Authors: Robert Ludlum
“Give me your Sterno!” yelled Evan, hearing shouts up on the main path. The Mexican yanked the small can out of his right pocket as Kendrick removed his two and pried up the lids with the carving knife. “Open yours, if you can!”
“I have. Here, señor. I go up to the bridge.”
“Can you make it?”
“I have to.… El Descanso.”
“Oh,
Christ
! A key! For the
engine
!”
“In these private docks it is customary to leave the key on board in case storms or heavy winds make it necessary to move—”
“Suppose they didn’t?”
“All fishermen go out with many drunken captains. There are panels to open and wires to cross. Get the lines, señor!”
“Two ranches,” said Evan as Emilio hobbled to the fly bridge ladder.
Kendrick turned, grabbing the Colt automatic from the gunwale, and digging out the solid fuel of the Sterno with his fingers. He ran down the dock throwing handfuls over the Bimini canvas of each huge speedboat, heaving each empty can into each boat. At the last boat he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of hunters’ matches, crouching in pain and frantically striking one after another on the wooden planks of the dock and lobbing them into the globs of scattered jelly until the flames leaped up from all the coverings. With each speedboat he fired the automatic into the hulls near the water lines, the powerful weapon blowing large holes in whatever the light alloy was that permitted the boats their excessive speed.
Emilio had
done
it! The deep-throated roar of the fishing yacht’s engines broke through the water.…
Shouts!
Men were racing down the steep path from the manor house on the hill, the fires beyond it now a steady glow.
“
Señor!
Quickly … the
lines
!”
The ropes on the pylons! Kendrick ran to the thick pole on the right and struggled with the knotted line; it pulled free and slipped into the water. He lurched, barely able to stay on his feet, and reached the second pylon, yanking in panic until it, too, came loose.
“
Stop them! Kill them!
” It was the frenzied voice of Crayton Grinell, chairman of the board of a government within the government. Men swarmed onto the base of the island dock, their weapons suddenly on open fire, the fusillades shattering. Evan dove off the pier and into the stern of the yacht as Emilio swung the boat to the left, engines at full power, and curved out of the cove into the darkness of the sea.
A third and final immense detonation burst over the hill beyond the manor house. The distant night sky became a yellow cloud, then jagged streaks of white and red intruded; the last tank had blown apart. The island of the murderous government within a government was immobilized, isolated, incommunicado. No one could leave. They had done it!
“
Señor!
” screamed Emilio from the fly bridge.
“
What?
” yelled Kendrick, rolling on the deck, trying but unable to rise, his body jolting everywhere in torment, the blood from his wound forming bulges of floating liquid inside his shirt.
“You must come up here!”
“I can’t!”
“You
must
! I am
shot
. The
pecho
—the chest!”
“It’s your
leg
!”
“
No!
… From the
dock
. I am falling, señor. I cannot handle the
wheel
.”
“Hold
on
!” Evan yanked his shirt out of his trousers; pools of blood poured onto the deck. He crawled over to the shellacked ladder and, calling upon reservoirs of strength he could not believe existed, pulled himself up rung by rung to the bridge. He breached the upper deck and looked over at the Mexican. Emilio was holding on to the wheel, but his body had sunk below the bridge’s windows. Kendrick grabbed the railing and got to his feet, barely able to steady himself. He lurched over to the wheel, appalled by the darkness and the swell of the waves that rocked the boat. Emilio fell to the floor, his hand springing away from the circular rudder. “What can I
do
?” yelled Evan.
“The …
radio
,” choked the Mexican. “I haul nets and I am not a captain, but I have heard them in bad weather.… There is a channel for
urgencia, numero dieciséis
!”
“What?”
“
Sixteen!
”
“Where’s the
radio
?”
“On the right of the wheel. The switch is on the left.
Pronto!
”
“How do I
call
them?”
“Take out the
micrófono
and press the button. Say you are
primero de mayo
!”
“May Day?”
“¡
Sí!
…
Madre de Dios
…” Emilio collapsed on the fly-bridge deck, unconscious or dead.
Kendrick lifted the plastic-coiled microphone out of its cradle, snapped on the radio and studied the digital readout below the console. Unable to think, the boat battered by swells he could not see, he kept tapping the keyboard until the number
16
appeared and then pressed the button.
“This is Congressman Evan
Kendrick
!” he screamed. “Am I
reaching
anyone?” He released the button.
“This is Coast Guard, San Diego,” came the flat reply.
“Can you patch me into a telephone line at the Westlake Hotel? It’s an
emergency
!”
“Anybody can say anything, sir. We’re not a phone service.”
“I
repeat
. I’m Congressman Evan Kendrick from the Ninth District of Colorado and this is an emergency. I’m lost at sea somewhere west or south of Tijuana!”
“Those are Mexican waters—”
“Call the
White House
! Repeat what I’ve just told you … Kendrick of Colorado!”
“You’re the guy who went to that
Oman
…?”
“Get your orders from the White House!”
“Keep your radio open, I’ll take your coordinates for the RDF—”
“I don’t have
time
and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s the radio directional finder—”
“For Christ’s
sake
, Coast Guard, patch me through to the
Westlake
and get your orders! I have to reach that hotel.”
“Yes,
sir
, Commando Kendrick!”
“Whatever works,” mumbled Evan to himself as the sounds from the console speaker erupted in different tones until there was the hum of a telephone ringing. The switchboard answered. “Room Fifty-one! Hurry, please.”
“
Yes?
” cried the strained voice of Khalehla.
“
It’s me!
” shouted Kendrick, pressing the button for transmission, then instantly releasing it.
“For God’s sake, where
are
you?”
“In the ocean somewhere,
forget
it! There’s an attorney, a lawyer Ardis used for herself and he’s got a ledger that spells out
everything
! Find him!
Get
it!”
“Yes, of course, I’ll reach MJ right away. But what about
you
? Are you—”
Another voice intruded, the deep commanding tones unmistakable. “This is the President of the United States. Find that boat, find that
man
, or all your asses are in a sling!”
The swells tossed the boat like an insignificant bauble in a furious sea. Evan could no longer hold on to the wheel. The mists returned and he collapsed over the body of the fisherman from El Descanso.
He was aware of violently swaying weightlessness, then of hands grabbing him and a harsh wind buffeting him, finally of a deafening roar above him. He opened his eyes to blurred figures frantically moving around him, unbuckling straps … then a sharp puncture in his flesh, on his arm. He tried to rise but was restrained as men carried him to a flat, padded surface inside a huge, vibrating metal cage.
“
Easy
, Congressman!” shouted a man in a white navy uniform that gradually came into focus. “I’m a doctor and you’re pretty bashed up. Don’t make things more difficult for me because the President himself will officiate at my court-martial if I don’t do my job.”
Another puncture. He could not take any more
pain
. “Where am I?”
“A logical question,” replied the medical officer, emptying a syringe into Kendrick’s shoulder. “You’re in a big whirlybird ninety miles off the coast of Mexico. You were on your way to
China
, man, and those seas are rugged.”
“That’s
it
!” Evan tried to raise his voice, but could barely hear himself.
“What’s ‘it’?” The doctor leaned down as a corpsman above him held a bottle of plasma.
“Passage to China—an
island
called Passage to China! Seal it
off
!”
“I’m a doctor, not a member of the Seals—”
“Do as I
tell
you!… Radio San Diego, get planes out there, boats out there! Take
everyone
!”
“Hey, man, I’m no expert, but these are Mexican waters—”
“Goddamnit, call the
White House
!…
No!
Reach a man named Payton at the CIA.… Mitchell Payton,
CIA
! Tell him what I just told you. Say the name Grinell!”
“Wow, this is heavy,” said the young doctor, looking up at a third man at the foot of Kendrick’s padded resting place. “You heard the Congressman, Ensign. Go up to the pilot. An island called Passage to China, and a man named Payton at Langley, and someone else called Grinell! Hop to it, guy, this is the
President’s
boy
!… Hey, is this anything like what you did to the Arabs?”
“
Emilio?
” asked Evan, dismissing the question. “How is he?”
“The Mex?”
“My friend … the man who saved my life.”
“He’s here right beside you; we just got him up.”
“How
is
he?”
“Worse off than you—much worse. At best it’s sixty-forty against him, Congressman. We’re flying back to the base hospital as fast as we can.”
Kendrick elbowed himself up and looked at the prone, unconscious figure of Emilio, barely two feet away behind the doctor. The Mexican’s arm was on the deck of the helicopter, his face ashen, close to a mask of death. “Give me his hand,” ordered Evan. “
Give
it to me!”
“Yes, sir,” said the doctor, reaching over and pulling Emilio’s hand up so Kendrick could grasp it.
“
El Descanso!
” roared Evan. “
El Descanso
and your family—your
wife
and the
niños
! You goddamned son of a bitch, don’t
die
on me! You fucking know-nothing fisherman, put some
juice
in your stomach!”
“
¿Cómo?
” The Mexican’s head thrashed back and forth as Kendrick tightened his grip.
“That’s better,
amigo
. Remember, we’re angry! We
stay
angry. You hang in there, you
bastard
, or I’ll kill you myself.
Comprende?
”
His head turned toward Evan, Emilio partially opened his eyes, a smile creasing his lips. “You think you could kill this strong fisherman?”
“
Try
me!… Well, maybe I couldn’t, but I can get you a big boat.”
“You are
loco
, señor,” coughed the Mexican. “… Still, there is El Descanso.”
“Three ranches,” said Kendrick, his hand falling away under the effect of the navy doctor’s hypodermic needle.
One by one the graceful limousines drove through the dark streets of Cynwid Hollow to the estate on Chesapeake Bay. Where on previous occasions there had been four such vehicles, on this night there were but three. One was missing; it belonged to a company founded by Eric Sundstrom, traitor of Inver Brass.
The members sat around the large circular table in the extraordinary library, a brass lamp in front of each. All the lamps
on the table were lit but one, and that was the one in front of a fifth empty chair. Four pools of light shone down on the polished wood; the fifth source was extinguished, implying no honor in death—instead, perhaps, a reminder of human frailty in an all too human world. On this night there was no humorous small talk, no badinage to remind them that they were mortal and not above the common touch despite their awesome wealth and influence. The empty chair was enough.
“You have the facts,” said Samuel Winters, his aquiline features in the flow of light. “Now I ask you for your comments.”
“I have only one,” Gideon Logan stated firmly, his large black head in shadows. “We can’t stop, the alternative is too devastating. The unleashed wolves will take over the government—what they haven’t usurped already.”
“But there’s nothing to
stop
, Gid,” corrected Margaret Lowell. “Poor Milos set everything in motion in Chicago.”
“He hadn’t finished, Margaret,” said Jacob Mandel, his gaunt face and frame in his accustomed chair next to Winters. “There’s Kendrick himself. He must accept the nomination, be convinced that he should take it. If you recall, the subject was brought up by Eric, and now I wonder why he did. He might have left well enough alone, for it could be our Achilles’ heel.”
“Sundstrom was consumed, as always, by his insatiable curiosity,” said Winters sadly. “The same curiosity that, when applied to space technology, made him betray us. Having said that, however, it doesn’t answer Jacob’s question. Our congressman could walk away.”
“I’m not sure Milos thought it was that serious a problem, Jacob,” reflected Attorney Lowell, leaning forward, her elbow on the table, her extended fingers against her right temple. “Whether he actually said it or not is immaterial, but he certainly implied that Kendrick was an intensely, if unfashionably, moral man. He loathed corruption, so he went into politics to replace a corrupter.”
“And he went to Oman,” added Gideon Logan, “because he believed that with his expertise he could help with no thought of reward for himself—that was proven to us.”
“And
that
was what convinced all of us to accept him,” said Mandel, nodding. “Everything dovetailed. The extraordinary man in a very ordinary field of political candidates. But is it enough? Will he agree even if there’s the national ground swell that Milos had so well orchestrated.”