

What Lisa had been doing was removing all of Susan’s catheters—urinary, intravenous, her central line—readying her to leave as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the orderlies’ movie had ended, and Dee had gone to relieve himself, passing close enough to sense something was amiss.

Behind his brother, Dum checked on the patient. He turned and spoke rapidly in Russian. Lisa didn’t understand, but plainly something was massively awry.

Not good.

Still pressed against the balcony door, Lisa felt someone tap the glass at her backside.

Please, God, let that be Monk
.

She reached behind her and just managed to stretch her index finger to the locking latch. She flipped it up.

The door slid open behind her, taking her with it.

Surprised and caught off balance by the move, Dee stumbled forward and dropped her. She tried to keep her feet, but ended up falling hard on her backside.

An arm burst through the open balcony door, grabbed Dee by the collar of his scrubs, and yanked him outside. A muffled shot followed, followed by a fading scream.

Dee was going for a swim.

Dum, on the other hand, was backing toward the foot of the bed, snatching at his shoulder holster, startled and too stunned to yell out yet. Lisa went for her weapon, but she was sitting on it.

Monk appeared in the doorway, lit from behind by a flash of lightning, soaked to the skin. He had his pistol raised. The shot would be heard, but there was no avoiding it.

Then a figure rose behind Dum, kneeling up on the bed, wobbly.

Susan.

The woman stabbed out with a scalpel, piercing the man’s neck clean through from behind. Forgetting his gun, the guard clutched both hands to his throat.

Monk lunged forward, grabbed the man’s belt, and hauled him straight out the door.

“Time to go check on your brother.”

This time there wasn’t even a scream.

Monk returned, wiping his hands clean. “So, who’s ready to go?”

The next few moments were a rush.

Lisa ran to the cabin’s door and threw the security bolt while Monk helped free the last of Susan’s leads and wires—EKG, EEG, Doppler pulse—unchaining her from the medical equipment.

Lisa slipped off her sweater and helped Susan don it, along with climbing into an extra pair of scrub pants. Though unsteady on her feet, Susan proved stronger of limb than Lisa had expected from her after five weeks of catatonia.

Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe something else.

Either way they were soon out on the balcony and into the storm. A sling bounced at the end of a rope. Monk caught it and glanced over to Susan, surprise making him pause. “Mind telling me why your friend’s glowing in the dark?”

Shying away, Susan tried to pull the sweater farther over her arm. Lisa had already demonstrated the effect earlier to Susan, by turning off the bedroom lights briefly.

Lisa waved Monk to the rope. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Monk frowned, but he clambered up, proving the strength of his upper body and the grip of his prosthetic hand.

Lisa helped Susan into the sling. “Can you hold on okay?” she asked the woman.

“I’ll have to.” Susan shivered violently.

After a bit of maneuvering, Monk and Ryder began hauling her skyward, using a ship’s post as a brace.

Lisa waited, pacing a bit.

A loud knock reached her, freezing her in place.

It came from the cabin.

She stepped to the threshold. An angry shout greeted her.

Dr. Devesh Patanjali.

He must have tried to use his key card and discovered it was privacy locked. More pounding.

Lisa backed up, leaned out over the rail, and stared up.

Susan’s feet kicked. She was being helped over the rail.

Lisa pulled out her pistol from her belt and yelled up. “Hurry! Someone’s coming!”

The wind and thunder ate her words.

A splintering crack erupted from the cabin. They were breaking inside. A rifle shot followed. Loud as a cannon blast. Startling her.

A shout echoed down to her from above.

Monk at least had heard the gunfire.

The sling dropped at her shoulder, tossed, not lowered. It banged into her. She ignored it, rushed forward to the open balcony door, grabbed the inside drape, and swept it fully closed. She slid the door shut, too.

Let them discover the empty room.

The ruse might not last long, but it could buy her an extra few seconds. She dove back around, snatched the sling, and squirmed into it. A sudden gust of wind caused it to strike her hand, knocking her pistol from her grip.

The weapon flew off into the darkness.

Damn it…

Frantic, she cinched the sling, climbed up onto the balcony rail, and kicked out.

She felt the sling jerk under her arms as the men hauled her up.

She swung back toward the balcony, just as the drape was ripped open. Lightning flashed overhead. She saw Devesh’s face widen in surprise, uncomprehending at the view of her swinging toward him.