The Project 05 - The Tesla Secret

than caught up, she'd fallen off it.
    She tried to think about anything except the possibility she'd be crippled for life. She remembered good days spent with her brother and parents, before the accident took them from her. She remembered her uncle laughing as he took her around Paris and showed her the glories of the Louvre, introduced her to her first taste of good wine and French cooking.
    The City of Light, he'd said, a beacon of culture in a barbaric world.
    She remembered the first time she'd seen Nick in Harker's office and the look of surprise he couldn't quite hide.
    She smiled. He'd been expecting someone else, probably a dried up academic. She remembered the first time they'd made love, in his cabin. They were good memories. In every one of them she'd been standing on her own two feet. Well, except for making love. Sometimes even then.
    She had no feeling below the waist. If she was paralyzed, her relationship with Nick was over. She would never allow him to stay with her, even if he swore he wanted to.
    She pushed back tears.
    Pain from the surgery was a steady fire in her abdomen. They were feeding her intravenously, to give her intestines time to heal. She was losing weight. When she got out of here she'd look like one of those anorexic models on supermarket magazine covers.
    When she got out of here.
    What would she do?
    She felt a wave of self pity lurking and shut it down. She was going to beat this. She thought about Master Kim, her martial arts teacher and friend. What would he do? He would never surrender, never give up. Neither would she.
    She closed her eyes and took a breath and began the meditation on the warrior's way.

CHAPTER FORTY-F IVE

    "Cool," Lamont said.
    Their boat was docked in a private marina in a secluded cove. It was 46 feet long, shaped like a bullet and painted black. It looked sleek and fast and sinister.
    "Nice boat," Korov said.
    "Nice? This is more than nice. This is a Ferrari of boats, the best. It's a rich man's boat. I know about these. It's a Rough Rider XP, top of the line. Two Mercury engines, turbo charged. I'll bet it's got a hell of a stereo."
    "How much power?" Ronnie asked.
    "A lot. 2700 horse or more. This is one fast son of a bitch. I wonder who Harker knows? We'd better take good care of it."
    "2700 horsepower for a fiberglass sport boat?" Nick said. "You have got to be kidding."
    "I told you, rich man's boat, built for racing. Something like this costs three quarters of a million dollars. I never thought I'd get to drive one."
    "Who said you're driving?"
    "I'm the water guy, remember? We had cigarette boats in the Seals. They're kind of touchy. You don't want to make a mistake."
    "Cigarette boat?" Korov had that puzzled look again. "It doesn't look like a cigarette."
    Lamont and Ronnie laughed. "They call them that because smugglers used them to run cigarettes past the Coast Guard. Nobody does that anymore, now it's drugs. Too fast to catch. Before that they were called rum runners."
    "Enough with the history," Nick said. "Saddle up."
    They stowed the gear in a small cabin in front of the cockpit. The boat sat six. There would be room to strap Foxworth in. Korov ran his fingers over the smooth tan leather of the seats.
    Lamont started the engines. The sound at idle was subdued, a gentle rumble in the night.
    "Cast off," Lamont said.
    The boat came free of the dock. He eased the throttle forward. They moved away toward open water. The grumble of the twin Mercurys was steady, soothing.
    The line of instruments on the dash threw a soft, green glow across the cockpit.
    "Boat's got it all," Lamont said. "GPS. Livorsi instruments, touch screen navigation, radio if we need it. Probably plays Jimmie Hendrix in mood light LEDs if you want." He eyed the stereo.
    "Don't even think about it," Nick said.
    The night was black except for the radiance of the stars. Lamont headed a little way offshore and turned in the direction of the Arno River. He opened the throttle a bit more. The bow lifted and the boat surged ahead. With their low profile and black paint they were an arrow-like phantom on the water. The air smelled of salt and seaweed and the shore passing on their left. There was a steady, cool breeze.
    In twenty minutes they came to the mouth of the Arno. Lamont steered into the river and headed upstream. He looked at the GPS.
    "Getting close."
    "Check your gear," Nick said.
    Vests. MP-5s. Flash bangs. Pistols. If this went wrong, every cop in Europe would be