Out of breath, she watched Doc slide the rubber bottle inside the cocoon of blankets that now encased the unconscious man. Shall II dont know, boil some water?
He gave her a sardonic look as he straightened. Hes not a lobster, dear heart. Warm will do. Plain water, tea, bouillon, chicken soup, I dont care-just get as much warm liquid into him as you can whilst I go and fetch my doctor stuff.
Celia whirled to stare at his retreating back with alarm. But-butyoure not going to justleave me here with him! What shall I do if heif he-
If he dies? Doc looked back at her, his jowly cheeks creased in a weary smile. Id be greatly surprised if he did, considering what hes already survived. Dont worry-Ill be back in a jiff. And he was gone.
With a frustrated whimper and one last wild look at the blanket mound on the bed, Celia headed for the kitchen, where, like the character shed played for so long on one of the worlds most popular daytime soaps, she proceeded to follow the doctors orders. Nurse Suzanne, another unit of O-neg-STAT!
And, she fervently reflected as she filled a mug with hot water, dropped in a couple of bouillon cubes and set it in the microwave, shed give just about anything right now for a few of those units of O-neg, not to mention the actual skills and training to know what to do with them.
Back in the den, she placed the mug of steaming broth on the nightstand, then took a deep breath and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. The mound of blankets beside her remained still as a corpse, and when she touched it, felt cold as one, too. Oh, GodI dont want to do this!
Okay-shed asked for this. It had been her idea to bring the guy here, right?
She hitched herself around until she was braced by the pillows piled against the headboard-carved mahogany, hand-carved in someplace exotic, India, maybe, shed forgotten exactly where-that had been her mothers. With a considerable amount of wriggling around, she managed to get herself wedged behind the unconscious mans shoulders so that his head was propped on her chest.
His headon her chest. Cold, damp, sand-crusted hair pressed against her bare skinher braher breasts.
Suppressing a shudder and closing off that part of her mind, she stretched out her arm, groped for and found the mug. Carefully, she lifted it-and nearly let it slip from her fingers when she felt a moan vibrate through the mans body. It seemed to penetrate through his skin and straight into hers.
She froze, quivering inside. She could feel her heart hammering against the cold, muscular back, feel the weight of that back pressing sand grit into her skin. His head rolled on her shoulder, sending new shock waves through her. She heard the faintest of whispers and, bending her head close to his lips, once again felt that stirring of air across her cheek.
Its all right, she managed to say in a broken, gasping voice. Youre safe now.
Max
Yes, yesits okay, she murmured, soothing him while her mind was shrieking, Who the hell is Max? Dont try to talk-
MaxMax! She could feel powerful muscles tense as he struggled to lift his head. A terrible shudder racked his body. Words like ground gravel strained to escape from jaws gone rigid as stone. Itsboats, Max. Could killmillions. Dont tell anyone. They cant know!
Fear rushed through Celia like a blast of cold wind.
Chapter 2
One month earlier:
Boats Roy Starr dropped the word like a lead weight into the silence as he stared across the vastness of the city that slumbered beneath an indigo blanket bejeweled with a billion points of light. Out there where the lights ended lay the Port of Los Angeles, one of the largest, busiest seaports in the world. Every year, millions of tons of cargo moved in and out of the harbor, on uncounted thousands of ships.
The man beside him, shorter by half a head and slighter by fifty pounds, aimed his gaze in the same direction and nodded. According to the chatter, thats where the next attacks gonna come from. Not by air this time. By boat. Whats that line fromwhoever it was-One if by landtwo if by sea
Longfellow-Paul Reveres Ride, Roy said absently. Hed been raised by a Georgia schoolteacher, so he knew those kinds of things. He glanced at his handler, the man he knew only as Max, and frowned. They been able to narrow the target any?
There was the hiss of an exhalation as Max pivoted and leaned his backside against the fender of his car. Most likely west coast. Thats all theyll say at the moment. Likely timed for the Christmas or New Years holiday, for maximum impact. Weve stepped up security on the main ports of entry-Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles-checking all container ships from point of departure on, screening for radiation, and so on. We feel weve got the big ones covered pretty well.
Then
Its not the big ones were worried about. Max paused. You saw that segment on 60 Minutes a while back?
Roy nodded, his lips twisting in a smile without much humor to it. Yeah, I wish theyd quit giving the terrorists ideas.
Max snorted. I doubt theres anything they could come up with Al-Qaeda hasnt already thought of. This one, though He paused again, and Roy wondered whether it had been his imagination or whether a shiver had just passed through the mans body. Think about it-how many small-boat harbors do you suppose there are between San Diego and Santa Barbara? How many private fishing boatsyachtssailboats? Wouldnt take a very big one to carry a biological or chemical agent into a marina. With the right wind conditions His voice trailed off.
Roy nodded, fighting a wave of nausea. In Los Angeles, unless there was a storm moving down from the Gulf of Alaska, or the Santa Anas were blowing, the prevailing breeze blew from the west, straight in off the Pacific. It wouldnt take much of one to carry a killing cloud into the basin, where eight million innocent souls lived and workedand slept. Jeez, he said.
After a long, cold silence, he took a breath. You must have a lead, or you wouldnt have called me.
Max straightened up and nodded. Not sure youd call it a lead. One name keeps popping up more often than it should. Abdul Abbas al-Fayad-know him?
Roy frowned. Sounds sort of familiar. Whereve I-
Hes been on the watch list for a while, but youd probably know him from the tabloids. Made the news a few years back when he bought a mansion in Bel Air from some old-time famous movie star, then proceeded to annoy the hell out of his neighbors when he turned the place into a cross between the Playboy mansion and something out of the Arabian Nights.
Oh, hell yeah, I remember-painted all the naked statues so they were anatomically correct, didnt he? Something like that?
Max nodded, his lips twitching in a smile without amusement. Outraged his royal relatives back home, too-not exactly the accepted role model for an Arab crown prince, I guess. They disowned him-not that it slowed him down any. Abby-as hes called-is a billionaire in his own right.
Roy made a derisive sound. The guys hardly a terrorist. Hes a playboy. And a nut.
A playboy said Max, and paused meaningfully before adding, with a boat.
Ah.
A helluva big boat. One of those megayachts-the BibiLilith, which Im told translates as Lady of the Night-I swear to God. Do you suppose he knows what that means in English? Anyway, the damn thing looks like the Queen Mary. Over three hundred feet long and luxury all the way. Twenty guest cabins in addition to the main stateroom, and a crew of thirty.
Uh-huh, said Roy, in a neutral tone.
Max gave him a sideways look. Dont you skipper a fishing boat? Something like that?
Yeah, I do, Roy said, thinking, with a sudden sharp twist of longing, of his beach house on Floridas Gulf Coast, and his boat, the Gulf Starr, which was currently in the capable hands of his best friend and business partner, Scott Cavanaugh. Scott had recently and unexpectedly become his brother-in-law, too, thanks to his recent marriage to Roys sister, Joy-something he was still having some trouble getting his mind around.
Whatd you do, get me on this boats crew? He was thinking this assignment might have a definite upside, in spite of the grim nature of its purpose.
Wish we could, believe me. Problem with that is, youd have to infiltrate the guys inner circle, and theyre a close-knit, suspicious bunch-mostly related, and even that doesnt mean they trust each other. Even if we could manage to pull it off, it would take time-a whole lot more than weve got. Max was gazing at the distant harbor lights again. There was another pause, and then: Your dad used to own a big rig, right?
Wary, now, wondering what Max was getting around to asking of him, Roy nodded. Thats right.
Max let out a breath. I hope to God he taught you your way around a diesel engine.
Ive turned a wrench or two in my time, Roy said. He didnt mention the fact that his father had died too soon to have taught him much of anything, and that what he knew about diesels hed mostly learned from his brother, Jimmy Joe. That, and trial and error.
Except, there wasnt going to be any room for error here. In his current line of work, an error most likely meant people-a lot of people-were going to die.
So, youre thinking aboutwhat, sabotaging an engine?
Maxs teeth flashed bluish white in the artificial light. Can you think of a better way to get you on board? They call for a mechanic-
Roy shook his head. Tough to jimmy up a diesel-at least, bad enough to need a technician to fix it.
Max gave him a long look. I know youll think of something, he said as he turned back to the vista.
There was a long silence. Then Roy asked, in a voice so careful it could have been mistaken for indifference, Any plans to raise the alert level?
Maxs reply was a puff of air too muted to be called a snort. Again? Unless we have something specific to tell em, whos gonna pay attention? He turned abruptly and tapped Roys chest with an index finger. We need surveillance on that boat. We need something specific. If Abby His voice trailed off. He shook his head, once more scanning the sea of lights.