The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(39)

Mike said, “And electric grids will fail, and people will be in the dark, and it’s three days to anarchy. Yes, I’ve had all the same briefings on EMPs you have. We’d be so screwed.”

He said, “If there is an EMP and it affects the communication satellites, I think we’ll have anarchy faster than three days. We can only hope if it goes off, it does so above a less populous area.”

“Still, Nicholas, no matter where it goes off, there’ll be no phone connections and that means no Facebook, no Twitter, no selfies—yes, there will be chaos.”

Her teasing distracted him a moment. “I’ve never seen you take a selfie, Mike.”

“Probably not. Now, what’s really bothering you?”

He smiled, but his eyes were still distant. “Honestly? I’m not sure. It’s just a bad feeling, something I know is out there—and I know we don’t know everything we should know.”

“We’ve been knowless many times, Nicholas. It’ll come.”

Nicholas said, “Still I hate going into this half-blind.”

Poppy pointed to a huge black SUV. Nicholas laughed. “Oh, now this beauty isn’t at all conspicuous.”

Mike said, “And here I thought bigger was always better.”

“You would know, well, better than I, Agent Caine.”

They both laughed, and Poppy blinked at them, made them laugh harder.

“Come on, guys, what’s the joke?”

Mike shook her head. “I think we’re a little punchy, not enough sleep the past few days. Where are we headed now?”

“The car will take us out to the coast where they’ve based the search and rescue operation. Nothing coming in from the planes that have already gone out, but they’ve held back a chopper waiting for you two.” Her brows knit together. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go out there?”

Nicholas said, “Yes, of course we do. We consider it a personal mission to rescue Grant anytime he gets himself into trouble. Makes us feel important.”

Poppy said, “I think it makes you certifiable. You should let the experts handle this.”

“Probably,” Mike said. “But fact is, Grant is our friend, and neither of us could live with ourselves if he was hurt and we didn’t do everything in our power to help him. Plus maybe helping all the people aboard The Griffon. We’ll be fine.”

Poppy said, “Remind me to be very good friends with the two of you from now on.” She shifted the Glock on her hip as she climbed into the vehicle. She talked a good game, but Mike knew she was lethal and more than capable of taking care of herself, and maybe them, too. Mike wouldn’t mind having her on their Covert Eyes team. But she supposed there was a reason Poppy was in the private sector. She reminded herself to do a background check on her later. If they made it back to land, that is.

They climbed in the SUV behind her, nodded to the large man in a black suit behind the steering wheel. He turned and gave them a nod. “Agents. Roderick Grennan, Blue Mountain. We’re thirty minutes to the staging area in Putrajaya. They’re waiting for you.” And he slammed the SUV into gear and squealed off the tarmac, into the insanity of Kuala Lumpur.

Nicholas said, “Now, let’s call Adam, see what’s happening with our coordinates.”

Adam was in their offices at 26 Federal Plaza, looking infinitely more relaxed than when they’d talked to him last. Gray Wharton was on-screen as well, looking rumpled and windblown, as if he’d just stepped off the Staten Island Ferry and had forgotten to smooth down his hair.

“What sort of trouble are the two of you getting into now? Kuala Lumpur? It’s a far sight from Rome and chowing down gnocchi spaghetti on the Piazza del Popolo.”

Mike waved. “Hello, Gray. Good to see your face. We’re about to do something foolish and foolhardy, possibly certifiable, to end our long, so very boring vacation.”

“Well, there’s something new. Latest update, the coordinates from Grant’s fitness tracker have moved a bit. Why? Our best guess is they’re in life rafts, floating near where the ship was last seen.”

Mike asked, “Why haven’t the Malaysian SAR folks found them yet, then? If they have a spot to look for they should be able to zero in on them with no issue.”

Adam said, “There’s one easy answer. I think you need to be prepared for the idea that Grant lost his tracker.”

Nicholas said, “Bollocks. You’re wrong, you have to be. We’re heading out now to join the search. Keep feeding us coordinate updates.”

“And weather updates,” Mike added. “This typhoon looks nasty.”

“Will do.” They punched off the phone just as they arrived at the heliport.

Poppy said, “I’m going to stay on land with Roderick and monitor the storm and coordinate with the search teams from here.” She paused. “Too, I have no desire to launch myself out over the ocean”

“No worries,” Nicholas said. “Stay in touch.”

Mike was glad to see the chopper was military, being piloted by the Malaysian Coast Guard. Once they were suited up and strapped in, the pilot, introduced as Musa bin Osman, spoke over their headsets in very good English.

“We’ve narrowed the search to a two-hundred-and-sixty-kilometer area, but haven’t had any luck yet. I fear the yacht has gone down, and the seas have been kicking up because of the storm. MMEA—that’s the Malaysian Maritime Enforcement Agency—is in the lead for the SAR. They have four boats in the region, all searching with their own people. The U.S. Navy is sending ships from the Bay of Bengal, out of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. Over eighty thousand ships pass through the Strait of Malacca a year, and The Griffon was last seen heading into the Singapore Strait two weeks ago. Of course the Blue Mountain people have kept us updated. Still, there’s nothing yet. But I have faith we’ll find them. I have faith. It will take us an hour to get out there. Off we go.”