The Judas Strain - James Rollins [54]
One of the guards yelled at him, jostled by his passage. Monk didn’t understand the language, but he knew when he was being cursed. He lifted his rifle, acknowledging but not stopping.
He hurried down the hallway.
Lisa and Monk shared adjoining staterooms here. It was his first place to hunt for his missing partner. Monk had passed two sprawled bodies on his way down here, shot in the back, left where they had fallen. He had to find her.
He counted the staterooms. He heard someone crying behind one door, but he hurried until he reached their assigned cabins.
He tugged on his own door. Locked. He had left his room’s electronic key card back with his bags in the beached Zodiac. He moved to the next door, Lisa’s cabin. The knob refused to budge—but he heard someone stir behind the door.
It had to be Lisa.
Thank God…
He tapped a plastic knuckle lightly on the door and leaned his lips close. “Lisa…it’s me.”
The peephole in the door darkened as someone shifted to peek through. Monk stepped back and lowered his head scarf, revealing himself. After a breath, the chain scraped on the other side, and the dead bolt released with a click.
Monk pulled up his mask and checked up and down the hall. “Hurry it up,” he whistled out.
The door swung open, pulled inward.
Turning back to the door, he stepped forward. “Lisa, we have to—”
Monk immediately recognized his mistake and swung up his gun.
It was not Lisa.
Silhouetted against the brighter sunlight in the cabin, a young man crouched, half hidden by the door. “Don’t…please don’t shoot.”
Monk held his rifle rock-steady while he scanned the cabin. Someone had ransacked the room: drawers opened and dumped, closets emptied. But his attention quickly fixed on the room’s one other occupant: a dead body, facedown on the bed. It was one of the pirates. From the pool of blood soaked into the bedding, his throat had been slashed.
Eyes widening, Monk turned his attention back to the trespasser.
“Who are you?”
The young man waved an arm to encompass the room. “I came here to find Dr. Cummings. I didn’t know where else to look.”
Monk finally recognized the young nurse who had been helping Lisa. He could not recall the man’s name.
“Jesspal, sir…Jessie,” the young man mumbled, reading his confusion.
Lowering his gun, Monk nodded and pushed inside. “Where’s Lisa?”
“I don’t know. I was up in triage,” he explained, trembling all over, close to shock. “Then the explosions…four of the crew opened fire in the hospital ward. I ran. Dr. Cummings had gone to speak with the toxicologist. I prayed to Vishnu that she had fled back to her cabin.”
The young man glanced to the fouled bed, then just as quickly away. “Dr. Cummings had left her bag up in triage. I grabbed it. Found her key. But the man here had already been waiting inside. He got angry when I wasn’t her. Made me kneel on the floor. He had a radio.”
Jessie pointed to the portable radio on the floor.
“And what happened to his throat?” Monk asked.
“I couldn’t let him report in. And Dr. Cummings had left more than her key card in her bag.” From his waistband, Jessie pulled free a scalpel. “I…I had to…”
Monk squeezed his upper arm. “You did good, Jessie.”
The young man sagged down atop the other bed. “I heard them over shipwide radio. Calling for some of the doctors. Including Dr. Cummings.”
“Where did they want them to go?”
“The ship’s bridge.”
“Did they repeat the order?”
Jessie stared for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
So Lisa must have obeyed…
Monk now had a destination.
He crossed to the door that linked their two rooms. It had been left ajar. A quick peek revealed his room was in no better shape. Someone had cleared his personal gear, including his satellite phone. He searched a bit more to be sure. No luck.
Monk also examined the dead body and discovered a surprise. The dark