The Judas Strain - James Rollins [106]
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.
LISA 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