Point of Contact

69

Let’s go!” Jack pushed against his door, but it was wedged shut. He shouldered against it three times before it gave way. He jumped out and turned around to help Lian crawl over his seat to get out. Paul manhandled the sliding passenger door open, breaking the handle in the process.

For a moment the three of them faced east into the howling storm, hunched into the wind that was trying to knock them down. They held their hands up to protect their eyes from the stinging rain.

“Stay close to the rail,” Jack said. “And let’s haul ass!”

Lian and Jack draped Paul’s arms around their shoulders, and the three of them managed a stuttering half-jog. A hundred steps into their journey, Paul shouted, “Wait!”

They stopped in the lashing wind.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

Paul frantically patted himself down. “The drive! I don’t think I have the drive!”

“Where did you leave it?” Lian asked.

“We’ve got to go!” Jack said. “We can’t worry about it!” He grabbed Paul’s arm, but Paul pulled away.

“I’m not leaving without that drive. It’s the only evidence I have against Rhodes.”

“Forget Rhodes.”

“And whoever else is behind him,” Paul added. He turned and started hobbling back toward the van.

Jack cursed to himself, then grabbed Paul by the jacket. “You and Lian keep going forward. I’ll run back and take a look.”

Paul frowned, conflicted. Finally he said, “Hurry.” He draped an arm over Lian’s shoulder and the two of them paced their way toward the Malaysian border.

Jack lowered his head and ran full-tilt back toward the bright headlights of the dead Odyssey. He was crabbing against the wind, but he was making a lot better time than the other two.

Paul’s sliding door was still open. Jack leaped in. The dome light still shone and the van’s tan leather interior made it easy to see. He didn’t see the USB, though. He jammed his hand between the seat cushions but didn’t feel anything. He knelt down and checked the floor. His fingers bumped into a small flat object underneath the seat. The USB drive.

Relieved, Jack shoved it deep into his pants pocket, turned, and ran for the others.

Lian was strong but not invincible, and running under the weight of the obese American against the wind was wearing her out. They were less than two hundred feet from the shore when their pace slowed to a walk. She thought Jack would’ve caught up with them by now.

“Wait a second,” she said. The two of them stopped and turned around, both gasping for breath.

Lian saw Jack’s tall frame running toward them, silhouetted in the headlights of the van.

Saw the giant hand of the wave sweep across the barrier.

Watched him disappear.

Lian screamed and ran toward Jack.

The wave that hit him was smaller than the one that had smashed the van, but it was big enough to pick him up and slam him against the concrete barrier. By some miracle it hadn’t lifted him higher, otherwise he would have been swept over the side.

By the time she reached him the wave had disappeared. He lay on the asphalt, crushed against the concrete barrier, coughing up water and gasping for air. She dropped down beside him.

“Jack! Where are you hurt?”

“I think I broke my arm.”

Jack caught his breath and cursed. He cradled his left forearm.

“Let me see that.” She gently touched his forearm, examining the length of it. He winced violently.

“It’s probably broken, but the break hasn’t punctured the skin. Can you walk?”

Paul limped into the headlight beams, gasping for air. “I thought you were dead, Jack.”

“You and me both. Let’s get moving before the next one takes us all out.”

Jack struggled to raise himself up, but he was badly shaken. Lian started to help, but Paul pushed her aside. Despite the searing pain in his left hand he grabbed Jack with both fists and lifted his heavy body to his unsteady feet.

Jack threw his good right arm around Paul’s neck and the three of them hurried the best they could, Jack setting the pace, their eyes fixed on the safety of the far shore. Lian kept swiping the matted wet hair out of her face, and Paul’s limp was more pronounced than ever. He was determined to stay at Jack’s side, and keep him from falling again, no matter the pain. Jack’s injuries were his fault, and the guilt fired his limping steps.

Jack shuffled more than walked, pressing his broken left forearm against his chest, wincing with every step, praying that another wave wasn’t looming in the dark, waiting to devour them.