The leader was recovering. He raised his hands and placed them around Lucya’s throat. She struggled, but her arms were locked behind her, and — she realised with alarm — she could no longer feel her legs. The virus too, had her in its clutches.
“Enough,” the leader said, choking on the word. “Enough.”
His hands gripped tighter. For Lucya, the world started to go black. Her lungs heaved and strained, desperate for oxygen. She looked into the Korean man’s eyes, and understood that he was enjoying this. He was enjoying killing her.
Then, a movement at the side of the room. A bang. The scraping sound of table legs on the floor. Shouting. Shapes approaching. Children screaming.
The man’s hands were pulled away. Lucya fell to the floor, choking and retching. Somehow Erica was by her side, calling her name, hugging her. She tried to look up, to see her one last time, but the room swam around her then faded to darkness.
Thirty-Four
JAKE’S HEIGHTENED MENTAL state was blown to smithereens with the torpedo. Reality crashed back into his head and he finally felt all the panic, the stress, and the desperation that he should have felt when he first saw the weapon deploy.
“Yes!” Daniel leapt into the air this time. His shrieks were joined by others, and Jake saw that the rest of the sailors were standing alongside.
The explosion was as impressive as the two others he had already seen. More so even, as the backdrop of the cruise liner gave it a sense of scale.
The explosive-tipped harpoon had found the torpedo just metres from the ship, and the resulting detonation caused her to roll heavily. Jake wasn’t worried. He knew the Arcadia was a stable old girl. There might be a few more cuts and bruises on board, but it was nothing compared to what could have been.
Behind them, a second explosion, just as loud. The men on the deck spun around to see another column of seawater rise into the air.
“Was that…” Daniel asked nervously.
“I hope so,” Jake said.
The radio in his pocket beeped, and a muffled voice called out. Jake had forgotten all about the device. He pulled it out and turned up the volume.
“…are you out there? Repeat, Lance? Ambush? Are you out there?”
“This is Captain Jake Noah.”
“Thank God! Captain, this is Rupert Bembridge of the security team. The hostage situation has taken a turn…”
Jake felt his legs go weak.
“The hostages are safe, but some of the security team had to intervene. There are three officers inside the classroom, exposed to the virus. We really need that antidote.”
“Understood. Stand by, Officer Bembridge.”
Jake switched the channel on the radio. He looked out at the ocean. No submarine had surfaced. There was no indication as to which boat had taken the hit. He checked the transceiver, then lifted it to his mouth. “Ralf, if you’re out there, old friend, we need your help, and we need it now…”
• • •
“What did that mean, ‘stand by’?” The woman from the security team was hopping about nervously.
“I don’t know,” Bembridge replied. “But I trust Captain Noah. He’ll come through, I’m sure of it.”
“I wish I had your confidence. And I wish I knew what the bloody hell’s going on out there. It sounds like world war three.”
Bembridge experienced a moment’s doubt, wondering if he had acted too impulsively. No, he was sure he had done the right thing. It had looked like Lucya had the situation under control, but when the Korean thug had got his hands around her throat and she didn’t kick out or fight back, he had understood: she was suffering from the effects of the virus. Partially paralysed, she couldn’t save herself. They had had to storm the room.
“How is she?” He looked down at the chief radio officer. The third security man was with her.
“She’s weak, but it could have been worse. Dunno how long she’s got.”
“Keep your voice down, mate. Let’s not worry the kids.” He looked at the children, huddled in the corner of the room. The female officer had returned to them and was telling them a story. Erica sat by her side, a leader to the others more than one of them.
In the opposite corner were the Koreans. Between the virus and their injuries, they were in a sorry state. Only three of them posed any kind of threat, and they had been tied up together. Of the others, one was on the cusp of death.
The teacher had been moved out of sight, hidden under a coat taken from a North Korean. Bembridge wondered how many more bodies would join hers before they got out of there.
“You did the right thing, Rupert,” the man on the floor said. “We had to help Lucya. We should have gone in earlier. Screw the virus.”
“I hope Max sees it that way. He’ll be mad. I’m going to be thrown off the team.”
“Max should have been here giving the orders, not gallivanting about doing who knows what. If anyone is due a reprimand, it’s him.”
Lucya gave a moan. Her eyelids flickered, but remained closed. The security man stroked her head. Some of her hair came away in his hand.
Bembridge sighed loudly, and walked back to the door.
On the other side he could see Vardy. He was talking into a radio, his face animated, his voice rising. Rupert couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t even tell if the man was happy or angry. Then the doctor threw the radio down on the floor and ran. Away from the classroom.
The minutes passed slowly. The children settled. One or two even complained they were hungry. Lucya looked in a bad way though.
After standing at the door for so long, hoping in vain to see the doctor return, Bembridge’s legs started to feel numb. He turned to find a seat, to take the weight off, and discovered he could no longer move them. For Rupert, it was a horrible return to the events of a few weeks prior. He had been one of the later victims of the virus. He’d felt the paralysis before, but it had attacked shortly before they had found the miracle drug that flushed it out. That was the old virus, the version that killed slowly and painfully. This virus killed quickly, and just as painfully.
“What have I done?” he asked himself. “I’ve killed three more people.”
“Look lively, lad,” a voice nearby said cheerily. He turned back to the door. Standing outside were three medics dressed in overalls and gas masks, and brandishing syringes.
Thirty-Five
THEY HAD ASSEMBLED in the medical suite. Coote was awake at last, and there was no question of him being left out of the briefing.
There wasn’t enough space for chairs, so the members of the committee had to stand. It wasn’t just the committee. A security officer Jake knew only as Trent was present too, standing in for the still inexplicably absent Max Mooting. Vardy stood in for Grau Lister, who was resting up after having attended to the Mitchells. Captain Ove Kolstad was seated in a wheelchair, representing the interests of the original Lance crew.
At the foot of the bed, Submariner Ewan Sledge was presenting the findings of their exploratory diving expedition.
“In conclusion, we believe the submarine was a Chinese Type 095—”
“What?” Coote couldn’t help butting in. “You mean to tell me that project was real?”