a choice of two routes. To his right was a shallow gully that entered a grove of coconuts, long untended, choked with undergrowth. Karlamov knew that the gully led down to the dock: in fact, it was a more direct route, though slower, because of the tangled brush and fallen logs in the grove.
To his left, skirting the grove, was his usual route. It would bring him through the cluster of buildings to the main path that ran down past the helipad to the dock.
But the fire still glowed hot and bright. Karlamov knew that he would be illuminated on that open path—exposed and all lit up. He remembered the purposeful rifle fire he had heard from that direction a few minutes earlier, and he thought of the silence on the radio net as Markov ticked off the names of the other sentries. None of them had answered after that rifle quit booming.
The gully would be a pain in the ass, especially in the dark, but the trees and the brush would cover him as he worked his way down.
With his rifle in his arms, he turned to the right, moved down the gully, and entered the old coconut grove.
Stickney tightened his harness straps as Mendonza brought in Banshee, thundering hard. To Stickney it seemed crazy fast. The island and the blazing fire loomed, growing larger, filling the windscreen.
But Mendonza held course and speed, then cut the engines back at the last moment. The hull settled deep into the water, digging in, as Mendonza swung the wheel and brought the boat in broadside against the dock.
It drifted in and thumped against the pilings. Almost before it had stopped moving, Mendonza was out of his seat, running forward. He threw a coil of rope that lay in a recess near the bow. He jumped up onto the dock, looked around, and snugged the line against a cleat.
Arielle unstrapped from her seat and went below. Stickney opened his harness, too, and joined Mendonza on the dock.
Stickney said, “Ray?”
“I don’t see him,” Mendonza said.
Stickney took in the hellish scene on the island, lit by the fire. He saw a body near the dock, then two more up on the hillside near the clump of buildings. The fire was still so intense that he could feel its heat across the length of a football field. He became aware of the stink of charred flesh and knew that at least one body must have been been burned in the flames.
He thought, Ray…this. My God, all this.…
Arielle came up onto the dock, carrying the shotgun and the pistol. She quickly took in the scene and pointed up the hillside to the buildings.
“We want to be there,” she said.
“Definitely,” Mendonza said. He walked a couple of steps over to the rifle on the dock. He picked it up, quickly examined it, brought it over.
“Bet Ray left this,” he said.
“Close quarters, I’d rather have the pistol,” she said.
Mendonza said, “Yeah, I’ll want the shotgun inside a building.” He laid the rifle on the dock. Not exactly at Stickney’s feet, but close enough to reach.
“Let’s hustle,” he said.
Stickney knew that Let’s hustle meant them, not him. He wasn’t a part of this—not now, not with death all around them and the promise of more to come.
He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong with them.
Definition of “useless”: A man at a battle with a pledge never to kill.
Ari seemed to sense what he was thinking. She said, “It’s okay, Stick. Someone has to stay with the boat.”
“That’s right,” Mendonza said. “We’ll need the boat. Anybody comes, you cast off and back the hell out of here.”
Stickney watched them start up toward the buildings.
He spotted movement up on the hill. A man—not Favor—came out of the largest building, running in a crouch. He was carrying an AK-47—even at this distance, Stickney recognized it. The man disappeared into the smaller structure nearby, the building lowest on the hill.
Stickney knew that Ari and Al had seen him too. They were now double-timing. Mendonza was pointing as they ran. Stickney could imagine him saying, You take that side, I’ll go in this door.
Stickney looked down at the rifle, a couple of paces away. He found himself walking over, picking it up, examining it. Finding the safety.
He couldn’t say why. The weapon drew him in. The moment drew him in.
He held the rifle and watched his two friends as they hurried up the hill.
The Russians moved into position for another spasm of violence.
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