The Judas Strain (Page 38)

Where had they gone into hiding?

"I have work here, too," Lisa said.

"Is there anything you need?"

"No . . ."

He heard a hesitation in her voice. "Lisa? What is it?"

"Nothing." She snapped a bit. "I guess I’m just tired. You know how I get this time of the month."

His aide Brant wheeled into the office with a sheaf of faxes in hand. He noted the letterhead of the top. Washington PD. It was another of the progress reports of their canvass of the local hospitals. He spoke as he accepted the papers from Brant.

"Then make sure you get some rest," he said, already reading the first line on the report. "You just stay safe and don’t forget the sunblock. I can’t have you making me look like some ghost next to your island tan."

"Will do." Lisa’s voice had faded to the barest whisper. The ship’s satellite connection was spotty. Still, he heard the disappointment in her voice. He missed her, too.

"I’ll see you soon," he finished. "Talk to you in another half day. Now go get some sleep."

The line died without further word. He removed the earpiece and settled to his desk. Prioritizing, he shifted the pile of reports in front of him. He would scan them, then pass on the all clear to Jennings.

At least, one catastrophe had been put to bed.

6:13 P.M.

At sea

Lisa lowered the telephone handset. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. The line had been cut off at a signal from Devesh Patanjali. He stood in the doorway to the ship’s state-of-the-art communication shack, bracing both palms on his cane.

He shook his head, displaying his disappointment.

Lisa’s stomach churned uneasily. Did he know what she had attempted? She rose from her seat beside the radioman. One of the guards grabbed her elbow.

"All you had to do was stick to the script, Dr. Cummings," Devesh said, his voice thick with exasperation. "It was a simple request, and the consequences were duly explained to you."

Panic iced Lisa’s blood. "I… I followed your script. I didn’t say anything out of turn. Painter thinks everything is fine. Just like you ordered."

"Yes. Lucky for that. But don’t think your attempt at subtle communication, a hidden context, escaped me."

Oh God. . . She had taken a chance during the phone conversation. Surely he couldn’t know. "I don’t understand—"

" ‘You know how I get this time of the month,’ " Devesh quoted her, cutting her off. He turned and headed out the door to the hallway. "In fact, you finished your cycle ten days ago, Dr. Cummings."

An icy numbness spread through her.

"We have a full dossier on you, Dr. Cummings. Which I’ve read. And my memory is eidetic. Photographic. I encourage you not to underestimate my resources again."

The guard manhandled her out of the room. She stumbled along.

She had been a fool to try to secretly communicate with Painter, no matter how subtly.

What have I done?

Out in the passageway, other key captives stood lined up in the hall: Dr. Lindholm, Ryder Blunt, and an Aussie captain in a bloody khaki uniform. All of them had called their respective agencies, reporting all was well and under control at the remote island, whitewashing the scenario, buying the hijackers time to add distance between ship and island before anyone grew wiser.

But there were also others gathered in the hall. Four children cowered at the back of the passageway. Boys and girls. Ages six to ten. One for each of those sent into the radio room. Each child’s life was balanced upon their cooperation. Lisa had been assigned a little girl, eight years old, with large almond eyes, terrified, huddled on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Her brother, a couple years older, kept an arm around her.

The Maori leader stepped over to the child, pistol in hand.

Devesh joined him and faced back to the group, a fist resting on his hip. "You were all warned if you strayed from the script in any significant regard, attempted any subterfuge, there would be consequences. But as this is Dr. Cummings’s first mistake, I’ll be lenient with her."

"Please," Lisa begged. She could not bear the child’s blood on her hands. In the radio room, she had reacted instinctively. It had been a stupid ploy.

Devesh’s gaze settled to her. "Instead of the little girl, Dr. Cummings, I’ll let you choose another child to die in her place."

Lisa’s breath caught in her chest.

"I’m not a cruel man, only practical. This is a lesson all of you must take to heart." He waved to Lisa. "Pick a child."

Lisa shook her head. "I can’t. . ."

"Choose or I’ll have them all shot. Let this be a lesson to everyone. We have too much to accomplish to tolerate insubordination, no matter how slight."

The guard dragged her forward at a signal from his tattooed leader.

"Choose a child, Dr. Cummings."

Lisa bit back a sob, staring at the four children’s faces. None spoke English, but they must have read something in her face, understood her agony, and it scared them. Fresh tears flowed. They all hunched tighter.

Lisa caught Devesh’s eyes, pleading with him. "Please, Dr. Patanjali. It was my mistake. Punish me."

"I believe that is exactly what I’m doing." He stared back at her, unmoved. "Now pick."

Lisa stared across the four faces. She could not pick little the girl or her

brother. She had no choice. She lifted a trembling arm and pointed a finger to

another of the boys, the oldest of the group at ten years of age.

May God forgive me.

"Very good. Rakao, you know your duty."

The Maori gunman stepped over to the boy, whose frightened face lifted hopefully.

A moan escaped Lisa. She took a step forward, trying to retract her decision. The guard tightened his grip on her elbow. Restrained, her legs trembled—then she was on her knees, boneless with terror and grief.

The gunman lifted his pistol and pointed it at the boy’s head.

"No . . ." Lisa gasped.

He pulled the trigger—but there was no blast of fire. The gun’s hammer clicked sharply in the confined space, snapping on an empty cylinder.

Rakao lowered his weapon.

In the silence a gurgling cry erupted from the other side of the hall. Lisa turned in time to watch Dr. Lindholm sink to his knees, matching Lisa’s posture. He met her gaze, eyes wide with shock and pain. His hands clutched his throat. Blood poured between his fingers.

Behind his shoulder, Devesh’s companion, the woman Surina, stepped back, her head bowed down as if she had just served tea and was now exiting. Her hands were empty, but Lisa had no doubt the woman had slashed the doctor’s throat, her dagger vanishing away as quickly as it had struck.