The Judas Strain by James Rollins Read Free Book Online Page B

atolls, the thousand secret ports, the thick jungles. All of it created the perfect breeding ground. And after the recent tsunami in the region, the number of local pirates had boomed, taking advantage of the chaos and the thin stretch of policing resources.
    It seemed this current tragedy proved no different.
    Desperate times bred desperate men.
    But who was desperate enough to risk these waters? Monk noted the gunmen were wrapped from head to toe in their own makeshift bio-suits. Had they heard the toxic levels were dropping here and decided to risk an assault?
    As Monk retreated from the water’s edge, he glanced in the direction of their beached boat. Among the islands, their Zodiac boat would fetch a pretty penny on the black market, not to mention all their expensive research equipment. Monk also noted the lack of return fire by their Zodiac’s pilot. Caught by surprise, the Australian sailor must have been taken out in the first assault. He also had their only radio. Cut off, they were on their own.
    Monk pictured Lisa aboard the cruise ship. The Australian Coast Guard cutter patrolled the waters around the tiny port. At least she should be safe.
    Unlike them.
    Cliffs cut off any retreat. To either side, empty beaches stretched.
    Monk dragged Graff behind a tumbled boulder, the only shelter.
    The speedboat aimed toward them. Gunfire chattered, pocking the sand in an arrow toward their hiding place.
    Monk pulled them lower.
    So much for that lazy day at the beach.
    11:42 A.M.
    D R . L ISA C UMMINGS smeared the anesthetic cream across the back of the crying girl. Her mother held her hand. The woman was Malaysian and spoke in soft whispers, her almond eyes pinched in worry. The combination of lido-caine and prilocaine quickly soothed the burn across the child’s back, dissolving the girl’s pained cries into sobs and tears.
    “She should be fine,” Lisa said, knowing the mother was employed as a waitress at one of the local hotels and spoke English. “Make sure she takes the antibiotics three times a day.”
    The woman bowed her head. “ Terima kasih . Thank you.”
    Lisa nodded her toward a group of men and women in blue-and-white uniforms, the staff of the Mistress of the Seas .
    “One of the crew will find a cabin for you and your daughter.”
    Another bow of her head, but Lisa was already turning away, stripping off her gloves with a snap. The dining room on the Lido Deck of the Mistress of the Seas had become the major triage point for the entire ship. Each evacuee from the island was examined and divided into critical and noncritical cases. Lisa, with the least experience in crisis medicine, had been assigned to first aid. To assist her, she was given a nursing student from Sydney, a skinny young man of Indian descent named Jesspal, a volunteer from the WHO medical staff.
    They made an odd couple: one blond and pale, the other dark-haired and coffee-skinned. But they operated like an experienced team.
    “Jessie, how are we doing on the cephalexin?”
    “Should last, Dr. Lisa.” He shook the large bottle of antibiotics with one hand while filling out paperwork with the other. The young man knew how to multitask.
    Snugging the green scrub pants higher on her hips, Lisa glanced around her. No one waited for immediate care. The rest of the dining room remained in a state of subdued chaos, punctuated by cries and occasional shouts, but for the moment, their station was an island of calm.
    “I think the bulk of the islanders have been evacuated,” Jessie said. “I heard the last two tenders from the docks arrived only half full. I think we’re seeing the dribs and drabs from the smaller outlying villages.”
    “Thank God for that.”
    She had treated over a hundred and fifty patients during the course of the interminable morning, cases of burns, blisters, racking coughs, dysentery, nausea, a wrist sprain from a fall at the docks. Yet she had only seen a fraction of all the cases. The cruise ship had