At last they reached the same ladder they had first come down. Smith went up first, and swung open the hatch leading to the deck of the ship. Almost immediately he flinched back. "Gun," he said. "At least one man. He's got good cover."

Carter climbed up beside him. "I'll cover you while you run for it?"

"I don't know. There isn't much cover close by. And if they have someone up high, I'm done for."

Colleen drew back from the group. She helped Jane sit down and whispered, "Hold on. We're almost clear."

Jane nodded, tried a small smile, and flinched as a cut on her lower lip opened.

Parker sat at the base of the ladder, a pistol in his hand. Rick stood beside him, ignoring the discussion above, eyes scanning the corridor. Colleen hefted her wrench and set off down the corridor. She heard him hiss a question, but she kept walking.

She came to another ladder and went up. There was no hatch. Instead she found a corridor with portholes on one side. She examined a porthole, figured out how to swing the circle of gla.s.s open, and peered out.

The hull of the ship stretched below her, flat and smooth. She could see the wharf, six or eight feet down. The men would never make it through an opening this small, but she thought she might get through.

She craned her neck around to look up. There was a railing just above her. She looked carefully in every direction and didn't see a sign of life. She listened intently, heard only the slap of water on the hull and the creak of the boat as it moved in the water. Finally she tucked her wrench into the belt of her dress, took a grip on the porthole, and started working her way out.

She squirmed around until she was sitting in the round hole, the wrench digging into her stomach. She stretched her fingers upward and found a precarious grip on a flat surface somewhere above. She pulled with her hands, squirmed with her hips, and slid out, her backside hanging over the wharf. She worked her hands up higher, got a better grip on the surface above, and squirmed and wriggled until she could draw a leg out and get a foot on the sill of the porthole.

From there it was almost easy. She stood, took the wrench out of her belt and set it on the deck above her, grabbed the vertical bar of a railing support, kicked off with her feet, and pulled with all her might. She drew herself up, let go with one hand and scrambled frantically for the railing above her. She caught it with her fingertips, then scrambled frantically with her toes on the smooth hull. She got a toe on the deck, and hung awkwardly by two hands and a foot, her skirts riding up in a most unladylike way.

She wasn't sure she could make it over the railing, but she had to, so she gritted her teeth and heaved. She gained a precious half inch, took a better grip on the railing, and in moments she managed to swarm over.

Colleen found herself on a walkway about four feet wide. On one side was the railing she'd climbed over. On the other side was the hull of the ship, pierced every few feet by portholes. She ducked low under the portholes and moved quickly sternward, toward her friends.

She reached the back of the forecastle. The walkway made a right-angle turn, and Colleen crouched in a strip of shadow, looking down on the deck of the ship eight feet below. By her calculation, she was directly above the hatch where Smith and Carter waited. She scanned the deck, looking for the gunman who had them pinned.

She spotted him, a man in a white uniform shirt and dark trousers, crouching behind a vast coil of rope. His attention was focussed on the hatch below her. She was pretty sure she hadn't been seen. The rest of the deck seemed empty.

Colleen crept along the walkway, feeling exposed for the first several feet until the coil of rope was between her and the cultist. She followed the walkway until she found a ladder going down. There she froze for long moments, listening to the mad beating of her heart, straining her eyes and ears into the darkness. If she'd been spotted, the ambush would be here.

Was she unseen? It was impossible to be sure, but there was no time to be cautious. She went down the ladder as quietly as she could, took a firm grip on her wrench, and tiptoed into the darkness. No light reached this part of the deck. Each step was a cautious probe with her toes. She inched forward, moving past big, dark, shapeless structures, and finally saw the coil of rope gleaming ahead of her.

Now she moved faster, terrified that the gunman had heard her, was already reacting. She went around the coil of rope quickly, almost running, and found him turning, his mouth open, the gun swinging around toward her.

She swung the wrench with all of her strength at the pale gleam of his face. She hit him a glancing blow on the forehead. The gun wavered in his fist, and she brought the wrench up and swung at his wrist. Metal crunched into bone and the pistol fell clattering to the deck.

He cried out and clutched his wrist, and she slammed the wrench into the top of his head. He swore, and she gritted her teeth and clubbed him again. This time he slumped forward.

When she peered around the coil of rope she saw Carter and Smith already charging through the hatch. She gave them a wave, then turned back to the gunman.

He was moaning and holding his wrist, struggling to sit up. She shook her head. It was harder than she'd ever suspected to knock a man out. She picked up the pistol, pointed it at him, and found she couldn't bring herself to shoot. Well, he was injured and disarmed. That would have to do.

She stepped around the coil of rope and a shot rang out. She flinched, looking around, as Smith dove for cover. Carter was nowhere in sight. Smith caught her eye and pointed above her. She turned and saw a dark shape moving high on the aft mast.

A horizontal hatch swung open in the middle of the deck, fifty feet or so aft of Colleen. A man's head and shoulders appeared. He held a gun, a rifle or shotgun by the look of it, and Smith snapped off a couple of quick shots, making him duck.

A sudden glow appeared below the gunwale of the ship, an engine thundered, and tires squealed. The dark figure on the mast fired at something beyond the ship, and Colleen took advantage of the distraction to spring up and run to where Smith was hiding behind a lifeboat. She dropped into a crouch beside him.

The convertible raced up the wharf, headlights ablaze. Colleen could just make out the shape of Maggie at the wheel. Garson was beside her, standing, his fat body wedged against the seat back, his legs wide for support. He had a machine gun in his hands, a Tommy gun with a drum magazine, and he fired a stream of bullets at the ship.

"Now's our chance!" Smith cried. He leaped up and ran back to the hatchway, and Colleen followed. Carter came through, supporting Jane. Colleen dropped her wrench, pocketed the pistol, and took Jane's arm as Carter turned back to help Parker.

Colleen brought Jane to the edge of the ship and the car screeched to a halt below them. Pistol shots rang out behind her, but Colleen focussed on helping Jane clamber over the railing. She held Jane's wrists, lowered her as far as she could, and Garson came running over to catch Jane's legs. Colleen let go and Garson lowered her to the wharf, then helped her into the car.

"Go, for G.o.d's sake," Carson snapped, and Colleen hopped over the railing and dropped to the wharf. Rick came next. Smith and Carter almost threw Parker over the railing and into Rick's waiting arms. Rick grunted, stumbled, and Colleen caught him. They lugged Parker to the car and dumped him into the back seat.

Smith and Carter came flying over the railing, Maggie gunned the engine, and Colleen sprang onto the running board and hung on.

Maggie didn't waste time turning the car around, just put it in reverse and hit the gas. They went screaming down the wharf, Colleen clinging white-knuckled to the top of the car door, Rick on the running board beside her, his teeth gleaming as he grinned in the darkness.

Garson was back in the front pa.s.senger seat, Tommy gun in his hands, and Colleen flinched as the machine gun fired inches in front of her face. She smelled hot metal and gun smoke and tasted the tang of cordite in the air. Garson's face was fixed in a snarl and he fired in short, controlled bursts.

It wasn't enough. Return fire came from the ship, another machine gun. Colleen could see muzzle flashes coming from the top of the forecastle. Bullets ripped up the planks of the wharf, then smacked into the front of the car. Steam billowed from the radiator, the car swerved, a line of bullet holes appeared on the hood, and Garson grunted and let go of the Tommy gun.

The Tommy gun landed on the hood of the car, and Colleen thought about reaching for it, but the car was swerving violently and she was afraid to let go. Then Maggie gave the steering wheel a sharp jerk and the Tommy gun went bouncing off into the darkness.

They reached the end of the wharf. Maggie turned sharply, braked hard, and threw the car into first gear. They lurched forward, steam from the damaged radiator blowing over them, and Maggie muttered to the car as she fought the controls. They rumbled down Wharf Street, moving no faster than a man could run. A block later the engine gave a sharp bang and died.

"That's it," said Maggie, "we're walking from here."

"I think Mr. Garson was. .h.i.t," Colleen said. He was sitting slumped forward in the front pa.s.senger seat, and she put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back. His head lolled to the side as his body flopped back, and she could see a line of bullet wounds in his chest and stomach. His eyes stared blindly at the sky.

Rick reached past Colleen and put two fingers on the side of Garson's throat. "No pulse," he said, and closed Garson's eyes.

"We have to move," Carson said. "We'll have to leave him, and the car. They'll be coming, and they have us outnumbered."

Colleen helped Jane out of the car. Rick and Carter got Parker out and held him supported between them. Colleen glanced back at the wharf. A knot of men had gathered beside the Arcadia. As she watched, the men broke into a trot, heading down the wharf.

"Here they come," said Carter, his voice grim. "Let's move."

Chapter 5 a" Flight.

Their progress down Wharf Street was painfully slow. Jane was crying, her eyes screwed shut, only moving forward because Colleen was pushing on her back. Parker was getting worse, barely walking, Carter and Rick taking most of his weight. Colleen glanced backward and couldn't see the cultists, but then she caught the slap of shoes on pavement. The cultists were gaining.

Smith trotted ahead, examining vehicles parked along the street. He tried doors and peered in windows, and Colleen felt a surge of hope. If Smith could get a car started, they might still escape with their lives.

A light came on in front of a warehouse, a door swung open, and a figure appeared, a burly older man in the uniform of a night watchman. He stared at them, and Carter lifted his pistol and said, "Best you stay off the street."

The watchman nodded, stepped back inside, and closed the door.

A car started behind them, and Colleen looked back, excited. If someone came driving up the street, they could flag the car down, beg for a ride- Another engine started, and Rick swore. "They've got wheels," he said. "Looks like we're done for."

As if in answer, an engine roared into life ahead of them. A pickup truck came rolling backward down the street, Smith leaning out the driver's side window. He stopped in front of them and everyone clambered into the back.

Headlights flooded the street as a couple of cars bore down on them. The truck roared forward, but their pursuers were very close. Jane retreated to a front corner of the truck box, sitting with her arms clutching her knees. Parker lay sprawled on the floor of the box, moaning, sliding back and forth when the truck swerved or turned. Colleen knelt by his side and tried to keep him still.

Carter and Rick stood at the back of the truck, checking their guns. Colleen caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of their conversation. They were nearly out of ammunition.

Maggie knelt beside Parker and took his hand. Her eyes were bright with fear, but her voice was calm as she murmured, "Hang in there, David. It will all be over soon. You'll be fine."

They raced through the dark streets of Victoria, their pursuers always close behind. From time to time a shot rang out from the cars behind them. No one returned fire.

They reached the outskirts of the city. Colleen could see the dark expanse of the ocean on the right, with the shipyards of Esquimalt shining in the distance. On the left the occasional building flashed past, then darkness. There would be no more innocent bystanders to be hurt by a stray bullet, but no witnesses, no help, if the cultists caught up with them.

The truck raced through the darkness, and Colleen could do nothing but clutch Parker's jacket and pray that no bullet would hit them. She shot worried glances at Jane, who was staring into s.p.a.ce, her eyes unseeing. There was nothing she could do for Jane, though. She thought about trying to check Parker's bandages, but the truck was lurching and bouncing so much, she didn't think she could do anything even if his bandages had come loose.

The image of her workshop in Toronto flashed through her mind, and she wished for home with an intensity that startled her. She felt as if she would do anything to be back home with Roland's arms around her. He symbolized everything she'd lost, safety and family, a sense of security.

The truck swerved, pressing her against the side of the box, and suddenly they were bouncing along on much rougher track. They pa.s.sed a tree so close she heard branches whipping against the side of the truck.

Rick looked past the cab and said, "Oh, d.a.m.n it!" Then he dropped to his knees, reaching out to brace himself, and cried, "Dead end!"

A moment later everyone lurched as Smith hit the brakes and brought the truck around in a tight turn. They stopped, gears clashed below them, and the truck lurched back.

The cars with the cultists were coming in fast, Colleen heard the skid of tires as they braked, and the truck lurched into motion. It looked like the truck and the cars were going to crash head-on, and Colleen did her best to brace herself and Parker. Then one car went past on her left, close enough that she could have reached out and slapped the roof as it went by. On her right there came a squeal of metal as they brushed the other car in pa.s.sing.

A shot rang out, she heard the impact against the truck's fender, and Rick leaned out and fired into the nearest car. Then the truck went bouncing back up the track, with the two cars backing and filling behind them as they turned around.

All too soon the cars were turned around and following, their headlights bouncing crazily as they raced up the track. The truck turned back onto a paved road, picking up speed, but the cars were soon closing the gap.

Soon a dark green sedan was right behind them, nearly hitting their back b.u.mper. The sedan edged to the right and accelerated, and the truck swerved right, keeping them from pulling alongside. Then they came to a curve, the road broadened, and the sedan slipped into place beside the truck.

Rick and Carter went to the right side of the truck, looking down on the car roof, trying to line up a shot on the driver. They didn't seem to notice when the other car, a blue coupe, started to gain ground.

Colleen left Parker's side and moved to the tailgate. A figure was crawling through the pa.s.senger-side window of the coupe. When skirts suddenly billowed in the wind she realized it was a woman. The woman stood on the running board, one hand clutching the door of the coupe, the other hand clutching a pistol. The coupe accelerated.

The woman was wild-eyed, her face demented, her hair streaming behind her. Her attention was fixed on something near ground level. When she levelled the pistol, Colleen realized she was planning to shoot the truck's rear tire.

Colleen felt a moment of paralyzing terror, which ended when she noticed something in her pocket digging into her hip. It was the pistol she had captured on the ship. She drew the pistol out, her hands moving almost unconsciously. It was a simple enough mechanical device, and she'd picked up the basics automatically, watching the others use their guns. Push down the safety lever. Draw the hammer, watch the cylinder rotate as the hammer clicked into place.

The coupe was very close. The woman was crouching on the running board, her arm extended, her gun very close to the tire. Colleen pointed her pistol at the woman's face.

The woman looked up. Colleen recognized her; it was the woman who had ordered her killed in Chinatown. She stared into the muzzle of Colleen's pistol for a long moment, and she smiled. Then she ignored Colleen and turned her attention back to the truck tire.

Colleen experienced a brief torrent of thoughts, an agonized certainty that she couldn't do what she needed to do, a sharp awareness that Jane and Maggie and Rick and Carter and Parker and Smith were all going to die if that tire blew, and above all a realization that she had no more than an instant, there was simply no time to think about this, no time to wrestle with the morality of taking a life. There was only time to pull the trigger.

The impact of the gun against her hand shocked her. She was dimly aware that the pistol was pointing at the sky, but her horrified attention was taken by the woman she'd shot. There was a sound, a horrible noise of wet, reverberating impact that came to her clear as birdsong even over the echoing blast of the shot. She saw exactly what the bullet did to the woman's head, squeezed her eyes shut far too late to save herself from that image.

She still had her eyes closed when a hand closed over hers and gentle fingers tugged the pistol from her grasp. She opened her eyes and saw Rick, his face sympathetic, tucking the pistol in his waistband.

Her eyes went to the road. The sedan was slewed across the road fifty feet behind them, and the coupe was stopped behind it. The truck, though, was bouncing and shaking as if they were driving over railroad ties.

"They hit our tire," Rick said. "We're going to have to hoof it."

A black despair washed over Colleen. She'd done something that was going to haunt her for the rest of her life, and the truck had lost a tire anyway.

The bouncing and lurching got worse until finally the truck slid into the ditch. Carter opened the tailgate, then joined Rick in lifting Parker out. Colleen moved to Jane's side, but Jane surprised her by standing unaided. "I can walk," Jane said, and climbed to the ground.

Smith led them across the road and into a row of trees. "This is where we'll make our stand," he said grimly. Carter and Rick set Parker on the ground. Then the three able-bodied men each chose a tree to hide behind, knelt, and waited.

Maggie knelt beside Parker, examining his bandages. Colleen found herself with nothing to do. She looked around. There were stripes of cloud in the sky, but in the gaps she could see the cold, bright blaze of countless stars. They shone brighter than she'd seen them in years. The light and pollution of Toronto didn't allow for starry nights like this.

She stared upward, shivered, and was filled with a yearning to somehow survive this night. She wanted more from life, more starry nights, more wonderful evenings with Roland, more of everything that life had to offer. She didn't want to die by the side of a road in British Columbia, unarmed and helpless as the cult closed in.

She lowered her gaze and looked around her. Was that a darker shape on the ground ahead of her? She stared at what was essentially a black rectangle against a nearly-black background, unsure of what she was seeing.

The others were waiting, silent. Somewhere beyond the trees the cultists were closing in. There was nothing Colleen could do to help, so she walked forward into the darkness. With every step the dark rectangle became more distinct.

A shot rang out behind her. She turned, couldn't see anything. There were no more shots, and finally she turned back to the dark rectangle. She kept walking, and finally made out the outline of a small wooden shack.

She couldn't see the water, but she heard the lap of waves on rock. The building before her was right on the water's edge. In fact, when she reached it she found that it extended into the water. She tried the door. It didn't budge.

If this was a boathouse, though, it would be open from the water side. There could be a boat, and that might mean escape. She went to the side of the building, clambered blindly down a sloping shelf of rock, and splashed into the water. She waded outward, gasping with the cold. The ground fell away sharply, and soon she was swimming, following the wall of the building.

The seaward side of the building was wide open. It was a boathouse, all right. Colleen swam inside and pulled herself up onto a wooden platform inside. Her fingers fumbled along the walls, found a switch, and flipped it on. Light filled the boathouse.

There was one boat, a long rowboat with a couple of oars in the bottom. It would be a slow escape, but the night was dark enough that they would be safe from gunfire once they were a dozen feet from sh.o.r.e.

The door could be unlocked from the inside. She flung it open, and a long rectangle of light spilled across the ground. She ran up the slope toward the trees. Arriving out of breath, she called out, "There's a boat," and dropped to her knees beside Maggie. Parker looked terrible, but he grinned at her. Colleen said, "This is going to hurt, Parker," and grabbed the fabric of the shoulder of his jacket. Maggie gave her a dubious look, then grabbed the other shoulder. They set off toward the boathouse, dragging Parker, Jane trailing behind them.

Shots rang out from the tree line behind them. The men were covering their retreat. Colleen ignored the burning in her muscles, the fire in her lungs, and concentrated on dragging Parker as fast as she could. They reached the boathouse, manoeuvred their way through the doorway, and managed to get Parker into the bottom of the boat.

He let out a low groan, and Maggie said, "Oh, stop being such a baby! We did all the work."

Jane stood just inside the doorway looking uncertain and lost. Colleen climbed out of the boat, snapped, "Get in!" to Jane, and untied the rope at the prow. Then she moved to the doorway.

Two men were running down the slope. She recognized Carter, running in the rectangle of light from the doorway. She couldn't see who the other man was.

Shots rang out at the tree line, and Carter looked back. Then he stopped and turned, and took a single step back toward the trees. Rick reached him then, stopping him. Colleen heard the sound of a shot, saw a flash of red near the trees, heard the whack of a bullet striking the boathouse. Realizing the men were dangerously well-lit, she flicked off the lights.

Carter, his voice hoa.r.s.e, panted, "Dirk's still up there!"

"You can't save him." There was pain in Rick's voice. "If you go charging up there, then he's died for nothing."

Carter tried to push past Rick. The tall Mountie grabbed Carter's shoulders, hauled him back, and sent him stumbling toward the boathouse.

Colleen turned her back, knelt beside the boat, and gave it a push. As the boat drifted out she jumped aboard. Maggie had the oars in place, and the two women took an oar each, ready to pull.

Carter and Rick came barreling into the boathouse. The boat was a foot past the edge of the boathouse now. They ran, jumped, and the boat rocked wildly as they landed. Parker cried out as Rick landed on his legs. Water splashed over the gunwales and both men crouched, stabilizing the boat. Colleen and Maggie pulled hard on the oars and the boat moved swiftly across the dark water.