boat, which faced the east. It was his best and possibly sole chance to get on deck without being seen. Cameron understood that his knife was his only weapon and a blade was no match for the captain’s bullets.
There it was! The night sky to the left of the trawler exploded with light. It pulsated as the streak was propelled upward, then, reaching an apex, burst again as it briefly remained still, blinding, until it began its slow descent, swinging back and forth as it fell into the tropic forest.
“
Mikhail, Mikhail!
” screamed the captain, apparently into his radio, while his feet raced across the deck. “What was
that?
… Mikhail,
answer
me! Where
are
you?” Pryce surged up from the water, his arms extended; he reached a lateral rib, merely a small bulge, but it was enough. Fingers gripping the wood, he pulled himself up and flung his right arm above him until his hand grabbed the gunwale; the rest was sheer strength. He crawled over the railing and collapsed onto the deck, his body supine, breathing deeply, his chest heaving. In moments, air was back in his lungs, his excessive heart rate receding. All the while, the Swedish terrorist-captain kept shouting into the unresponsive radio. “
Mikhail
, if you can hear me, I’m going to commence firing! It is your signal to return to the ship immediately! With or without you, I’m getting out of here!”
So much for the Matarese’s sense of brotherly concern, say nothing of loyalty
, thought Cameron. The superior officer would leave his subordinates to a deadly unknown to save his own skin. Pryce wondered why he was surprised. Scofield had implied just that.
There was the second explosion! Far to the right, the western sky was on fire, the light more intense, more blinding than the first flare—or was it the sudden cloud cover that cut off the competing moonlight? Cam rose swiftly to his feet as the thundering cannon roared so loudly it had to blow a hole in the palm-laden greenery of Outer Brass 26. Heedged his way along the wall of the deck cabin; the moonlight reappeared. The now-hysterical captain ran to the stern of the trawler, the night-vision binoculars held to his eyes.
Thank you
, thought Pryce as he walked slowly, silently toward the man’s back.
It’s so much easier when it’s easy
. With his left clenched fist, he hammered the Swede’s lower spine as his right gripped the holster, unsnapping it and ripping out a large .357 automatic. The captain fell to the deck, screaming in pain. “Come on, Mr. Viking, you’re not that hurt, just a little bruise on a vertebra. According to your Aussie recruit, Harry, you’re better off than they are. He’s convinced that he, London Jack, and fancy Mikhail are going to be sacrificial meat for hungry savages.… Get on your
feet
, you son of a bitch! You blew that CG cutter up, killing all those young men! If I didn’t think you could be useful, I’d happily put a bullet in your throat.
Up
, you scum!”
“Who
are
you?” choked the captain cautiously, painfully rising. “How did you get on board?”
“That’s for you to wonder about. Maybe I’m the avenging angel come to make you pay for taking the lives of all those youngsters. One thing’s certain, you’re on your way back to Stockholm.”
“
No!
”
“Oh, yes. I’ve too many friends there to consider anything else.… Your radio, if you please?”
“
Never!
” The captain lunged forward, his hands like grappling hooks. Cameron sprang back, crashing his right foot into the terrorist’s groin. Again the Swede fell to the deck, groaning and grabbing his testicles.
“You people seem to enjoy inflicting pain, but you’re not very good at receiving it, are you? Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Pryce knelt down and yanked the walkie-talkie out of the captain’s jacket pocket. He stood up, studied the various buttons in the moonlight, pressed one, and spoke. “Scofield, are you there, or do I have to yell?”
“Oh, I’m here,
There it was! The night sky to the left of the trawler exploded with light. It pulsated as the streak was propelled upward, then, reaching an apex, burst again as it briefly remained still, blinding, until it began its slow descent, swinging back and forth as it fell into the tropic forest.
“
Mikhail, Mikhail!
” screamed the captain, apparently into his radio, while his feet raced across the deck. “What was
that?
… Mikhail,
answer
me! Where
are
you?” Pryce surged up from the water, his arms extended; he reached a lateral rib, merely a small bulge, but it was enough. Fingers gripping the wood, he pulled himself up and flung his right arm above him until his hand grabbed the gunwale; the rest was sheer strength. He crawled over the railing and collapsed onto the deck, his body supine, breathing deeply, his chest heaving. In moments, air was back in his lungs, his excessive heart rate receding. All the while, the Swedish terrorist-captain kept shouting into the unresponsive radio. “
Mikhail
, if you can hear me, I’m going to commence firing! It is your signal to return to the ship immediately! With or without you, I’m getting out of here!”
So much for the Matarese’s sense of brotherly concern, say nothing of loyalty
, thought Cameron. The superior officer would leave his subordinates to a deadly unknown to save his own skin. Pryce wondered why he was surprised. Scofield had implied just that.
There was the second explosion! Far to the right, the western sky was on fire, the light more intense, more blinding than the first flare—or was it the sudden cloud cover that cut off the competing moonlight? Cam rose swiftly to his feet as the thundering cannon roared so loudly it had to blow a hole in the palm-laden greenery of Outer Brass 26. Heedged his way along the wall of the deck cabin; the moonlight reappeared. The now-hysterical captain ran to the stern of the trawler, the night-vision binoculars held to his eyes.
Thank you
, thought Pryce as he walked slowly, silently toward the man’s back.
It’s so much easier when it’s easy
. With his left clenched fist, he hammered the Swede’s lower spine as his right gripped the holster, unsnapping it and ripping out a large .357 automatic. The captain fell to the deck, screaming in pain. “Come on, Mr. Viking, you’re not that hurt, just a little bruise on a vertebra. According to your Aussie recruit, Harry, you’re better off than they are. He’s convinced that he, London Jack, and fancy Mikhail are going to be sacrificial meat for hungry savages.… Get on your
feet
, you son of a bitch! You blew that CG cutter up, killing all those young men! If I didn’t think you could be useful, I’d happily put a bullet in your throat.
Up
, you scum!”
“Who
are
you?” choked the captain cautiously, painfully rising. “How did you get on board?”
“That’s for you to wonder about. Maybe I’m the avenging angel come to make you pay for taking the lives of all those youngsters. One thing’s certain, you’re on your way back to Stockholm.”
“
No!
”
“Oh, yes. I’ve too many friends there to consider anything else.… Your radio, if you please?”
“
Never!
” The captain lunged forward, his hands like grappling hooks. Cameron sprang back, crashing his right foot into the terrorist’s groin. Again the Swede fell to the deck, groaning and grabbing his testicles.
“You people seem to enjoy inflicting pain, but you’re not very good at receiving it, are you? Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Pryce knelt down and yanked the walkie-talkie out of the captain’s jacket pocket. He stood up, studied the various buttons in the moonlight, pressed one, and spoke. “Scofield, are you there, or do I have to yell?”
“Oh, I’m here,
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