The Atlantis Plague (39 page)

Kamau tied the boat off at the dock, and began climbing the staircase that led out of the cliff, up to the surface.

There had been no soldiers on the dock, and at the top of the stairs, he stopped, surveying the bare rock-and-sand landscape that spread out before him. There were no soldiers here either, just dust blowing in the wind. The lighthouse waited fifty yards ahead. The tower cut a dark shadow out of the rising sun, like a pathway of darkness leading into the unknown.

Kamau stepped out of the shadow. He wanted them to see that he was unarmed—that might save his life. He held his hands out at his sides.

Approaching an armed installation without a single weapon made him uneasy, but there were no alternatives.

A shot rang out and dust flew up from the ground three feet beside him.

Kamau stopped and raised his hands.

On the roof of the building, four snipers emerged.

Seven soldiers ran out of the building and surrounded Kamau.

“Identify yourself!” one of the soldiers barked.

Kamau kept his hands up and his voice calm. “I take it you received my message. You need to arm me and we need to storm the boat now. They’re onto me.”

The soldier hesitated. “How many on the boat?”

“Two soldiers, well armed and well trained. They’re on the upper deck, waiting for me to return. Three scientists belowdecks, each locked in a separate cabin. Unarmed. The female is the package. We need her unharmed.”

The Immari soldier spoke into his radio and three more soldiers exited the building and joined the seven standing around Kamau.

“You need to arm me—”

“Shut up. Stay here,” the soldier said. “We’ll sort you out after.” He motioned for his men to follow him. He set off with seven of them, leaving two to guard Kamau. There were only two men on the roof now; one of the snipers must have joined the raiding party.

Kamau stood there, his hands still slightly raised, and watched as the troops reached the end of the rock platform, stormed the stairs, and descended toward the dock below.

He focused intently on the boat.

Five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds, twenty—

A massive explosion erupted from the dock, sending a wave of fire up the rock cliff. The blow sent Kamau and the two soldiers beside him to the ground. He rolled and punched the closest one, knocking him out. The other was on his knees now, and Kamau lunged for him. The man tried to land a blow, but Kamau pulled him in close. He slammed the man’s head into the ground and felt his body go limp.

Without looking up, he grabbed a grenade from the man’s side and hurled it onto the top of the building, hoping to take out the snipers before they regained their positions. He took another and also lobbed it onto the roof—in case he had missed. The two explosions rang out just as Kamau threw a third grenade through a plate glass window on the building’s first floor.

He grabbed the soldier’s automatic rifle and barreled toward the building. He had to make it to the building, get to cover beside the window. If the grenade exploded before then, it would spray shards of glass and debris, shredding him.

David pumped his legs faster. The fins propelled him through the water, and he couldn’t help but take in the reefs surrounding Isla de Alborán. Under different circumstances, he could spend days diving here, taking it all in. But he had to hurry. He pushed on. He tried to form a map in his mind, tried to estimate how far he’d gone. If he came up too soon, near the outpost building, the snipers on the roof could easily pick him off.

Finally, he decided to emerge from the water. He quickly shed the tank and scuba gear. He was unarmed, save for his knife.

He walked to the face of the rock cliff and waited. He wanted to look over, to see how close he had gotten to the helicopters, but he didn’t dare risk it.

He waited.

The booms of the explosions echoed. David instantly sprang into action. He pulled himself up onto the flat dusty platform and pumped his legs, running full-on for the helicopters. They were at least sixty yards away.

From the outpost, he heard two more explosions.

Kate adjusted her grip on the gun. She felt so awkward holding it. The tiny life raft bobbed wildly in the sea.

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about this, guys.”

“I understand completely,” Dr. Janus said.

“I concur,” Dr. Chang agreed. “This was truly the only course.”

Shaw muttered under his breath. Curse words were the only phrases Kate could discern, and she thought she was probably glad she didn’t hear what he’d said.

In the distance, an explosion rocked the tiny island, and Kate watched pieces of the one-hundred-thirty foot yacht rain down onto the Mediterranean.

To her surprise, she felt a sense of loss as she watched the ship burst into flames. For all the stress and worry during the ship’s voyage, she had treasured her time belowdecks with David. She wondered what the future held.

David had almost reached the three helicopters when he saw Kamau emerge on top of the building.

David stopped in his tracks, turned to the building, and waited.

Kamau shouldered a sniper rifle, pointed it at David and the helicopters, and swept left to right several times.

He relaxed his grip on the rifle and signaled to David: all clear.

David hadn’t expected that. He assumed there would be at least one soldier guarding the helicopters. Sloane wouldn’t have left the helicopters unguarded. He wasn’t there—David was sure of that now.

The base commander had put all his resources into taking the boat. Or…

David reached the first helicopter, quickly looked inside, then darted between the others. All empty. Kamau was right: there was no one here.

Why? Had they booby-trapped the helicopters? David needed to find out which one had the most fuel. He approached the door of the closest helicopter and looked in. There was no trip wire. He gripped the handle and began to turn it.

Kamau raced through the building, searching for spare fuel tanks. He found them in a first-floor storage room. He grabbed two of them and exited the building. David was there waiting for him.

“Any sign of Sloane?”

Kamau shook his head.

“This must be an advance team—a test to see if the rail guns would shoot them down. Sloane would never risk his life. We should hurry; he can’t be far behind.” David considered something. “Did you see any explosives inside?”

“Yes.”

“Bring them. Let’s leave a surprise for Sloane.”

Five minutes later, David sat in the helicopter, calmly watching the ground of Isla de Alborán float away. The view changed to open sea, and Kamau adjusted the helicopter’s path. The life raft that held Kate and the three men had drifted a bit, but it was still easy to find.

They followed the protocol David had laid out on the yacht: Kate and the bag with the guns and computer equipment came up first, followed by Chang, Janus, and Shaw—in that order.

When everyone was aboard, Kamau spoke over the radio in David’s helmet. “Where to?”

In truth, David had no idea. But… they couldn’t go north toward Spain, or south toward Morocco, or west to the Atlantic. “East. Stay low.”

CHAPTER 75

Isla de Alborán

Dorian saw the two thick columns of smoke long before the tiny island of Isla de Alborán came into view.

The pilot stopped Dorian’s lead helicopter to hover a half kilometer from the island, allowing everyone in the three-helicopter convoy to survey the outpost.

A massive yacht burned at the dock. A stone and concrete two-story building with an attached lighthouse also burned violently. Dorian hadn’t missed them by much. Maybe an hour.

“Sir,” the pilot said, “it looks like we missed the party.”

The man was clearly suffering from “compulsive state-the-obvious syndrome”—a situation Dorian felt had grown to epidemic proportions among the men surrounding him.

“Very perceptive. You should have been an analyst,” Dorian mumbled, pondering what to do.

“Bravo-leader, this is Bravo-three. Our fuel is down to forty percent. Request permission to put down and acquire fuel—”

“Negative, Bravo-three,” Dorian barked into the helmet.

“Sir?” The pilot in his own helicopter turned to face him. “We’re at less than fifty percent as well—”

“Bravo formation: maintain your distance from the outpost. Bravo-three, light up the closest helicopter.”

The adjacent helicopter launched a missile that decimated one of the two remaining helicopters on the island’s helipad. A split second after the impact, a second, more violent eruption spewed from the island.

“They booby-trapped the helicopters?” the pilot said.

“Yes. Hit the other one too,” Dorian said. “What’s our closest fuel source?”

“Marbella or Grenada. The invasion force reports both areas are secured—”

“They’re going east.”

“How do you—”

“Because they know we’re behind them, and they have nowhere else to go.” Dorian focused on Kosta, his assistant, who sat across from him. “Do we have a plague barge in the area—to the east?”

Kosta typed feverishly on his laptop. “Yes, but it’s almost to port in Cartagena.”

“Turn it around. Tell them to head south on an intercept course with us.”