Chris Mooney - World Without End

Stephen will never make it to the surface. You've got to get him out now. Do it before security gets here.

"Get out of the way," Pasha said, knocking people down to get to the glass. She knelt down, just inches from Stephen. From behind the glass she saw Misha's muted, agonizing screams of pain and saw Stephen's wide, frightened eyes in the water.

Pasha pulled out her gun, holding up her Clock up so everyone could see it. Pandemonium broke out, everyone was fleeing toward the exits in a stampede, adults screaming, children crying. The glass was too thick; she couldn't shoot through it. Pasha bolstered her Glock and came back with Primacord and a charge. She had been carrying it with her for days in case she had to take down some of Misha's men in a hurry.

Moving quick, Pasha knelt down and worked the strip of Primacord in a straight line along the bottom of the glass, making an X. Stephen's face was pressed against the glass. He turned and with wide, frightened eyes looked at her. Did he recognize her? Pasha moved her face close to the glass, hoping he could make out her blurred face.

"You, back away, now!" a man yelled behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw a Boston policeman. The accent was Russian. One of Misha She turned her attention back to the tank.

Footsteps rushed toward her.

Hurry up and get it done. Pasha finished shaping the explosives. She placed the charge against the glass, entered 10 seconds into the timer.

The other two sharks had descended on Misha's body and were tearing him apart in bursts of bright pink clouds. A sickening crunch of bone as one shark snapped its powerful jaw on Misha's head. Conway's face was turning red from lack of oxygen. The sharks were feeding less than a foot away from him.

Angry, powerful hands descended on her, lifting her up. Pasha didn't fight it; she let the two guards pick her up, wanting them to think they could handle a woman. She surrendered herself, letting her body go lax, and when she felt their grip loosen, she raked her elbow against the nose of one of the guards, shattering it. When the man let go of his grip, Pasha planted her feet, turned and used a side-kick to blow out the second man's knee. His body crumbled forward, and Pasha finished him off with a kick to the groin and then a roundhouse to the stomach, sending him flying backward across the floor.

Pasha ran back to the charge and hit the button for the timer.

You can't stay. You've got to get out now, before the real police come.

Pasha ran past the groaning, bleeding men and headed for the door. A tall guy with a shaved head seemed to be coming for her. She tucked in her body, threw her shoulder into him and sent the guy flying against the wall. Pasha ran out the door and sprinted through the cold, November sunshine, the piercing wail of police sirens close. A Boston police cruiser, its lights flashing and its siren wailing, came to a screeching halt along with a van near the Aquarium entrance. Pasha ran in the opposite direction.

Stephen will survive this. He'll be fine. Jail will keep him safe.

She kept telling herself this as she fled through the traffic-packed streets of Boston, her mind forming a plan to strike deep into Raymond Bouchard's poisoned heart.

Conway needed air. He looked up and in a blurred mess of red saw what remained of Misha's carcass being torn apart by the sharks only a few feet above. He had to make a break for the surface, but there was no way to get to the top of the tank without being attacked. Deep in the water and needing oxygen, his frightened mind pieced together words from one of those Discovery Channel shows on shark attacks: They're afraid of humans. Don't start thrashing about in the water, they'll think you're a wounded harp seal and descend on you. If a shark attacks, hit it in the nose.

He pushed himself off the floor and had started to swim up when he saw a bright flash followed by a rumble of thunder rock against the pebbled bottom of the Aquarium tank. Conway turned his head, looked down and saw what looked like… it looked like a hole had been blown through the glass.

Conway was being pulled. Then, it was like being caught in an undertow, and the next sensation he had was of being spit through the hole in the glass in a rush of water.

He hit the Aquarium's hard floor, tumbled and rolled, and then his body stopped moving. He lay on his stomach, gasping for air. He pushed himself up onto his knees and looked up.

The explosion had cut a large hole inside the glass; sharks and fish and Misha's body parts poured out onto the floor in a rush of water, the tank draining fast. Fish flopped about on the floor. People were screaming.

Gunshots.

Conway turned and saw a young, bald muscle-head holding a gun; the man had just shot two Boston cops who had their guns drawn. Two cops lay against the floor, covered in water and blood. The one near Conway had a shattered kneecap and a broken nose. It was the Russian Conway had seen earlier, the one who had been with Misha at the top of the stairs.

The bald guy ran to Conway.

"They're not real cops. They're from Misha's gang," he said.

All Conway could do was gasp for air. He took the man's hand when he heard another gunshot. The bald guy crumpled to his knees and fell against Conway, and they were both knocked to the ground. The bald man lay on top of Conway. Blue-uniformed Boston patrolmen, their guns drawn, were running this way.

"Bouchard's dirty," the bald guy said. Blood was rushing from the gunshot in his stomach.

"He's setting you up. Stay away from him and his partner, Cole. You can't trust them."

And then pairs of rough hands descended on Conway like lobster claws.

Angel Eyes's men, they're about to grab you.

Fight it.

Conway tried and couldn't. His strength was gone.

"Stephen, we're on your team," one of the cops said against Con-way's ear. A towel was thrown over his face.

"Keep that towel draped over your head," someone said.

"Hold it in place. We don't want the security cameras to see you."

"Get him outside," another man said.

"I'll see if I can grab the security tapes and meet up with you at the rendezvous point."

"Hurry up, the Boston police are on their way."

Conway was pulled up to his feet. The towel held over his face and his body hunched forward, he was escorted out of the Aquarium, the men holding him shouting, "Boston police, out of the way, get out of the way!" Through the gap in the towel he saw the back door of a black van open. Conway was tossed inside. Two men stepped inside with him and slammed the back door shut. The van lurched forward in a screech of tires, Conway lying on his stomach against the cold floor, sucking in air, his eyes closed and thinking of Pasha. It was her face he had seen against the glass, he was sure of it. Pasha had placed the explosives and had saved his life. Again.

The towel still draped around his head, Conway pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and tried to gulp in air between coughs. His face was hot and his lungs burned, his temples pounding so hard that it felt as if the veins were going to burst inside his head. The memory of what had happened inside the shark tank just moments ago still trembled inside his skin. He could still feel that choking sensation of the cold water rushing down his throat, Misha above him, his screams garbled as he was torn apart.

The van hit a bump. Conway lost his balance and slammed against the floor. He lay there against the cold, vibrating steel floor, not wanting to get up. The air was warm and humming with the sounds of the van's racing engine and the tires moving across the pavement. A cellular phone rang.

"You might want to sit up, Steve, and get comfortable. The ride's going to be a little shaky until we hit the highway."