A sharp gasp escaped her as she doubled over.
Her assailant followed with a hard right uppercut to the jaw that left her staggering. He caught her before she fell, and for an instant she stood, bent over and dry heaving.
She felt a rag jammed into her mouth, then a sharp prick in her neck as she was lowered to the deck and propped in a sitting position, back against the rail. She struggled to catch her breath, felt her whole body twitch and tremble; when she tried to flex her fingers they responded like semi-hardened clay. Something was happening to her, taking control of her hands, her arms, her legs.
Drugged.
Some kind of muscle relaxant. Propofol? No, she wasn’t getting drowsy. She just couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.
The clay was hardening.
The goggles loomed close, inches from her face.
“We don’t have much time,” he rasped.
The goggles, helmet, and muffler obscured his face. She couldn’t see who it was. But she knew why he was there.
He was going to rape her.
A convulsion of horror flooded through her. He was going to rip off her flight suit and fuck her, right there on the catwalk. She focused with all her might on her mouth and tongue, summoning the force to spit in his face. She would not go down without a fight!
Nothing.
Her attacker reached into one of the green jersey’s pockets, extracted a water bottle and unscrewed the cap, which he then carefully placed back in the pocket.
She was confused. If he was going to rape her, he would want to do it fast before anyone stumbled upon them. Why was he stopping?
But he didn’t take a drink. Instead, he leaned over her, one hand holding her jaw steady, the other tipping the water bottle to her lips, eking out just a few drops.
She felt the tiny stream snake its way inward past her dead tongue, under her soft palate, into her throat. Her mind went rigid with panic. If it trickled down her trachea, even that tiny amount could drown her. She tried to will herself to cough—nothing. She wanted to scream with fury and frustration. The ghoul wasn’t going to rape her. He was going to kill her. And she couldn’t fight back.
The bottle left her lips.
Goggles in her face again.
“If you behave yourself, and everything goes well here, there’s a very good chance you’ll come through this alive.”
You’re lying! screamed the voice trapped in her head. You’re lying! You’re lying!
And then it struck her: that low rasp. It was a cheap Clint Eastwood impression. Dirty Harry. Which gave her a flicker of hope. The goggles, the voice. He was taking steps to prevent her from recognizing him. Which would be pointless if he planned to kill her.
Maybe there was a good chance she would come through this alive.
The jet pilot training kicked in, her mind a whir of calculations. Speed. Trajectory. How long before she passed out? Before the drug completely paralyzed her lungs? Could she fight through it, come out the other side?
The face was staring at her, peering into her eyes. Like it was watching her thoughts.
It looked like an insect.
Hungry.
A shiver ran through her nerves, though her body was still as stone.
The insect cocked its head. Drinking in her revulsion.
Feasting on her fear.
It reached out to touch her shoulder.
She recoiled in her mind.
“It’s okay,” Dirty Harry rasped. “It’s okay.”
IT’S OKAY? she wanted to scream. HOW IS IT FUCKING OKAY!
And then—
Oh God. Not again!
He tipped the bottle once more, releasing another trickle of water on its way.
Tickling her windpipe.
All her calculations and false hopes vanished as she felt herself plunge into an abyss of pure terror, the voice trapped in her head thrashing and screaming out of all control—Stop! Stop! Please no please no please no please no no no no…
The insect giggled.
“All right,” it rasped. “C’mon, up we go.”
He grabbed her with both arms, then pulled her upright and leaned her body against the railing, head flopped to the side like a rag doll. Steadying her against the railing with both knees and the press of his torso, he uncoiled the tie-down chain draped over his shoulders and wrapped it around her several times.
“Good for you. You’ve behaved yourself. This has all gone very, very well.”
Slowly, deliberately, he removed the goggles and stared directly at her.
Those eyes were the emptiest thing she’d ever seen.
You! the voice in her head screamed. YOU? Why are you doing this!
And then he spoke—softly, but in his normal voice:
“And there is no chance, no chance at all, that you will come through this alive.”
He peered into her face for another moment, the vacant eyes feeding on her panic—
Then swiveled her body around to face the open ocean and pushed her face forward and down so she was staring into the expanse below.
Not the ocean! Please God NOT THE OCEAN!
The last thing she registered before her mind completely snapped was the black face of the Arabian Sea rushing toward her.