He crossed to the group, thumping his cane, but plainly not needing the support, all for show. His eyes glinted with a misplaced cheeriness.

“Namaste.” He greeted them in Hindi with a slight bow of his head. “Thank you all for joining me here.”

As the stranger settled to a stop, he nodded to the owner of the Mistress of the Seas. “Sir Ryder, I appreciate your hospitality and the use of your fine ship. We will do our best to return your ship to you unscathed.”

Ryder merely glowered, sizing up the man.

Turning, the stranger acknowledged the scientists. “As we embark on this great endeavor, it is a privilege to have such leading experts from the World Health Organization gathered in one room.”

Lisa noted Henri’s brows pinch both in wariness and confusion.

The stranger’s eyes settled last upon Lisa. “And of course, we must not forget our colleague from U.S. covert operations. Sigma Force, I believe, yes?”

Stunned silent, Lisa could only stare. How could he—?

The man offered the barest bow in her direction, genteel, not mocking. “I’m sorry your partner could not join us. It seems he met with a mishap while we attempted to fetch him. Something to do with indigenous crabs. The details remain sketchy. We lost several of our own men in the attempt. Only one fellow made it back alive.”

Lisa’s vision narrowed, closing down with dread.

Monk…

A hand touched her shoulder, consoling. It was Ryder Blunt. He faced the stranger. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

“Of course. My apologies.” The man lifted a palm and formally introduced himself. “Dr. Devesh Patanjali, chief acquisition officer, specializing in biotechnology, for the Guild.”

Despite her anguish, a cold stone settled into the pit of Lisa’s stomach. She had heard all about the Guild from Painter…and the bloody swath that the terrorist organization left behind in its wake.

The man tapped his cane on the floor with a note of finality. “And I’m afraid we must not waste any more time on introductions. We have much work to do before we reach port in the morning.”

“What work?” Lisa managed to force out, bitter with grief.

He cocked one eyebrow toward her. “My dear, together we must save the world.”

Monk clamped his palm tight over the man’s mouth. His other hand’s prosthetic fingers tightened on the man’s throat, just under his jaw, squeezing off his carotid, halting blood flow to the brain. The man struggled, but Monk’s fingers were strong enough to crack walnuts between them. He waited for the man’s kicking legs to go slack — then lowered him to the floor.

He hauled the man into a small equipment closet.

Monk noted the vibration underfoot, and a sonorous pitch to the engines. He straightened. The ship was moving. He had stowed away just in time.

After the explosion of his Jet Ski, Monk had boarded via one of the stabilizing anchor chains on the far side of the ship, shedding his scuba tanks and letting them sink to the bottom of the cove. His entry point was scantily guarded, most of the attention being directed toward shore. From the chain, he was able to leap to one of the hanging lifeboats, then clamber and roll to the Promenade Deck.

He had ducked quickly into hiding.

From the supply closet, he had waited a quarter hour for a lone guard to pass, one of the pirates, bearing a Heckler & Koch assault rifle. The guard was now sprawled in the same closet. Monk unzipped his wet suit and stripped the man of his loose pants and shirt. He changed quickly, but he was unable to cram his feet into the stolen boots.

Too small.

No choice, he left barefooted, but not barehanded.

The rifle’s weight helped center him.

Stepping into the hall, he pulled the head scarf over his face, masking up like the other pirates. Monk knew the ship, having memorized the schematics while en route to the islands from the States. He hurried down a deck and along the starboard hallway. He met another two pirates at the stairwell, but he merely shouldered through them, appearing busy and hassled.

One of the guards yelled at him, jostled by his passage. Monk didn’t understand the language, but he knew when he was being cursed. He lifted his rifle, acknowledging but not stopping.

He hurried down the hallway.

Lisa and Monk shared adjoining staterooms here. It was his first place to hunt for his missing partner. Monk had passed two sprawled bodies on his way down here, shot in the back, left where they had fallen. He had to find her.

He counted the staterooms. He heard someone crying behind one door, but he hurried until he reached their assigned cabins.

He tugged on his own door. Locked. He had left his room’s electronic key card back with his bags in the beached Zodiac. He moved to the next door, Lisa’s cabin. The knob refused to budge — but he heard someone stir behind the door.

It had to be Lisa.

Thank God…

He tapped a plastic knuckle lightly on the door and leaned his lips close. “Lisa…it’s me.”

The peephole in the door darkened as someone shifted to peek through. Monk stepped back and lowered his head scarf, revealing himself. After a breath, the chain scraped on the other side, and the dead bolt released with a click.

Monk pulled up his mask and checked up and down the hall. “Hurry it up,” he whistled out.

The door swung open, pulled inward.

Turning back to the door, he stepped forward. “Lisa, we have to—”

Monk immediately recognized his mistake and swung up his gun.

It was not Lisa.

Silhouetted against the brighter sunlight in the cabin, a young man crouched, half hidden by the door. “Don’t…please don’t shoot.”

Monk held his rifle rock-steady while he scanned the cabin. Someone had ransacked the room: drawers opened and dumped, closets emptied. But his attention quickly fixed on the room’s one other occupant: a dead body, facedown on the bed. It was one of the pirates. From the pool of blood soaked into the bedding, his throat had been slashed.

Eyes widening, Monk turned his attention back to the trespasser.

“Who are you?”

The young man waved an arm to encompass the room. “I came here to find Dr. Cummings. I didn’t know where else to look.”

Monk finally recognized the young nurse who had been helping Lisa. He could not recall the man’s name.

“Jesspal, sir…Jessie,” the young man mumbled, reading his confusion.

Lowering his gun, Monk nodded and pushed inside. “Where’s Lisa?”

“I don’t know. I was up in triage,” he explained, trembling all over, close to shock. “Then the explosions…four of the crew opened fire in the hospital ward. I ran. Dr. Cummings had gone to speak with the toxicologist. I prayed to Vishnu that she had fled back to her cabin.”

The young man glanced to the fouled bed, then just as quickly away. “Dr. Cummings had left her bag up in triage. I grabbed it. Found her key. But the man here had already been waiting inside. He got angry when I wasn’t her. Made me kneel on the floor. He had a radio.”

Jessie pointed to the portable radio on the floor.

“And what happened to his throat?” Monk asked.

“I couldn’t let him report in. And Dr. Cummings had left more than her key card in her bag.” From his waistband, Jessie pulled free a scalpel. “I…I had to…”

Monk squeezed his upper arm. “You did good, Jessie.”

The young man sagged down atop the other bed. “I heard them over shipwide radio. Calling for some of the doctors. Including Dr. Cummings.”

“Where did they want them to go?”

“The ship’s bridge.”

“Did they repeat the order?”

Jessie stared for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

So Lisa must have obeyed…

Monk now had a destination.

He crossed to the door that linked their two rooms. It had been left ajar. A quick peek revealed his room was in no better shape. Someone had cleared his personal gear, including his satellite phone. He searched a bit more to be sure. No luck.