The Judas Strain - James Rollins [111]
Buoyancy floated her up.
Then hands grabbed her, pulled by her hair.
They were too slow.
Lisa choked in water, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as darkness swallowed her away.
9:07 P.M.
FROM THE SHELTER of a boulder and heavy jungle, Monk watched as Lisa was hauled from the water by her hair. Limp and boneless. Her head lolled back at an impossible angle.
Rakao tossed aside his spear.
“Some sort of cattle prod,” Ryder said. “Shocked the ink right out of the wankers.”
Rakao bent Lisa over the rail and pushed on her back. A wash of seawater splashed from nose and mouth.
One arm lifted and swatted at him.
Alive.
The pirate hauled her around and dumped her to the floor. He stared toward the jungle, then higher up the cliffs. Lightning crackled in a shattering display across the roof of the island. Winds gusted up with a whip of rain, sheeting over the lagoon.
Rakao lifted an arm and made a circling motion.
The speedboat swung around with a surge of wake, then sped back out, trailing a rooster tail of water. They were returning to the ship.
Taking Lisa with them.
But at least she was alive.
“Why are they leaving?” Susan mumbled.
Monk glanced over. In the darkness of the forest, the woman’s face and hands shone with a whispery glow, barely noticeable, but there. Like moonlight through thick clouds.
“Not like there’s exactly anywhere we can go,” Ryder said bitterly. “By morning, they’ll be hunting us.”
Monk pointed deeper into the forest. “Then we’d better get going.”
With Susan at his side, Monk headed into the higher jungle. He glanced one last time back to the lagoon. “What were those things?”
“Predatory squid,” Susan mumbled with some authority. “Some bioluminescent squids hunt in packs. Humboldt squids in the Pacific have attacked and killed people, swarming out of the deep. But larger specimens also exist. Like Taningia danae. The isolated lagoon here must be home to such a subspecies. Rising to feed. At night, when their luminescent communication and coordination work best.”
Monk remembered a story from one of the pirates, about the island, of witches and demons in the water. Here must be the source of the story. He also remembered another story of the island.
He craned up toward the jagged cliffs, framed against the dark sky. Heard past the rumble of thunder, drums pounded.
Cannibals.
“What now?” Ryder asked.
Monk led the way. “Time to meet the neighbors…see what’s cookin’.”
9:12 P.M.
SUPPORTED ON THE tender dock, Lisa hung from the arms of one of the pirates. She was too weak to fight, too tired to care. Sodden to bone, bleeding from a score of lacerations, she awaited her fate.
Rakao was in midargument with Devesh.
In Malay.
Beyond her comprehension.
But Lisa suspected the fight was about the tattooed pirate not pursuing Susan Tunis into the jungle. Lisa understood only one word.
Kanibals.
Behind the men a robed Surina stood at the entrance to the boat, out of the rain, arms folded, back straight, patient. Her eyes were fixed on Lisa. Not cold—that implied some emotion. Surina’s eyes were a total void.
Finally, Devesh turned and pointed an arm at Lisa. He spoke in English as a courtesy to their captive. “Shoot her. Now.”
Lisa straightened in the pirate’s arms. She coughed her voice to a hoarse mumble.
She offered the Guild scientist the only thing she could.
To save her life.
“Devesh,” she said firmly. “The Judas Strain. I know what the virus is doing.”
11
Broken Glass
JULY 6, 1:55 P.M.
Istanbul
SHOCK SLOWED THE SCENE down to a breathless, silent stretch.
From a second-story window of Hagia Sophia, Gray watched the back of Balthazar Pinosso’s head explode in a spray of blood and bone. His body crumpled at the waist from the impact. His arms went wide to the side. His cell phone, at his ear a moment before, went flying from his fingertips, struck the pavement, and skittered away.
The large man’s body struck next.
Vigor gasped at Gray’s side, breaking the