FIFTY-ONE

Over the shriek of wind in his ears, Monk could barely hear the roar of his own voice as they hurtled away from the dying helicopter, as they plummeted toward the forest below. He clung to Bethany, his arms and hands locked around her waist in a grip she’d have to kill him to break.

A moment later her chute exploded directly into his face, then shot past him and opened with a bone-wrenching jerk that seemed to yank the two of them all the way back to the chopper. The sudden deceleration tore his hands away, and he felt himself slipping down her body. His fingers clawed into her, and he stopped sliding just as the helicopter exploded.

Monk’s body seemed to flatten as it recoiled from the thunderclap of sound, and his brain stopped dead as the blast hammered them toward the ground.

Bethany began to twist, to buck like a wild horse as she tried to throw him clear, but somehow he managed to hang on.

Now he could hear her screaming.

“Too fast! … Too fast! Let go of me! … You’ll kill us both! … We’re both going to die!”

Monk tucked his head into the back of her legs and held on even tighter.

He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, and he knew she was right. Her sport chute was designed for one jumper. Together they were too heavy. Without him on her back she was sure to make it … and that thought alone strengthened his grip.

Suddenly she was beating on the backs of his hands.

It felt like she had a hammer, but Monk knew exactly what it was.

She had a handgun, of course, and she was using the barrel to smash his fingers until he let go. He slid toward her feet and locked his arms around her legs this time. He waited for the same agonizing blows, but this time a shot rang out instead, and a new pain—a horribly worse pain—tore across his right side.

Monk heard himself screaming as he buried himself even deeper into her legs. It was his only chance. He heard another gunshot, then a third, but now she was afraid. Afraid she’d shoot herself instead.

The gunshots stopped.

But now the hand battering started again.

Somehow it was even worse this time.

More frantic, more desperate.

Monk bellowed as he tried to hang on, but it was no use. He was out of strength … he could no longer stand the pain. He felt himself losing consciousness, slipping away now, falling on his own now …

His legs struck the tree first as he crashed through the heavy canopy, through the foliage, past limbs and branches, his mind too numb to direct his movements. The world turned to slow motion as he tumbled toward a narrow branch without leaves. He twisted frantically to avoid being impaled, but almost immediately a limb too big to escape rose to meet him.

“No!” he roared, an instant before he hit.