The main problem would be that Timken would want to know why Chun was dragging Kate from the water. Gideon figured he’d have to play that one by ear.
And then they were clear of the water.
The wind slammed them like a hammer. Gideon estimated that it was blowing at well over a hundred miles an hour. The wind swept them up into the air, clawing at them, trying to strip off his mask and his vest, trying to rip Kate from his arms.
Gideon locked his arms and legs around Kate, tight as vises. Hold on! He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs. But he couldn’t. Not without giving himself away. Hold on!
Timken was working the winch, pulling Chun to the surface. The winch strained as Chun’s head cleared the water. Then the wave he was in fell away and suddenly the wind caught the big man and snatched him up in the air like he was on some kind of insane amusement park thrill ride.
Within seconds, Chun was snatched a good forty feet into the air.
Timken saw a flash of auburn. What the— Then he realized what it was: Chun was bringing the rig manager with him! He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t make out whether she was alive or dead. But it was definitely her.
“What the hell are you doing, Chun?” he shouted. “Why are you bringing her up?”
Chun was whipping in the wind now, spinning and diving crazily, but he didn’t respond.
“Chun!” Timken shouted. “I can’t hear you! Drop the woman!”
Timken kept winching Chun in. As Chun grew closer to the sheltering bulk of the rig, the wind lessened and he fell out of view. Within seconds, though, he reappeared. Now he was only a few yards beneath the platform. Timken’s jaw dropped when he saw a pair of angry green eyes staring up at him through Chun’s helmet. How in the world had Davis gotten onto Chun’s umbilical?
Timken didn’t belabor the question: he just wanted Kate and Gideon dead. He released the winch handle and his hand swept to the pistol on his hip when he felt his legs pulled out from beneath him.
Big Al was alive. Barely. The pain in his gut where Timken had shot him was searing. Prejean had regained consciousness only to feel the life draining painfully from his body. But he wasn’t dead yet. And seeing Kate held aloft by Gideon prompted a brief but fairly miraculous reprieve.
He rolled over, grabbed both of Timken’s ankles, and yanked with every ounce of his waning strength. Timken hit the ground hard and his pistol flew from his hands and disappeared. Animated by a wave of anger and protectiveness, Big Al struggled to his feet and slammed down the handle of thimk�€†e winch.
As Kate and Gideon came closer to the deck, Timken roared and jumped to his feet. He was a somewhat smaller man than Big Al, but he knew how to fight. His fists slammed into Big Al’s body. Big Al felt his vision narrowing, his blood pressure dropping, and warm wetness spreading down the front of his chest. The world receded until there was nothing but the winch handle. He pressed both his hands together, then forced his big belly onto the handle. He thought distantly, At least I’ll leave two hundred and eighty-five pounds of dead Cajun meat hanging on this goddamn handle! It might give them just enough time to get to the rig.
Then Kate and Gideon swung toward him, Gideon grabbing hold of the railing with one hand.
Come on, chérie! Big Al tried to say. But the words wouldn’t come to his lips.
And then Big Al felt a great wave of darkness rising up from the sea, hunting him, seeking him, and finally overwhelming him.
Gideon practically threw Kate onto the platform. She fell over the railing, smacked onto the deck, and rolled.
Meanwhile Gideon continued to rise. Big Al Prejean was slumped over the winch controls, his chest bloodied, his eyes rolled back into his head. The winch pulled the umbilical up over a pulley on the end of a ten-foot-long crane arm that extended out over the water. Gideon rose until his neck whacked painfully into the crane arm and the winch stalled.
Gideon hung helplessly, suspended nearly ten feet out from the deck, struggling to free himself. He reached up and tried to unclasp the carabiner that attached him to the umbilical, but it had been sucked up into the pulley at the end of the crane and he couldn’t get his fingers around it.
Realizing that Big Al was either unconscious or dead, Timken shoved the big man out of the way and slammed the handle up. With a sharp jerk, Gideon began descending toward the sea again. Timken was going to drop him to the water, then cut off the air and let him drown.
Kate, however, had other plans. She hopped up, jumped on Tim-ken’s back, and sunk her teeth into the side of his neck. For the moment none of Timken’s men were near the dive station. But Gideon was pretty sure Timken’s roar of anger and pain would draw them soon. Timken whipped around, releasing the handle of the winch and slung Kate off his back.
Gideon had fallen about eight feet. This put him just below the railing. He swung back and forth in the wind, slammed into the railing before he managed to grab hold. There was just enough slack for him to climb the railing as Timken shoved Kate backward.
Gideon crested the railing, reached up, and disconnected the carabiner from his harness, yanked off the helmet, which was still attached to the air hose and to the comm and electrical lines.
Embedded in the railing next to one of the dive winches was the small axe Timken had used to sever their umbilicals. Gideon yanked it from the railing mount and then jumped to the deck.
Timken turned at the sound Gideon made as he landed. His eyes took in the axe in Gideon’s hand. There seemed to be no fear in his expressionless eyes—just a rapid and clear appraisal of the threat. For the moment, Timken was unarmed. He was being attacked by a large and athletic man with an axe. The equation was simple. Time to retreat.
Timken was gone before Gideon could cross the five yards of deck that separated them.
Gideon turned his attention to Kate. “Are you okay?” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders.
Kate shrugged off Gideon’s hand and ran to Big Al’s side. “Al!” she shouted. “Stay with me!” He was nonresponsive, his pulse thready.
“We can’t stay here,” Gideon said. “Timken will be back with his people in about thirty seconds.”
“You go,” Kate said. “I have to stay with Al.”
“Kate—”
Gideon's War and Hard Target
“Don’t worry about me. They don’t care about me now. It’s...
Timken’s pistol lay at the far end of the dive station, half hidden under a pile of scuba gear. Gideon grabbed the gun and took off after Timken.
The rain had let up a bit, enough for Gideon to run without holding on to the railing. He’d already gone a hundred yards when he realized that he hadn’t asked Kate whether she’d managed to disarm the bombs. And it was too late to go back and ask her.
He turned a corner and nearly stopped at what was the most astonishing thing he’d ever seen. A curved line of cloud extended to the horizon, like a giant white wall—and above it, pale blue sky. A brilliant orange ball of light broke over the rim of clouds, and the first bright rays of sunlight hit Gideon square in the face.
We’re in the eye of the storm, he thought.
The rain had stopped and the wind had gone still. But there was no time to enjoy the extraordinary calm that surrounded him. If they were going to survive, he had to stop Timken.
CHAPTER FORTY
MAJOR DALE ROYCE JR. looked around, then turned to the pilot. “Where’d he go?”
“Who?” the pilot said.
“The meteorologist,” Royce snapped. He had been making last-minute preparations with his team and he’d come to the cockpit to see how the weather was holding out.
Gideon's War and Hard Target
“He’s in the head.” the pilot said. Royce thought to...