Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

“What are you doing?”

Joe hooked the broken section of the ladder onto one of the rungs and climbed past it. “We’re in a lot of danger here, Kurt.”

“I don’t think anyone heard that.”

“I’m not worried about the guards,” Joe said, “I’m worried about North Korean construction practices. Have you looked at this concrete? It’s flaking away like a day-old croissant. I’m thinking they used way too much sand. And this rebar . . . It’s all rusted and loose.” As if to emphasize the point, Joe pulled on one of the bars and it came right out. “I say we make this quick before the whole place caves in on us.”

Kurt smiled. His friend was an engineer and a perfectionist. He would never allow such shoddy work on his watch.

“I’ll be sure to send a strongly worded letter to Kim Jong-un when we get home,” Kurt said. “ ‘Please construct your secret bases with better materials so we don’t get injured when infiltrating them. Otherwise, you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.’ ”

“I’m sure that’ll spur him to action,” Joe said.

By now they’d reached the elevator car. Kurt squeezed by it and climbed on top. He pried open the emergency escape panel and dropped in as quietly as possible. Joe followed. The door was already open. The equivalent of a hold switch was in the locked position.

Two more bodies lay in the hall, and for a moment the silence held. But as Kurt stepped forward, a commotion rang out at the far end. Multiple gunshots. A stun grenade going off. And then return fire from the silenced pistols of Calista and her partner.

Whatever trick had gotten them this far without resistance had apparently failed at the last moment. Alarms were now sounding throughout the complex.

“So much for the peace and quiet,” Joe said.

“Come on,” Kurt urged, running forward, headed straight for the sounds of the battle.

Pressing himself up against the wall beside an open door, Kurt heard another volley of gunfire, a shout of pain, and then a second explosion from a stun grenade.

Glancing inside the room, he saw Calista lying on her side, blood streaming from her ear. Her friend was firing into a smoke-filled room when a bullet knocked him backward and a second shell hit him dead in the center of the chest.

On the ground beside them lay Sienna Westgate.

A spike of adrenaline surged through Kurt. He could hardly believe his eyes. She was alive. Or at least she had been. But now . . .

A trio of North Korean soldiers rushed through the smoke, and Kurt instinctively opened fire, dropping the first two quickly and winging the third, who dove back through the smoke to a position of relative safety.

“Cover me,” Kurt shouted to Joe.

Joe swung into position and unleashed a hail of bullets as Kurt crawled into the room, grabbed Sienna, and dragged her out. She groaned as he pulled her into the hallway. At least she was alive.

As he pulled her around the corner, a new volley of return fire came from the depths of the room, peppering the doorframe and the wall.

Joe snapped off a few more shots, and the last soldier dashed through the smoke toward the rear of the room and out into a stairwell.

“Something tells me he’ll be back with the posse,” Joe yelled.

“Let’s not wait around to meet them,” Kurt said. “Get the elevator.”

As Joe ran off, Kurt began to pick Sienna up.

“Kurt?” Her voice was husky like someone whose throat was dry.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked.

“How? What? What are you doing here?”

She was clearly disoriented. “Long story,” he said. “Can you walk?”

She tried to stand but fell. “My legs,” she said. “I can’t feel them.”

“Put your arm around me,” he said. “We have to get out of here.”