The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(40)

The chopper launched into the air. Ten minutes later, they were over open water, flying north.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


T-MINUS 45 HOURS

Strait of Malacca

Off the Coast of Sumatra

Grant was beyond thirsty but he didn’t care, he wanted to make sure the rest of the people in their five boats had enough. He’d fared better than most of the crew from the drug overdose—the combination of alcohol, drug, sun, and waves was now making some of them even sicker. The sun was brutal, the waves two meters high. Surely someone was looking for them by now. He thought of Kitsune, knew she had no idea what had happened to him, and prayed.

He kept looking, but the vast waters remained empty. He didn’t want to ask Broussard how much more fuel they had before the sub was in danger. They could always join the others on one of the boats, but Grant had to admit the sub was a better option. At least it could waterproof itself. The rest of the crew were hanging on to the edges of the life rafts, their jackets puffed around their necks, water splashing on them, looking both miserable and stoic.

Jean-Pierre was hanging in, but Grant could tell the man was fading, too. He’d forced him to take a nap, because they needed rest, but as the leader of the crew, Broussard wasn’t the kind to let Grant take control of things. He’d finally agreed to rest for an hour, leaving Grant alone with his thoughts. Dire, scary thoughts. And always Kitsune, her wonderful laugh, her immense love for him, his heart.

He had one purpose now: keep these people alive long enough for them to be rescued.

Not being able to call for help was the worst. The sat phone in his bag was toast, further cementing the idea that Devi had set off some sort of EMP in the boat disabling all of their comms. Grant knew his bosses would be searching by now, but worried they might be too late.

He had no idea where they were in the ocean, either, which was causing him no slight bit of panic.

He’d lost his fitness tracker sometime back when the boat was going down, and he used it as a watch to tell the time, too, so he was reliant on Broussard for time updates, which had been driving both of them mad. With Broussard asleep, all he could do was stare into the milky gray skies and estimate.

The sun was high above, burning them even through the haze, and the salty waves made his skin crack. How long would they be able to manage out here without being rescued? He didn’t even want to think about it.

He shifted uncomfortably, and Broussard came awake.

Broussard stretched and yawned. “Nothing new?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Broussard’s face fell, but he gestured to the small pillow he’d been using. “You should get some sleep, Grant. Try and rest. I’ll keep an eye on things. Oh yes, no more ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Broussard.’ Call me Jean-Pierre.”

Grant smiled. “Very well, Jean-Pierre. The waves are getting worse. Do you think the storm we saw coming has strengthened?”

Broussard shrugged, his face once again emotionless, his eyes hard. “Probably. There is nothing that can be done to change our circumstance, Grant. We must make the best of things. Do get some sleep, it helps, if only to escape for a while.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you were a fatalist.”

Broussard shook his head, smiled. “I’m no fatalist. No, I’m a romantic. The way I look at it is if it’s my lot to die at sea, so be it. But I don’t think we’re going to die today. We can’t die today. We were in possession of the Grail. Even though it was for a short time, I’m thinking it still provides me protection. It welcomed me, Grant, recognized I was worthy, though I’m far from it, but then again, as I told the Grail, I am only the messenger.”

“The messenger? For whom?”

Broussard looked away, Emilie’s name on his lips. But no. “It is not important. Do you know, I still feel stronger than I should, and I don’t feel as hungry or thirsty as I should. I know the Grail gave me strength and it still lingers. Why, I don’t know.

“Plus, I’m sure someone is going to be coming for us. Your people, my people. They will be searching for us.”

Grant wished he’d touched the Grail. Would it have made him as positive as Broussard? “But without any kind of tracking device, they’ll have to spot us by air. And I haven’t seen any planes fly over, and believe me, I’ve checked often. We mustn’t be in any normal flight paths.”

“Perhaps not. But someone will come. I have faith. Faith is what got us here in the first place, and faith will save us. And the Grail.”

Because Broussard had left the top of the sub open, they heard cries from the boats. They both looked out. Grant watched in horror to see the fins of two sharks begin circling one of the life rafts.

“I fear our situation is going from bad to worse. Look at these waves. And now sharks?”

“They’ll be fine. We will all be fine.”

“We should have lashed the boats together—”

“No, we shouldn’t have. They’re all connected but not so close that one good wave would topple a boat and it would be a domino effect. This way we can rescue from one boat to the other, if needs be. And look.”

Broussard pointed as Cesar, his dive captain, leaned out of the boat and shot one of the sharks. The other went mad, and the men in the boat cheered.

“They’re sailors, Grant. They know how to handle themselves in open water. All will be well. The Grail rewards those who believe. Oh, I nearly forgot. You dropped this.”