by J. F. Kirwan
More meat-bombs splashed into the water, and Jake thought he might actually make it. The hardest part would be getting out, the five-metre run in knee-deep water to the safety of the sandy beach. Another bite, a black-tip, its jagged teeth tearing flesh from his left arm, Jake barely able to stab it in the face before another sank its teeth into his left calf, another in his right. The sharks were going to swarm him. This was it. Sanctuary in sight, the surface just above his head.
Suddenly two pairs of legs clambered towards him. Spears stabbed down at the larger sharks, scattering them. He saw legs and arms in chain mail, resisting the snapping bites of small reef sharks and trevally alike. Strong hands hooked behind Jake’s armpits and began hauling him off the reef. Jake could barely move, but the coral beneath him gave way to sand. His knees hit the bottom and he stumbled forward. His head breached the surface, and he spat out his regulator. Somebody tore off his fins so he could limp out of the water, ditching his stab jacket and tank as he went.
Ankle deep, he realised it was the Brit who had pulled him out. He turned to see Dominic and Yukio, still stabbing as they walked backwards towards him, knee-deep in the bloody water.
Jake, in shock from blood loss and agonising pain, watched it happen in slow motion. They were going to make it. They both turned and began the run to shore. They just needed three or four more steps and they were safe. He caught Yukio’s eyes, willing her to get out. But a bow wave rose up behind her, a massive dark shape within. The bull’s mouth yawned open in the bloody spray then twisted and snapped around both her legs. She was flung forward then whipped back as it thrashed its head side to side.
Jake mustered his strength to go back and rescue her. The Brit shouted ‘No!’ and tried to hold him back. Jake punched him in the face and took a single step. Yukio looked straight at him, her face a mask of sorrow and regret. The bull thrashed again, and her head was smashed against a rock, before her body was dragged back underwater. Jake took one more step before Dominic rugby-tackled him, then drove him back up the shore.
‘She’s gone!’ Dominic screamed. ‘She’s gone, Jake.’ And then Dominic’s eyes filled with tears, and they lay on the sand panting, surrounded by people. Jake watched, unbelieving, as the waves calmed, birds screeching as they hovered above the surface hunting for scraps. Yukio was gone.
People around them were crying. Someone in the crowd started shouting, taking control. Jake was carried to one of the tables. The Brit’s face reappeared above him.
‘What’s your blood type?’
Jake felt drowsy, the blood loss crashing him into shock. ‘Sorry I hit you.’
‘Forget it. What’s your blood type? Quickly. I’m a trainee surgeon.’
All Jake could see was Yukio’s face – that last anguished look.
The guy slapped his face. ‘Your blood type!’
‘O…negative.’
Something pricked his thigh. The pain ebbed a little. Morphine. Another prick, and this time a cooling rain washed through his body. His brain did the only sensible thing it could do, and switched off.
Chapter Ten
Nadia kept her breath as silent as possible. Matthias trod carefully, but each step brushed bushes and cracked down on dry roots. He was getting closer. All she could see were the treetops above her, haloed by the tall grass and leaves concealing her. It meant she wouldn’t see him until he was almost on top of her. No matter. Snaps and rustles told her exactly where he was.
She imagined the spear gun sweeping left to right just above grass level, like a radar. All she had was her knife. If he got close enough she could stab his leg and take it from there. But he was smart, would know she couldn’t have gotten far. An insect bit into her, made her wince, then carried on chewing on her calf. She didn’t move.
No sound. He’d stopped, off to her left. She wondered what was happening with Jake and Lars, how that was playing out. Later. Distraction was not an option. The insect stopped biting, crawled an inch up her calf, and started afresh. Little bastard. Perhaps it would win. If Matthias killed her, he would leave her to rot, and the insect could… No. She was going to kill him. Not by luck, because she’d never met Lady Luck and didn’t see why she should suddenly make her acquaintance now.
A snap. The brush of bushes. Matthias ran towards her. Her heart rate spiked. Had he seen her? No. Couldn’t have. He was trying to flush her out. Still, he approached, crunching and crashing through the roots towards her position. She gripped the knife hard, took a breath.
He stopped, and must have turned, because the noise diminished slightly. He was heading in a different direction. She breathed out slowly, her heart rate descending. He was moving away from her. He changed direction again. He would still miss her. But she began to hear the pattern. His directions weren’t random. He had decided she was in a particular area, and he was ploughing in straight lines, each time a different direction. A search pattern. A matter of time before he ran right over her. It made sense, tactically. He was stronger than her, and even if she could wound him, he would take her with him.
Which meant she needed to change strategy.
Her knife wasn’t balanced like a throwing knife. She had to get close enough to stab him, in the heart or neck, maybe the gut, though she doubted that would be enough. When he ran close and passed her, he would be moving fast so wouldn’t hear her as she rose from her hiding spot. She listened, her muscles tense, ready to spring up. Two more runs, one away from her, the second closer.
She listened to the angles, mapped them in her mind as if she was in one of the trees looking down. She sought the pattern, to predict the next move, and the next. She carefully rolled onto her front during his next noisy pass away from her, then prepped her arms and legs.
She readied. The next sprint should take him right in front of her. He stopped. His breathing laboured. Not surprising, it was prickly hot and humid in the forest. But he wasn’t close enough, and was behind her. At this range she couldn’t hit him, and he couldn’t miss. And now she had her back to him. She waited.
‘Nadia,’ he said. ‘We have Katya. Stand up and we’ll let her go. It’s you we want, not your sister.’
Nadia’s breathing ceased. Could it be true? The part about having Katya? Letting her go was unlikely. She knew what he was doing. Distracting her, weakening her, trying to make her show herself.
‘I know what you’re thinking, that we’ll kill her anyway. But Salamander authorised us to make you this offer, if need be. You have his word. He operates by a code. We all do. You stand up. You die. Katya walks. This is a now-or-never offer, Nadia. You have one minute, after which I start again. I will find you and kill you; we both know it. You have nothing to lose. Katya has everything to lose.’
One minute. But why was he making this offer? Why not just continue? And could she trust the offer? Two years ago she’d gone to extreme lengths to keep her sister alive. Could she go to her grave knowing she’d sealed Katya’s fate? But he was trying to get inside her head. And it wasn’t a done deal that he would win. What would Katya want her to do? She’d tell her to fight to the bitter end, while she spat in her captors’ eyes.
‘Thirty seconds,’ he said. ‘Last chance to save your sister, like you did in the Scillies.’
She ignored his words, and focused on his mental and physical state. Tired, wanting to end this, not afraid of dying, but fearing failure, wondering if Lars was already dead, because if not, why wasn’t he here? And how long before somebody arrived, looking for them? Maybe even Jake. Matthias was the cornered animal here, at least as much as she was. So, he’d make the next run, but not expect to find her straight away. His voice had been raised. He didn’t know how close he was.
Time was up. ‘Okay, Nadia,’ he said. ‘If that’s how it’s going to be.’
He lunged forward. Nadia pushed up from the ground, just as he passed. But the ground was soft, slowing her, and as she struck out with the knife it found air; he’d already moved out of
range. He spun around, the spear gun swishing in her direction like the sound of a sword. He stood there, a metre away, his face drenched in sweat, solid determination in his eyes.
‘Should have taken my offer,’ he said.
‘She’s still alive then,’ Nadia said.
He nodded. ‘Joining you very soon.’ The muscles on his forearm firmed.
She waited for the click.
Instead there was a whoosh, and Matthias sputtered a bloody cough, a wooden arrow in his neck. His eyes fluttered, and she knew he was trying to pull the trigger, but instead he swayed, and then crashed sideways into the undergrowth.
Nadia turned to the lone figure at the edge of the forest. The older man she’d seen yesterday, who looked familiar somehow, yet not. He had a simple bow in his hand, lowered.
She crouched over Matthias, his body still even though she could hear halting, shallow breaths. Poison. A fast-acting neurotoxin, one that had prevented him shooting her. But it also meant he couldn’t speak. The chest movements ceased. His eyes glazed. She stood up.
The insects would have their feast after all.
The older man was next to her, though she’d hardly heard him approach. She turned to him.
‘Thank you.’ She studied him. Something about him. Her subconscious was screaming something at her. ‘Do I know…?’
She stared at his face. It didn’t fit him. The features were wrong, like a mask. But she was drawn to his eyes. Grey eyes. Tombstone eyes. Fierce, alive, yet his expression was one of warmth. Those eyes.
A killer’s eyes.
‘Nadia,’ he said, and his voice confirmed it, and she felt dizzy, her legs suddenly weak, a dozen emotions and a hundred questions flooding her brain.
‘Papasha?’ she cried, her voice cracking as she fell into his arms.
***
Once he’d told her about Jake, they sprinted along the beach to the dive centre. She’d never seen a shark attack victim before. The three working on him – the three Brits, medically trained apparently – were halfway through bandaging him up, while giving him a transfusion from a Japanese diver, another one waiting in a queue.
One leg was still untreated, purple iodine mingled with the red that was everywhere. His leg wasn’t simply cut or lacerated. Small chunks of flesh had been gouged out, and flaps of skin lay folded back, flying insects buzzing around them. Through the carnage she glimpsed muscle, even pink-white bone. She swallowed down an urge to retch.
‘Is he…?’
The Brit answered, not slowing down while he sutured an open wound. ‘He’ll make it, but we need to get him to a hospital before infection sets in.’
She took one last look at Jake, then dashed back to her room, forced open the door as she didn’t have her key, fished into Jake’s bag, and found the phone. She keyed in the code he’d told her earlier, and listened to the dialling tone.
It was the middle of the night back in London.
Pick up, damn you.
‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice, only slightly bleary, used to receiving calls at all times. Lorne.
‘Lorne, listen, it’s Nadia. Jake’s been…injured, severely. On Anspida.’
Lorne’s voice became crisp, authoritative. ‘I’ll organise a chopper. What kind of injuries?’
Nadia remained focused. ‘Spear gun wound, but mainly a shark attack. The Salamander sent two assassins. Bloody hell, Lorne.’
‘Who was the target?’
Nadia thought about it. ‘Me.’
‘Don’t come with Jake; you’ll only put him in danger. I’ll arrange a second chopper –’
‘No.’ She thought of her father. ‘I’ll make my own exit. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Have it your way. I have to go pull some strings with the Malaysian ambassador. Get Jake stabilised. You did right to call me. Keep the phone. There’s no tracer on it.’ Lorne hung up.
Nadia grabbed Jake’s passport, and jogged back to the makeshift triage centre. She looked for Dominic. He found her first.
‘Speedboat is on its way. An ambulance will meet them at the jetty in Semporna.’
She nodded. ‘A helicopter will come for him, to take him to the main hospital in Kuala Lumpur.’ She handed him Jake’s passport. ‘Please see that they take this with him.’
He looked at her strangely. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly.
‘I heard about Yukio,’ she said. ‘I’m –’
‘I’ll look for remains in the morning,’ he said, his voice steel.
‘What? I mean, surely –’
‘Her religion – Shinto. Her relatives need to bury something, back in Okinawa. Otherwise her soul can’t rest.’
‘If there’s anything…’
Dominic remained tense. Suddenly his stiff upper lip broke. He looked around him, waved his arms at the harrowing scene. ‘What the fuck happened here? How do I explain this, Nadia? Yukio’s dead, Jake’s… And the two Germans are missing. Are they –’
‘Dead.’ It was her father who spoke. His deep, calm voice brought Dominic back under control. ‘They were terrorists. Attempting an IS attack. They had been to Syria. Jake and Yukio are heroes. Otherwise you would all be dead.’
She stared at him. He was so convincing she almost believed it. But in a way, they were terrorists; Salamander’s men were planning an attack somewhere.
‘He’s telling the truth, Dominic. Look, all hell will break loose. Ask to see the British embassy official. You tell him you need to speak to Lorne, L-O-R-N-E. That’s all. She’ll sort it out.’
Dominic flared again. ‘Can she bring Yukio back?’
Nadia could imagine how he felt. How she’d feel if Jake didn’t make it. ‘No. No one can.’
His face was taut. He kicked at the ground. ‘Why? Why did they come here?’
She was about to speak, to say it was her fault. But her father jumped in.
‘Who knows what is in the mind of a terrorist? Who even wants to know?’
Again, convincing, because the seed was true – they didn’t know what motivated Salamander.
Dominic deflated a little, stared down at the sand, then back at the dive shack. ‘I’m finished. Photos will be all over YouTube by nightfall. They’ll shut us down.’ He gazed out to sea, to the rock where Yukio’s blood was still drying. ‘Maybe just as well.’
She wanted to help him, somehow, and wondered what Jake would say, and then she knew. ‘Take Yukio’s remains back to Japan, to her family.’
Dominic stared at her, then nodded slowly.
Someone started shouting. The helicopter was calling on the VHF. Dominic went to take care of things.
‘Lorne,’ she shouted after him. ‘Remember that name.’ Then she was alone with her father. ‘We have to talk,’ she said. And then it was her turn to be surprised, because he looked like he was about to crack. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
His voice was unsteady, a first in her recollection. ‘The fact that you want to talk to me at all… It means more than you could know, Nadia.’
She’d not had time to deal with having just found her father alive, after all this time. Maybe there would be anger later, because he’d remained hidden for so long. But for now she was just glad he’d arrived when he had.
She touched his arm. ‘There’s one more thing I need to do,’ she said.
She walked to Jake – who was unconscious – and the Brit, who was sewing up another wound. ‘I was wrong about you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for saving him.’
He nodded, looking a little embarrassed. ‘He’s stable for now, but he’s going to need some plastic surgery.’
She swallowed. ‘How long will it take to recover?’
‘Not my area of expertise, but even if they get him patched up quickly, he’s looking at a couple of months before he’s really fixed. If they get him to a good surgeon quickly, maybe less.’
‘They will,’ she said. ‘He’ll get the best surgeon there is.’
Lorne would see to it.
***
The chopper came and went, taking Jake away. A naval patrol boat arrived shortly after dusk, uniformed and side-armed local officials barking questions at everyone, especially Dominic. The incessant, accusatory questions were getting pretty uncomfortable, until a second speedboat arrived with a British Embassy official. After that, things went smoother. Nadia and her father were finally left alone. They’d booked passage first thing in the morning, and it was late, but neither of them could sleep, so they talked till dawn.
He gave her an account of the last eleven years: his escape, how he’d watched his own funeral from afar, why he’d pretended to be dead, how he went to Chernobyl to look after his friend’s widow, how they fell in love and lived together, how he’d cared for her when she got sick, then buried her two years ago. Nadia didn’t interrupt once, or ask any questions. Even though he talked for hours, they were just words. She couldn’t breathe colour into them, couldn’t make them part of her past.
‘They have Katya,’ she said, finally, during a lull.
‘I know. I sent someone to pick her up. He hasn’t reported back. It’s been twenty-four hours.’
She was used to her own counsel, but this was her father, the man she’d hero-worshipped as a little girl. He was ex-Spetsnaz, and had been hiding in plain sight for more than a decade. ‘What next?’
‘Salamander will use Katya as bait, for you. Probably back in Moscow. I should go alone.’
Not going to happen. ‘How will you find him?’
He lifted his T-shirt, lowered the back of his shorts. A tattoo had been erased, but the shape was still clear enough. She sat there, waiting for an explanation.
‘After Medina died, I started searching for you. That was when I found out about the Rose affair.’ He paused. ‘I was proud of you, Nadia.’
She made no reaction, and he looked down, and continued.
‘Like MI6 and the FSB, I was getting nowhere. But there was a rumour about the type of people Salamander hired, ex-Special Forces, disavowed agents…ronin.’