Bloodline (Sigma Force #8)

Bloodline (Sigma Force #8) Page 53

“Now!” she yelled.

Kowalski pressed his transceiver, igniting the last of his C-4 pellets. The blast took out the point man, and the survivors retreated from the shattered gap in the glass staircase. They were trapped with no other way up.

Sorry, fellas. You started this war.

She continued her maddening flight up the steps. After a few more turns, she heard screams rise from below.

She used their cries to judge the distance to that drowning flood. Either the waters were rising faster, or their pace was slowing. Whichever the case, they were losing this footrace.

“Next level!” she shouted to Tucker. “Take that one. Find the shortest path to the outer windows.”

Reaching that floor, Seichan raced after the handler and his dog, a silent prayer on her lips. Tucker turned into a long hall.

“Over here!” he yelled. “A balcony at the end!”

“Shoot out the lock!” Seichan hollered back.

They needed every second.

She sprinted, trailed by Kowalski. To the man’s credit, he kept up, even burdened by Amanda’s weight. He was a veritable draft horse.

Gunshots blasted ahead.

She reached Tucker and Kane as the man hauled open the sliding glass door. A wide balcony beckoned. They all fled out onto it.

Seichan moved to the rail. The rising water churned one floor down. If they had to jump, she feared two things. If they didn’t leap far enough, the undertow caused by the plunging tower would drag them all down. And even if they cleared that danger, these rough seas had sharks—and not only the ones with fins.

A patrol boat drifted to the right, not far from the park.

They would never be able to swim fast enough to escape it, and their splashes would likely draw the crew’s attention.

Seichan searched the drowning city.

Where are you, Gray?

4:35 A.M.

C’mon, c’mon …

Running out of air, Gray blindly sawed at the nylon strap with his knife. It had taken him too long to find the boat as it hung in the dark depths, still tethered to the trailer. The positive buoyancy of the vessel had locked the tie-downs tight. There was no unclipping them from their bolts.

He’d already cut the straps at the bow. Once free, the boat’s nose rose toward the surface, hanging vertical, still anchored at the stern. Keeping one hand on the transom, he worked at that rear strap of the tie-down. Pressure built in his ears as the island sank deeper, dragging him and the boat farther underwater.

As his air began to give out, he sawed frantically.

Stubborn piece of—

A light flared overhead, brightening the waters. A dark shadow idled into view on the surface, limned against the glow of its own lamps and accompanied by the slow putter of its engines.

Gray waited, despite the screaming burn in his lungs.

Once the shadow was directly overhead, Gray cut through the last of the tie-downs. Freed, the jet boat torpedoed upward, becoming a buoyancy-propelled battering ram.

4:36 A.M.

Seichan watched the speedboat drift closer, coming within fifty yards of the tower. One of the crew shouted; another pointed a rifle. Her team had been spotted. A blast echoed over the water. The round ricocheted off the balcony railing.

Seichan ducked.

She and the others were too exposed on the balcony, but where could they go? The waters roaring up the side of the tower promised only a quick death by drowning.

She took potshots back at the boat—then an antediluvian monster blasted out of the sea and rammed into the edge of the speedboat. The force cracked the hull and flipped the boat, tossing the crew out of their seats.

Nearby, the monster settled to its carbon-fiber keel, resting on the water.

It was the yellow jet boat.

Gray popped up beside it. He had his SIG Sauer in hand and fired at the floundering men, hitting three of them. The fourth already floated facedown. Nearby, the cracked hull of the speedboat flooded and sank into the depths.

“Gray!” Seichan shouted and waved an arm.

He turned to face her—just as a second speedboat flew around the tower to the left, drawn by the gunfire. It raced under the balcony, spraying machine-gun fire up at it.

They all flattened, but Seichan knew they weren’t the assault’s true target. The patrol was only knocking them back to pass beneath them and go after easier prey.

Move it, Gray!

4:37 A.M.

Gray hauled himself over the side of the jet boat and sprawled flat on the deck, making himself a harder target. The second speedboat came shooting around the curve of the Burj Abaadi.

Gunfire shattered the marble off the balcony façade.

His teammates ducked away—except for one.

As the boat sailed under the sinking balcony, a sleek shape vaulted into view, back paws kicking off the railing for extra distance. Kane flew across the short gap and landed in the midst of the four patrolmen.

The effect was the same as if a grenade had been tossed into the boat.

One man flung himself overboard in fright and got chewed up by the frothing riptide of the sinking tower. Kane latched onto the throat of another. The driver screamed, yanked the wheel, and, in a panic, drove the boat at full speed into an uprooted, floating palm tree.

The boat hit the thick trunk, shot into the air, and flipped upside down before crashing hard into the water.

Bodies floated up seconds later, lifeless or unconscious.

The only survivor proved his skill at dog-paddling.

Before that deadly collision, a sharp whistle from Tucker had sent Kane leaping from the boat, tail high. The dog landed safely in the calmer water, but the currents were pulling him back toward the churning tide at the base of the tower. Kane fought against it, burdened by his vest.

No, you don’t.

Gray lunged into the captain’s chair of the jet boat. He searched and found the key in the glove box and started the ignition. He feared the depths might have damaged the engine, but he also knew jet boats were built for such abuse. As he hoped, a choking burble, a spat of water from the stern jets, and the engine roared lustily.

He shifted the throttle and shot toward where Kane struggled.

Hang on.

Sliding next to the dog, Gray lunged out and grabbed Kane by his waterproof vest. He struggled to get the sodden, sixty-pound dog into the boat. Recognizing it would take both arms, he let go of the wheel. Unpiloted, the craft got pulled closer to the tower. The churning water growled hungrily, the undertow sucking everything down.

Finally, with a heave of his body, he hauled Kane aboard. The shepherd shook his heavy pelt, tail wagging, and bumped him affectionately.

“Thanks!” Tucker called over to Gray.

“Hey, what about us?” Kowalski complained.

By now, water flooded the lower deck of their balcony, churning hungrily. Gray’s three teammates clung to the railing.

Manning the wheel again, Gray opened the throttle and gunned his way over to the balcony. He brought the boat alongside them and worked the throttle to hold the craft steady. They climbed over the balcony and dropped on board. Tucker helped Kowalski with Amanda. She stirred enough to lift an arm and swat at the bigger of the two.

Kowalski pushed her arm down. “Sheesh. That’s the thanks I get for hauling your butt up ten flights of stairs.”

With everyone settled, Gray swung away from the sinking tower.

The jet boat was only a four-seater. With six on board, counting Kane, the boat drafted deeper than it should, making it sluggish and slow.

But they were afloat.

The same could not be said for Utopia.

The currents shifted under the boat, dragging the craft strongly to port. Gray corrected against that pull—but it only grew worse.

What the hell?

“Pierce!” Kowalski hollered, drawing his attention away from the currents to the skies above.

He craned his neck in shock.

The tower of the Burj Abaadi leaned precariously over the boat.

Gray searched outward. Across the rest of the island, towers and spires all canted in the same direction, as if blown over by a stiff wind.

Oh, hell …

Seichan recognized the danger, too. “The island is tipping.”

Gray jammed the throttle forward, picturing the island capsizing.

They needed to get to open water.

Off in the distance, a spire broke from its foundation. It toppled and slowly crashed into a neighboring building.

Closer at hand, a mighty moan vibrated through the waters. It was the deep groan of concrete and steel under stress. No one doubted the source.

All eyes turned to the Burj Abaadi.

4:40 A.M.

It seemed the Eternal Tower was not living up to its name.

Aboard a large patrol boat, Edward bore witness to the island’s slow destruction. A quarter-mile away, Utopia upended, breaking apart, sliding back into the sea, a modern Atlantis. At its center, the Burj Abaadi toppled, the upper levels breaking and sliding off the central axis, like plates toppling from a tall stack.

Word had reached him that the patrols sent to the tower had gone missing. Attempts to raise them on the radio had failed.

It had to be the work of the group that attacked the base.

Measures would have to be taken.

But not without guidance.

Petra stepped through a nearby hatch, carrying a satellite phone in her hand. Her eyes locked with his, warning him it wasn’t good news.

She held out the phone.

He lifted it to his ear and heard the computerized voice greet him. “IS THE CHILD SECURED?”

“Yes.”

“AND THE MOTHER?”

“Dead.”

Surely she had to be.

“THEN COORDINATE ALL FORCES ON-SITE, ESTABLISH A NOOSE AROUND THAT ISLAND. HUNT FOR THOSE WHO ASSAULTED THE STATION.”

“And if they’re found?”

He was given very specific instructions, ending with, “PETRA WILL TAKE MATTERS IN HAND FROM THERE. SHE KNOWS WHAT IS NEEDED.”

He swallowed hard, feeling demoted—but he dared not complain.

And in the end, maybe it was better not to know.

31

July 3, 4:44 A.M. Gulf Standard Time

Off the coast of Dubai

Gray raced the jet boat as the island tore itself apart around him.

The sinking platform, twisted by tidal currents and punched from below by partially intact pylons, broke into smaller sections. Suddenly unmoored and top-heavy, those pieces began to topple and capsize, dropping buildings, spires, and scaffolding all around them.