The creature turned and headed away. The other beasts swung like one body and vanished back into the forest.
Jack remained standing, trembling.
What the hell just happened?
The beast who had confronted him glanced back before disappearing. Cold eyes stared at him, then down to the shotgun at his feet. The message was clear.
Mack stumbled over to Jack. “What now, boss?”
He crouched and retrieved his weapon. “We go with them.”
“What?” Bruce asked, aghast. “They’ll tear us to pieces.”
Jack knew his teammate’s warning was not without merit. For the moment he had passed some test of fire here. What that test was he didn’t know—and passing it scared him as much as it relieved him.
But he was also under no delusion. This was no warm welcome. They simply shared a common enemy. Nothing more. He remembered the coldness in that attention and knew that the uneasy truce would last only as long as this war.
After that . . . it would end.
“Let’s go,” Jack said.
They hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when a rattling roar rose from the other island. Jack rushed forward to a break in the hillside forest. Through the branches, he got his first view of the villa on the other island.
From a concrete bunker atop it, the black snout of a massive gun smoked and chattered. But it wasn’t aimed toward them. It fired toward the cove, still hidden out of sight behind the shoulder of the other island.
But he could guess the target of that savage barrage.
The Thibodeauxs’ boat.
Chapter 52
Duncan stood before the arc of windows in the security nest. Overhead, the gun battery blasted away from its bunker. The chugging roar of the chain-fed autocannon rattled the bulletproof windows. Down below, rounds chewed across the water toward the smoking boat in the cove.
At the first sign of trouble, the fishing charter had opened throttle and shot toward the beach. Its bow lifted high, pushed out of the water by some powerful engines, more than expected from an ordinary fishing boat. This observation was further supported when the first rounds of the cannon pinged harmlessly off the sides of the boat.
The craft’s hull had to be reinforced with armor plating. Gunrunners and smugglers often disguised assault craft as ordinary fishing boats. The villa’s cannon could pierce light armor, even bring down slow-flying aircraft, but distance and angle fought against them.
Then something strange happened.
From the stern end of the fishing charter, a Zodiac raft dropped into the water. It shot away like a black rocket, riding two pontoons.
The Bushmaster cannon found its main target again and rattled the bow of the fishing boat. The armored craft heaved to the side, skidding sideways through the water, exposing its flanks while protecting the smaller raft. Rounds ricocheted off the hull—then moved higher toward the bridge. Glass shattered from the ship’s windows. Men flattened themselves to the deck.
Out in the water, the Zodiac hightailed it toward the northern edge of the cove. It bounced across the waves as guards along the beach opened fire. Return shots sparked from the raft, accompanied by the smoking trail of a rocket-propelled grenade. It struck the beach and exploded, throwing sand high and shredding a palm tree.
As guards scattered from the beach the pontoon boat continued its flight across the waters, looking like it was trying to circle out and head toward the sandy spit that connected the two islands.
Before Duncan could assess that threat, a greater concern arose.
A man, popping into view atop the bridge of the fishing charter, balanced a long weapon on one shoulder. He knelt down and angled the black tube of a rocket launcher toward the villa.
Motherfuck—
Duncan twisted away from the window as smoke blasted out the back of the weapon. A rocket roared straight at him—or rather at the gun battery above him. Either way, he didn’t want to be here.
He dove toward the door.
LORNA STOOD FROZEN with Malik and Bennett in the nursery ward. The child in her arms clung to the collar of her blouse and trembled violently as gunfire rattled—then a gut-punching blast boomed down to them. Muffled by rock, the explosion still shook the walls.
Everybody held their breath, then the first child began crying. In seconds, it spread like wildfire among the children. A day-care worker—a round-bellied Chinese woman—tried in vain to console the group, but they refused to calm down. The girl in Lorna’s arms buried her tiny face and continued to tremble.
“We’re under attack,” Malik said.
“Stay here.” Bennett moved toward the door, but before he could take two steps, it banged open.
Connor burst into the room and crossed quickly toward them. “Sir, are you okay?”
“What’s going on?”
“Commander Kent radioed down. The boat in the cove opened fire on us. Believes they’re pirates.”
Pirates? Lorna tried to fathom such a thing. She had heard stories from Kyle about roving bands of marauders who plied the Gulf waters and hijacked ships at sea or ransacked homes along the coasts. Even an oil rig in the Gulf had once been attacked.
Bennett continued toward the door. “Take me to Duncan.”
“He said I should keep everyone here.”
“Bullshit. I’m not some child to hide in a hole.”
Malik joined his boss. “If there’s a problem, I need to get back to my lab. Secure our viral samples in case this problem escalates. If we lose those samples, we’ve lost everything.”
Bennett nodded. “Do it.”
Malik waved to the day-care worker in the room. “Come with me. I’ll need a hand.”
Connor made a halfhearted attempt to block them. “Sir.”
Bennett strong-armed the guard out of the way and reached the exit. “Keep Dr. Polk here.” He glanced back to her. “We’ll continue our discussion as soon as this fire is stamped out.”
Malik followed his boss.
Connor stood for a moment, then cursed and stomped off after them. He didn’t even glance back as he secured the door and left Lorna alone.
With the door sealed, the rattle of the raging firefight muffled to a dull popping. Still, she could tell it had begun to escalate. Alarm bells joined the cacophony, along with distant muffled screams.
What was going on?
She didn’t know, but her mind fought for some way to turn this chaos to her advantage. If she could break out, reach a radio, maybe even a boat . . .
But what then? Even if she could get off the island, what hope was there to escape through pirate-infested waters?
As she held the child the others drew toward her like moths to a flame, needing reassurance, growing quiet. She had to protect them, but was there another way out of here?
With her heart pounding, she hurried to an open door at the rear of the nursery. She popped her head through, seeking some means of escape. Rows of raised cribs lined both sides of a long narrow room. Only these cradles were made of steel and had lids that locked.
Despite the danger, anger stoked inside her. How could anyone be this callous with these innocent children? Large moist eyes stared at her, tracking her as she searched the rooms.
Alone now, she no longer had to mask her emotions. Fear turned to fury. She used it, allowed it to spread like a fire through her belly. She had wilted under panic once before—but never again.
These bastards had stolen everything from her: her life, her brother, her friends, even Jack. This last thought sapped some of her will. If Jack could not stop them, what hope was there for her?
She searched the remainder of her confinement. Other than a small lavatory and bathroom, there was no other exit from the dormitory. She was trapped here. They all were.
Not knowing what else to do, she returned to the center of the room. The children gathered around her. Some clung to her legs, others sucked thumbs, a few softly sobbed. She settled to the floor with them.
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A small boy climbed into her lap, joining the girl. The two clung to each other. The pair reminded her of the conjoined capuchin monkeys back at the lab. But she knew these two—the entire group, in fact—were merged at a level beyond mere flesh. More children nestled around her. Every pop and rattle of gunfire trembled through the group like a pebble dropped into a pond.
She did her best to reassure them. She reached out and touched each one. Where contact was made, they seemed to relax. Caramel-brown eyes shone at her. Tiny fingers clung to her, to each other. They smelled warmly of baby powder and sour milk.
Despite her fear and physical discomfort, a trickle of peace spread through her. She couldn’t say where it originated: from herself, from the children. It didn’t matter. The peace inside her was not one of slothful contentment, but of determined resolve, a steadying of her keel.
As panic drained, certainty grew.
“We’ll get out of here,” she promised, as much for her benefit as the children. “We all will.”
But how?
DUNCAN’S HEAD STILL rang from the rocket impact. Blood trickled from one ear and down his neck.
Moments before the blast, he had run out of the security nest and dove into the limestone tunnel that connected the command bunker to the villa. He had managed to slam the door behind him as the rocket struck the gun battery in the upper bunker. Still, the concussion had blown the door off its hinges and tossed him down the tunnel.
With his eyes burning, he fought through the smoke and back into the security nest. Glass crackled underfoot. Half the windows overlooking the bay had shattered into the room. He found the technician in a pool of blood on the floor. Duncan checked for a pulse but failed to find one.
He crossed to one of the broken windows. The chatter of automatic weapons echoed up to him, punctuated by grenade blasts. He spotted the fishing charter in the harbor, half obscured by smoke. The firefight continued to rage between the boat and the beach. It was a hellish barrage. Tracer rounds flashed through the growing smoke. Screams rang out.
Still, he sensed the fishing boat was playing a game of distraction, maintaining a holding pattern out there rather than launching a full frontal assault.
But why?
Duncan turned to the nest of monitors. Most were dark, but a few flickered with grainy images. Movement on one drew his eye. He shifted closer. The screen showed the fence between the two islands.
Also something new.
The black Zodiac raft from earlier had beached itself nearby. A stray round must have shredded one of the pontoons, deflating it. The boat wasn’t going anywhere now. The pirates were lucky to have made it as far as the beach—and luckier still to have missed the flechette mines buried in the seabed alongside the land bridge.
Closer to the camera, five men huddled by the fence. Nearby, two bodies lay on the sand in a growing pool of blood. From the black camouflage jackets, the dead bodies were Duncan’s men.
Anger curled his fingers into fists.
Who the hell were these raiders?
One of the attackers shifted closer to the hidden camera. He momentarily turned his face into full view, shaded by a ball cap. A jolt of recognition shot through Duncan.
That ball cap . . .
He’d seen it before and its owner. Out on the bayou road. The Cajun in the Chevy truck. Duncan struggled to comprehend how that man could be here. It made no sense. He’d watched the truck dump into the Mississippi. Even if the man had survived the river, why was he here? How had he tracked Duncan to Lost Eden Cay?
Answers slowly sifted through his shock.
The Cajun had mentioned something about a brother being at ACRES. That was why the bastard had been on the road so late, why he had stopped to ask for directions. If that bastard was here now, that meant someone else probably survived the assault on the lab.
Duncan realized he still hadn’t heard from the soldier he had left behind to canvass the area and clean it up. Had he been captured, forced to talk? Duncan knew better than that. His men would never talk.
Regardless, these bastards had found the island.
They would live to regret that.
As his initial shock faded Duncan digested this information. He watched the Cajun tilt his ball cap and stare across the fencerow toward the other island, as if expecting company. Duncan remembered the armed figures caught on camera earlier. Clearly this team was attempting to rendezvous with the other, to join forces for a surgical strike, to sneak in the back door while the firefight raged out front.
But what was their end goal?
It wasn’t a difficult question.
This had all the earmarks of a rescue operation.
Duncan unclipped his radio and called up his second-in-command. “Connor.”
“Sir?” His second spoke rapidly. “Bennett is headed up. I couldn’t stop him.”
Duncan didn’t care. “What about the woman?”
“I’ve got her holed up in the nursery. She’s not going anywhere.”
Not good enough.
“Go in there,” he ordered. “Put a bullet in her head.”
Chapter 53
Lorna sat with the children as muffled gunfire continued. Trapped here, she had to bide her time. She didn’t know which side of the fire-fight she should be rooting for: the devil she knew or the pirates who were attacking.
Suddenly all of the children went tense and glanced toward the dayroom’s main door, as if responding to a signal beyond her senses. They were all on their feet at once, rising like a startled flock of crows.
Their manner set her on edge, their tension contagious.
A loud bang drew Lorna’s attention to the exit. She recognized it as the outer anteroom door slamming shut.
Someone was coming.
The children retreated toward the back. She got caught in the flow of them and followed. Or maybe she was dragged. Small hands clutched her pant legs and drew her with them.
They reached the dark room with its rows of locking cribs. As they passed the threshold Lorna caught a glimpse of the inner anteroom door swinging open. But she didn’t see who entered as she ducked away.
The apprehension of the children continued to keep her heart pounding, her senses sharp.
A voice called out. “Where the hell are you?”
It was Connor. Something in his voice pushed her heart into her throat. Along with exasperation, she heard a distinct threat. The children continued to draw her away, as if they sensed the same, tapping into some empathic connection.
Lorna held her breath and continued with them. But there was nowhere to hide in the nursery, not unless she wanted to cram herself into one of the cribs.
At last, the tide of bodies reached the center of the room, and fingers released her. The children scattered in all directions, moving with surprising speed, obeying a cue beyond her. They ducked behind and under the heavy steel cribs.
Lorna followed their example, seeking what shelter she could. She dropped to a knee behind a crib but kept an eye on the doorway. A couple of children hid under the crib with her. They shifted their tiny bodies next to her, trembling with fear.
Connor crossed past the door’s threshold and headed to check on the bathroom first. She saw his hand drop to a holstered pistol at his waist. His thumb broke the snap securing the gun.
“Don’t make this any more difficult than necessary!” he shouted. “Come out and I’ll make this quick and painless.”
She remained where she was. It was all she could do. There was nowhere else to run.
JACK MOVED THROUGH the forest, heading down the hillside toward the sandbar that connected the two islands. Mack and Bruce continued to flank him. Farther out and ahead, he caught glimpses of shadowy shapes, some small, some large, a living mass flowing downhill, gathering momentum and growing in number. All headed toward the sandbar.
At last the forest broke apart into a scatter of palms and stretches of sand. Light shone brighter here, glinting sharply off
the water as the sun sat on the horizon.
A figure detached from the shadows ahead. It was the creature who had confronted Jack earlier, distinguishable by his missing ear and scarred face. An arm pointed toward the open beach.
Jack shifted forward and joined him. He immediately recognized the source of the creature’s distress.
A tall fence wrapped in concertina wire blocked the way ahead. Jack noted a generator on the far side.
Electrified, he wagered.
Movement drew his attention beyond the fence to the other island. Only now did he note the raft beached over there. Figures hid in the shadows on the far side—but were they friend or foe?
There was only one way to find out.
As he stepped into the open he noted smears of crimson across the sand on that side, like bodies had been dragged away. The plan of attack had been for Randy to rendezvous at the land bridge. The Zodiac looked like the one from the Thibodeauxs’ boat, but it had been shot up.
Had anyone survived?
Jack moved from shadow into sunlight, exposing himself. He kept his weapon at his shoulder, wary, ready to leap back. A call shouted at him. “Jack!”
Randy stumbled into view across the way, waving a rifle over his head. Jack lowered his own weapon.
Thank God.
His relief was short-lived. A growling roar rose to the right. A small two-man jet boat tore around the shoulder of the island and shot toward the land bridge. The soldier in the passenger seat stood with an assault rifle balanced on the windshield.
The muzzle flashed, and rounds chewed across the sand toward Jack’s toes. He fled back into the shelter of the forest. Across the fence, Randy did the same.
As Jack ducked away a second jet boat roared in from the other direction, joining its partner. The two boats—one on each side of the land bridge—sped back and forth, sweeping a tight patrol, making it impossible to pass.
As Jack stared at the two sharks out there, he felt his plan falling apart. Someone already knew about this attempted backdoor assault. They were dropping the ax, cutting off access, splitting their teams. The element of surprise was now gone.