Page 27 of Murder Island
“I have other plans for Lial. Other needs. This job is yours.”
For a moment, Kira flashed to what would have happened if she’d been classmates with Cal Savage at school. She realized that she would have found an opportunity to drown him.
Kira glared at him. “Work foryou? I’d rather drink one of Lial’s cocktails.”
“That would be a shame,” said Savage. He had the tone of a man with an ace up his sleeve. “Look what happened the last time you were incapacitated.”
He clicked to another image with his controller. This time Kira recognized the scene right away, and it made her heart race. It was the tiny island—the place where, for a short time, life had been perfect.
It was night-vision footage, a ghostly grayish-green. But the picture was clear and sharp. The image showed a pan of the island. The coconut grove. The lean-to. Then the camera pointed toward the water and zoomed in. Kira twisted in her chair. She saw bodies rolling in the surf. She counted six.The boys!
She rocked back and forth, trying to loosen the bolts that held the chair to the deck.“Doc!”she shouted. She could feel her face burning with rage. “Is he dead? Did they kill him, too?”
Savage gave her his sick little smile. “On the contrary,” he said. “The evidence will show that Doc Savage wielded the murder weapon. And island culture, I’m afraid, does not look kindly on killers.”
“Doc would never hurt those kids!” Kira shouted.“Never!”
“I’m happy to see that your sympathy is with children,” said Savage. “My copper mine is filled with them. I need you to go there. Discourage the men who are milking my asset. Make them regret their actions.” He stared at her. “Or shall I just order up that drink?”
Kira stopped struggling. She relaxed her jaw and calmed her mind. In an instant, she made the kind of cold calculation that had helped her survive her brutal education and the lonely years after her escape.
She realized now that there was only one way off this floating prison. Only one way to find out if the man she loved was dead or alive. Sometimes the worst choice is the only choice. Her eyes turned steely and her voice evened out.
“Give me the coordinates.”
CHAPTER 31
I SHOOK MY head to dislodge the bugs crawling on my forehead. I arched my back and jerked my arms and legs as hard as I could—again and again.
No use. I was practically delirious. I hadn’t eaten in three days. They gave me just enough water to keep me alive until my trial. Which was due to start in a few hours.Shamtrial. I knew everybody’s mind was already made up.
I was staked out on the dirt floor of a filthy shed, chained to metal posts sunk deep in cement. It was some kind of village workshop. No power tools. Just rusted saws and antique hammers hanging from nails on the walls.
I took a deep breath. My mind cleared for a second.
I knew what I needed.
I turned my head and started wiggling my fingers through the dirt. Right hand. Then left. Scraping. Poking.Digging. There! Just a few inches from my right fingertips. A bent, rusted nail. If I could grab it, maybe I could work the cuff lock on that hand. I clenched my teeth and willed my arm to stretch beyond its limits. I could feel my muscles and tendons burning. One more inch…
My fingers brushed the head of the nail. I felt it flip out of reach.
Damnit!
I heard shouts and footsteps outside. Getting closer. I curled my fingers back and looked toward the door. It was corrugated metal, locked from the outside. The voices got louder. More agitated. I heard somebody kicking the door with full strength. The sound reverberated through the shed. The door shook and rattled. The metal bent in at the bottom.
A second later, daylight burst in. Two huge men were ripping the door off its hinges. A half dozen more rushed in and clambered over me, their sweaty chests pressing against me as they tried to unfasten my hands and legs. I saw one guy pull a hammer from the wall. I felt the shock against my wrist as he pounded the cuff. On the third try, the metal broke open. Another man hammered at the cuff on my right ankle. He missed and hit my shin. I gritted my teeth and swallowed a scream.
I started shouting“No!”I figured that was one word they could understand. But a few seconds later, all four cuffs were off and I was being carried out of the shed by the mob.
I knew in that instant it was over for me. There wasn’t going to be any trial. Just a summary execution. I twisted and kicked. I managed to yank one arm loose and get one of the men in a headlock. I felt a steel rod slam across my midsection. The man squirmed out of my grip and punched me in the neck.
They were carrying me up a small hill behind the shed. My head was tipped backward now. One guy had his hands on my scalp, using my hair as a handle. Then they slammed me down on the ground, face-first. They were chanting a single word I didn’t understand. I looked up. Ten yards away, at the peak of the rise, was an eighteenth-century cannon.
I felt weak, sick, helpless.
Now I knew what was coming. It was an execution the British used to inflict on pirates and escaped slaves. I was about to be blown to bits.
By cannon fire.