Singer’s expression was unreadable as he broke eye contact. “The people helping me lacked certain, ah, skills, so I had to hire outsiders.”

“Mercenaries?”

“Yes. They went beyond, ah, what was strictly called for. Susan’s not dead, but I’m afraid her condition is grave.”

Merrick gave no outward sign of what he intended. He merely shook off the men who held his arms loosely and launched himself across the room. He vaulted onto the desk and managed to smash a knee into Singer’s jaw before the guards reacted. One yanked at the cuff of his jumpsuit hard enough to topple the industrialist. With his hands bound behind his back he couldn’t cushion the blow and landed on his face. There was no momentarily flicker, no slow fade to black. He was unconscious as soon as his head hit the floor.

“I’m sorry, Dan,” one of the guards said, crossing behind the desk to help Singer to his feet. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

He smeared the blood with a finger, inspecting it as though he couldn’t believe it had come from his body. “Is he alive?”

The second guard checked Merrick’s pulse at his wrist and throat. “Heart’s beating fine. He’ll probably have a concussion when he wakes.”

“Good.” Singer stooped over Merrick’s prone form. “Geoff, I hope that cheap shot was worth it, because it was the last act of free will you will ever experience. Lock him back up.”

Twenty minutes later the Twin Otter took to the skies once again, heading northward to the Angolan province of Cabinda.

Chapter 15

15

AS soon as the harbor pilot had climbed down the rope ladder to his waiting tender, Max Hanley and Linda Ross took the secret elevator from the wheelhouse down to the operations center. It was like stepping from a junkyard into NASA’s mission control. They’d played the roles of captain and helmsman for the benefit of the South African pilot, but Max was officially off duty. The watch belonged to Linda.

“You going back to your cabin?” she asked, settling herself in the command seat and slipping on her headset.

“No,” Max said sourly. “Doc Huxley’s still worried about my blood pressure so she and I are heading for the gym. She plans on introducing me to power yoga, whatever the hell that is.”

Linda chuckled. “Oh, I would love to see that.”

“If she tries to bend me into a pretzel I’m going to tell Juan to start searching for a new chief medical officer.”

“It’ll be good for you. Cleanse your aura, and all that.”

“My aura is fine,” he said with good-natured gruffness and headed off to his cabin.