minutes later, Gentry had Hightower stabilized, at least for the time being. There was no exit wound, which meant there was a bullet or fragments of a bullet somewhere in his damaged chest cavity. Court used a folded cover from a magazine from the bookcase and duct tape from the aid kit to create a valve over the chest wound that would allow air to escape from Hightower’s lungs when he breathed out, but not allow air into the chest cavity when he breathed in.
It was all he could do at the moment.
Then Court left Zack and returned up two flights to the helm of the ship. Within minutes he’d turned all the systems on, ignored most everything except the engines and the compass and the wheel and the autopilot. He ran down to the deck and checked to make sure the anchor had not been lowered. He was sure there was some way to check from the helm, but he figured eyeballing it would be faster than trying to figure out which computer monitor displayed that nugget of information. He refrained from turning on any lights; he wanted to move as stealthily towards international waters as an eighty-foot luxury yacht possibly could. He knew he would not hit a shipping lane for some time, but he hoped that any civilian sea traffic out there in the dark had radar on board, because Court did not know how to operate that particular function of the big multifunction display at the center of the mahogany and brass helm, and he did not want a collision with some other boat.
Court pushed the throttle gently, and the big boat surged forward. When the craft reached twenty knots, he set the autopilot to hold the present course and then he ran back downstairs.
Court entered the lower saloon to find Hightower crawling on his side, halfway under a table that folded out from the wall. Court followed the wounded man’s eyes to a titanium snub-nose revolver on the floor against the wall, just within Hightower’s grasp. It was the same gun Zack had pressed to Gentry’s forehead in Saint Petersburg. Slowly, Hightower’s left arm crept out on the floor, reaching for the gun.
Court did not have to hurry; he just stepped across the floor and kicked the pistol away.
Gentry said, “I don’t think your heart was in that attempt.”
Zack nodded; his eyes closed again. “My heart has other pressing matters to attend to at the moment.” He winced with pain. “Pulmonary pneumothorax. Air pressure in the chest cavity is stopping my heart.”
“If you promise to stop trying to kill me for a minute, I can help you.”
“No promises,” Zack said, but he rolled back onto his back and cried out in pain as he did so. His breath was shallow and labored. Court quickly flipped open his knife, found a spot between the second and third ribs on the right side of Sierra One’s chest, and then punched a shallow hole through the skin and muscle. Zack cried out. Immediately air escaped from the hole with a slight whistling sound. Court went to the fish tank in the corner, pulled some rubber tubing and a filter out of the water, and returned to his patient. He slid the tube in the fresher of the two chest wounds, stuck the filter in the open end and laid it on the ground next to Zack’s arm. “When we get out of this, you and I are going to need most of the antibiotics in the Western world.”
Zack coughed. A little blood appeared on his lips. “Seriously, dude. The gunboat will be here any minute. Just where do you think we are going?”
Court sat down next to Zack, exhausted and sore and sick from the infection in his back. He pulled the satellite phone out of his bag. “Time to kiss a little Russian ass.”
Court got through to Sidorenko on the third try. “Hey, Sid. It’s Gray. It’s done.”
“Yes, it is all over the news. President Abboud is dead. Everyone in Moscow is very pleased.”
“The body has been found?”
“Yes. Near a resort sixty miles north of Suakin. Very curious.”
Court breathed a hesitant sigh of relief. “Yeah. I’ll explain everything when I see you. We need to move up the extraction, though. I’ve got to get out of here immediately.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Too much heat to lay low as we originally planned.”
“Is that so?” Sid’s voice held none of his earlier excitement. Gentry sensed trouble.