“We must get there.” She mumbled her usual mantra.

“We’re landing now,” Lisa said, trying to calm her. She even felt the Sea Dart bank downward.

“No!” Susan reached again for her, but then withdrew her hand, noting Lisa shying away. Her fingers curled and slipped back under the fire blanket. She took a shuddering breath. Her eyes rose to Lisa’s. “We’re too far. Lisa, I know how this sounds. But we have only minutes left. Ten or fifteen at most.”

“Left for what?”

Lisa remembered her earlier conversation with Painter, about the Christmas Island crabs, about chemically induced neurological changes, triggering manic migratory urges. But in the sophisticated mind of a human, what did those same chemicals do? What other changes were wrought? Could Susan’s urges be trusted?

“If I don’t get there…” Susan said, shaking her head as if trying to jar a memory loose. “They’ve opened something. I can feel the sunlight. Like fiery eyes burning into me. All I know…and I know it in my bones…if I’m not there in time, there will be no cure.”

Lisa hesitated, glancing back to Ryder.

The lake rose up as the Sea Dart swept downward.

Susan moaned. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Lisa heard the grief in her words, sensing that the pain encompassed more than the biological burden. Susan had lost her husband, her world.

She turned back to the woman.

Susan’s face shone with a blur of emotions: fear, grief, desperation, and a deep loneliness.

Susan placed her palms together. “I’m not a crab. Can’t you see that?”

Lisa did.

She swung around and called to Ryder. “Pull up!”

“What?” Ryder glanced back.

Lisa motioned her thumb in the air. “Don’t land! We have to get closer to the ruins.” She clambered up and used the seat backs to pull herself up to the copilot seat. “There’s a river that runs through the town of Siem Reap.”

She sank into the seat. She had studied the navigational maps of the region. The town still lay six miles or so away. She remembered Susan’s warning.

Ten or fifteen minutes at most.

Would that be close enough? Her own blood was now ignited by the urgency. It took her another breath to realize why. Susan’s last words.

I’m not a crab.

Susan didn’t know anything about the Christmas Island land crabs. Lisa hadn’t spoken aloud about Painter’s conversation, not even with Ryder. Maybe in her stupor, Susan had overheard her end of the discussion. But Lisa couldn’t recall if she’d used the word crab.

Either way, she flipped open the nav-chart and searched.

They needed somewhere closer to land.

Another lake or river…

“Or here,” she said aloud, pulling the chart closer.

“What’s that, lass?” Ryder asked. He dragged up the Sea Dart’s nose and sent them sailing high over the lake.

Lisa flipped the chart toward him and tapped at it. “Can you land here?”

Ryder’s eyes widened. “Are you bloody crazy?”

She didn’t answer. Mostly because she didn’t know the answer.

Ryder’s face split into the wide grin. “What the hell! Let’s give it a try!” Ever up for a thrill, he reached and patted her thigh. “I like the way you think. How firm is that relationship of yours back home?”

Lisa leaned back into the seat. After Painter heard about this…She shook her head. “We’ll see.”

“Sir, that GPS lock that you had me tracking, it’s moving off course.”

Painter swung around. He had been coordinating with the Australian Counterterrorism and Special Recovery Team. They had arrived on-site at the island of Pusat fifteen minutes ago, proceeding to the coordinates Lisa had left. Early intel from the island remained confusing. The Mistress of the Seas was found burning, wrapped in a tangle of netting and steel cable. It listed almost forty-five degrees. A major firefight was under way aboard ship.

Kat sat on his other side, earphones in place, holding them with both hands. She had refused to go home. Not until she knew for sure. Her eyes were red and swollen, but she remained focused, surviving on a thin hope. Maybe, somehow, Monk was still alive.

“Sir,” the technician said, pointing to another screen. It showed a map of Cambodia’s central plateau. A large lake spread in the middle. A small blip crept in tiny pixilated jumps across the screen, tracking the Sea Dart.

While the seaplane had been circling near the shoreline a moment ago, it now headed away from the lake.

“Where are they going?” Painter asked. He watched a few seconds more, getting a trajectory. He extended it with a finger. Their air path led in a beeline straight toward Angkor.

What are they doing?

Motion at the door drew Painter’s eye. His aid, Brant, flew into the room, braking his wheelchair with a squeal of rubber on linoleum.

“Director Crowe, I tried to reach you,” he gasped out. “Couldn’t. Figured you were still conferencing with Australia.”

Painter nodded. He had been.

Brant grabbed a fax crumpled in his lap and held it out.

Painter took it and scanned it once quickly, then a second time more carefully. Oh God…

He headed to the door, bumping past Brant. He paused, turned. “Kat?”

“Go. I’ve got it covered.”

He glanced back to the screen map of Cambodia, to the tiny blip edging toward the ruins of Angkor.

Lisa, I hope you know what you’re doing.

He fled out of the room and ran for his office.

For the moment, she was on her own.

“Hang on!” Ryder warned — though it sounded more like a war cry.

Lisa clutched tight to the arms of her seat.

Ahead, the giant beehive-shaped black towers of Angkor Wat rose into the sky. But the spectacular temple, sprawled over a square mile, was not their goal.

Ryder dipped the Sea Dart toward the man-made stretch of green water off to one side. The moat of Angkor Wat. Unlike Angkor Thom, it still held water. Its entire length around the temple stretched four miles, leaving a mile of straight water on each side. The only problem—

“Bridge!” Lisa yelled.

“Is that what you call it?” Ryder commented sarcastically. He had a cigar clamped in his teeth. He blew a stream of smoke out the corner of his lips.

It was his only cigar, kept stashed for emergencies like this. As Ryder had said before he lit up, “even a condemned man is allowed one last smoke.”

The billionaire soared over the moat, shifting their flight path’s elevation up and down a bit, just enough to clear the bridge.

Lisa held her breath as they swept over. Tourists parted to either side.

Then they were over, and Ryder dropped the Sea Dart fast, skimming the moat and trailing a plume of water. Then they settled deeper, still going fast as the plane became a boat. Their momentum propelled them toward the far corner, too fast to make the turn.

The earthen embankment at the end swept toward them.

Ryder pulled a crank in the floor. “This is called a Hamilton Turn! Hold tight!”

With a puff of smoke, he yanked and twisted the wheel.

The Sea Dart spun, as if on ice, throwing its back end fully around. The twin engines roared as its rear jets braked them. The craft slowed.

Lisa cringed, still expecting to slam into the embankment.

Instead, Ryder turned the wheel and slipped the boat sideways. The Sea Dart plowed a wave right to the edge of the sloped embankment and bumped to a gentle stop.

Ryder sighed out a stream of smoke and cut the engines. “Lord, that was bloody fun.”

Lisa immediately unbuckled and went to Susan.

“Hurry,” Susan said, struggling.

Lisa helped the woman undo her belt. Ryder followed and cranked the hatch open.