“Stati!” came a shout from below. It was one of the few Bosnian words Tanner knew: Stop!
Tanner looked down. Whether he, too, had seen Tanner or had simply decided the time was right, Cahil was making his move.
In a jumble of bodies at the railing, Tanner saw one of Trpkova’s men stumble backward, his face bloody, hands clutched around his throat. The second man rushed Cahil. Bear lashed out with a straight jab, thumb extended. The man screamed and went down, both hands over his eye.
Screaming passengers began scattering. An open space opened on deck, with Cahil and Trpkova at its center. Cahil spun toward Trpkova, who backpedaled, right hand clutching the briefcase to his chest, left hand fumbling at his side pocket.
Tanner swung his leg over the rail, lowered himself until he was hanging, then let himself drop. He hit the deck, rolled, and got up. Ten feet away, Trpkova’s hand emerged from his pocket holding a semiautomatic pistol. Cahil was already charging. They collided and stumbled backward.
There was a muffled pop. Tanner saw Cahil convulse, then slump down. Trpkova backed away. Cahil pitched forward onto the deck and lay still.
Oh, Christ, Bear …
Trpkova spun toward Tanner, gun raised.
“Stati!”
Tanner froze. The semicircle of passengers went silent. Briggs glanced at Cahil, then Trpkova. “Risto, I know what’s in the case. Root told me everything. You don’t want it; trust me.”
“No!” he yelled in English.
“Put it down on the deck and go on your way. I won’t try to stop you.”
“Shut up!” Trpkova’s eyes darted left, then right. His face shined with sweat. “On your knees … get on your knees!”
Heart pounding, Tanner did as he was told.
“Cross your legs! Hands out to your sides.”
Tanner complied.
Trpkova jerked his gun around and pointed it at a man in the crowd; beside him stood a little girl of five or six. “You! Girl! Come here!”
Tanner said, “Don’t—”
“Shut up!” Trpkova sidestepped, grabbed the girl’s arm, and jerked toward him.
“Don’t do this,” Tanner said.
“Down on your belly.”
Briggs gauged the distance between them. Twelve feet. Too far.
“Do it!” Trpkova shouted.
Tanner lowered himself to the deck and lay down.
“Don’t look at me!” Trpkova cried. “Turn your face.”
Tanner did so.
There was a long ten seconds of silence, then he heard the little girl scream, followed by footsteps pounding away. He lifted his head. Trpkova was gone. Half the assembled passengers were gaping at him, the other half craning their necks for a better view of the port side deck — staring after Trpkova, Tanner assumed.
There came three gunshots from somewhere forward. A woman screamed.
On hands and knees Tanner scrambled over to Cahil. The deck beneath him was stained red. Using his fingertip, Briggs found the carotid artery; there was a pulse.
“Bear, can you here me?”
Cahil groaned, then murmured something. Tanner leaned closer. “What?”
“… can hear you. Wasn’t shot in the damned ear. Turn me over.” Tanner did so. Cahil’s shirtfront was drenched in blood. “Shoulder,” Cahil rasped. Tanner found the wound. The bullet had shattered his collarbone; Briggs could see the white of bone jutting from the wound.
“Where is he?” Cahil asked.
“Running.”
“Get him, Briggs. I’m okay.”
Tanner glanced around him, pointed at the closest three passengers, and gestured them over. “Aiuto … per favore.” Two women rushed over, followed by a man. They knelt beside Cahil.
“Go,” Cahil commanded.
“Susanna’s aboard.”
“I’ll watch after her. Go!”
Tanner got up and started running.
Halfway up the deck Tanner came across one of the crew — the one he’d met earlier named Belio — lying at the center of a circle of passengers. He’d been shot in the forehead. A woman near the railing pointed forward.
Tanner kept running. Where the deck broadened into the forecastle, he skidded to a stop. Sitting against the railing was the little girl Trpkova had taken. Tanner rushed forward, knelt down. She was sobbing, but appeared unhurt. He picked her up.
He heard shouting, calls for help, followed by the growl of an outboard motor. Tanner stepped to the rail. Treading water alongside the hull were a man and a woman. A hundred yards away, trailing a rooster tail of foam, was their red speedboat. Standing in the cockpit was Trpkova.
As Tanner watched, the boat slipped through a gap in the reef, banked left, and disappeared from view.
51
Tanner stood on the Aurasina’s bridge wing, alternately staring at the brightening sky for some sign of the Black-hawk and stepping inside to ask Bartoli for an update on Cahil’s and Susanna’s conditions.
Rescue vessels had been arriving steadily since the ferry grounded herself on the reef. Despite the damage to the bow, Bartoli’s chief engineer had managed to drop the remains of the ramp into the shallows. Led by crewmen, groups of passengers had started wading ashore, where they were directed up the beach and under the cover of trees. To the east the horizon was glowing orange with the rising sun. The storm had all but died, leaving behind only a thin layer of clouds overhead.
Trpkova was gone. Kestrel was gone. Susak was only five miles from Losinj, less than twenty minutes by speedboat. Once there Trpkova had his choice of transportation methods to the Croatian mainland then across the border into Bosnia.
Briggs leaned on the railing and let his head droop. He closed his eyes. Bear shot, Susanna near death … In the back of his mind, a small irrational voice was raging: It wasn’t fair. How in God’s name had it turned out like this? Despite everything, despite all their efforts, none of it had made a bit of difference. The worst had come to pass.
What did Trpkova have planned for Kestrel? Tanner wondered. A wave of exhaustion overtook him. He lowered himself to the deck and sat down. My god.
Bartou poked his head out the bridge hatch. “Mr. Tanner … Mr. Tanner!”
Briggs looked up. “Yes?”
“Your friend is awake and asking for you. He says it’s urgent. You’d better hurry; they are getting ready to transfer him to a boat.”
“What about—”
“She’s already been loaded aboard. She’s still unconscious; Marco says if they are quick enough, perhaps … I’ll pray for her. Go see your friend.”
Tanner found Bear in the infirmary being strapped to a rolling gurney. “How’re you feeling?” Briggs asked.
“Like I’ve been shot,” Cahil replied with a weak grin. “Otherwise, just peachy. They took Susanna someplace.”
“Transferred to a boat; you’re going, too.”
“How long since Trpkova got away?”
“An hour.”
“Good. There’s still time.”
“What?”
“Trpkova’s got my GPS. I planted it on him.”
“Christ almighty. When?”
“Just before he shot me. Did you really think I was stupid enough to charge a man with a gun?”
Tanner shook his head, dumbfounded. “No, I—”
“I stuck it in his coat pocket. Better hurry, though. The battery’s running down. You’ve got three hours, maybe less.”
Tanner rushed down to the radio room, called Langley, gave Dutcher and the others an update. Sylvia said, “Wait. I’ll check.” The line went quiet. Two minutes passed. She came back on: “Bear’s right; it’s transmitting.”