Authors: Boyd Morrison
The first thing she saw was an outstretched arm holding a gun slowly advancing toward the bathroom. Then the face came into view. It was Svetlana Petrova, the woman who had killed Sam Watson.
Dilara lowered the compact and waited until the hand with the gun protruded into the bathroom. With her full weight, she slammed the door shut.
Petrova's hand was crushed into the door frame, and she screamed. The gun clattered to the floor. Dilara rushed to pick it up, but Petrova was more resilient than she expected.
The door slammed inward, knocking Dilara backward into the shower. She bounced off the tile wall, using the momentum to launch herself at Petrova before she could reach the pistol.
She aimed her head like a battering ram and threw her shoulder into Petrova's stomach. She heard an "oof!" of air escape from Petrova's lungs, and she pile-drove Petrova into the bedroom floor.
While Petrova lay on the floor gasping for breath, Dilara scrambled back into the bathroom. She scooped up the pistol and pointed it at Petrova, who looked at her with an odd smile.
"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right here," Dilara said.
"Because I wouldn't like it," said a voice to her left. She glanced in that direction and saw Sebastian Garrett aiming a gun at her. Like the one she held, it was equipped with a silencer.
"Put your gun down," Dilara said, "or I'll put a bullet in her brain." She hoped she sounded determined. She'd handled guns all her life, but she'd never shot anyone before.
"Then I would have to shoot you, and I don't think you'd like that."
"I'm serious. I'll do it." And it suddenly occurred to Dilara that she would.
"You might, but that counts on me caring about Svetlana more than I care about killing you. Are you willing to take that chance?"
Dilara saw the look in Garrett's eye and realized that he was a true sociopath. He didn't care.
"You hesitate because you think I'll kill you anyway," Garrett said. "I promise you, if I wanted to shoot you, we wouldn't be having this discussion. I am an excellent shot."
Dilara couldn't argue with that reasoning. Her best bet was to find out what they wanted. She dropped the gun.
Petrova took it and stood. Dilara expected a reprisal, maybe a smack in the head, but it didn't come.
"So what now?" Dilara asked.
"Our work here is done. We're leaving the ship, and you're coming with us."
That explained why they couldn't have her bruised and bleeding. Too many questions on their way out. Petrova retrieved Dilara's shoes from the bathroom.
"Where are we going?" Dilara said as she put on the heels.
"You'll find out when we get there," Garrett said. "But I guarantee it will be better than being on this ship."
She nodded. Her chance might be to alert someone to her predicament on the way out.
"And I know what you're thinking," Garrett said as he led her to the door. "If you try to tell anyone that you are being taken off the ship against your will, we won't shoot you. We'll shoot whoever you signal."
As they walked down the corridor, Petrova kept behind her with the gun hidden under a shawl wrapped around her arm.
"I saw how you hung on to Locke's arm during the party," Petrova said, her voice dripping with ridicule. "You can forget about him. You'll never see him again. He's as good as dead."
Locke and Perez took the glass elevator down to a floor two decks above the central atrium. On the way down, Locke could see crew members beginning to clean up after the gala, but passengers still wandered along the atrium and lingered at several of the bars along the sides.
They exited the elevator and started walking aft.
Locke had no idea what was so important for Perez to show him, but he couldn't get the FBI agent to tell him.
"What are we going to do about Garrett?" he asked Perez. "We've only got a few hours before the Genesis Dawn sets sail."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Raid his room. If I'm right, he's got some kind of device hooked into the ship's ventilation system. I don't think he'll activate it until he's off the ship, but if we can catch him with it, it'll prove that he's behind this."
"You know, Dr. Locke, you lost a lot of credibility coming here without telling me. Why didn't you tell me your suspicions about Sebastian Garrett when I spoke to you yesterday?"
"At the time, I didn't know. Even after I got the information that he might be involved with building that bunker I told you about, I had no firm evidence. I wanted to talk to him myself, and I thought you might interfere if I told you I was coming."
"You're damned right I would have! Although Sebastian Garrett is involved with the Holy Hydronastic Church--which the FBI has been investigating for some time without finding a single crime--to accuse one the country's richest men of involvement in this Project Whirlwind is a serious charge."
A red light went off in Locke's head, but he didn't know why. Something about what Perez said was off.
"Agent Perez, you checked all of the luggage, didn't you?"
"All of it. We found some contraband, but nothing that suggested a bioweapon."
"And Garrett's bags?"
"I'm telling you it was all searched."
They reached an outdoor cabin at the end of the hallway. Locke wasn't satisfied by Perez's answer. Garrett had to get the device on board somehow. His luggage would be the logical method, but how would he get anything through the bag search?
Something wasn't right. Locke put his hand on his belt and fiddled with his Leatherman.
"Have you spoken to Aiden MacKenna or Grant Westfield?" he asked.
"Don't know them." Perez swiped his key at the door. He let Locke walk in first.
Locke was a step in when he finally understood why the red light went off. Project Whirlwind. That was the name it had during the short time that Locke worked on it. But the name had been changed to Oasis when it was transferred to Coleman, and Project Oasis was what he called it when he talked to Perez the day before.
Only he, Dilara, Grant, and Aiden knew the connection between Whirlwind and Oasis. If Perez never heard about it from them, there was only one way he could have known about Whirlwind.
Perez was in on it.
The cabin was a two-room suite like the one he and Dilara had. If it had been some kind of control room, Locke would have expected to see agents sitting at high-tech equipment. But the living room area was empty.
All of those thoughts happened in one step. In one movement of his foot, Locke had gone from utter safety to grave danger. He kept his gait unchanged, but he couldn't reach for his Glock, which was under his left arm. If he did, Perez would see the move before he had the gun out.
Instead, he slipped the Leatherman out of its holster and flipped open the folding knife.
"So what are we doing here?" he said. At the same time, he crouched down and whirled around. Perez had already unholstered his pistol, but instead of aiming it, he was bringing it down to pistol whip Locke.
Locke ducked aside. The pistol slammed into his bicep, and pain shot up his arm. The knife in his other hand slung around and slashed Perez's wrist. Perez cried out, and the pistol went flying toward the door where it landed on the carpet. Locke brought his elbow around and sent a blow at Perez's face.
Perez lurched toward the door. He crashed against it, splintering the frame, but remained standing. He looked down and saw the gun at his feet. He bent over to pick it up. Locke dropped the Leatherman and reached for his Glock. He had it aimed at Perez before the FBI agent could reach his service piece.
"Don't move!" Locke yelled.
Perez froze, his hand inches from his weapon.
"You never said Whirlwind, did you?" Perez said. "That's what it was called when you worked on it, so my mind reverted to that code name. I knew it was wrong as soon as I said it. Funny how one little mistake can get you."
"Where's your partner?" Locke demanded.
"She's in the next room. Alive. For now." Locke stole a quick glance at the bedroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Trina Harris' inert form on the bed.
"You work for that wacko?"
"Sebastian Garrett is a great man. History will show it."
This guy was just as loony as Garrett was.
"Stand up," Locke said.
Perez didn't move. "The world will soon be completely different."
"I will shoot you if you try to pick up that gun."
"Humanity is weak. We will make it strong again."
"I said, stand up," Locke repeated.
"You can't stop it."
"Stop what?"
"The New World."
Like a striking cobra, Perez reached out and snatched the gun. He stood, bringing the weapon to bear. Locke had no choice. He fired a three-shot burst at Perez's chest. Perez crashed through the weakened cabin door. The gun went flying out of his hand and over the railing. Perez slumped to the floor.
Locke rushed over to Agent Harris. She was hogtied, gagged, and moaning softly. She had a nasty bump on the side of her head.
He removed the gag and began to untie her. When he turned her to loosen the rope, her blouse came untucked, gathering up around her midsection. Beneath it was a gray material. Locke touched it and felt the hard Kevlar. A bulletproof vest.
Damn it!
He ran back to the cabin door and saw what he dreaded.
Locke saw nothing. Perez was gone.
Locke ran out to the hallway balcony. It was already filling with passengers who had heard the gunshots. An elderly woman peeked her head out from the cabin nearest to him. She gasped when she saw the gun in his hand.
"Call 911," Locke said to her. He pointed through the door. "There is an injured FBI agent in that cabin."
The woman slammed her door closed. Locke had no doubt police were already on their way, if not the ship's own security team. But he had to make sure Perez did not escape, or worse, get to Garrett and warn him that Locke had survived the assassination attempt. If he did, they might not be able to recover the device in Garrett's suite.
Locke went to the railing, looking in both directions down the hallway. No sign of Perez. He must have made it to the stairs. Locke saw Perez stumble from the stairwell into the atrium two floors below, searching for his gun. Locke quickly looked around and saw it almost directly below him. It wouldn't take Perez long to find it either.
Locke's nine millimeter rounds may have been unable to penetrate Perez's vest, but they sure as hell hurt him. He could see Perez wince from the effort of running. The shots would have left massive bruises on his chest, maybe even some broken ribs. If he could get his weapon back, Locke would no longer have the advantage. Perez would never let Locke leave the ship alive. He had to get down there first.
The stairs would take too long. A pizza joint had an awning spread out in front of the restaurant to give it the feel of an outdoor cafe. It was only about 15 feet below Locke.
Shoving to the back of his mind what a bad idea it was, he holstered his pistol and jumped over the railing. He thought the awning would cushion his fall, but the material was only designed to look like fabric, when it was actually metal. The jolt of the impact knocked the breath out of Locke, and he artlessly tumbled over the side.
Gasping for breath, he crawled to the pistol and snagged it just before Perez reached it. He pointed the Sig Sauer at Perez, but Locke didn't have enough air in his lungs to say anything. Perez ran past Locke toward the far end of the atrium.
Locke got to his knees. Perez continued to run down the atrium zigzagging as he went. Partiers still lingered after the gala, and Perez used them to shield himself from Locke.
"Stop!" Locke yelled, pointing the pistol in Perez's direction. He hoped Perez would just stop at the threat of being shot, but he kept going, and there was no way Locke was going to take the shot, not with Perez in a bulletproof vest and so many bystanders around.
Locke would have to run him down. He got to his feet and sprinted after Perez. Once he got his wind back, he was able to gain on Perez, who was still hurting from the bullets in his vest. Locke would easily be able to stop him by the time they reached the opposite end of the atrium.
Perez looked behind him several times and saw Locke closing fast. Apparently, he knew he wasn't going to outrun Locke because he angled toward the raffle prize platform.
Perez jumped up onto the platform and kicked through the display case, unleashing a shower of glass. He plucked out the key with the black fob and inserted it into the ignition of the black motorcycle. The engine began to sputter, and Perez threw his leg over the seat. The Suzuki fired up. The sound of its high-revving four-cylinder filled the atrium. He roared off the platform in the direction of the circular ramp surrounding the glass elevators.
Locke leaped onto the platform and retrieved the other key. Crewmembers who had rushed to find out what happened to the display case saw his gun and gave him a wide berth. Locke tucked the pistol in his waistband and kick started the Suzuki. A little different from his own Ducati, but almost as fast. It snarled in response, and he gunned the engine, laying a strip of rubber on the stand.
Perez started spiraling upwards. Locke aimed his own bike at the ramp. He could see startled passengers in the elevators watching a tuxedoed man on a Suzuki race toward them. He followed up the ramp, trying to keep an eye out to see what deck Perez exited.
They wound around the ramp at 20 miles per hour until they reached the top. Perez shot off the ramp and down the port balcony. Passengers, who by now lined the railings watching the spectacle of the chase, screamed and jumped back into their rooms as Perez roared past them toward the aft end of the ship. Locke was only 20 feet behind him.
At the end of the balcony, Perez burst through an exterior door. He was looking for another way off the ship. Locke knew from studying the Genesis Dawn deck plan that the aft gangplank was two decks down. Perez was trapped.
The trip through the door made Perez's bike wobble, and he slowed enough for Locke to catch up. They were on the aft deck of the quarter-mile-long ship.