The Judas Strain - James Rollins [52]
From over the top of the ship, a gray helicopter with double rotors, front and rear, military design, canted into view. It veered out over the water, stirring the smoke. It passed toward the seaside township, aflame in several spots now—then swung around, satisfied with whatever it had surveyed. It sped back to the ship and disappeared out of sight. From the path of its roar, it settled to the helipad atop the ship.
The thumping of the blades slowed and quieted.
In its absence, Lisa recognized a new rumble. A slight vibration tickled the soles of her feet.
“We’re moving,” Henri said.
Ryder swore around his clamped cigar.
Lisa saw it was true. Very slowly, like the hands of a clock, the view of the burning township was shifting.
“They’re taking the ship out,” Miller said.
Lindholm clenched a fist to his chest.
Lisa felt a similar fear. There remained a certain level of security in knowing land was so near. But even that was being taken from them. Her breathing grew heavier, yet drew less air. Surely someone would soon realize what had transpired and come to investigate. In fact, she was due to call Painter in only three hours. When she didn’t call in—
The pace of their movement accelerated as the giant cruise ship fought its own inertia and began to roll away from the island.
She checked her watch, then turned to Ryder. “Mr. Blunt, how fast can your ship travel?”
He stubbed out his cigar in an ashtray. “The Hales Trophy benchmark for racing the transatlantic crossing in a cruise ship is forty knots. Bloody fast.”
“And the Mistress?” she asked.
Ryder patted one of the bulkhead walls. “Pride of the fleet. German-designed engines, monohull construction. She is capable of forty-seven knots.”
Lisa calculated in her head. If she didn’t phone in three hours, when would Painter begin to worry? In four or five hours? She shook her head. Painter wouldn’t wait a minute longer.
“Three hours,” she mumbled to herself. But was that still too late? She turned to Ryder. “Is there a map in here?”
Ryder pointed and led the way. “A globe. In the library alcove.”
He took her to a niche off the main room lined with teak bookshelves. A standing wooden globe rested in the center. She leaned over it and rotated the world to bring up the Indonesian islands. She calculated in her head and measured with her fingers.
“In three hours we’ll be lost among the Indonesian chain of islands.”
The region, dominated by the bigger islands of Java and Sumatra, was literally a maze of smaller atolls and islets. Over eighteen thousand of them, spread over an area equivalent to the size of the continental United States. Away from the main cities of Jakarta and Singapore, the region subsisted at a Stone Age level of technology. Cannibalism was still practiced on some of the outer islands. If you wanted to hide a cruise ship, here would be a good place to do it.
“They can’t hope to steal an entire ship,” Lindholm exclaimed, drawn to the library in the wake of the others. “What about surveillance satellites? You can’t hide something as big as a cruise ship.”
“Don’t underestimate our captors,” Henri said. “First someone has to know to look for us.”
Lisa knew he was right. Given the swiftness of the assault, along with the collusion of key members of the ship’s crew, the hijacking had to have been weeks in the planning. Someone knew what was happening on Christmas Island long before the rest of the world. Lisa remembered the patient in the isolation ward, the John Doe with the flesh-eating bacteria. He had been found wandering the island five weeks ago.
Did their captors’ knowledge extend that far?
A commotion at the suite’s double door drew them all around. A pair of men entered. In the lead, Lisa recognized the pirate leader with the tattooed face.
Stepping past the Maori warrior, a tall stranger pushed forward. He swept off a wide-brimmed panama hat and passed it to a woman who appeared from beyond