“What?”
The nurse turned to him, exasperated. “I’ve been trained in jujitsu and karate. Fifth-degree black belt in each.”
“I don’t care if you’re India’s answer to Jackie Chan. You’re still not coming.”
A knock at the door startled them both. Someone shouted at them in Malay, plainly a question. Monk didn’t understand a word. He lifted his rifle. He had other means of communication.
Jessie slipped past him, shoving Monk’s rifle barrel down as he passed. The nurse called through the door, sounding irritated, snapping back in Malay. An exchange followed, then whoever was at the door left, plainly satisfied.
Jessie turned back to him, cocking one eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe you could be useful,” Monk admitted.
Lisa stood with the other scientists and Ryder Blunt. The group of captives had been led at gunpoint to the foredeck of the ship. The large helicopter rested on its pad, tethered down now. Its hatches were open and a beehive of activity buzzed around it. Men unloaded heavy crates from its cargo holds.
She noted some of the stamped names and corporate logos: SYNBIOTIC, WELCH sCIENTIFIC, GENECORP. One box bore a stenciled American flag and the letters USAMRIID. The U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases.
It was all medical equipment.
The crates vanished down the throat of an elevator.
She caught Henri Barnhardt’s eye. The toxicologist had also noted the marked crates. One hand absently scratched his bearded chin. Deep frown lines bracketed his lips. Off to the side, Miller and Lindholm simply stood with their eyes glazed over, while Ryder Blunt attempted to light another cigar in the blustering breezes atop the cruise ship.
Standing under the helicopter’s rotors, Dr. Devesh Patanjali continued to oversee the final unloading personally. He had never explained his cryptic statement about saving the world. Instead he had ordered them all up here.
The Maori leader of the gunmen stood to one side, hands free of any weapons, but his palm rested on a holstered horse pistol, a massive sidearm. He stood with squinted eyes, surveying the foredeck’s activity, like a sniper sweeping a killing field. Lisa knew nothing escaped his notice, including the young woman who had accompanied Dr. Devesh Patanjali.
She remained a mystery, having spoken not a single word, her face an unwavering mask. She stood atop the foredeck with her sleek black boots together, her hands folded at her waist, a formal posture of waiting and servitude. And though her face might be unreadable, the shape and curve of her form had fully captured the attention of the Maori gunman.
Lisa had overheard her name when Dr. Patanjali had passed out of the presidential suite below.
Whether she was Devesh’s sister, wife, or merely a companion, Lisa could not discern. But there was also something menacing in her silence, possibly heightened by the coldness in her eyes. Also her left arm was gloved in black, so skintight it was hard to tell if it was leather or rubber. But it looked like her limb had been dipped in black India Ink.
Crossing her arms, Lisa turned and searched the receding profile of Christmas Island. In the short time they’d been under way, the island had shrunk to a misty green silhouette, trailing a smudge of dark smoke into the sky. But who was there to see it as a signal? Painter would surely grow suspicious if neither she nor Monk called in to report. And for the moment, she placed all her hopes on his paranoia.
Luckily it was a safe bet.
A wind gusted as the tradewinds kicked up. Gulls coasted the breezes overhead, catching her eyes. If only she could fly away as easily…
A shout drew her attention back to the helicopter.
Two men in surgical scrubs hauled a stretcher from the rear hold of the helicopter. Wheels dropped and locked. Devesh hovered over them, checking the patient strapped to the gurney. Portable monitoring equipment lay nestled haphazardly around the patient for transport. The figure was sealed in an oxygen tent. The patient appeared to be a woman from the rise and fall of her chest. Facial features were obscured by a respirator and a tangled octopus of tubes and wires.
Devesh pointed his cane, and the two orderlies guided the gurney toward the elevators, following the train of medical equipment.
He finally crossed back to his captives.
“We’ll have all the labs and medical suites set up in the next hour. Luckily, Dr. Cummings and her partner were very kind to have brought pieces of equipment that were beyond even my reach. Who would have known your Defense Department’s research-and-development branch had perfected a portable scanning electron microscope? Along with electrophoresis equipment and protein sequencer? Quite a bit of serendipity to have such tools land in our laps.”
He tapped his cane and set off. “Come. Let me show you the true face of what assails us.”
Lisa followed with the others. In this instance, she didn’t need the rifles at her back to make her obey. Mysteries were piled atop mysteries here, and she wanted answers, some clue to the reason for this assault and for Devesh’s words.
They were led down three decks. Along the way, Lisa had noted crews of men in chemical suits, working along the lower passageways, moving within stinging clouds of sprayed disinfectant.
Devesh continued to the forward section of the ship. The hall ended at a wide circular space, off which the pricier cabins extended. Monk had commandeered one of the large suites here for his own laboratory. It seemed Devesh had commandeered all the rest.
Tucking under an isolation drape, he waved them into the busy central workspace. “Here we are,” he said.
A score of men were cracking open crates, yanking out packing straw and Styrofoam, hauling free plastic- wrapped medical and laboratory equipment. One man emptied a boxful of petri dishes used to culture bacteria. The door to Monk’s lab lay open. Lisa noted a man inside with a clipboard, inventorying Sigma’s equipment.
Devesh marched them to a neighboring cabin. He swiped a personal key card and shoved open the door.
Turning, he spoke to the tattooed leader of the mercenary force. “Rakao, please have Dr. Miller taken to the bacteriology suite.” He turned to the scientist. “Dr. Miller, we’ve taken the liberty of bringing up and expanding your bacteriology station. New incubation ovens, anaerobic growth media, blood culture plates. I’d like you to coordinate with Dr. Eloise Chenier, my team’s virologist, down the hall, to complete the infectious-disease lab.”
The Maori leader waved for one of his men to escort Miller down the hall. The bacteriologist glanced around at the others, plainly not wanting to leave their company, but the rifle at his back discouraged any argument.
As Miller left, Devesh nodded to their group. “And, Rakao, would you personally escort Sir Ryder and Dr. Lindholm up to the radio room? We’ll join you momentarily.”
“Sir.” The tattooed man did not like this decision, his one word heavy with warning, eyeing Lisa and Henri with suspicion.
“We’ll be fine.” Devesh held open the cabin door and bowed his head for the young Indian woman to enter. “I believe Dr. Cummings and Dr. Barnhardt would like to hear what I have to say. And Surina will be with me.”
Lisa and Henri were ushered into the cabin.
Devesh stepped after them, closing the door — then stopped and turned back to the Maori leader.
“Oh, yes, and Rakao, gather the children, if you’d be so kind. The ones I picked out. That’s a good
