John Hawks - The Dark River

WHEN THEY REACHED Dark Island, the captain cut power and allowed the ferryboat to drift up against the dock. The head of island security, an ex-police officer named Farrington, came out to greet them. He grabbed the bowline and looped it around a stanchion as Boone stepped out of the boat.

“Where’s the rest of the staff?” Boone asked.

“They’re having lunch in the kitchen.”

“What about Nash and his guests?”

“General Nash, Mr. Corrigan, and Mrs. Brewster are all upstairs in the morning room.”

“Keep the staff in the kitchen for the next twenty minutes. I need to present some important data. We don’t want anyone walking into the room and eavesdropping on the conversation.”

“I understand, sir.”

They hurried through the sloping tunnel that went from the shore to the ground level of the castle. Boone transferred the syringe case and the toxin to his pants pocket while the two mercenaries removed their damp overcoats. Both men wore black suits and neckties, as if they were back in Romania attending a village funeral. The soles of their leather shoes made a scuffling sound on the grand staircase.

The oak door was closed, and Boone hesitated for a few seconds. He could hear the Romanians breathing and scratching themselves. They were probably wondering why he stopped. Boone smoothed down his wet hair, stood up straight, and led them into the morning room.

General Nash, Michael, and Mrs. Brewster sat at one end of a long table. They had finished their bowls of tomato soup and Nash was holding a platter of sandwiches.

“What are you doing here?” Nash asked.

“I received instructions from the executive board.”

“I’m the head of the board and I know nothing about it.”

Mrs. Brewster took the platter from Nash and placed it in the middle of the table. “I called a second teleconference, Kennard.”

Nash looked surprised. “When?”

“Quite early this morning-when you were still asleep. The Brethren weren’t happy with your refusal to resign.”

“And why should I resign? What happened yesterday in Berlin has nothing to do with me. Blame it on the Germans or blame it on Boone-he’s the one in charge of security.”

“You’re the head of the organization, but you won’t accept responsibility,” Michael said. “Don’t forget the attack a few months ago when we lost the quantum computer.”

“What do you mean, we? You’re not a member of the executive board.”

“He is now,” Mrs. Brewster said.

General Nash glared at Boone. “Don’t forget who hired you, Mr. Boone. I’m in charge of this organization and I’m giving you a direct order. I want you to escort these two down to the basement and lock them up. I’ll call a meeting of the Brethren as soon as possible.”

“You’re not listening, Kennard.” Mrs. Brewster sounded like a schoolteacher who had suddenly lost patience with a stubborn pupil. “The board has met this morning and voted. It’s unanimous. As of today, you are no longer executive director. There’s no negotiation about this. Accept your emeritus position and you’ll be given a stipend and perhaps an office somewhere.”

“Do you realize who you’re talking to?” Nash asked. “I can get the president of the United States on the phone. The president-and three prime ministers.”

“And that’s exactly what we don’t want,” Mrs. Brewster said. “This is an internal matter. Not something to discuss with our various allies.”

If Nash had remained seated, Boone might have allowed him to continue talking. Instead the general pushed back his chair as if he were going to run into the library and call the White House. Michael glanced at Boone. It was time to follow orders.

Boone nodded to the mercenaries. The two men grabbed Nash’s arms and pinned them to the table.

“Are you crazy? Let go of me!”

“I want one thing to be clear,” Mrs. Brewster said. “I’ve always considered you to be a friend, Kennard. But remember-all of us answer to a higher goal.”

Boone stepped behind Nash’s chair, opened the plastic case, and took out the syringe. The toxin was in a glass container about the size of a pill vial. He forced the needle through the safety seal and filled the syringe with the clear liquid. Kennard Nash glanced over his shoulder and saw what was about to happen. Shouting obscenities, he struggled to get away. Dishes and silverware fell onto the floor, and a soup bowl cracked in two.

“Calm down,” Boone murmured. “Have a little dignity.” He jabbed the needle into Nash’s neck just above the spine and injected the toxin. Nash collapsed. His head hit the table and spit drooled out of his mouth.

Boone looked up at his new masters. “It only takes two or three seconds. He’s dead.”

“A sudden heart attack,” Mrs. Brewster said. “How very sad. General Kennard Nash was a servant to his nation. Missed by his friends.”

The two Romanians were still holding Nash’s arms as if he might come back to life and jump out the window. “Go back to the boat and wait,” Boone told them. “I’m done with you.”

“Yes, sir.” Able adjusted his black necktie, bowed his head, and he and Baker left the room.

“When will you call the police?” Michael asked.

“In five or ten minutes.”

“And how long will it take them to travel to the island?”

“About two hours. There will be no trace of the toxin by the time they get here.”

“Dump him on the floor and rip open his shirt,” Michael said. “Make it look like we were trying to save him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think I’d like a drop of whiskey,” Mrs. Brewster said. She and Michael stood up and walked over to the side door that led to the library. “Oh, Mr. Boone. One more thing…”

“Ma’am?”

“We need a higher level of efficiency in all our endeavors. General Nash didn’t understand that. I hope you do.”

“I understand,” Boone said, and then he was alone with the dead man. He pulled back the chair, pushed the body to the right, and it fell onto the floor with a thump. Crouching down, Boone ripped open the general’s blue shirt. A pearl button flew through the air.

First he would call the police, and then he would wash his hands. He wanted hot water, strong soap, and paper towels. Boone walked over to the window and looked out over the trees at the Saint Lawrence Seaway. The rainstorm and the low clouds colored the water dark silver. And the waves rose up and collapsed as the river flowed eastward to the sea.

Maya passed through darkness so absolute that her body seemed to disappear. Time continued, but she had no point of reference, no way to judge if this moment lasted a few minutes or a few years. She existed only as a spark of consciousness, a succession of thoughts unified by her desire to find Gabriel.

SHE OPENED HER mouth and it was filled with water. Maya had no idea where she was now, but water surrounded her and there didn’t seem to be a way to the surface. Desperately, she flailed her arms and legs, then controlled her panic. As her body screamed for oxygen, she relaxed and let the bubble of air held in her lungs pull her body upward. When she felt certain about the right direction, she kicked hard with her legs and emerged from the top of a wave.

Breathing deeply, she floated on her back and looked up at a yellowish-gray sky. The water around her was black with patches of white foam. It smelled like battery acid, and her skin and eyes began to burn. She was in a river with a current that was pushing her sideways. If she changed position and bobbed up and down, she could see a riverbank. There were buildings in the distance and points of orange light that looked like flames.