Douglas Preston - Two Graves

As they stood idle in the water, the sense of unease, of the possibility of impending defeat, seemed to spread across the barge. All eyes were on the colonel. He betrayed nothing of his own thoughts, nothing of his doubts. He kept his face studiously neutral, his gaze locked on the island. The boats drifted.

And then: a puff of smoke, followed by a gout of flame. A few seconds later, the sound arrived, a thunderous roar rolling across the water. A large section of the fortress’s outer curtain wall came rumbling down from the bottom up, as if in slow motion, the stone blocks collapsing and tumbling down the slope, followed by the cave-in of reinforced concrete from above. A huge plume of dust rose up, leaving a gaping wound in the side of the fort.

Pendergast’s signal. It wasn’t what the colonel had expected—it was even better. And, it seemed, it had provided their route of entry.

“Full speed ahead!” the colonel cried into his headset. “Head for the docks!”

A shout went up from the men, a rousing cheer that matched the sudden roar of the diesel engines and the forward surge of the two vessels, heading straight for the undefended docks. As the boats closed in, the colonel cried: “ Estão prontos! Ataque! ”

71

FISCHER PUT DOWN THE RADIO AND ROSE AS ALBAN entered his office. He felt, as usual, a flush of pride as he faced the young man squarely, extending his hand. It was hard to believe that Alban was only fifteen years old. He looked twenty at least, six foot three inches tall, with finely chiseled features, sharp cheekbones, brilliant eyes shining beneath a noble brow, cropped blond hair, Michelangelo lips, white teeth—the face of a god. But most impressive of all was the air he projected: confidence without arrogance, charisma without show, manliness without bluster. One could only imagine what he would be like by the time he reached twenty-one.

Except that now, Fischer felt a small, nagging difficulty.

“You wanted to see me, Herr Fischer?” Alban asked.

“Yes. I’ve learned that your father escaped from custody, killing Berger and a slew of guards in the process. And now it appears he’s detonated some sort of improvised bomb, blown a hole in our defenses.”

As he spoke, he watched Alban’s face carefully for any display of incorrect emotion, but could find none.

“How did it happen?” Alban asked.

“ How is not important, except that this is what results when a fool like Berger encounters a man like your father. Your father, Alban, is a truly formidable man. A pity he isn’t on our side.” When the boy remained silent, Fischer added, “And now a flotilla of armed Brazilian soldiers are about to land on the island.”

“I will fight,” said Alban immediately. “I’ll defend the—”

Fischer made a small gesture of silence with his hand, instantly obeyed. “It’s nothing our special brigade can’t handle. In fact, it’s already being handled. No, I’ve asked you here for another reason. I have a task for you. A special task.”

Alban’s face displayed attention, alertness. The one thing about Alban: it was hard to read his real feelings. Of course, that opacity was an essential part of his training, but still it made Fischer uneasy.

“The beta test is over. It was successful. But I must admit I was surprised that you did not wish to stay and witness your father’s death. That shows… perhaps not weakness, but a lack of interest in the—shall we say— finer things? Precisely the values we have tried to inculcate in you, that we have raised you to appreciate. I say lack of interest because I would hate to think that—after all our careful work—any, shall we say, unmanly feelings played a role in your decision to leave the room. Had you been there, that fool Berger wouldn’t have botched his right of vengeance so thoroughly.”

“I apologize. I would have thought that, with all those soldiers in addition to Berger, nothing could have gone wrong.”

“Something did go wrong—and all the soldiers are dead.” Fischer paused to withdraw a cigarette from the silver box on his desk and light it. Alban remained respectfully at attention, his hands behind his back, waiting. Glancing at him again, Fischer couldn’t help himself: he felt a surge of almost fatherly feeling for this fine young man. Which made the possibility of weakness all the more intolerable.

“And so now, Alban, your final task is this: I want you to track down your father and kill him. Just so there is no doubt—none—of what you can accomplish.”

“Yes, sir,” said Alban, without hesitation.

“It seems your father’s explosive device has opened a hole in the defensive wall in old sector five, outside the pathology labs. So we know where he was just a few minutes ago. His ultimate aim is no doubt to find and rescue your twin. Finding and killing Herr Pendergast shouldn’t be a difficult assignment, given your special abilities.”

“I’m ready. I won’t fail you.”

“Good.” He inhaled deeply, exhaled. “Report back to me when you are successful.”

A sudden dull, muffled sound of gunfire penetrated the room, punctuated by the larger explosions of grenades and mortars. Fischer could see puzzlement enter Alban’s eyes. “Don’t concern yourself with that,” he said. “They’re only foolish locals. They will all soon be dead.”

72

ESTÃO PRONTOS! ” THE COLONEL CRIED AGAIN AS THE barge closed in on the dock, his men lining up along the port rail, weapons at the ready. The transport boat came sliding in behind, both engines roaring into reverse, the prop wash boiling out.

The boats contacted the fenders along the dock simultaneously, a perfect landing.

“Jump!”

The men charged out, leaping almost as one to the wooden planking, the second row readying themselves…

… A moment later, as soon as the docks were crowded with men, an enormous, shuddering explosion went off underneath. Fingers of fire thrust through the wooden planking, which heaved up and atomized instantly, engulfing the men. The colonel was blasted physically backward into the water. The side of the barge lifted up under the explosion, the metal-clad railing taking the brunt of the blast.

The shock of the water brought the colonel back to consciousness, his ears ringing, hair singed, uniform ripped. It all seemed so strange to him at first, returning as if from a long journey—and then he found himself in a boiling, watery mass of struggling men, the barge listing heavily to one side, the dock burning furiously, men screaming, body parts and blood everywhere.

Regaining his wits, he looked around and saw that the transport ship had been hit simultaneously. It, too, was listing heavily to one side, surrounded by dead and injured men.

The docks had been mined. Booby-trapped. And they had driven right into it.

He gasped, struggling in the water, but even as he tried to collect his wits, to think of a plan of action, he could hear automatic weapons fire from the shore and see gouts of water popping up all around. A deafening roar went off nearby, sending up a fresh plume of spray, and then another, with the rattle of gunfire continuing. The second stage of a devastating ambush.

Just beyond the docks, along the shore to the right, he saw some large boulders—potential cover. If they could only reach them…

“Men!” he screamed as he thrashed. “ Men! Keep your weapons and dive! Dive! Move east toward the rocks! Stay underwater!”

He repeated the cry and then dove himself, swimming long and hard. This was an exercise they had undertaken in his BOPE days: an underwater swim with weapons.