Carter knew what was coming.
He took a deep breath, stuck the leg-rope between his teeth, dived underwater and swam under the assailant’s board.
When he was half a body length behind the tail, he popped his head out of the water.
The Indonesian faced away from him, holding a fishing knife in his right hand and peering into the water from side to side, trying to figure out where Carter was.
Carter kicked hard to propel himself upward out of the water and stretched his arms high in the air.
The guy started to turn his head.
Again, too late.
Carter looped the plastic-covered leash around his neck, yanked back and dragged him off his board, tightening the leg-rope like a hangman’s noose.
The startled surfer tried to grab the rope with his left hand, while his right hand whipped the knife back and forth.
Carter pulled the rope even tighter with his left hand and smashed his right elbow against the base of the Indonesian’s skull.
The strike was designed to pinch a nerve in his neck and paralyze the right side of his body. The knife dropped from his now limp hand and slid into the water.
Carter let go of his leg-rope, lifted the unconscious guy back onto his board and turned toward shore, leaving him floating there.
The final Indonesian was fifteen yards away and paddling toward him with an eight-inch dagger clenched between his teeth.
Carter recognized the distinctive pistol-grip hilt and wavy blade of a Javanese kris, an ancient weapon favored by practitioners of pencak silat, the Indonesian martial art.
Carter swam toward his board, climbed onto it and faced his attacker.
The Indonesian stopped paddling two body lengths from him and straddled his board.
He took the dagger out of his mouth, pulled it back behind his ear and yelled, “Allah akbar!” God is great!
5
A split second before the kris left the Indonesian’s hand, Carter slid off the tail of his board into the water. He grabbed the sides and held the fiberglass deck in front of him as a shield.
The dagger slammed into the board with a thud, slicing straight through its middle but holding firm at the hilt, the point of the blade stopping two inches from Carter’s face.
Carter rolled the board over and pulled the kris from the deck. The traditional blade was both weapon and holy object, believed to have a spiritual presence. Some blades bestowed good luck. Others bad. For its current owner, it was going to be all bad.
Carter flung the dagger at his assailant’s right shoulder.
The kris penetrated the man’s pectoral muscle, throwing him back on his board, screaming.
Carter swam up to him, grabbed his dreadlocked hair, pulled his head back and struck him behind the neck with a closed fist.
Knocking him out and shutting him up.
Religious fanatics, Carter thought. After living in the sleepy surf town of Lennox for a year, he thought he’d left this madness behind.
He laid the third surfer on his board and wrapped the man’s leg-rope around him to secure his unconscious body. He did the same for the other two, glad they were still breathing.
Not because he thought the world would be better off with these three guys still in it. On the contrary. But dead bodies generated official investigations, creating a potential hassle he could do without.
Hopefully they’d come to and make it to shore. If not, too bad. He’d be long gone and would have to take his chances with the law. It wasn’t like anyone would be filing an official complaint.
He paddled to shore and left the water by riding a surge onto the rocks. He stood with his board tucked under his arm and scanned the break. None of the surfers at the line-up were paying the slightest attention to anything beyond the next wave.
He shifted his focus to the grassy headland that rose out of the ocean like a lioness guarding her domain. A lone figure stood just on the edge of the parking lot, watching him, and he felt a pulse of adrenalin.
Though he hadn’t seen her for over a year and had tried to make a relationship work with another woman, not a day went by that Erina wasn’t in his thoughts.
She was a far tougher opponent than the three fanatics put together. And considering the morning’s events, he knew she hadn’t turned up to wish him a merry Christmas.
6
Carter followed the dirt track up the gentle sloping hill toward her, carrying his badly dinged surfboard under his right arm. The coarse gravel pressed into the hardened soles of his bare feet. He noted a slight quickening of his heart rate.
Erina Wing leaned against the hood of her black four-wheel drive, dressed in a white T-shirt, tight-fitting black jeans and sneakers. At thirty-two, she possessed the lithe body and grace of an Olympic gymnast.
A discreet black bag lay on the ground behind her. It looked like any normal sports bag, but instead of the usual make-up, deodorant and a towel, she’d be packing a handgun, poison darts and throwing knives.
He reached the edge of the parking lot and stopped. Behind him a powerful wave crashed against the rocks.
Erina touched the peak of her red San Francisco 49ers baseball cap and gave him an enigmatic smile.
The familiarity of her fine features stirred a host of memories. Part of him longed to hug her. Another wanted to turn and run.
He placed his board on the grass a couple of yards in front of her and said nothing. Any decisions he made now could have significant long-term implications and Erina wouldn’t necessarily have his best interests at heart.
She removed her baseball cap and placed it on the hood, revealing jet-black hair tied in a loose ponytail. Fine wisps blew over her face in the gentle breeze. The rising sun created a luminous sheen across her head like a halo.
A dark angel.
She motioned her head toward the surf. “Glad to see you didn’t need me out there.”
“I get by okay on my own.”
He waited for her to make a move, trying to read from her body language what she wanted. Like him, Erina buried her true emotions deep, giving nothing away.
She took a couple of steps toward him. “I know that attack probably took you by surprise, Carter, but as you can see, we’ve got a problem.”
“We?” he asked. “What’s it got to do with me?” His words came out harsher than he intended.
“It involves all of the order and then some. We need your help.”
Though her tone was light, he could tell she was serious.
“Erina, it’s not the first time some fundamentalist wack job has tried to kill one of us.”
“This is different.”
“No, Erina. It’s always the same.”
“This is the first time they’ve come to Australia. Why do you think that is?”
“I’ll leave that for you guys to figure out.”
He looked down at his board as if expecting it to offer him some answers. The sooner he brought the conversation to an end and got out of there, the better. Now that everyone seemed to know where he lived, he needed to grab his stuff, make a swift exit and set up a new life somewhere else.
He knew how to disappear without leaving a trace.
The only thing keeping him at Lennox was the surf. All his friends from his early teens had long gone. Maybe Margaret River in Western Australia would be worth a shot. It was out of the way and he knew the surf ripped as good as Lennox.
He bent down to pick up his board.
“Thomas wants to fill you in on the details himself,” Erina said.
He stood up and left his board where it was. “Thomas is here?”
She nodded. “I’ll take you to him.”
“Why didn’t he come himself?”