For a moment, MacD watched the Centaurus lowering into the water. At this rate, it certainly seemed likely that the ship would hit the bottom of Sydney Harbour by the time the fireworks went off.
There was nothing else they could do for the team on board the ship. He climbed down and closed the hatch above him.
Linda looked back at him from the cockpit.
“The Chairman has a plan,” she said, as though she were trying to convince herself. “He always does.”
“Ah hope so.”
MacD’s watch said four minutes to midnight.
SEVENTY-THREE
Polk vowed to make that mystery woman pay for severing the tendons in his wrist, but he had to get the bleeding under control before he could continue his pursuit. He was almost done tying a tourniquet around his wounded arm when the first impact hit the Centaurus.
It felt and sounded like an explosion, but it wasn’t midnight yet. He wondered if the rockets had launched prematurely. Then the ship was rocked by another blast, then another, each one getting closer until one directly below him knocked him off his feet. A fifth completed the cycle, and the ship went silent again.
Someone had fired on the Centaurus. That was the only conclusion he could draw. It had to be someone involved with these intruders. Thanks to those blasts the ship was now at an incline toward the bow.
The Centaurus was sinking.
He didn’t care. The rockets would launch. Whoever was attacking him would be paralyzed by the Enervum. He would simply get in the free-fall lifeboat and wait for Jin to arrive.
With the tourniquet tight, Polk gritted through the pain and adjusted his grip on the submachine gun. The woman’s blood droplets on the white linoleum were as easy to follow as a neon sign.
He tracked them through several turns, where they ended at the door leading into the mess. She had to be hiding inside.
Polk wasn’t going to fall for another swinging ax. He had one more gas grenade, and he’d ripped the mask off her face. She was vulnerable.
It wouldn’t be as satisfying to kill her while she was unconscious. Then he realized he’d have all the time in the world with her. He could wait until she was revived and paralyzed. Then he could do whatever he wanted with her.
Polk made sure his mask had a tight seal and nudged the door ajar with his foot. He grabbed the grenade from his vest and pulled the pin out with his teeth. He spat it out, released the handle, and counted.
When he got to three, he tossed it through the gap in the door and let it close. It popped and then hissed as it began spewing gas.
He waited a reasonable amount of time, hoping to hear a thump as the woman fell. But she could have been cowering in a corner or hiding in the fridge. If the door to the refrigerator was closed, he would simply open it and let the gas in to disable her.
He heard nothing. She had to be unconscious by this time. Nonetheless, he’d be careful. For such a small woman, she was feisty, and she’d already tricked him once.
He pushed the door open, crouching as he entered with the gun leading the way.
White mist filled the room. He swept the mess, but the tables were empty, and the floor was clear. She had to be in the galley.
The door was open, which meant the gas had filled both rooms. He cautiously approached the opening.
Nobody jumped out or swung an ax. He went in and noticed the refrigerator do
or was open wide. He didn’t have a view of the interior, but if she was in there, she should be out cold already.
He edged in farther and saw a sight that made him smile. A pair of boots stuck out from behind the cook’s island.
Polk eagerly went over to appreciate his handiwork, temporarily forgetting the pain in his arm.
But when he rounded the island, he was shocked to see a mercenary, the smallest in the crew. His feet were smaller than Jin’s.
Then with horror, Polk realized something else. The gas mask that should have been hanging from the man’s belt was gone.
* * *